In the distance, the howling wind, rolling thunder, and pouring rain blended together, yet the battlefield itself fell unnervingly silent. Be they Imperials, Seleucians, or cultists of the Cult of the Dragon—be they humans, dwarves, or dragonborn—every gaze turned upward toward the dense, churning clouds in the distance.
Even the true green dragons stretched their necks as far as they could, staring into the expanse with eager, fervent eyes.
To most green dragons, the Lord of the Rotting Bog was a living legend. Even among their kind, the vast majority had only heard of the great wyrm's fearsome renown and had never laid eyes on his true form.
The cultists of the Cult of the Dragon dropped devoutly to their knees, calling upon the great wyrm's name with boundless adulation, as though gazing upon an angelic herald sent by the gods themselves.
"Lord of the Rotting Bog!"
"Ah, Master of Shadows coiled upon the Humus Crown!"
"Your scales shine with the dim luminescence of venomous fungi; your breath is the sweet brew of deceit! Choke the ignorant amid tangling vines, and grind the crowns of mortals into mud!"
On the mortal side, however, tension mounted to an agonizing pitch. Sweat poured from their brows and drenched their backs, and their breathing grew shallow and ragged.
Even battle-hardened veterans—men who had bathed in blood and crawled their way out from piles of human and dragonbeast corpses—trembled uncontrollably. "Is it truly him... the Lord of the Rotting Bog?!"
"Amaunator above!"
"H-he's not going to recreate that tragedy, is he?!"
The Lord of the Rotting Bog, the Emerald Blight, the Emerald Tyrant—one of Tiamat's most favored scions and one of the three divine heralds revered by the Cult of the Dragon, presiding over the Green Dragon Sect.
Three years ago, the surviving godblood nobles of northern Seleucia had staked everything, seeking aid in every corner and assembling a grand host of nearly three hundred thousand troops.
The army had been a vast, diverse coalition of humans, elves, dwarves, angels, and metallic dragons, reinforced by tens of thousands of classed individuals, including paladins and wizards.
Under the banner of "Destroy the Cult of the Dragon, Restore Seleucia," hundreds of thousands had signed their names in blood, marching to fight a decisive battle near the Sunset Plains.
Yet on that fateful day, black clouds had blotted out the sun, acid rain had mercilessly eaten away at the earth, and the great wyrm Erebus had descended at the head of his wicked dragon legion.
No one could clearly recount what had unfolded during that clash. People only knew that after seven days and seven nights of slaughter, rivers had run red with blood. The coalition of three hundred thousand was almost entirely annihilated, and the few soldiers fortunate enough to escape had lost their minds, driven utterly mad.
Without exception, at the mere mention of that nightmarish name—Erebus—every survivor would curl up on the floor, shuddering violently, eyes squeezed shut, faces pale as ash, gripped by a terror so profound they could not utter a single word.
Historians of Feanso recorded that conflict as the "Sunset Tragedy," the catastrophe that marked the complete downfall of the Seleucian Kingdom and stripped away its last remnants of power.
From that day forth, the Sunset Plains ceased to exist. In their place lay a dark, sodden marsh shrouded in perpetual fog—the land known today as the Ash Fen.
It was said that mountains of bones lay buried within that mire, where travelers often heard mournful weeping: the lingering spirits of the slain coalition soldiers wandering the mist.
After the battle, the Ash Fen became the lair of the great wyrm and the holy sanctuary of the Cult's Green Dragon Sect, earning Erebus a resounding title feared across the continent: the Lord of the Rotting Bog.
Carried on gusts of chilling wind, dark clouds rolled swiftly over the battlefield, casting a vast pall of shadow. Every Seleucian and Imperial soldier braced for impact; even the immense aerial dreadnoughts dared not drop their guard, hastily activating their emergency defense barriers.
An intangible pressure swept forward from the distance alongside the freezing gale, sending a tremor through every heart and striking dread into the depths of their souls.
Suddenly, the sky began to warp.
The storm clouds surged and heaved like a festering wound. The thunder no longer sounded like a crack, but rather the ravenous rumble of some primordial beast. The creatures of the forest plunged into dead silence, and even the wind seemed to freeze in place.
Then—he descended.
From the black clouds first emerged jagged, briar-like talons and a towering crest. A colossal, deep green form tore through the cloud layer, its wings churning up a tempest of decay as rotting foliage and cinders swirled in its wake.
The monstrous shadow draped over the land, instantly withering grass and trees alike, as if nature itself bowed and surrendered before his sovereign might.
He descended slowly. Talons dug deep into the loam; venom dripped from between his fangs, hissing against the soil.
