The original plan had been to boost morale and march out to attack the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn, only for Alan, that rebel, to disrupt the ceremony. With Alan impossible to catch and unwilling to let him incite the populace any further, the young emperor had no choice but to divert everyone's attention.
Though Alan's speech had shaken many hearts, it could hardly drive them to rebel against Ryan's imperial authority overnight.
The gates of Liuyan City swung open, and the grand army marched forth, advancing steadily toward the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn.
Seeing this, Alan wanted to make another attempt to wake them to the truth, but Anbaixiu abruptly materialized before him again, giving him a fright.
"Could you not pop up out of nowhere next time?" Alan snapped angrily. "I'm a living person—you'll scare me to death!"
Anbaixiu paid his complaint no heed. Blocking his path, the lich said with grave solemnity, "You can go throw your life away if you want, but don't take my flight pack with you. This thing is expensive—you couldn't afford to replace it!"
Alan: "..."
Noticing the lingering reluctance on Alan's face, Anbaixiu continued, "Don't be in such a rush. There's more to this war than meets the eye. Go on back and do what you need to do. Leave this battlefield to me."
"Leave it to you?"
Alan eyed Anbaixiu suspiciously. Since when was this lich so noble? To stand up against the armies of Ryan for a bunch of tieflings?
Anbaixiu didn't bother to explain. "If you don't believe me, give me back the flight pack. Then whether you live or die is your own business."
Alan hesitated again and again, but in the end, he decided to trust Anbaixiu.
Although the lich often spoke in half-truths and kept secrets, most of what he promised, he delivered.
Just like their first meeting: Anbaixiu had taken five thousand gold coins, and he truly had allowed Alan to cast Detect Evil on him without the slightest concealment.
If the lich said there would be a turn of events in this war, then there surely would be. Perhaps he was about to make a handsome profit again, but as long as it stopped this pointless war, that was all that mattered.
"Just wait. And when the time comes, get far away."
With that, Anbaixiu vanished.
Alan didn't leave completely; he merely withdrew to a safe distance from the battlefield. He, too, wanted to see what turning point Anbaixiu was talking about.
Having persuaded Alan, Anbaixiu tailed behind the Ryanite army.
Illusion magic veiled his form, keeping even that arrogant time dragon from detecting his presence.
The Ryanite force numbered just over a hundred thousand, yet it stretched into a long, formidable column. There was no such thing as cannon fodder or ditch-fillers in Ryan's army; every single soldier was a fervent zealot. Thus, their vanguard was an entire legion of paladins mounted on warhorses. Behind them marched a corps of clerics of light, followed by combined-arms legions of standard soldiers—warriors, archers, mages, and more, thoroughly equipped in every regard.
On open battlefields, Ryan's standard doctrine was for the clerics to cast mass buff spells, followed by a paladin charge that smashed the enemy lines, after which the mixed legions swept in to mop up. In open field engagements, Ryan was invincible. The moment this army launched its charge, the Unholy Hymn's Blackgate City would surely fall before long.
With the Gates of Hell along the way dismantled by the young emperor's temporal power, the army crossed the border smoothly, poised to enter the territory of the Unholy Hymn.
The tiefling soldiers could only huddle inside Blackgate City, barely possessing the courage to raise their weapons. Had the Ryanites not pressed forward with such menacing fury, the defenders might well have surrendered on the spot if someone had simply stepped forward to offer terms.
High in the sky, Mister Misfortune and Anbaixiu remained concealed within an illusion, looking down upon the battlefield below.
"Ryan truly lives up to its reputation as the greatest empire," Mister Misfortune remarked with feeling. "These hundred thousand men make up only a fifth of their military might."
"Only a fifth, perhaps," Anbaixiu replied, "but with their emperor leading the campaign in person, there must be quite a few legendary figures in that army."
"Then that's all the more terrifying. Even if the Gates of Hell were still intact, they wouldn't be able to hold them back."
"We never intended to rely on the Gates of Hell to stop Ryan anyway, did we?"
The moment the demonic time dragon first destroyed a Gate of Hell, Tiamat's contract took effect. The families of the thirteen Unholy Ones had plunged into Hell, carrying Anbaixiu's 1.6 million soul coins with them.
Undoubtedly, Tiamat and Zariel snatched up all 1.6 million soul coins, while those tiefling nobles became sinners wailing amid hellfire.
Once their souls had suffered enough misery, they, too, might be forged into soul coins.
Yet after pocketing the coins, Tiamat had flown into a fury and intensified the punishments of these tieflings.
The reason was simple: they had actually brought down the full amount of soul coins—not a single coin short, but extra.
Tiamat had originally assumed there would inevitably be losses among the soul coins brought down by the tieflings—perhaps a few broken during inspection, or depleted in squabbles over them. And even if none were lost, once they reached Hell, Tiamat would make sure "losses" occurred.
