The vast expanse south of the Elbert Mountains and north of the Radiant Mountains was traditionally known as the Agostino Region, once home to the ancient Kingdom of Agostino.
Here the land was fertile and rich in magical essence. Decades ago, Aragorn I had led his invincible Godblood Legion to destroy the Kingdom of Agostino, incorporating it into the domain of Holy Fadlan and naming it Thrace.
At the mountain pass stood a fortress of immense strategic importance—Eisengard, meaning the "Unsurpassable Iron Fortress City."
Two crescent-shaped twin keeps spanned the gorge, their magical barriers shimmering with golden ripples at sunrise, while three li of cast-iron walls stretching across the pass gleamed cold and grim in the morning mist.
The fortress stood like a natural chasm, severing North Aethel from Thrace.
Tens of thousands of Thrace's northernmost elite soldiers were stationed within, commanded by several noble angelic godbloods—a garrison powerful enough to crush a minor realm with ease.
Lining the ramparts were relics left behind by Holy Fadlan: giant solar ballistas, Radiant Discs, the Holy Spear defense system...
It was said that within those impenetrable walls slept dozens of iron golems and war colossi dating back to the Fadlan Empire. Should the city come under attack, these behemoths would awaken from their slumber and annihilate the invading foe.
Yet now, as the Cinder Empire's northern expansion grew increasingly brazen, the residents of Eisengard grew anxious and uneasy.
In the official propaganda of the Kingdom of Thrace, though the red dragon was vicious beyond measure, tearing through countless realms and enslaving the vast populations of the north, he allegedly feared the brilliant might of His Majesty Wilhelm and dared not venture south, even signing a decades-long peace treaty with the kingdom. According to the court, the citizens of Eisengard had nothing to fear for their safety.
Yet the people were no fools. Anyone with eyes had long sensed the mounting tension across the Feanso Continent and noticed Thrace's elite forces massing toward Eisengard—an unmistakable harbinger of war.
A bleak wind swept across the cast-iron battlements.
A messenger climbed the watchtower, his voice heavy with dread. "Lord Count, an urgent dispatch from Auguste! The Cinder Empire has declared war on us! The dragon's minions... could arrive at any moment."
"I know. Pass down the order: muster all troops and prepare for war. Let no one let down their guard!"
At the peak of the towering keep, a warrior clad in ornate, heavy plate with feathered wings sprouting from his back gazed toward the north, his expression grim.
He was Count Hein Diaz, an angelic godblood of Thrace and the supreme military commander of Eisengard.
Stationed in Eisengard for years and intimately familiar with northern affairs, he had naturally anticipated the Cinder Empire's southward march.
Yet by his calculations, that thrust should have come at least a year later—perhaps three or four years down the road—not right now.
Hein lowered his eyelids, fury smoldering in his golden pupils. "To think the dragon's dogs would be so reckless... After years of unending war, they dare declare war on our Kingdom of Thrace without warning!"
Soon, the beating of wings echoed through the air as another godblood noble took flight, landing atop the tower. It was Viscount Elliot Evans.
"They go too far! Do they truly think the Kingdom of Thrace is some petty realm they can crush with ease?"
"You've come, Elliot."
Hein turned and gave a slight nod, then let out a cold scoff. "Holy Fadlan may have fallen, but its afterglow has far from faded! This young, barbaric realm has never witnessed Fadlan's true majesty—they ought to show some awe."
Elliot concurred, "Had we not been tied down by the war in the south, unable to look north, how could the Cinder Empire have run so rampant? We would have wiped them out long ago! Those dragon spawns are greedy to a fault, actually selling us their most advanced weapons for gold coin. And without top-tier powerhouses capable of matching godbloods, how could they possibly breach our fortress?"
Hein gave a faint nod, but cautioned, "Still... we cannot lower our guard. If that red dragon takes the field, our strength alone may scarcely hold him."
Remembering that terrifying red dragon, Elliot could not help shivering. Still, he put on a brave front and said, "From what I know, that dragon is arrogant beyond measure; he rarely intervenes in person."
"Let us hope so."
