In Isdalia, atop a stone pillar piercing the clouds, white smoke drifted within a pure, magnificent altar. The red dragon lay coiled lazily upon a marble throne.
Beside him stood Trump, the ogre archmage, while huge magical projections unfolded before them, displaying the conditions across various sectors of the Wall of the Empire.
Watching the carnivex being encircled and brought down, Cassius asked with keen interest, "How many of these Dragonscale Marines are there in the Empire?"
Trump replied, "Master, the project is still in its experimental phase. For now, there are only twenty-one, and only twelve can take to the field reliably and with stability."
*Crack—*
As he spoke, the ogre's plump form flickered and grew somewhat insubstantial, motes of light shimmering across his skin.
"S-sorry, Master. The original body must have encountered battle, so this simulacrum is a bit unstable."
As it turned out, this was merely Trump's simulacrum. The true ogre archmage had already gone to the front lines to oversee the battlefield and counter the casters of the Abyss.
Cassius's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the phenomenon unfolding from the carnivex's death.
"A carnivex, is it..."
Carnivexes—apex predators of the Abyss, monsters boasting a Challenge Rating of 16. That was already comparable to certain low-tier legendary entities.
Even though it had entered the Empire and had the chaotic power within it suppressed under the influence of Cassius's Imperial Domain, the demon's strength was by no means negligible.
Once, players had been slaughtered at will by vampires and crushed ruthlessly by frost giants, serving merely as cannon fodder in wars.
Now, the strongest players were capable of swarming and slaying a beast of this caliber.
—Even if this was achieved on the back of imperial resources, it was undeniable that the players had grown into a significant force in the world that could not be overlooked.
After a moment's contemplation, Cassius asked again, "Roughly how much does it cost to train a single Dragonscale Marine?"
Trump's simulacrum answered, "Fifty thousand gold dinars, Master. The greatest expense lies in the dragon blood materials, though the Empire does not lack those.
"Right now, the technology in the Ministry of Technology is not fully mature. According to those researchers from the Machine Cult known as 'Genetors,' there is hope of reducing the cost to under ten thousand gold dinars..."
Cassius gave a slight nod, licking the flames at the corner of his lips with his tongue. "Very good. It seems we will soon be able to mass-produce transcendent-tier powerhouses, and all we must expend is... money."
If there was one thing the Empire never lacked, it was money. Amid the continuous wars raging across the Feanso Continent over the years, the Cinder Empire had made a fortune by selling arms and dumping goods on both sides.
The Empire's capacity to accumulate wealth was beyond the imagination of any other nation.
As for how much gold truly lay within Cassius's treasury? That had gradually become the stuff of legend.
Some scholars estimated the sum to be staggering beyond belief, surpassing the comprehension of ordinary mortals—so vast that speaking it aloud would sound absurd.
Trump smiled obsequiously and leaned in. "This matter won't even require touching the Empire's—which is to say, Your Majesty's—coffers.
"For those Starfallen to be chosen is naturally their supreme honor. We plan to collect an offering of twenty thousand gold dinars from each candidate in return for your gracious gift..."
Cassius clicked his tongue in admiration and nodded once more in approval.
After over a decade of practice, this ogre had mastered the very essence of exploiting players. He had refined it to a degree even more meticulous than the red dragon's, weaving it into every facet of imperial life.
Take, for instance, imperial specialties like the Spellcasting Tax, the Firearm Possession Tax, the Dragon Blood Tax...
*Pfft—*
Cassius shifted his massive head and snorted, venting scorching white vapor before turning his attention back to the magical projections of the battlefield.
"The mastermind still hasn't shown... hiding their head and showing their tail."
By this point, the war between the Empire and the Abyssal host had reached a white-hot pitch.
The Cinder Empire's artillery barrages could no longer halt the demonic tide. Brutal, powerful high-ranking demons emerged in an endless stream.
The Empire, for its part, pulled out all the stops, holding fast along its pre-established defensive lines to stubbornly lock down the front and keep the demonic host bottled south of the Wall of the Empire.
Across the southern wastelands, the earth was riddled with craters and choked with smoke, littered everywhere with demon corpses, jagged shrapnel, and spent shells.
The purple-black ichor of the demons corroded rock and soil, carving hideous scars across the terrain as if placing a curse upon the land.
The demons' ceaseless shrieks, the thunderous roar of artillery, and the battle cries of imperial soldiers intertwined across the sprawling front, colliding over the vast battlefield to compose a brutal symphony of war...
The Hall Mountains.
This mountain range was not particularly tall. Once crossed, it offered a direct path to the northern plains and the Empire's heartland.
*Roar—!*
Flocks of dragon beasts beat their wings, surging forward like a dense black cloud while releasing raspy, chaotic roars.
Under normal circumstances, such a sight was hardly rare in the Empire.
