The city of Corinth.
It was the largest city across the North Aethel Plains, situated at the confluence of the River Ivo and the River Meisen.
Blessed with flat, fertile soil and sheltered by two broad rivers serving as natural barriers against foreign invasion, its geographic position was exceptionally advantageous.
Centuries ago, it had been the capital of the Kingdom of Aethel. Later, after Aragorn led the former Kingdom of Fadlan to conquer North Aethel, he initiated massive construction projects in Corinth, turning it into a vital northern political, economic, and military stronghold.
Even today, a bronze statue of Aragorn I stood tall in the center of Corinth. The renowned emperor pointed his sword northward with a piercing gaze, looking as though he were still engaged in his great conquest.
In the distance, the sun rose slowly above the horizon, painting the sky in gold. Rays of morning light washed over the earth and illuminated the towering gatehouse of Corinth.
"My Lord Duke, according to the latest intelligence we have received, Burg has also..."
"I know. You may withdraw."
"Yes, my Lord."
At the top of the gatehouse, the angel-winged godblood, clad in armor and clutching a longsword, gazed into the distance. His eyes were solemn and resolute, a touch of bitterness curling at the corners of his mouth. "I never imagined... this day would come so soon.
Nineteen days. In a mere nineteen days, North Aethel fell completely. It seems I still underestimated their military might."
"Do not worry, Duke Walter. Their rampage is only temporary." The voice was sonorous, steady, and resolute. The speaker was a middle-aged man who appeared to be in his forties.
Draped in a golden robe and sporting a neatly trimmed beard, his deep, pale-gold eyes exuded unvarnished pride and righteousness.
This was none other than Titus—the "Dragon of Dawn" and "Wings of Aurora"—who had aided the dwarves against the orc invasion, sent as reinforcements by the Gold Dragon Council, and a key ally of Duke Walter.
Stroking his beard, Titus continued, "Justice and righteousness shall prevail in the end, and those cruel, tyrannical beings are bound to perish. This is the inevitable tide of history, something no one can alter."
Walter nodded. "Lord Titus, your kindness and wisdom earn my heartfelt admiration." He raised his head and returned his gaze to the smoke-veiled horizon, his brows furrowing slightly.
"It is just... I still worry about that red dragon.
Amaunator above, a red dragon a hundred meters long... in the past century, I have never seen any dragon possess such an exaggerated size." At the thought of this enemy he had yet to meet, he could not help but pray.
Walter turned his head, looked at Titus, and said softly, "As a fellow dragon, I believe you... must understand what this signifies."
"Duke, this is the Third Age. Following that horrific Dragonfall War, it is exceedingly rare for a dragon over a hundred meters in length to appear on the Material Plane."
"Are you suggesting... the Cinder Emperor has not truly reached such proportions?" Walter asked, then shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "Whether that hundred-meter size is true or false, the power he has demonstrated is not something a declining godblood like me can rival.
Even back when I stood under the sun god's radiant favor, I was no match for that red dragon—to say nothing of the fact that... the Holy Fadlan Empire no longer stands behind me."
As the staunchest "Fadlanist," Walter pursued everything of the empire's past like an ascetic monk, yet he understood the Fadlan Empire's present state better than anyone.
Following the old emperor's death, that vast empire had become nothing more than a hollow name, leaving behind only a colossal carcass and bickering heirs scrambling for power.
It was precisely because Walter could no longer stomach the internecine bloodshed that he had resolutely launched an uprising against the Kingdom of Thrace.
Hearing this, Titus nodded and spoke solemnly, "Indeed, that red dragon is unquestionably mighty and cruel. Yet are Tiamat and Garyx not far more powerful than him? And where are those evil dragon deities now?
Avernus, the Screaming Tunnels, the Shadowfell... They once possessed mountain-like sizes, yet they were still banished to those sinful realms."
The man who looked like a middle-aged nobleman pronounced each word with deliberate conviction: "I firmly believe the Material Plane will forever belong to beings of righteousness and light. So it has been throughout history, and so it shall ever be."
He stepped forward, looking down upon the land, and outstretched his arm toward the broad river coursing beneath them.
