"Redscale Conquerors, hear my command—Dragon Roar Charge! Crush them!"
Hundreds of knights clad in gleaming light armor and wielding sharp lances rode their wyverns, pouring through the teleportation portals in an endless stream like a surging tide.
Under the knights' control, the wyverns opened their gaping maws in unison and let out a resonating roar, unleashing a majestic draconic aura.
"Roar—"
In an instant, the colossal phantom of a red dragon materialized behind the Redscale Conquerors. Sweeping its broad wings and carrying a scorching heat, it lunged toward the dozen or so angelic godbloods.
"What is that?"
"Could it be the legendary Cinder Emperor?"
Locked in combat with the wyverns, the angelic godbloods looked upon the distant dragon phantom, their faces draining of color.
Hein squinted at the shape, steadying his nerves, and shouted, "They're merely mortals riding wyverns, bearing nothing more than that evil dragon's bloodline! There is nothing to fear!"
Yet a terrifying pressure swept across the heavens. Every warrior seemed to see the emperor himself loom before them, crushing them and their comrades beneath his claws, and a soul-deep dread gripped their hearts.
"No! Wake up, it isn't real—!"
Hein snapped back to his senses in an instant. Looking up at the rapidly closing Redscale Conquerors, his face tightened with anxiety, but his comrades remained trapped in the terrifying illusion, unable to break free.
Seeing this, Hein had no choice but to beat his wings and temporarily pull back from the fray, leaving behind his dazed comrades.
That brief moment of hesitation was all the Redscale Conquerors needed to complete their charge—it was their signature maneuver.
Harnessing the momentum of their diving wyverns, they leveled their lances. Engraved with disintegration arrays, the spears punched violently through the chests of the angelic godbloods one after another, spilling golden divine blood across the earth below.
Bathed in his comrades' blood, Hein gripped his holy spear with a trembling arm. His expression warped with rising fury into a savage snarl, his eyes blazing like two exploding suns.
With a furious roar, he beat the wings behind him. His entire body flared with brilliant light, giving off plumes of thick smoke that warped the air around him.
With a piercing screech, a beam of golden radiance ripped through the sky toward the wyvern knights.
Yet Alger, commander of the Redscale Conquerors and Dragonblood Duke of the empire, snapped his head around, his keen senses catching the sudden strike.
Bracing himself, he swung his greatsword with all his might. Beneath him, the dragon-blooded giant eagle let out a shrill cry and dove with flared wings, matching Alger's strike to lend it crushing momentum.
The gleaming blade sheared through space, cleaving the holy spear clean in two and shattering it into fragments midair.
"How can this be?"
Incredulity washed over Hein's face. That holy spear had been forged from divine power bestowed by the Sun God—no mortal should ever have been able to stop it!
What he did not know was that as one of the empire's dozen or so dukes, Alger's strength was leagues beyond what it once was; his formidable frame held power rivaling that of an adult dragon.
When paired with the giant eagle he had trained for years, his aerial prowess rivaled that of a legendary warrior, and the Redscale Conqueror legion he commanded had already become a living nightmare to many throughout the north.
"Hein, Count of the Kingdom of Thrace..." Alger's eyes were sharp as a hawk's, identifying the angelic godblood in an instant.
Then Alger raised his sword, pointing the tip directly at the distant godblood, and barked, "That is the general defending Eisengard! Surround him! He must not leave here alive! Every member of the squad that brings him down will be promoted by one noble rank!"
In an instant, the Redscale Conquerors turned scorching gazes upon Hein, like greedy dragons spotting a mound of gold.
The empire was flourishing and competition was fierce; once one reached the rank of count, every further promotion was as difficult as scaling the heavens.
In the eyes of the Redscale Conquerors, Hein was now a flying prize of prime meat that could bring them unimaginable wealth and renown.
"Kill him!"
"For the Empire!"
Coordinating with practiced precision, the Redscale Conquerors broke into dispersed squads to flank, harry, and intercept, cutting off virtually every avenue of Hein's retreat.
Hundreds of magic-piercing arrows cut through the sky, pouring down upon the angelic godblood like a torrential downpour, while enchanted capture nets unfurled across the air.
This was a hunt—a hunt for the enemy commander.
