Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

“These past few days, we have seen many impressive things.”

Serena spoke first, her tone light. “The Aola Kingdom you built has exceeded our expectations in many ways.”

“I have a feeling its future will not stop here, it will grow much further.”

Beside her, Silver Dragon Edrian stepped forward.

His long, graceful neck dipped slightly, his dragon pupils fixed on Garoth, his expression turning solemn.

“Garoth, on our way here we witnessed firsthand the fierce clash between Rhen and Sax on the Romanian Plains, and every kingdom we passed was poised, ready to strike.”

“The atmosphere along your border with the Divine Kingdom of Theo is taut, like a bowstring about to snap.”

“Yes, war is unavoidable.”

Garoth nodded, admitting it calmly, without concealment.

Edrian inhaled deeply and voiced their decision: “We need to take Deborah away from here.”

“The Romanian Plains are about to become a massive whirlpool of war; no place can be guaranteed safe.”

“Deborah and her unborn child cannot remain. We have decided she should return with us to the Vophal Dragon Domain to give birth. It is far from the continent’s strife, stable enough for her to safely go through the incubation period until the hatchling is strong enough to adapt to the outside world.”

His tone was resolute.

At her father’s words, Deborah’s silver-white scales on her brow bristled slightly.

She instinctively looked at Garoth, a complicated expression in her eyes.

Deborah understood that her power would likely not be decisive in the coming kingdom war. If she insisted on staying, she might distract Garoth at a critical moment.

That would be recklessness, not bravery; after all, she had not yet reached the legendary tier.

The red iron dragon lowered his proud head slowly, locking eyes with Deborah.

“Deborah, your father is right.”

He paused slightly, then continued, “In fact, inviting them to visit the kingdom was partly to ensure your safety. I must make sure you and the child are protected, especially before the situation becomes clear.”

His implication was plain.

Even with Deborah’s status as a metal dragon, once war erupts, legendary enemies would not show mercy. They might even single her out because of her relationship with the Red Iron Dragon Emperor to provoke or distract him.

Moreover, the Divine Kingdom of Theo has more legends and strategic creations like the Star-Eye.

Even within the heavily defended Valdo Palace, Deborah might not be completely safe. Returning to the metal dragon domains away from the war is the most prudent choice for now.

“If I weren’t pregnant, I would stay to guard the palace for you, but... the child’s safety is important.”

Deborah sighed softly.

The Red Iron Dragon stepped forward and nudged Deborah’s faceplate. “I understand.”

Edrian nodded slightly, acknowledging his son-in-law’s rationality, then his expression grew serious.

“Garoth, we know your ambition and your goals, and we understand the situation facing the Aola homeland.”

“But as a father, as a metal dragon, I must warn you: war is a beast that devours everything. Even if you are a legendary giant and an emperor, do not let rage or conquest blind you.”

“Remember, your life concerns not only your throne, but also the partner and unborn offspring waiting for you in the distance.”

Serena took the words and softened her voice. “We are not trying to stop the kingdom’s development, but... Garoth, you have become family to us.”

“Metal dragons value promises and bonds. Deborah chose you, and we have accepted you.”

“So please, cherish yourself.”

“Do not rashly involve yourself in death-defying dangers, do not challenge an unbeatable enemy alone.”

The Silver Dragon stepped forward, placing a forelimb gently on the Red Iron Dragon’s hard shoulder, meeting his deep vertical pupils directly.

“Victory matters, but staying alive matters more.”

Garoth had rarely experienced such heartfelt concern from elders; the hardness of his heart was slightly touched.

He exhaled slowly, sending out a scatter of tiny sparks.

“I will remember your warning,” the Red Iron Dragon said solemnly. “I will weigh things carefully and will not rush to die blindly.”

Edrian’s stern face relaxed a little.

After a moment’s thought he said, “When you need it, you can send word to me.”

“Metal dragons rarely interfere in other nations’ wars, but if you truly fall into a life-or-death crisis... I will not stand by while my daughter loses her partner or my grandson loses his father.”

“If necessary, I will provide aid. This is a promise from the Stanitor family.”

Garoth nodded his dragon head slightly. “I will.”

The time to part finally came.

The Red Iron Dragon spread his wings, enveloping the small brass-silver dragon, nudging her forehead with his chin, then slowly separation followed after a few seconds.

Surrounded by her parents, Deborah said, “I will wait for your victory news.”

Whoosh!

A Faerie Dragon leapt out from behind a rock, weaving around the brass-silver’s head before hovering in front of her.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. With me, Vira, here, Aola will surely win!”

She said cheerfully.

The Faerie Dragon’s bubbly energy eased the tense atmosphere. Deborah couldn’t help smiling. “Whether Garoth can win now rests on you.”

Silver and copper radiance flared, wrapping the three metal dragons’ forms.

The dragons beat their wings and launched into the sky, heading toward the Vophal Dragon Domain, soon shrinking to sparkling dots on the horizon.

Garoth stood on a mountain peak, staring up at the empty sky.

The wilderness wind swept over his heavy scales, carrying the smell of gunpowder.

“If war cannot be avoided, then let the sky and earth burn for it.”

He whispered, then turned and descended, the rumble of his training resuming.

New Calendar year 341, late autumn.

Divine Kingdom of Theo, northeast border, Ironwall Fortress.

Harold cupped his numb hands to his mouth, exhaling a puff of white vapor.

