On the edge of the Ash Fen, near the Cult of the Dragon stronghold known as the Nest of Green Scales.
"Over there!"
"Hurry, find them!"
Hearing the shouts in the distance, Adrian knelt on one knee in the foul-smelling marsh, gasping for breath. He thrust his arming sword deep into the mire, dark red blood oozing from the claw gouges across his silver breastplate.
He remained hidden in the swamp's dense brush, not daring to make the slightest sound.
"Lord Adrian, I think they've moved on..." murmured a leather-armored fighter, creeping close.
Hearing this, Adrian looked around cautiously. Only after confirming no one was in sight did his tension ease, and he let out a long, deep breath.
He drew the dagger at his waist. Flames flared from his palm, heating the blade until it glowed red-hot, and he gritted his teeth to carve away his venom-infected flesh.
"Sssh—damn them. These reptiles are everywhere!"
The red-hot steel hissed across his arm, slicing off a large chunk of purplish-black flesh.
Adrian tossed the dagger aside and opened his hand. A golden radiance spilled from his palm, knitting the bleeding wound shut.
"My lord, I just received word via magic. Our redoubt in the town of Marr has been compromised. The Cult of the Dragon has seized control of everything within tens of miles. Where... where do we go from here?" sighed a raggedly robed wizard, despair written across his face.
They were all members of the Second Fadlan Alliance.
Years ago, King Eloti Aragorn had his mind clouded by the Cult of the Dragon and threw himself into the worship of Tiamat. Seleucia descended into chaos and terror, the looming, monstrous shadow of dragons hanging over every heart.
In recent years, the cult's conduct had grown increasingly savage and rampant. Not only did they pillage across the land, plundering gold, silver, and jewels, but they also took commoners as slaves, sacrifices, and fodder for their drakes, driving countless people to take up arms in rebellion.
Those who longed for the Fadlan Empire and despised the Cult of the Dragon banded together, spontaneously forming the Second Fadlan Alliance to thwart the cult's atrocities through ambushes and assassinations.
Adrian was once a paladin of the Church of Amaunator and a count of the Kingdom of Seleucia, entitled to a life of wealth and prestige.
Yet during the upheaval years ago, the Cult of the Dragon ransacked his estate, seized his county, and brutally butchered his family.
From that day forth, Adrian joined the alliance without hesitation, swearing to destroy the Cult of the Dragon and avenge his loved ones.
Yet just three hours ago, his team was ambushed while attempting to raid a cult sacrificial altar. The intelligence had been a trap; the rogue in their squad had long since fallen under the Mind Corruption of a dragon cult priest.
Now, the bodies of his fallen comrades hung from charred, withered trees in the distance, offered as sacrifices to the ancient green dragon known as the Emerald Scale Miasma, the Lord of the Rotting Bog.
Adrian lifted his head to watch the hideous drakes circling among the distant storm clouds. Gritting his teeth, he said, "This place is lost. We go north and leave Seleucia!"
The wizard said in a heavy voice, "My lord, have you forgotten? The Kingdom of Thrace has fallen. Dragons rule that realm now. Rushing blindly north is no different than walking into a snare."
"Then we go west, across the Taliro Desert. There, we can seek the protection of the metallic dragons," Adrian replied.
His companions fell silent. The Taliro Desert was a notorious dead zone, as well as the bloodiest battleground between chromatic and metallic dragons.
Only by crossing the towering mountains west of the desert could they reach the relatively safe shores of Silvermoon Bay, an area still untouched by the cult's blight.
That journey spanned well over a thousand kilometers—a grueling trek with virtually no hope of survival, especially with the cult hounding their heels and death lurking at every turn.
Just then, the wizard's face twisted in horror. "My lord, beware! A divination pulse—it's targeting... us!"
"Give up, pathetic rebels. Wretched humans."
Three black-robed acolytes in scale armor stepped from the shadows. Their pupils were slit like serpents, and venomous mist coiled around the bone staves in their hands.
"You should feel honored to serve as sacrifices for the revival of our Great Dark Lady. Why throw your lives away in such foolish defiance?"
The lead acolyte sneered, raising a withered finger.
With sickening gurgles, three skeletons charred by dragon breath crawled from the rotting bog. Thick green ooze dripped from the seams of their bones—these were Dragon-Plague Cadavers, unique to the Cult of the Dragon, whose every strike could rot flesh to the marrow.