"Ignorant mortals! How dare you stand against me?!" Hein roared. Flapping his wings violently, golden flames engulfed the surrounding arrows.
He moved at blistering speed, hurtling like a miniature sun plunging toward the weakest point in the Redscale Conquerors' line.
Charred wyvern corpses, splintered lances, and shattered armor scattered in all directions. Hein engulfed everything in his path with raging fire, punching clean through the Redscale Conquerors' perimeter in an instant and streaking toward the fortress city.
"This boss hits pretty hard—"
"After him!"
"Hold the line up front! My promotion depends on you guys!"
Seeing this, Alger picked up his communicator and muttered in a low voice, "The godblood is exceptionally strong. Requesting fire support."
The airships above descended slowly, thick gun barrels extending from their hulls. Piercing beams of light spewed forth, converging upon the angelic godbloods.
With a sharp hiss, the rays struck home.
Upon impact, the angelic godbloods' eyes dimmed instantly, their movements growing sluggish.
Right after, dozens more beams struck them, gradually encasing their bodies in bitter frost until they plunged helplessly from the sky one after another.
These magical laser weapons had been meticulously crafted and tailored by imperial researchers specifically to counter Fadlan godbloods wielding the power of the Sun God.
Through deep study of the Horn of Everfrost and extensive surveys of frost giant ruins, Cinder Empire researchers had mastered the production of Everfrost rune power, putting it directly into military practice.
"Elliot!"
Watching his familiar comrade turn to ice and crash toward the ground, Hein was gripped by fury, tinged with a shiver of dread.
The weapons of this evil dragon's lackeys had advanced to such an extent! Not only could they slaughter mortals en masse, but they could even slay noble, mighty godblood warriors!
Bang!
Elliot felt a cold shock at his back. A thin layer of frost coated his wings, stiffening them, but the surging solar divine power in his body quickly dispelled it.
Furious, he looked toward the source of the attack, only to be met with a sight that filled him with despair: dozens of airships blanketed the sky above, forming a colossal armada that gunned down the angelic godbloods in midair with unimaginable efficiency.
Those once invincible, gloriously radiant angelic godbloods now dodged frantically beneath the crisscrossing beams like birds hunted in the wild, severed feathers fluttering everywhere.
"Amaunator above... is our era coming to an end?" Hein murmured despite himself.
A fleet of this scale could never have been produced through emergency wartime preparations! Moreover, the weapons were so specific, as though custom-built just for them.
A chilling realization dawned in Hein's mind: to invade the Kingdom of Thrace, the Cinder Empire must have been preparing in secret for years!
Given the empire's short history, it was likely that back when the Cinder Empire was first founded—before Fadlan had even fallen apart—that evil dragon had already begun plotting an invasion of Thrace.
To scheme to conquer the world's wealthiest and mightiest realm at the very inception of his own nation—what boundless ambition! What monstrous greed!
Deep dread gripped Hein's heart, breeding a profound terror of the Cinder Emperor.
Yet in that brief moment of distraction, dozens of cold rays converged in midair like an interwoven net, slamming directly into him.
A giant sphere of ice several meters in diameter formed in the sky, hurtling downward toward Eisengard, with Hein frozen inside, his face still locked in despair.
For some reason, time felt agonizingly stretched to Hein, yet his thoughts were not sluggish at all; it seemed as if everyone's movements had slowed to a crawl.
"This is..."
Encased in ice, Hein could clearly see the fierce fighting unfolding across Eisengard—no, it could hardly be called fierce; it was a one-sided slaughter.
Armor-piercing shells burst from the barrels of steam tanks, concentrating their fire against the sturdy cast-iron walls, riddling them with holes in an instant and leaving them on the verge of collapse. Several sections of wall had already crumbled, burying hundreds of soldiers beneath the rubble.
Imperial infantry advanced swiftly alongside the steam tanks and giant mechs, relentless muzzle flashes erupting from their guns as they sprayed bullets like hail toward the Thracian soldiers.
Stationed atop the walls, Thracian soldiers wielded crude weapons long discarded by the empire, reloading and firing back again and again.
Yet under the empire's ferocious firepower, any soldier who dared poke his head out was instantly riddled with holes, their heads blown apart into gory pulp mixed with brain matter.
