The sky was as grim as lead, choked with dark clouds. It was as if the entire world had been swallowed by darkness, the air thick with an oppressive mist.
Rain would soon fall.
Beneath the falling night, Green Valley Town was dead silent. Wounded soldiers from the south lay upon the cold wooden beds within the church, groaning softly now and then.
Duke Franz stood resolute outside the church, gazing into the boundless darkness in the distance. He held his greatsword in one hand, his scarred face grim and solemn.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, as if he could already scent danger on the wind—the metallic tang of blood, the acrid bite of smoke, the foul stench of acid...
Duke Franz slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the bishop beside him. "Do you feel it?"
The bishop's brow furrowed tightly. The scrawny, sore-covered hand clutching the Sun Scepter trembled faintly. "Your Grace, you should rest first. Those cultists surely cannot have caught up with us so quickly..."
The bishop's words were reasonable enough. Ever since that catastrophic defeat, they had fled day and night for days on end. Many soldiers had gone more than two days without sleep, their nerves worn to the breaking point by sheer exhaustion.
Duke Franz shook his head. "I can feel them... They're coming. Those beasts lurking in the dark can barely hold back. They want to devour every last one of us."
The bishop sighed softly, assuming a posture of prayer. "My lord, I believe you are simply overworked. Your nerves have been strained for days, leaving you overly tense. Please, take heart; Lord Amaunator will protect—"
Rumble!
Right then, the distant dark clouds flashed with sudden brilliance, followed by a muffled clap of thunder that cut the bishop short.
The clouds rolled and roiled, and rain began to patter down. Within the mist, sinister black shapes seemed to emerge, swirling like a chaotic swarm of midges.
"We can't wait any longer—they're here!"
Duke Franz spun around, swept back his mantle, and sprang into the air. In just a few strides, he reached the great bronze bell engraved with the holy symbol of Amaunator at the town center and struck it with all his might.
Dong—!
Dong! Dong—!
The sentry in the watchtower snapped awake, screaming at the top of his lungs on sheer reflex, "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!!"
"What? Those dreadful cultists are here?"
"Quick, hide! They say the evil dragons love devouring young maidens and children! They won't spare you!"
Panic seized the townsfolk of Green Valley Town. Scrambling in terror, they rushed into their cellars, cowered in the corners of their houses, or fled toward the cathedral at the town center.
The soldiers resting inside the church were also jolted awake. Almost instantaneously, they seized the longswords, spears, and bows laid beside them.
After days of headlong flight and endless slaughter, these royal guards slept lightly; the slightest rustle could startle them into battle-readiness within seconds.
"Move!"
"The bell is ringing! It's those damned cultists!"
"Fall in and assemble at the town square!"
The soldiers hurried out of the church into the torrential downpour, gathering in the town center before Duke Franz.
At the same time, the baggage train hauled out mobile ballistas and catapults specifically designed to combat dragons and wyverns.
Crack!
A blinding flash of lightning struck, splitting the night and tearing a jagged scar across the pitch-black sky.
"My most loyal and brave warriors—those damned cultists have caught up with us once again!"
Illuminated by the lightning, Duke Franz stood tall before the knight statue at the center of the town, hoisting his gleaming silver greatsword.
"They want to break our will! They want to slay our flesh! They want to slaughter every last one of us who dares resist! They want to turn the land of Seleucia into a human purgatory, a playground where evil dragons run rampant!"
"Do you truly want your wives and children to live in a world where each day could be their last? Do you wish to watch helplessly as they are fed to evil dragons while you can do nothing to stop it?!"
The soldiers, originally weary and dispirited, rallied somewhat at Duke Franz's roar. Yet they remained thoroughly exhausted, standing silent in the deluge.
The pouring rain soaked the linings beneath their armor, leaving them cold, weighed down, and cumbersome.
Duke Franz leveled his massive greatsword toward the south, pointing straight at the dark silhouettes lurking within the roiling clouds, and bellowed, "Life or death rests in our own hands! Kill—"
"For Amaunator!"
The bishop also raised the Sun Scepter high, unleashing a golden radiance to dispel the soldiers' weariness and fatigue.
These soldiers, who had followed Duke Franz across a thousand li of exile, finally let loose low, rumbling battle cries. Exhaustion, weariness, and despair were swept away in an instant, giving vent to long-suppressed fury.
"Kill—!"
The men advanced southward through the tempest. The spearmen and shieldbearers slammed their shields onto the muddy earth, locking into a dense formation that became a stubborn wall of steel.
Behind them, crossbowmen deftly loaded their hand-crossbows, holding their breath as they aimed into the sky. Rain mingled with sweat ran down their cheeks, drenching the collars of their surcoats.