A few hundred or a few thousand soul coins suffering "accidental" damage would be entirely reasonable. Then Anbaixiu would fail to fulfill the contract, and she could squeeze the lich mercilessly.
Yet, against all odds, there were extra!
Curses! That lich had anticipated her scheme from the very beginning.
When Zariel learned of this, she specifically came over to mock her: "You were the one who warned me how cunning that lich was and told me not to trust him, yet you couldn't resist trying to plot against him yourself."
To which Tiamat replied, "Trying never hurts. Look, didn't we earn an extra hundred thousand soul coins out of it?"
In any case, Anbaixiu had fulfilled half of the contract. And the remaining half was right now.
As the Ryanite army crossed the border, the seemingly empty expanse ahead rippled like a mirage. When the veil of illusion dissipated, a strange crowd of black-robed figures appeared before the vanguard.
Every one of them had a shaved head and a face covered in crimson blade gashes. These were fresh wounds cut only moments ago, and they still clutched the self-mutilating daggers in their hands.
The sudden appearance of these foes took the Ryanites by surprise, as their garb bore an uncanny resemblance to cultists of some profane sect.
The tieflings truly had fallen, stooping to collaborate with cultists.
Though they did not know why this crowd had suddenly appeared, the Ryanites knew no fear.
The clerics of light began casting spells to empower the paladins, and a detachment of three thousand paladins peeled off from the legion, charging toward the cultists.
The paladin in the lead had already raised his shield. Holy Light gathered upon it, coalescing into a colossal shield of radiant light that protected the entire unit.
Anbaixiu did not recognize the man, but one glance told him he was one of Ryan's legendary paladins. That colossal radiant shield was enough to repel most magical damage and was especially potent against the vile sorcery of cultists. No wonder he was leading the charge; this legendary boon was tailor-made for leading an assault.
Yet, faced with the charging paladins, the cultists did not attack. Instead, waving their daggers with fanatic frenzy, they threw themselves toward the oncoming riders.
Mortal flesh was no match for the immense momentum of charging warhorses. The mad cultists were hurled through the air and trampled under hoof. A single charge wrought staggering casualties, leaving fewer than half of the ten thousand alive.
Yet such horrific losses failed to deter them. The surviving cultists rallied, launching another suicidal charge after the paladins.
Though sensing something amiss, not a single paladin hesitated for a second. Maintaining formation, they swept back around, repeatedly slamming through the cultists' ranks.
After merely four charges, the cultists were reduced entirely to minced flesh, while their daggers had failed to inflict any meaningful harm upon the paladins.
Before they could celebrate their victory, however, the mangled remains began to squirm and drift into the sky.
Flesh, splintered bone, and torn viscera—every sickening remnant rose into the air, assembling into an eerie magic circle high above.
Sensing ill tidings, the Ryanite clerics of light began casting divine spells, attempting to dispel the bizarre formation.
Yet for reasons unknown, at that exact moment, every single cleric suffered a casting failure.
It was as though someone had altered fate itself, locking them into an outcome of inevitable failure.
At this sight, many turned their gazes toward the time dragon in the sky. Surely now was the moment for their emperor to unleash the artifact's might?
Yet upon seeing the eerie magic circle, the young emperor hesitated.
Because the power of the Dragon Tyrant Armament was running out.
Curled inside the dragon's body, the blood rose necklace around his neck had already turned mostly silver-white. Once all the crimson color faded, the armament's power would completely disperse.
On the march here, he had dismantled several Gates of Hell, expending most of its stored energy.
He had thought his army alone would be invincible, never anticipating a turn of events like this.
The young emperor was no fool; he knew this magic circle boded no good and disaster would strike if it wasn't destroyed in advance. But he feared exhausting the armament's power—if something went wrong, who would save him?
If he held back and let the formation complete, the army below would bear the brunt, and he could flee in his time dragon form if necessary. But if he acted and burned through the armament's power, who would protect him? Even with guards, who could guarantee nothing would go awry?
A youth who had never set foot on a battlefield, flaunting his might through the borrowed power of an artifact, would quickly lose his nerve when faced with genuine peril.
And it was precisely the young emperor's indecision that allowed the magic circle in the sky to complete.
Countless rays of crimson light flared, looking as though the sky itself were about to be torn apart.
Space fractured, and howling gales poured from the rifts, plunging the entire battlefield into darkness.
Those who knew magic could already tell: this nearly kilometer-wide circle was a massive spatial gateway, though none could say where the other side led.
Using the blood sacrifice of ten thousand people to forge such a spatial gateway was bound to summon something colossal and terrifying.
It should have been destroyed early on, but now it was too late.
The moment the spatial gateway took shape, a colossal dragon head thrust out from within.
A ferocious red dragon flew through the rift and onto the battlefield. And not just one—one after another, red dragons surged from the spatial passage, blotting out half the sky in mere moments.
Dragon wings that blotted out the sky, accompanied by deafening roars—in that instant, the people of Ryan finally remembered the terror of being ruled by dragons.
Chapter 345