Towering humanoid machines strode across the earth, shaking the ground with every step. Hundreds of missiles erupted from launchers on their backs, slamming into the densest crowds of defenders and incinerating dozens of men into charred remains with each blast.
In desperation, the Thracian defenders opened concealed gates in the walls and deployed decades-old iron golems, praying that these relics of Fadlan could help repel the invaders.
In ages past, these colossal constructs had been the nightmare of every foe—invulnerable to blade and arrow, capable of crushing a dozen soldiers with a single blow and tearing an infantry regiment apart with ease.
Yet now, in the Cinder Empire's "new kind of war," they were nothing more than clumsy targets.
Boom!
Before an armored formation of over thirty giant machines, the handful of iron golems stood virtually no chance, swallowed in an instant by a tempest of cannon fire and reduced to heaps of useless scrap metal.
The Arcane Legion members stationed at Eisengard raised their staves and chanted in unison, releasing high-circle war spells such as Sunburst, Lightning Ring, and Meteor Swarm.
Yet a massive ogre appeared in the sky, suspended beneath an airship—it was Trump, Chief Minister of the empire and an archmage in his own right.
Directing dozens of imperial court mages, he helped shake the Weave, channeling a torrent of magical energy into an immense spell generator.
Hum—
An antimagic field spanning a hundred meters in diameter enveloped the sky above Eisengard, pulverizing every spell cast by the Arcane Legion into nothingness.
Standing atop the airship platform, Trump grinned at the mages, merrily humming a little tune as he stroked the skull necklace around his neck—perhaps his collection was about to grow again.
"Is Eisengard truly going to fall to the imperials just like this...?" Countless thoughts raced through Hein's mind, deepening his despair.
Before they could even organize an effective counterattack, the empire's overwhelming offensive had shattered everything Eisengard had to offer.
And as a godblood count, Hein would not even live to witness Eisengard's fall; he would die first, frozen to death inside this sphere of ice.
"No..."
"I am blessed by Lord Amaunator! I am a citizen of Holy Fadlan! I cannot die like this..." The thought blazed in Hein's heart, his will to survive burning hotter and hotter.
The ice sphere encasing him had halted in midair, seemingly buoyed by some unseen force.
Crack...
Suddenly, fine cracks spiderwebbed across the ice before the entire sphere shattered, sending countless shards flying.
Hein snapped his eyes open, murmuring, "For Eisengard, for the Kingdom of Thrace..." His voice rose into a vehement cry: "...and for eternal Holy Fadlan!"
Two pillars of radiance soared into the heavens. The ice melted to water and flash-evaporated into white mist as the angelic godblood was enveloped in solar fire, radiating tens of thousands of golden rays.
Beating the wings at his back, he shot into the sky toward the airship armada—he intended to emulate the late Duke of North Aethel by igniting his divine core!
He would pay with his life to utterly annihilate the Cinder Empire's fleet!
Hein let out an ear-splitting bellow: "Die with me! I shall live forever in the glory of Lord Amaunator!"
The soldiers of Eisengard looked up at the increasingly brilliant angelic godblood in astonishment, clinging to him like a dying man to a straw. "It's Count Hein!"
"This radiant feeling—it's the great Sun God! The Sun God hasn't abandoned us! We are still the people of Fadlan!"
"Lord Amaunator must have descended!"
"Long live Holy Fadlan! Radiance eternal!"
Under that blinding sun, the soldiers of Eisengard found their final surge of fighting spirit.
Bathed in the holy light, they charged forward fearlessly, throwing themselves into desperate melee combat against the empire's steel monstrosities, resolved to fight to the bitter end for their faith.
Yet right at that moment, a massive talon ripped open the firmament. A colossal rift in space tore across the sky, exuding a terrifying aura that made the world tremble.
Then, a massive, monstrous dragon head slowly emerged from the breach, opening its jaws and swallowing the miniature sun in the sky in a single gulp.
In an instant, the entire battlefield plunged into sudden darkness, its light snuffed out.
Shadow enveloped Eisengard. The soldiers fell utterly silent, standing frozen and dazed where they stood, staring into the sky in sheer despair.
Count Hein... was eaten?
Their sun, their final bastion of faith—had been devoured just like that, as easily as child's play?
Chapter 695