Further back, several soldiers whipped their carriage horses, driving Seleucia's standard heavy ballistas across the muddy paths.
The clouds in the distance surged forward. Amid the rolling thunder, chaotic shrieks echoed, sending chills down the spines of the soldiers and making some grip their weapons even tighter in trembling trepidation.
Yet even more soldiers remained motionless, numb to the horror. In their flight across a thousand li, they had seen far too much slaughter and blood, growing accustomed to comrades dying before their very eyes.
"Skreee—!"
A rasping roar sounded from the distant sky. A massive, murky green wyvern broke through the roiling clouds, astride its neck sat a black-robed cultist wearing a dragon-headed mask.
Rogan Benitez, the Gloomfang, the most cunning and cruel leader of the Cult of the Dragon in northern Seleucia.
"Franz, to think the once-mighty duke would scurry about with his followers like a rat driven from its nest—how utterly pathetic."
Franz glared upward, raising his greatsword and roaring with resonant fury, "Better that than a wretched traitor like you, willingly kneeling as an evil dragon's dog!"
Rogan shook his head and offered a mocking smirk. "Franz, having run for so long, have you still not accepted your fate?"
"The great Mother of Evil Dragons is destined to rule this world, while a stubborn holdout like you won't even have the privilege to be her slave! If you kneel now and beg me for mercy, I might consider letting you drink a mouthful of dragon blood to become my thrall..."
"In your dreams!"
Franz bellowed. Seizing a spear, he hurled it skyward. It ripped through the air, carving a lethal arc across the sky.
The cult leader hastily yanked his reins. The wyvern reared its head with a shrill screech, and the spear grazed by, tearing Rogan's black robe and carving a bloody furrow across his left shoulder.
Rogan's face contorted in rage. Raising his dragon-head scepter, he roared an order: "Go! Tear them to shreds!"
Roar—!
In an instant, dozens of wyverns, pterosaurs, chimeras, and other monstrosities tainted with filthy dragon blood burst from the clouds, screaming as they swooped down upon the braced human soldiers.
When the swarm closed to within a hundred meters of the battle line, Duke Franz raised his greatsword high and bellowed, "All ranks—fire!"
Instantly, over a thousand soldiers unleashed their bows and crossbows at once. A dense hail of arrows sprayed into the sky, instantly riddling the foremost beasts like sieves and sending them plummeting earthward.
The dozen-odd ballistas also loosed their thick bolts, impaling wyverns and even skewering multiple monsters in a row.
The eyes of the dragon head on Rogan's scepter glowed with an eerie light, driving the dragon-blooded monsters into an even greater frenzy. Caring nothing for their lives, they hurled themselves recklessly at the soldiers.
Acid and venom rained down, eating through shields and armor, inflicting heavy casualties. Only their fiery breath weapons sputtered weakly in the pouring rain.
From the dense woods not far off, black-robed cult acolytes surged forward in waves, charging into the fray—thousands strong.
"For the Mother of Evil Dragons!"
"The End of Days is nigh! The great dragons shall rule the world!"
The dragon-blooded beasts plunged into the ranks with flashing teeth and talons. The soldiers swung their longswords and thrust their spears, fighting desperately.
"Kill it! Pierce that damned beast's heart!" a soldier shouted, raising his arm.
"Skree!"
The wyvern howled as several spears pierced its chest simultaneously. In its death throes, its venomous tail whipped out, impaling one of the soldiers, who spat blood and collapsed dead.
Scales flew, blood sprayed, and severed limbs scattered everywhere, staining the rainwater flowing across the ground crimson.
Boom!
Another earth-shattering thunderclap exploded, its blinding lightning illuminating Green Valley Town as bright as day. In that flash, Franz locked eyes on Rogan nearby, pinning him with a piercing glare.
He raised his greatsword, its tip glittering under the lightning, and aimed it directly at the cult leader.
"Rogan, you have betrayed the trust of His Majesty Aragorn!"
Rogan sneered, waving his scepter. "Betrayed? I am saving Seleucia! When the Dragon Queen returns to this land, this is the only way the kingdom can be spared from annihilation!"
"Spare me your excuses!"
Franz roared, his feet slamming into the ground as he dissolved into an afterimage, leaping thirty to forty meters into the air.
With a thunderous crack, the legendary warrior swung his heavy greatsword, tearing through the night with terrifying momentum toward Rogan.
Unlike ordinary powerhouses of Fadlan, Duke Franz had received no divine grace. He had simply honed his mortal body to the absolute limit, essentially becoming a humanoid dragon who crushed his foes through sheer physical might.
Seeing Franz leaping in with a crushing cleave, Rogan dared not take it lightly. He hoisted his dragon-head scepter, a spectral beam flashing from its slitted eyes.