"Insects—"
The unknown entity's voice crackled like snapping deadwood and rasped like a serpent slithering past an ear. "You dare disturb my slumber. Are you prepared... to embrace your terror?"
"Gods above..."
"Great Lord of Eternal Radiance... what is that thing?! How could such a monstrosity exist in this world?!"
"By the Cinder Emperor! What a terrifying green dragon!"
Beneath the crushing, tidal wave of dragon fear, the forces across the battlefield turned their eyes toward the distance. Terror, shock, and frantic panic filled their gazes as prayers tumbled incessantly from their lips.
Enveloped in the churning gloom stood a green dragon towering over the distant forest. From snout to tail, he measured at least forty-five meters—far surpassing the natural limits of his kind—as though he were a villain ripped straight from a bard's darkest horror tale.
Dark green scales armored a physique massive as a mountain ridge, each scale shaped like a poisoned dagger, glinting with a sickly, iridescent sheen in the dim light.
Rotting vines and brambles wound around his spine, as if the earth itself had sought to bind him in fear, only to be reduced to mere ornaments draped across his back.
When his wings spread wide, their shadow swallowed great swathes of the forest. The veins coursing through the wing membranes twisted like cursed runes, pulsing languidly with each breath.
—Yet most terrifying of all were his eyes.
They were a pair of long, cold vertical slits, like two pools of virulent swamp water churning with whirlpools of greed and cunning. Deep within those pupils danced an eerie green luminescence, sharp enough to pierce through the spirit and leave no soul hidden.
Any mortal who looked into them felt their willpower dissolve, as though slowly being chewed away by an ancient, malevolent force.
Wherever his gaze drifted, the air grew thick and viscous, saturated with toxic miasma, making every breath an agonizing ordeal.
The Eyes of Tiamat.
Even the bravest and most resolute warriors could hardly endure three seconds beneath that dreadful stare before either fainting dead away or falling under the wicked dragon's sway as mindless puppets.
"Merciful gods... is that the legendary Lord of the Rotting Bog?"
"It's too terrifying!"
"No, no! That's not an enemy we can defeat! Help me! I want out of here!"
"Dragons are invincible! Long live Tiamat!"
Within mere seconds of the great wyrm's appearance, before he had even made a single move, the human army's morale completely shattered. Soldiers fled in panic, descended into madness, or defected on the spot.
Though the Imperial players lacked native souls and were not easily dominated, a great many still experienced total screen blackouts, knocked unconscious by the overwhelming status effect.
Meanwhile, the dragon cultists prostrated themselves in ecstasy, chanting their hymns with feverish fervor.
"Teach us to whisper in venom! Teach us to sow faith through pestilence, until all living things bow low, trembling into madness beneath your godlike gaze!"
High above in the distant sky, the aerial dreadnoughts trained their guns in unison. Beams of incandescent energy discharged, crisscrossing the air in dense barrages as they bombarded the great wyrm standing amidst the forest.
*Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Deafening detonations shook the earth, and plumes of dust and smoke vaulted into the sky, threatening to engulf the entire expanse of woodland.
The spectating players in the distance buzzed with chatter.
"Did that kill him?"
"Those are elemental heavy cannons capable of blowing an ancient green dragon to bits in a single shot! Even a great wyrm has to be crippled, right?"
"Nah, by the iron law of 'no damage in the smoke,' that green dragon probably didn't even lose a single scale."
"Hmph, firepower is justice and caliber is truth! If that wasn't enough, just hit him harder!"
Right then, a strange sound stirred within the billowing dust. The colossal green silhouette beat its dragon wings, whipping up a gale, before lifting into the sky and settling amidst the dense storm clouds.
Looking closely through the haze, Erebus's menacing form was entirely unscathed, still radiating that sickly, noxious glow.
He tilted his head leisurely, peering down at the distant dreadnoughts with a mocking gaze. "Is this where your confidence comes from?"
"An amusing toy. But alas—" The green dragon slowly raised a massive claw, faint pinpricks of eerie light gathering at the tips of his razor-sharp talons. "It is utterly futile before a scion of the Dragon Queen!"
*Boom—!*
Five emerald beams of light erupted, bridging thousands of meters in a fraction of an instant. They punched through layers of energy barriers, melted reinforced alloy armor, and cleanly impaled the aerial dreadnoughts.
With a single strike, several dreadnoughts were decimated on the spot. They exploded in midair one after another, trailing smoke and roaring fire as they plummeted toward the ground, crashing into the earth and setting off a devastating cataclysm of explosions.