After all, the Cinder Empire bore the moniker "Realm of Dragons." It kept thousands upon thousands of wyverns, and the appearance of dragon beasts or drakes here was as ordinary as could be.
Yet this batch of dragon-blooded beasts was extraordinary—they hailed from the Abyss.
Abyssal drakes resembled their wyvern ancestors, but the dark red scales covering their hides revealed their infernal heritage.
They had powerful bat-like wings, serpentine necks, and razor-sharp talons.
They were the horrifying product of an ancient breeding program that sought to combine the foulest aspects of demons, wyverns, and red dragons.
They roamed the Abyssal wastelands, preying upon demons and planar travelers alike.
*Howl—!*
The screeches of the beasts echoed through the Hall Mountains, sending tremors of dread through the creatures dwelling in the woods. Their cries were far more chaotic and erratic than those of ordinary wyverns, saturated with Abyssal dread.
Beating their wings, the Abyssal drakes spewed black-red Abyssal fire with wild abandon, reducing the life on the land below to ash.
Perched atop the leading Abyssal drake was a crimson humanoid wielding a bloodstained scimitar, letting loose a frenzied battle cry.
"Burn it all!"
"Sacrifice everything to the Abyss! Let all return to chaos!"
The fiend was clad in pitch-black armor. A long, forked tongue extended from his mouth, and a pair of dark horns curved backward from his brow.
His scarlet eyes gazed into the distance, burning as if stoked by raging flames.
"I have returned..."
"I will make you all pay!"
His name was Richter Moore. Once an officer of the North Wind Eagle Guard, he had narrowly survived the war that destroyed his realm. Chosen by a Demon of Vengeance, he had been reborn in the Abyss.
For years, he had endured torment on the battlefields of the Blood War, yet time had never dulled his hatred. The fall of the Principality of Lakeman remained burned into his mind.
And hatred had granted him even greater power.
Now, Richter was the commander of an Abyssal drake legion, leading dozens of elite demon cavalry and hundreds of Abyssal drakes.
His mission was to cross the Hall Mountains, plunge deep into the Empire, and leverage their mobility to disrupt the Empire's fortified front from the rear.
This was standard doctrine for Abyssal hosts. Richter had once used the very same tactic in Avernus to overrun an infernal devil fortress.
He believed without a doubt that it would work just as well against the Empire.
Richter raised his blood-soaked blade—carved from skulls and bone—and roared at the ranks behind him:
"Comrades! We have endured countless brutal clashes in the Blood War and slaughtered devils beyond count!
"This time, our foe is nothing more than a fragile mortal realm! We will baptize them in fire and blood and make these Prime Material bumpkins witness the grandeur of the Abyss!
"For the Abyss!"
*Awoo—!*
Right then, similar roars rolled in from afar, though these were far deeper and more resonant.
The demons turned their gaze into the distance.
Wyverns and fire drakes were soaring into the air from the opposite side of the mountains. Their beating wings formed a crimson shroud over half the sky, arrayed in direct opposition to the Abyssal drake legion.
Within that imperial host rode Redscale Conquerors atop wyverns, blazing fire drakes wreathed in flames, and atavistic wyverns rivaling true dragons in might.
Their momentum was in no way inferior to the Abyssal drake legion south of the ridge.
At a single glance, Richter recognized the wyvern knights who had crushed the North Wind Eagle Guard and sent him fleeing for his life. That humiliating memory surged back into the demon's mind.
"Redscale Conquerors..."
He gnashed his teeth, eyes blazing, his long forked tongue lolling out to drip thick saliva.
Then, his fury morphed into manic ecstasy. His grotesque red face twisted until his mouth split open almost to his ears.
"Marvelous! Marvelous! At last, I have my revenge!
"I will make them taste what I endured—comrades slaughtered, country destroyed..."
At the thought, a look of intoxicated bliss spread across Richter's face. The black visor of his helm slammed shut, leaving only eyes brimming with the fires of vengeance visible. "Hahaha! Charge!
"Kill them! Make them feel the terror we struck into the devils during the Blood War!
"Face the Abyss!
"Devour these pathetic gnats!"
*Roar—!*
The demons cheered fanatically, brandishing blood-crusted blades, spears, and warhammers as the Abyssal drakes unleashed spine-chilling, piercing shrieks.
Their confidence was not unwarranted. As horrors engineered from the foulest elements of demons, wyverns, and red dragons, Abyssal drakes were colossal in stature, far outstripping ordinary wyverns.
Nearly every Abyssal drake reached nearly fifteen meters in length, while their alpha exceeded twenty meters—surpassing many true dragons.
Compared to these monstrosities, the imperial wyverns, which generally measured under ten meters, truly appeared somewhat diminutive.
North of the Hall Mountains.