Franz's movements abruptly slowed, the surrounding space sluggish, and more than a dozen faint shadows of drakes wrapped around his body.
The next instant, black flame erupted from the scepter, blasting straight toward Franz's face.
Franz twisted his torso midair, but the flame still caught his shoulder. His cuirass melted through, leaving a charred, smoking wound across his flesh.
Yet Franz merely gritted his teeth with a low grunt. Rolling in midair, he swung the two-meter-long greatsword again, cleaving straight toward Rogan.
Slash—!
With a single downward stroke, the wyvern beneath Rogan was hacked in two. Foul, filthy blood showered across the sky as its mangled carcass plummeted.
Rogan himself, however, dissolved into a haze of dark mist, vanishing into thin air and reappearing in the sky nearby with a sinister grin.
"Franz, you are as strong as ever. Only... you are just as dull-witted, still blind to how the tides have turned."
Bathed in wyvern blood, Franz hit the ground with a heavy crash. Leaning on his greatsword to haul himself upright, he glared solemnly at his former peer, now his sworn enemy.
Behind the cult leader, black mist roiled and swept across the heavens, carrying a colossal presence that felt on the verge of breaking through.
"What in the world is..." Franz gripped his greatsword, breathing heavily, his expression darkening as he sensed that overwhelming aura.
"Watch out, Your Grace! It's dragons! True dragons!" the bishop shouted nearby.
Roar—!
With a deafening bellow, several terrifying forms surged from the storm clouds to flank Rogan: massive bodies, wicked talons and fangs, vast wings, and dark green scales...
They were dragons—and not some diluted dragon-beasts, but genuine chromatic dragons: green dragons!
"Vile mortals!"
"Pathetic lower creatures!"
Amid deep, rumbling growls, more dark green figures emerged behind Rogan. On this narrow battlefield, twelve green dragons had appeared—the weakest among them were young adults, and one was an enormous ancient dragon!
"Wail before the mighty dragons! Tremble beneath our wings!"
To the accompaniment of rolling thunder, the green dragons flapped their mighty wings, sweeping across the sky above the battlefield and casting terrifying shadows below.
Distinguishing neither friend nor foe, their gaping maws spewed streams of acid potent enough to dissolve steel, instantly reducing countless foes—and the acolytes fighting alongside them—into sizzling bloody pulp.
In the eyes of the proud, cruel green dragons, those acolytes were disposable fodder, hardly worth acknowledging as "allies."
Amid shrill screams and agonized roars, the battle line of Duke Franz's men was instantly shattered into chaos.
Four of the green dragons, together with the cult leader Rogan, encircled Franz. Their slitted pupils gleamed with a sinister light, regarding the legendary warrior like cornered prey.
The ancient dragon licked its lips, venomous saliva dripping from the corners of its maw. Its voice was harsh and rasping, like grinding metal: "This human... is mine."
Franz stared coldly at the approaching dragons, his grip tightening around his greatsword as he braced for a fight to the death.
If he could take down these four evil dragons and this traitor to the kingdom at the cost of his life, it would be worth it.
Let it end... right here, he thought, gritting his teeth.
The green dragons around him gathered their acid, flexed their claws, and primed their spell-like abilities, awaiting only the ancient dragon's command to butcher this mortal.
Just then, a faint shout carried over from not far away.
"Your Grace! Run!"
The aging bishop stumbled forward, raising the Sun Scepter with all his might to unleash the last dregs of his divine magic.
Golden radiance spilled outward, illuminating Green Valley Town as bright as day, catching even the green dragons off guard.
"Fool seeking death..."
Almost instantly, the ancient dragon materialized behind the bishop. With the sickening sound of tearing flesh, bloodstained claws punched straight through the bishop's chest, shredding his vestments.
"No...!"
Franz froze in horror, reaching out to intervene, but the bishop he had revered as an elder had already perished, tossed carelessly from the ancient green dragon's talons like trash.
Immediately after, the other three green dragons lunged at Franz with fangs and claws. Even fighting with everything he had, he could barely parry, and more and more claw gashes and acid burns appeared across his body.
Crash!
Panting heavily, Franz gritted his teeth and raised his greatsword once more to block a green dragon's dive.
He knew that under the unrelenting onslaught of the green dragon flight, he could not hold out for long, and his personal guard would be slaughtered to the last man.
Was it... truly going to end here?
A profound despair crept into his heart. Duke Franz burned with indignation, yet felt utterly powerless; the shadow of the Mother of Evil Dragons hung perpetually overhead.
Just then, a spirited shout rang out from the distance. Even through the patter of rain, the voice resonated clearly, carrying a ring of familiarity:
"Duke Franz! I have brought reinforcements! We will stand and fight beside you!"
Chapter 776