Hein looked north once more, his stern countenance resembling a marble statue.
In truth, both knew they were merely whistling in the dark to bolster their own morale. Even they harbored no certainty of victory against the Cinder Empire descending from the north.
Yet in today's Kingdom of Thrace, even the slightest hint of fear in speech would be reported by spies to King Wilhelm, branding them as cowards and defeatists in the eyes of that suspicious, volatile monarch.
*Dong—*
The great bell of Eisengard tolled, its deep chime resounding throughout the city. Accompanied by solemn hymns to the sun, it startled countless people from their sleep.
Summoned by officers of every rank, soldiers rushed from across Eisengard, massing beneath the towering cast-iron walls in variegated streams of steel and cloth.
"The Cinder Empire declared war on us?"
"By Amaunator!"
"Didn't they just finish fighting the Mountain Kingdom? Don't these bastards suffer any losses in war?"
"Madmen, every last one of them!"
The soldiers murmured among themselves, gripped by panic, anxiety, and dread. They wanted no part in another war.
In recent years, they had heard of far too many familiar realms brought to ruin by the Cinder Empire. In northern Thracian folk tales, every imperial soldier was a fire-breathing monster.
Yet under the harsh glares of the overseers, no one dared speak of retreat or surrender.
Under the gaze of thousands, Hein stood atop the keep and raised his gleaming Holy Sun Spear, his voice reverberating through the city: "Loyal soldiers! By now, you must have heard the news—the Cinder Empire has declared war upon us! They have shamelessly torn up our peace treaty! They seek to seize our lands, plunder our wealth, and turn our kin and friends into slaves of an evil dragon!"
Hein's voice was impassioned and stirring, yet the soldiers showed little fervor; many wore numb, vacant expressions.
Many had been redeployed from the southern front. Having endured the brutal Battle of the Three Emperors and watched countless comrades perish outside the Holy City, they felt nothing toward such empty slogans.
A quiet doubt often haunted their hearts: *We were all once Fadlanians. Why must we kill and die just over who rules a city?*
"All forces, hear my command!" Hein bellowed, his voice booming like a war drum across the silence. "Today, there is no retreat! If this city falls, the homes of every one of us will be reduced to ash! Therefore, no matter what comes, you shall not yield a single step! Fight for the Kingdom of Thrace, fight for His Majesty Wilhelm! Fight for the glory of Fadlan!"
"Move!"
"Keep up! Take your positions at once!"
"Hurry, haul these artillery shells up to the north tower! They're still short two crates!"
Organized by their officers, the soldiers moved to their posts, inspecting cannons, loading firearms, and hauling crate after crate of ammunition.
Yet there was grim irony in the sight: much of this weaponry had been purchased directly from the Cinder Empire, stamped on the bottom with the imperial crest—and was now being turned to repel an invasion by that very empire.
"Where are the Solar Sacred Bolts?"
"Where is the Arcane Legion? Charge the Radiant Discs immediately!"
"There's no time! Go wake the iron golems right now!"
Plumes of thick smoke drifted into the valley. Immediately after, iron-gray clouds hung heavy over Eisengard, shrouding the entire city like a colossal black veil.
Atop the keep, Hein's face grew darker still, clouded by the gloom. "At this time of year... there shouldn't be fog in Elbert Valley."
He barked an order, "Arcane Legion, disperse this smoke! Show me what hides within!"
"Yes, Lord Count!"
Several wizards clad in red-and-gold robes hovered into the air. Chanting incantations and raising their staves high, their eyes flared with brilliant light as they conjured violent gusts of wind.
*Whoosh—*
Gales howled across the land, tearing the smoke away. But the wizards maintaining divination spells turned pale in an instant, screaming in terror, "Look out! Inbound shells!"
"Enemy attack!"
Piercing shrieks tore through the air. As the smoke dissipated, the sky revealed a dense grid of incoming artillery shells, blanketing the entire fortress.
Hein roared, "Activate the Radiant Discs—!"
Wizards and clerics frantically chanted incantations to trigger Eisengard's arcane defense system. But the conical shells traveled at staggering speed, tearing through the air and slicing across the sky in a heartbeat.