Alger, Dragon-blooded Marquis of the Empire and commander of the Redscale Garrison, sat astride a massive dragon-blooded giant eagle, his gaze fixed coldly upon the distant Abyssal drake legion.
This former North Wind Eagle Guard had long since achieved his vengeance. He had witnessed Duke Brad's death with his own eyes, watched the Empire rise step by step, and seen the lives of the Northlands' folk steadily improve.
He had also witnessed... the wronged tieflings freed from suffering, living fulfilled lives.
Now, Alger had found a new purpose.
He had become a guardian of the Empire, swearing to spend what remained of his life atoning for the heinous crimes he had committed in the past.
Alger raised his Everburning Greatsword high, unleashing brilliant radiance.
"Warriors—!
"You are the subjects of the great Red Dragon! These filthy vermin from the Abyss, these tainted bloodlines, are nothing before you!
"They come to burn our cities, butcher our people, and destroy our nation!
"Will you—stand for it?!"
"Never!"
The roar shook heaven and earth.
Alger nodded in satisfaction, then bellowed, "Then charge with me! Burn these Abyssal vermin to cinders!"
The Abyssal drake legion surged and roiled like storm clouds, shrieking chaotically as they climbed higher, sweeping toward the imperial host.
Facing this imminent large-scale aerial battle, both native residents and players felt their blood boil with soaring fervor.
Looking down upon the demon host from above, they dove with wild exhilaration, raising passionate battle cries.
"For the Empire!"
"Long live the Cinder Empire!"
"For His Majesty Cassius!"
Instantly, hundreds of wyverns and fire drakes snapped their wings open atop the mountain peaks and plunged into a dive.
*Roar—!*
Like a crimson torrent, a scarlet waterfall spilling from the summit, they poured downward. The air was torn apart by their wings, and blistering, explosive gales surged beneath their pinions.
Just like that, the upper half of the mountain was engulfed in a crimson flood, while the lower slopes were swarmed by the dark, mottled Abyssal tide.
The two forces were about to collide.
Richter looked up at the aerial armada of wyverns and drakes. Beneath his visor, his lips curved into a sneer.
Too weak.
Compared to dragon beasts altered in the blood pools of the Abyss, these lesser dragons were far too weak—just as he had once been.
The wyvern legion that had once seemed invincible now appeared utterly pedestrian to his eyes, nothing more than a flock of feeble mortal creatures from the Material Plane.
With that thought, Richter gripped his blood-stained scimitar adorned with skulls, already picturing himself effortlessly cleaving through the slender necks of those wyverns.
Yet amidst that crimson torrent, Alger raised the blazing Everburning Greatsword and barked an order:
"All wings—Dragon Roar Charge!"
*ROAR—!*
At once, a hundred wyvern knights and nearly five hundred wyverns and fire drakes roared in unison.
This was the largest Dragon Roar Charge in the Empire's history, involving more participants than ever before.
Their bodies, coursing with scalding dragon blood, shuddered as their shared bloodline resonated, linked, and coalesced. The resulting dragon fear rolled out like a tidal wave.
"Nothing but ignorant mortals...
"Th-this...
"This is impossible!"
Richter stared into the sky, his entire body trembling violently, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
There in the heavens, an illusory silhouette of a red dragon hundreds of meters long materialized among the flock. Majestic and noble beyond measure, it nearly enveloped the entire imperial host.
Every knight recognized him. That was their Emperor, master of the Cinder Empire, supreme ruler of Anzeta—Cassius!
*ROAR—!*
The spectral projection forged of draconic majesty beat its wings, parted its gaping maw, and let loose an immensely long, thunderous roar.
Instantly, crushed beneath the bloodline pressure striking directly into their souls, every Abyssal drake screeched in agony. Unable to even flap their wings, they tumbled from the air in disarray.
Richter felt that terrifying dread as well. The red dragon's silhouette battered relentlessly against his vile, chaotic soul.
Within this bizarre Empire, the red dragon's presence felt like that of a deity, imbued with some kind of orderly force that inflicted unbearable agony upon these Abyssal demons.
Yet driven by sheer will for vengeance, he held on.
Struggling to keep his balance, Richter slashed his blade frantically against the Abyssal drake's neck, cursing in desperation: "Damn it all, it's just a dragon!
"You are the spawn of the Abyss! Wake up! Wake up, you cowardly vermin!"
Yet Richter's struggles were entirely in vain, and doom was already upon him.
*Swish—*
A blazing greatsword sliced through the air. Carrying the immense momentum of the dive and imbued with Cassius's supreme power, it severed the demon's head in one clean strike.
"No—!"
Purple-black blood sprayed everywhere. Richter's head spun into the air, his visor knocked loose.
And upon that grotesque, crimson face lingered an expression of shock and disbelief, as though he could not fathom that he had been slain so easily by a mere mortal of the Prime Material Plane.
Chapter 522