Under the gazes of countless bluespawn—some filled with reverence, others with terror—the ancient blue dragon hoisted the wreckage of the magitech battleship high into the air. Behind her, dark clouds churned, and lightning surged like a tide.
"Do you see, children of the dragons? This is the fate of all who oppose the Cult of the Dragon, who dare defy the great Queen of Chromatic Dragons!"
She raised her head, her disproportionately massive horns gleaming with a metallic sheen under the lightning's flash. From time to time, bolts struck down upon them, sending blinding sparks scattering in all directions.
"Remember, noble blood flows through your veins! You will rule this world alongside true dragons! Any creature that dares betray Her Majesty the Dragon Queen shall meet only one end—"
*Boom!*
With an earth-shattering roar, the storm clouds in the heavens bellowed and raged as ten thousand blinding bolts of lightning poured forth like a surging deluge, instantly engulfing the broken, charred magitech warship.
Before this most savage, primal, and destructive power, the insulating wood specially engineered by the Imperial Magic Research Institute proved as fragile as paper. In an instant, it was scorched, carbonized, and shattered into countless blackened fragments that scattered through the air.
"And that end is annihilation!"
Only then did the ancient blue dragon deliver the rest of her decree in a cold, heavy voice.
Lightning surged behind her, dark clouds roiled at her sides, and every dancing arc and spark in the air seemed summoned by her presence, turning furiously wild like a pack of rabid beasts.
At the eye of the storm, the ancient blue dragon slowly beat her wings, unleashing torrents of gale-force winds in her wake. Boundless dragon fear poured outward, sweeping across the earth with an incomparable sense of oppression.
It was said that the most terrifying and formidable among blue dragons bore the title "Dragon of the Storm," yet for this ancient blue dragon, so modest an epithet could not begin to describe her terror.
Mounted upon the back of a storm wyvern, the evil dragon priest raised his arms and shouted in frenzied, impassioned adoration: "Praise the Lord of Thunder and Sandstorms, Sovereign of the Great Scar of Taliro, Eldest Daughter of Tiamat—Gorazdla!"
"Before the overwhelming might of the dragons, these rebels are nothing! Mere dust waiting to be crushed underfoot!"
"Roar—!"
Countless bluespawn and crossbreed dragonbeasts threw back their heads, raising a clamorous howl to welcome the arrival of their shared master, the Thunder Tyrant, Gorazdla.
Their bellows set the desert trembling and dunes collapsing, lifting torrents of grit and sand high into the air to shroud the earth in a blinding sandstorm.
Within the Cult of the Dragon, many cultists had already begun worshiping Kazur, Erebos, and Gorazdla as living deities, constructing temples, erecting altars, and sculpting idols in their honor, collectively revering the trio as the "Three Chromatic Gods."
In the lore of these dragon cultists, once the three gods gathered together, Tiamat would descend to the mortal realm in her majestic true form, bringing an end to the decrepit Third Age and ushering in a new era wherein dragons and their spawn ruled the world.
At the center of the storm, high above the dunes, Gorazdla gazed toward the north, countless minute electrical arcs flickering within the abyss of her pupils.
Across endless yellow sands spanning over a thousand kilometers, she clearly saw the armies marching from the Cinder Empire, their imposing weapons and armored ranks laid bare before her sight.
"The Cinder Empire... Audacious fools, daring to defy Her Majesty's will."
"Yet soon enough, you shall serve as the final stepping stone for my ascension to godhood. Consider it an honor... Cassius." The ancient blue dragon spoke with chilling malice, crackles of electricity lacing through her voice.
Beneath her, yet more bluespawn burrowed out from the sands, swelling into a deep-blue torrent that surged across the desert like rolling waves, their scales glinting in the lightning's flash.
Though the players' strike had obliterated one of the bluespawn breeding nests, slaughtering hundreds if not thousands of the savage monsters,
countless dark nests remained buried throughout the vast, boundless Great Taliro Desert and its endless dunes, spawning untold legions of horrors coursing with the foul blood of evil dragons...
This desert, and indeed the entire Kingdom of Seleucia, had long become the domain of chromatic dragons and their monstrous kin, thoroughly infested from end to end.