"Filthy worms... It was you who betrayed mankind to become lapdogs of evil dragons!"
Adrian roared in fury, gripping his hilt as the holy symbol of the sun on his chest gleamed with faint gold.
He whispered his oath, but felt his divine energy sluggish and choked. The marsh had been defiled by the cult's Desecration Barrier, rendering his connection to the sun exceptionally faint.
Just then, a burrowing drake burst from the mire in ambush, its gaping maw bristling with jagged fangs lunging straight for the paladin's head, reeking of blood and gore.
*Roar!*
In the nick of time, a heavy arrow whistled through the air and pierced the beast's left eye, pinning it dead to the muddy ground.
Moments later, five dwarves clad in pelt cloaks charged through the misty marsh. They wielded rune-carved battleaxes that hummed and thrummed with bellowing power as they struck.
The female dwarf leading them shattered a cadaver with a single swing, then turned to bark, "Move! Northeast! Get to the leyline tunnels beneath the barrow!"
Adrian recognized the insignia on their breastplates: the Dragonfang dwarf clan of the Cold Iron Mines. Once enslaved by the Cult of the Dragon, they were now staunch allies of the resistance.
Clenching his teeth, he waded through the filthy muck and stumbled toward the northeast. Behind him, the acolyte shrieked, "You dare defy the Dragon Queen's will? The Lord of the Rotting Bog will crush—"
Before the words finished, a deafening roar thundered from the depths of the marsh, and an immense, monstrous silhouette took shape within the mist.
"What is that...?"
A green dragon over twenty meters long tore through the fog. His scales resembled tarnished copper coins, and the acid drifting from his maw melted the surrounding vegetation into acrid smoke.
—Grutar, an adult green dragon and collateral descendant of the Lord of the Rotting Bog.
Grutar beat his tattered wings. A blood-scented gale swept the fog away as he lumbered forward at an unhurried pace, the mud squelching wetly beneath his talons.
"Pathetic mortals, still struggling in vain?"
"Hahaha! Tremble before the mighty Grutar! Cower! Grandfather said it's only natural if a human or two happens to get eaten during the hunt."
With a raspy roar, the adult green dragon unleashed a cone of acidic breath from his gullet, sweeping over the party like an inescapable tide.
Just as the acid breath was about to drown them, a brilliant crimson light blazed across the sky. The air warped in blistering heat, and the water across the marsh boiled into rolling steam.
A pillar of gold-red flame plummeted from above, forcing the green dragon to fold his wings and recoil in a howl of shock and rage.
"Who are you?! This is the domain of the mighty, wise, and supreme Lord of the Rotting Bog! Who gave you leave to trespass here?!"
From the rain of fire stepped a red-haired woman. Slender horns rose from her brow, crimson scales shimmered faintly along her cheeks, and her eyes were narrow, golden slits—possessing undeniable draconic traits.
She stood atop a floating platform forged of molten rock. The dragon crystal set in her staff flared with dazzling radiance.
An invisible aura of dragon fear swept across the marsh, making the cult acolytes—and even the adult green dragon—shudder, their knees weakening.
"Such dragon fear... How is that possible?!" The acolyte stared up at the woman in the sky, muttering in disbelief.
She was clearly just a dragon scion. How could she possess an aura far more overwhelming than that of a true dragon? It defied all reason!
"Who are you?!"
Overwhelmed by the aura, the green dragon froze for several moments before unleashing a furious, frantic screech.
"Fire elemental energy... Are you a subordinate of Kazur, the Crimson Embers? Unfamiliar dragon scion, you don't belong here!
"The Ash Fen is the territory of the Lord of the Rotting Bog! Do you dare defy Her Majesty Tiamat's decree and turn on allies at a critical hour like this?!"
"Allies?"
The woman sneered, raising a slender hand. "You think you're worthy? I would never have allies so ugly and vile. You're nothing more than a swarm of foul-smelling maggots. Revolting.
"Lord Kazur needs no so-called allies!"
Flames shot forth like wildly thrashing crimson serpents, freighted with terrifying energy. Air cracked and detonated as the fire surged toward the green dragon and the cultists.
*Boom!*
"My lady, we are not your enemies!"
The black-robed acolyte's voice trembled. He raised his gaunt fingers, summoning an orb of pitch-black mist in his palm.