"Just as the waters of the River Ivo must inevitably flow to the sea, unstoppable, so too shall cruel tyrants and wicked despots be cast out into the foul cesspools of darkness, never to rise again!
What is more—"
Titus paused, confidence blazing in his eyes, as specks of brilliant glimmer erupted across his body.
His voice swelled in volume until it broke into a thunderous roar: "You do not fight alone!"
The middle-aged noble vanished, replaced by an imposing gold dragon rearing its head, instantly drawing countless gazes.
His massive frame was like a moving hillock. Scales resembling molten gold glittered brilliantly in the dawn light, etched with arcane, intricate patterns, giving the gold dragon the appearance of being clad in the most splendid armor.
The gold dragon's eyes were like burning suns, brimming with wisdom and might. With a gentle sweep of his broad wings, a booming resonance rolled forth, warping the surrounding air and stirring a violent gale.
Titus, restored to his true form as an ancient gold dragon, looked down upon the still somewhat bewildered godblood duke and declared sonorously, "Whether in the skies, upon the earth, or across the seas, every being in the Material Plane that upholds justice and righteousness stands behind you to resist the tyranny of the evil dragon!"
"Lord Titus..."
Duke Walter looked up at the gold dragon in midair, visibly moved. Then he lowered his gaze, turning his attention to his own army.
In the glimmering dawn, the tall ramparts stood steadfast amidst fluttering banners. On the open plains before the city walls gathered an unprecedented, massive, and formidable coalition army.
On the ground, tens of thousands of North Aethelan soldiers stood in orderly ranks, clad in polished steel plate and gripping gleam-edged swords or shields. Resolute of face and fervent of gaze, their formations stood tight as an iron wall.
All were elites mobilized from across North Aethel, including many classed individuals. Many had fought through life and death alongside Walter, enduring endless trials while steadfastly believing that the duke would lead them to restore Holy Fadlan.
The wizards stood to the rear, clad in ornate robes and holding staves, enveloped in the glowing runic radiance conjured by magic.
Some meditated deeply while others chanted incantations under their breath; potent surges of energy saturated the air, points of light flickering at their fingertips from time to time.
Among these mages were former members of Fadlan's Arcane Legion, reinforcements requested by Duke Walter from the City of Myriad Laws, and righteous casters from the Arcane Hermitage.
And in the skies, nine angel-winged godbloods held flaming longswords, beating their wings with fierce, sharp eyes, displaying the nobility and power of Fadlan's divine bloodline—three among them were legendary-tier powerhouses.
Yet hovering above Corinth were not only Fadlan's godbloods, but authentic celestial beings.
An ethereal, melodic hymn echoed across the sky as blurred figures materialized upon the clouds amidst ripples in space, gradually solidifying.
Justice archons, legion archons, trumpet archons, chanting angels, and other celestials of the Silver Heaven Legion formed orderly ranks high above. Their wings were pure and immaculate as clouds, fluttering gently to shed a holy, gentle radiance.
Pegasi, cloud giants, celestial dire beasts, and celestial eagles—goodly beings of Mount Celestia—also appeared along the cloud tops, forming part of the celestial legion.
Then, accompanied by starlight radiance, a tall, silvery figure appeared at the very forefront of the celestial legion.
He wielded a longsword crackling with lightning and bore a lustrous silver trumpet, dressed in a sleek violet robe studded with starlike luminous dust.
Immense wings covered in white feathers lent his shoulders an exquisite grace, and deep violet eyes looked down upon the earth with sorrowful compassion, gleaming brightly.
A majestic voice resonated across the earth: "Walter, I come at your summons. Representing the will of Mount Celestia, I offer aid to North Aethel!"
From the moment he appeared, a gentle, orderly glimmer suffused the sky, granting everyone present an unprecedented sense of tranquility, as though the filth and sin within their souls had been cleansed away.
The throng held their breath and looked up, only to see an eternal nightfall spreading behind that towering figure, sparkling with countless stars and bathed in silvery moonlight—the projection of Lunia, the Silver Heaven.
Walter was overjoyed, newfound confidence blooming in his eyes, for he knew well what this meant:
The exalted ruler of Lunia, the Silver Heaven—Barachiel, the Messenger and Protector—had descended upon the Material Plane!