Not only was the vicinity of the ancient palace ruins submerged beneath a sea of bluespawn, but in the Il Valley to the north and the Sunset Gobi to the south, countless blue-scaled abominations were burrowing out from the depths of the earth and their subterranean caverns.
As though answering a silent summons, they coalesced without prearrangement and marched toward northern Taliro. Along their path, they devoured everything in sight—scrub, cacti, and whatever wretched wildlife had managed to survive—leaving behind nothing but desolate, drab, monotonous sand.
At this moment, the bluespawn throughout the entire great desert swarmed forth en masse, all bound for the designated battleground: the Locke Great Rift Valley.
...
North of the Locke Great Rift Valley, upon the central plateau of Seleucia, the allied forces gathered from every corner of the realm. Banners fluttered, morale ran high, and the colossal host covered nearly the entire plateau.
The largest contingent naturally belonged to the Cinder Empire—nearly two hundred thousand strong, all organized into well-trained, fully armed legions. Answering the call to war, these imperial soldiers had marched all the way south from Thrace to wage the kind of warfare they knew best on unfamiliar soil.
They were the champions helping the Seleucians "reclaim their homeland," and the undisputed pillar of the coming war.
From an omniscient perspective, without imperial intervention, the allied forces would have required years of bloody resistance before mustering the strength to even contest the legions of the Cult of the Dragon.
Moreover, lacking Cassius's foreknowledge of history, many Seleucians believed that had the Cinder Empire not reached out to pull them from the brink of disaster, their forces would have been wiped out entirely during the battle at Green Valley.
"Warriors—the war is upon us!"
From atop high vantage points across the sprawling battle lines, officers bearing red dragon blood brandished polished sabers and roared with thundering vigor: "Remember, we are warriors of His Majesty Cassius! No enemy on this continent has ever withstood our charge!"
"Glory, wealth, and power await you on the battlefield! Tear those wretched followers of Tiamat to shreds, and everything you desire will be yours!"
"For the Empire! For His Majesty Cassius!"
The imperial soldiers thrust their weapons toward the sky, unleashing tidal roars that echoed across the plateau wave after wave, their fierce passion stirring every heart.
Second only to the imperial legions in number were the native Seleucian troops, numbering around one hundred and twenty thousand, many among them trained as paladins and fighters.
Most were Seleucians who had been displaced and forced into wanderings under the ravages of the Dragon Calamity before Duke Adrian rallied and organized them.
Many had lost family and friends in that terrible catastrophe, harboring a bone-deep hatred for the Cult of the Dragon, the evil dragons, and their servants. Yet others remained haunted by deep psychological scars that still lingered unhealed.
Adrian stood atop a hill overlooking the soldiers below, both hands resting upon a longsword while bearing Duke Franz's heavy greatsword across his back. His tone was somber yet resolute:
"Our fallen kin and comrades are watching us! How can we allow those filthy cultists to desecrate our homeland and run rampant across the lands of the Fadelanians?"
"We must crush the Cult of the Dragon at any cost, so that the light of freedom may shine once more upon the soil of Seleucia! Let Holy Fadelan rise in glory once again!"
"I promised Duke Franz that his body would be laid to rest in Sunset City. I shall carry him, and march alongside every one of you, back to our home!"
Before his words had faded, Adrian raised his longsword high. Countless rays of radiant light coalesced at the blade's tip into a brilliant orb, within which shimmered the coat of arms of Seleucia.
"For Seleucia! For Holy Fadelan!"
"Return home! Return home!" the soldiers shouted with all their might, their voices choked with fierce emotion, many cracking into hoarse sobs.
They had been driven from their homeland years ago, spending the intervening years in exile, constantly hunted by dragonborn and monsters. In that tense and perilous existence, many had grown accustomed to living as fugitives, forgetting what life in times of peace even felt like.
Now, hearing Adrian's call, memories of lost kin and fallen friends resurfaced alongside visions of the beautiful homeland they once had, and the emotions swelling in their chests burst forth uncontrollably.
Yet, numerous though the Seleucian troops were, in terms of battlefield significance and sheer destructive power, they could not match the legion composed of metallic dragons.
At Bahamut's decree, over a hundred metallic dragons had assembled here. Beyond the common gold, silver, and brass dragons, ferrous dragons and tungsten dragons hostile to chromatic kind had joined their ranks.