The dark mist flew forward at his command, taking the shape of a snarling black dragon to shield them.
Yet tongues of flame pierced the shadowy beast in an instant. A scorching gale blasted toward the cultists, while the green dragon beat his wings and scrambled backward.
Meanwhile, the humans and dwarves bolted toward the barrow, shouting, "Run! Both sides are minions of evil dragons! Once one of them wins, we won't stand a chance!"
The lead acolyte fell to his knees in panic, screeching, "Don't kill me! I'm still useful!"
"Oh?"
The dragon scion woman wore a half-smile as she clenched her fist, holding the menacing coils of flame suspended a short distance away. "What possible value could a mongrel human of lowly blood possess?"
The acolyte kowtowed frantically, babbling in desperation: "I can help you against the Lord of the Rotting Bog! I have served him for a long time—I know countless secrets!
"Besides, I am a servant of Her Majesty the Dragon Queen! Slaying us will bring Lord Kazur no favor!"
"Traitor! Humans are shameless, worthless scum after all, utterly untrustworthy! You dare betray my grandfather's trust?!"
The green dragon roared from midair. Instead of attacking the dragon scion, he turned and spewed acid directly at the acolyte.
Caught off guard, the kneeling acolytes had no time to react before the wave of acid engulfed them.
With venomous hisses, the dark green acid ate away their robes, skin, and flesh.
"No—!"
"My lord, mercy!"
Their faces twisted in agony as they shrieked and writhed, stark white bones exposed to the air.
Moments later, the acolytes were gone, leaving behind only shattered skeletons half-buried in the swamp's mire.
"What a pity..." The dragon scion woman shook her head, turning her gaze back to the adult green dragon, fire dancing in her eyes.
In an instant, a gale coursing with fire swept across the sky, scorching the green dragon's scales and wing membranes, sending him staggering through the air, teetering on the verge of falling.
Terrified, the green dragon whipped his head around and snarled through bared fangs, "Dragon scion, you are nothing but a human mongrel! In the end, you're merely a slave bred to serve true dragons!
"Do you dare slay a true dragon beneath the Dragon Queen's gaze?! Even that lunatic Kazur won't be able to protect you!"
The dragon scion woman sneered again, the light in her golden slits turning deadlier and breathtakingly cold. "If I kill everyone present, who will ever know who did it?
"Rest easy. I will report to the Lord of the Rotting Bog... that you fell heroically in battle against a gold dragon."
Furious and panicked, Grutar bellowed curses: "Maniacs! The red dragon brood under Kazur—and he himself—are all stark raving mad!"
Seeing the flames curling around him, ready to consume his body, the adult green dragon gritted his teeth, ripped a rune-carved scale from his breast with a spray of blood, and snapped it in two.
*Crack.*
A crisp snap echoed as the rune on the scale flared. Ripples distorted the surrounding space, tearing open a shadowy rift in midair.
Grutar scrambled pathetically, ignoring the flames clinging to his body as he plunged headlong into the rift. "I will report this to Grandfather! You are declaring war on the Lord of the Rotting Bog!
"When that day comes, not even that lava-brained Kazur will save you!"
The green dragon's resentful roar echoed through the swamp woods, startling flocks of crows into noisy flight.
"The fight is over. The dragon scion of the red dragon sect won. Whichever of them came out on top is bad news for us—we have to move faster!"
Deep in the woods, Adrian urged his companions on.
Having fought the Cult of the Dragon for months as a rebel, he had some understanding of their internal structure.
Though the entire cult worshipped Tiamat, it was split into five sects corresponding to the five chromatic dragons.
Within the cult, the red, blue, and green sects were the most formidable, each backed by a Chosen of Tiamat whose might rivaled that of a demigod.
Adrian felt profoundly fortunate regarding today's encounter. When Grutar had descended, their party had been doomed.
Yet in that desperate hour, infighting within the cult had broken out by chance, allowing them to slip from the green dragon's claws.
"The Talos Barrow is up ahead! Once we reach the leyline caverns, we'll be safe for now!" shouted the female dwarf.
Just then, the wizard froze once more. Pointing his staff forward, he stammered, "L-look..."
Adrian followed his pointing finger. There, hovering above the barrow, was the red-haired, golden-eyed dragon scion, looking down upon them with a faint, enigmatic smile.
Chapter 771