Amidst the scorching shockwaves, the players cried out in horror. "Holy shit! One-shotted?! Several at once?!"
"That's hundreds of thousands of gold dinars gone in a second!"
"I heard those dreadnought shields could withstand direct hits from ninth-tier spells, and they got swatted down like flies?! How the hell are we supposed to fight this?!"
"I'm out! I'm not throwing my life away!"
Several wizard players attempted to activate teleportation scrolls, only to discover that the surrounding space had been sealed off by some unknown force, rendering escape impossible.
Amidst the heavy storm clouds, Erebus flapped his wings, his tone frigid and chilling. "You destroyed my altar, wrecked my city, and slaughtered my brood—and now you think you can simply walk away?"
"I shall offer your flesh and souls as a sacrifice to the great Queen Tiamat to appease Her wrath! Every enemy who dared take part in this war shall die!"
With a piercing, sonorous roar, surging black clouds swept across the land like a tidal wave from all directions, encircling the entire city.
Thick, foul-smelling mire bubbled up from beneath the earth, expanding at a horrifying speed. Waves of sludge rose several meters high, stretching for dozens of kilometers, poised to drown everyone and drag them into the suffocating mud.
The moment mortals on the outer perimeter touched the muck, their flesh and blood dissolved with a furious hiss, leaving behind nothing but stark, bleached skeletons.
Wherever the mud surged, the soil was corrupted, transforming into a sodden, poisonous marsh.
"We're screwed! It's a scripted death quest!"
"Don't tell me my first death is gonna be in a place like this! Goddammit!"
"Trash devs, do you call this difficulty balanced?!"
The players screamed in frustration, utterly powerless against this impending doom.
Meanwhile, the human and dwarven soldiers who had once served Duke Franz were plunged into complete despair. Their eyes were hollow, devoid of light, and their ranks fell into a suffocating, grim silence.
At this moment, they finally understood what had transpired during the Sunset Tragedy—why an army of three hundred thousand had vanished into bones overnight.
Gazing up at the great wyrm blotting out the heavens and unleashing horrific devastation, Adrian offered a bleak, bitter smile. "Lady Misha, leave this place. This battle... we've already lost."
Misha, however, shook her head with a grim expression and spoke in a deep voice. "No. We haven't lost yet."
"Could it be...?" Adrian snapped his head toward the dragonkin sorcerer.
Before he could finish his thought, Misha's slender figure rose slowly, hovering in midair. Her eyes closed and her palms pressed together as her long crimson hair whipped violently in the gale. Broad dragon wings unfurled from her back with a snap.
"Mighty sovereign who rules the north, great dragon who commands natural disasters, supreme Cinder Emperor—"
"My only Lord, in the name of your humble contracted servant, I beseech your presence!"
*Whoosh—!*
Misha snapped her eyes open. Brilliant flames churned within her narrow, pale golden slit pupils, flickering into dancing tongues of fire.
Her gaze seemed to tear through the confines of space, bridging infinite distance to reach that all-powerful existence.
*Roar—!*
A distant roar resonated from beyond.
At that moment, not only did Adrian and the surrounding allies turn to look at Misha in utter shock, their eyes flashing with awe, dread, and a spark of hope, but even Erebus high above furrowed his brow. The triumphant, mocking sneer vanished from the green dragon's visage, replaced by solemn gloom. "This presence..."
*Crack! Boom!*
Massive fractures ripped across the firmament, as though a hundred-meter titan from an unknown dimension were smashing through the locked space with brute, unbridled force.
Immediately after, surging torrents of fire poured from the rifts, relentlessly incinerating the surrounding space.
*Hum—!*
A shrill shriek cut through the heavens, sharp enough to sever time and space.
A gigantic rift blossomed in dead silence, its edges flashing with an eerie, violent crimson light, as though the gates of a hellish furnace had been forcibly pried open.
Space itself groaned under the unbearable strain, and fine black fractures webbed outward from the edges of the tear, heralding the arrival of an irresistible force.
Then, the monstrous entity revealed a terrifying glimpse of itself—five pillar-like curved talons, clad in dense scales thick as ancient shields.
With it came an unimaginable, scorching heat.
The air around the claw tips warped and boiled violently, hissing in agony as if plunged into an invisible forge. Every breath carried the fatal stench of burning sulfur and molten iron.
A mere twitch of those claw tips sent tremors through the shattered fragments of space, as though the entire world held its breath, shivering before the sovereign about to emerge.
Staring fixedly at the crimson dragon claw reaching across the fabric of space, Erebus was struck dumb, murmuring in disbelief:
"Tiamat above..."
Chapter 795