Flapping his wings, Walter hastily took flight into the sky, bowing respectfully as he spoke with fervent excitement, "Good day, Lord Barachiel. All of North Aethel has awaited your arrival."
Titus likewise flapped his wings and rose above the clouds. Before this venerable ruler of the Silver Heaven, even a proud gold dragon lowered his head in respectful salute.
Barachiel nodded to them, then unclasped the bright silver horn at his hip and blew into it.
In the next instant, every trumpet archon within the celestial legion sounded their horns, while harp angels softly sang hymns of praise.
*Wuuu—*
The trumpet calls reverberated through the skies like a heavenly battle hymn, imbuing all with rousing vigor. Everyone present felt an unprecedented surge of courage and fighting spirit welling up within their chests.
A faint sheen of light, like starlight, shimmered across their bodies, sharpening the warriors' minds, clearing their heads, and making their bodies lighter and stronger.
Unlike savage battle hymns that incited frenzied bloodlust and heedless disregard for death, the heavenly hymns awoke the fondest visions and grandest aspirations deep within human hearts, spurring them to give their all.
Walter closed his eyes. In that instant, the majestic Holy City and the cloud-piercing Tower of the Eternal Sun God appeared in the distance, brilliant sunlight bathing the land, while the people of Fadlan beamed with joy and confidence...
He felt as though he had returned to that glorious era, back to the unforgettable Ascension Ritual of his life.
After a long silence, the godblood duke slowly opened his eyes. Before him now lay a grand, astonishingly vast coalition army.
Godbloods, humans, half-elves, angels, pegasi, cloud giants... Countless virtuous, righteous beings had assembled here. Though diverse in race, their collective strength was formidable, boasting over a dozen legendary powerhouses.
Placed in any corner of the Feanso Continent, such an army would be a force not to be trifled with; even the three great kingdoms could not easily defeat them.
Over these past months, Walter had exhausted virtually every connection he possessed, traveling back and forth across different planes and even setting aside his pride, just to muster such an immense coalition.
"I will achieve victory. I will lead the coalition to drive that red dragon out of Aethel and reclaim the ancestral lands of the Fadlan Empire..."
Gripping the hilt of his longsword, Walter spoke each word firmly: "Wherever the sunlight reaches, it is the territory of the Empire." Instantly, his pale-gold eyes burned with unprecedented resolve.
The godblood duke believed he had done everything humanly possible. He had no reason to lose, and he absolutely could not lose.
With that thought, Walter beat his wings and flew to the very front of the coalition ranks. Raising his sword alight with golden flame, he drew the eyes of everyone on the field onto himself.
"Standing here today, what I feel is not merely the gravity and challenge of the battle ahead, but a resolve and strength like never before!
Every breath of air across this land is filled with our oaths, and every heart beats for the same goal—we shall protect our homeland, defend our convictions, and never let this land bow beneath the dragon's threat!"
His voice grew more impassioned and resounding, drumming fiercely against everyone's ears.
"This is not merely a war; it is our pledge, our faith, and our unyielding determination! Today, the evil dragon will see our swords, see our shields, and see the wrath and radiance blazing within our eyes!
Justice and righteousness shall prevail, and the evil dragon's arrogance will be reduced to ash before our mighty coalition!"
"Justice will prevail!"
The coalition soldiers brandished their weapons, letting loose roars and cheers that shook the heavens. The gold dragon reared his head and roared, and even the angels wore looks of battle-readiness.
Yet Duke Walter had no idea that the very enemy he loathed was right there, standing brazenly amidst the ranks of the coalition army, cheering along with the rest.
As the clamor gradually subsided, the coalition within Corinth resumed tense battle preparations. Walter retreated into a secret chamber alongside his two most powerful allies to discuss their strategy against that red dragon.
*Whoosh—*
A chilling wind howled. The morning light illuminated the heavens, and the golden banner of Holy Fadlan fluttered on the battlements. The air hung thick and heavy, as though the entire sky held its breath in anticipation.
Everyone present understood that this war was inevitable. In nineteen short days, almost all of North Aethel had fallen, leaving Corinth as their final bastion.
This was the final battle, a war that would decide the fate of North Aethel—and indeed, of the entire Feanso Continent.
Chapter 613