The continent of Feanso had not witnessed such a magnificent gathering of metallic dragons in over a millennium.
Under the sunlight, the dragons with their metallic sheens beat their wings, whipping up gust after gust while unleashing resonant roars. The light flashing from their scales was so brilliant that men could hardly keep their eyes open.
The commander of this draconic host, Bahamut's emissary—the massive ancient gold dragon Dionysius—soared high into the sky, spreading his broad draconic wings. Extending a claw, he displayed a sacred scale bestowed by the Platinum Dragon King, which emanated a soft, holy radiance.
The ancient gold dragon spoke slowly, his tone deep and steady: "Kinsmen, this is the decree of Lord Bahamut: we are to lend our full strength to the allied host and vanquish the Cult of the Dragon. Yet even without this mandate, we would have no choice, for this is the duty every metallic dragon must bear!"
Pausing briefly, he tilted his head higher, his voice swelling with passion: "Tell me, do you wish to watch the Mother of Evil Dragons descend upon the mortal realm? To watch Her and Her spawn ravage the land, tearing down all justice and order in the world? Do you wish to stand idly by as thriving cities burn to ash in dragonfire, splendid civilizations crumble into ruin, and countless innocent souls wail beneath the shadow of draconic wings?"
"Never!"
"Drive these vile chromatic dragons from Feanso! Drive them from the Material Plane!"
"Those filthy-blooded beasts belong with their mother deity—trapped forever in Baator!"
Furious and righteous indignation swept through the metallic dragons. They bared claws and fangs, roaring and bellowing with a wrath that rivaled any chromatic dragon's, perhaps even more terrifying—and most famed of all for their zealous sense of justice were the gold dragons.
It was said that an adult gold dragon, pushed to extreme fury, had once obliterated an entire town overtaken by an evil cult, reducing it to a scorched ruin.
Dionysius looked around and spoke with solemn gravity: "We metallic dragons are endowed by birth with immense power, but that power was not given to be squandered. We must shoulder a burden far heavier than any other creature's—the duty to protect this world, ensuring it never falls into the hands of villains like Tiamat!"
"For justice!"
"Back to Hell with them!"
With that, the metallic dragons took to the skies in unison, their deafening roars resounding toward the far side of the Great Rift Valley, striking unease and dread into the hearts of the chromatic dragons across the chasm.
The imperial legions, the native Seleucian army, and the metallic dragon host were beyond doubt the primary forces of the coming war, but various other factions across Feanso had contributed reinforcements as well.
Led by a titan godblood commander, the Kingdom of Cassander dispatched an elite force of over eight thousand troops known as the "Army of the Corona." Clad in heavy armor and wielding four-to-five-meter pikes, their martial prowess was not to be underestimated.
The City of Myriad Laws had sent over one hundred and twenty battle-hardened wizards, among whom was a venerated archmage who had personally devised numerous war spells.
Even Serenia, only recently emerged from war and still in the midst of rebuilding, had dispatched a unit of well-trained Silvermoon Conquerors. Yet because silver moon elves were scarce in number and fresh from disaster, this force numbered merely a hundred.
At the same time, many formidable individuals of good alignments had arrived at the allied encampment—such as several cloud giant warriors from Sky City.
And even more impossible to overlook was another group: the players.
They did not belong to the regular military and answered to no commander's orders, yet they possessed formidable prowess and staggering numbers. The powerhouse guilds in particular wielded an arsenal of taboo weaponry capable of blasting dragons from the sky, striking terror into the hearts of any foe.
Even the arrogant chromatic dragons dared not lightly underestimate those "who descended with the falling stars" hailing from the Empire.
Ultimately, through the combined efforts of these myriad factions, an unprecedentedly colossal host gathered north of the Locke Great Rift Valley. Numbering well over a million, they dominated the landscape, making even the sprawling plateau feel impossibly cramped, as if the sheer tide of men and beasts would overflow the land.
The members of this allied army hailed from a bewildering array of races, factions, and alignments; many had once been bitter enemies. Yet at this critical juncture, they stood together within the very same lines without exception.
For they all knew one thing with absolute certainty: Tiamat must never be allowed to descend upon the Material Plane!
Chapter 812