*Boom!*
*Boom! Boom!*
Hundreds of fireballs erupted simultaneously across the cast-iron walls, dazzling the eyes with blinding glare and lashing out in savage tongues of flame.
As though guided by unseen eyes, the sudden bombardment pulverized most of the cannons and solar ballistas within moments, killing thousands of soldiers.
"It hurts so bad!"
"My leg! My leg!"
"Where is their artillery?! I can't even see them!"
Wounded soldiers wailed and screamed in agony amid the rubble.
Caught entirely off guard, having never even glimpsed their foes, they had suffered a devastating strike, dying in shock and terror.
This was a long-planned assault. Imperial intelligence agents had charted every defense within the fortress long ago, paving the way for pinpoint strikes.
Gazing at the ruined walls, Hein stood frozen, murmuring in disbelief, "How could this be... How can they bombard us from thousands of meters away?"
Then, his eyes nearly tearing at the corners, the godblood count trembled with rage. "Damn them! Curse those imperials! Everything they sold us was defective scrap!!"
*Hum—*
Several Radiant Discs spun in unison, casting a colossal barrier of light inscribed with the holy sigil of Amaunator over all of Eisengard.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Hundreds more shells slammed in, only to detonate against the massive barrier, causing the glowing dome to ripple and flicker faintly.
From the distance came a relentless, low rumble like rolling thunder—the ominous omen of churning iron tracks crushing soil and war machines grinding through stone.
Dust and steam swept across the ground, setting the ramparts trembling. Iron behemoths charged rampantly through the valley toward Eisengard—the armored divisions of the empire.
Fierce flashes erupted from their thick gun barrels as devastating armor-piercing shells battered Eisengard's barrier again and again, dimming its radiant glow.
"Lord Count, we detect immense spatial fluctuations!"
"It's teleportation magic!"
"Amaunator above... what... what is that?"
Wizards shouted in distress as terrified soldiers looked upward, only to see colossal rifts tearing across the sky.
Massive airships poured through, swarming in tight formations that blotted out the sun, casting monstrous shadows over Eisengard like a magnificent pod of whales suspended high in the heavens.
Thick swarms of wyverns beat their wings in ragged patterns around the airship fleet, letting out raspy, piercing shrieks.
Then, hundreds upon thousands of bombs poured from the bellies of these "great whales," plummeting toward Eisengard like a torrential downpour.
Nonstop detonations and sky-blanketing flames looked as if divine wrath had descended, heralding the end of days.
Under this merciless carpet bombing, even the Radiant Discs left behind by Holy Fadlan could hold no longer. Their light guttered until, with a sharp crash, the barrier shattered to pieces.
"Holy Spears! Shatter those leviathans for me!" Hein pointed his spear at the heavens, roaring in near madness.
Several arcane formations within the city flared brilliantly as immense magical surges erupted. Blinding beams of golden light descended from the heavens, tearing through the sky with unstoppable fury and piercing clean through the airships suspended ten thousand meters above.
This was Holy Fadlan's Holy Spear defense system, which channeled the sun's energy to impale invading foes.
Airships pierced by the spears exploded midair, turning into giant balls of fire that plunged earthward, triggering colossal explosions within the city.
"Tear them apart! For Thrace! For Holy Fadlan!"
Flapping his wings, Hein led several angelic godbloods into the sky, surging toward the lethal airships.
*Roaaar!*
A furious roar rang across the sky. A colossal wyvern beat its wings and emerged from a portal, spewing blistering dragonfire from its maw—it was Smaug, King of the Lonely Mountain.
Caught off guard, one of the angelic godbloods was engulfed by the direct blast of dragonfire, turning into a fireball that plummeted to the earth.
Amid chaotic shrieks and roars, hundreds of wyverns surged like boiling storm clouds, blackening the sky as they threw themselves against the angelic godbloods, clashing and tangling in brutal melee.
Severed wyvern carcasses, the golden blood of godbloods, and scorched feathers rained continuously down upon the earth.
Chapter 694