He stood on the watchtower on the fortress’s eastern wall, his gaze habitually sweeping over the night-drenched wilderness outside.

The late-autumn wind cut across the battlements like knives, bringing the peculiar scent of the Ser Wilderness—a mixture of dust clouds and dry grass.

He was an ordinary soldier in the third wall defense unit of Ironwall Fortress, seven years in service, long accustomed to the tedium and vigilance of border life.

Ironwall Fortress guarded a key route to the kingdom.

Its massive walls were built from graystone mixed with anti-magic materials, rising fifteen meters, equipped with magi-ballistae and explosive runic formations, and supported by the kingdom’s proud Sky Eye satellite for round-the-clock reconnaissance.

But for the past three days the weather had been abnormal.

Thick storm clouds like heavy lead-gray blankets lay low over the border day and night.

Sickly white lightning flashed through them, thunder rolled heavy and continuous like an ancient beast turning in the sky, and rain came in fits and starts, turning the wasteland into quagmire while seriously interfering with visibility and communications.

“This damned weather.”

Tom, a young soldier on watch with him, grumbled and tightened his thin cloak. “Can the Sky Eye still see clearly?”

Harold looked up at the pitch-black sky lit by intermittent lightning and shook his head.

“The patrol reported strong charge-layer interference in the skies. The mages suspect it could be a natural anomaly, or enemy tampering.” He paused, then the younger soldier laughed and said, “But they’re just some barbarian-founded kingdom. They’re nowhere near us—talk big, maybe, but would they really start a war first?”

His words were not without basis.

Theo’s internal propaganda painted the opposing side as a crude kingdom of wilderness monsters, a ragtag mob.

Most low-ranking soldiers thought the same; only some higher officers knew more of the truth.

Midnight approached, the rain eased but thunder persisted.

Recently, to cope with the weather’s effects, fortress defenders had heightened alertness and increased patrols and wall sentries.

Harold had just finished a round of patrols and leaned against the cold wall bricks to catch his breath.

Suddenly he felt an extremely subtle tremor under his feet.

At first he thought it was a trick of fatigue, but the shaking grew more distinct and frequent, like countless heavy mallets striking the earth in the distance. Even amid the rumbling thunder, it became impossible to ignore.

“Do you feel that?”

Another soldier straightened, his face grave.

Harold lunged to the parapet and strained to peer into the black wilderness.

The rain and night hid nearly everything; only when lightning split the sky would the land be momentarily illuminated.

At the flash of an especially thick bolt, Harold’s breath froze.

In that fleeting pale light he saw a boundless shadow on the horizon.

It was not night nor terrain—it was a surging torrent of cavalry charging!

Tall, half-human, half-horse figures led the charge like a moving forest; behind them loomed wolf-shaped silhouettes and other massive, hulking shadows.

“Enemy attack—!!!”

Almost at once, shrill alarm bells rang mournfully throughout the fortress.

The wall erupted as soldiers sprinted from their rest places; officers’ shouts, clashing weapons, and pounding footsteps merged into chaos.

Harold’s heart hammered.

The shadow on the horizon swelled and rushed closer with alarming speed. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

No longer a blur, the leading centaur warriors could now be made out: muscular bodies, flowing manes, and the spears and blades they raised like a forest.

A dull thunder of hooves had become a deafening roar.

Bricks on the battlements trembled with the approaching mass.

“Prepare magi-cannons!”

A commander on the rear platform roared.

Over a dozen heavy magi-cannons along the wall began a low hum; the magic crystals embedded in their barrels lit one by one, and the air warped slightly from the gathering energy.

On the other side of the field, at the front of the charging torrent, a striking white figure rode out.

Ranger-General Elvy.

She led the vanguard, hooves flying, both hands on an exaggerated longbow nearly as tall as she was. Even as the magi-cannons were readied, she had already fully drawn her bow.

She sped forward and loosed arrows while racing, her sharp gaze cutting through the rain and darkness to lock on targets.

Her projectiles were no longer mere arrows but more like small throwing javelins! They left the string with a piercing red glow and almost perfectly straight trajectories, moving so fast the eye could scarcely track them.

The first shot aimed straight for the commander on the wall.

“Protect the commander!”

Guards leapt forward.

But the arrow was like a bolt of lightning.

It gouged a hole in the fortress’s shield and pierced through the steel shield a guard had raised, striking the commander’s breastplate with brutal force.

The impact flung the commander backward into the battlement, where he slid down, leaving a terrifying bowl-sized hole in his chest.

He died instantly.

Chaos seized command of that section of wall.

The troops’ morale visibly plunged as they watched their commander fall in one fatal blow.

Thunk!

The bowstring’s reverberation finally cut through wind, rain, and hoofbeats.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Elvy’s arrows streaked like meteors across the night.

The second arrow pierced a caster’s head, cutting off his incantation and vanishing with a spray of blood.

The third struck a magi-cannon mid-wall; the explosive rune attached to the arrow tore through the cannon’s muzzle guard, shattering it.

One arrow after another shredded the fortress’s magical shield and struck pivotal men and machines.

Other centaur marksmen bent their bows as they charged, arrows falling with the rain. They couldn’t all pierce the shield like the general’s, but they rippled across the great rune barrier.

At the same time the magi-cannons finished charging and the casters unleashed spells.

Boom—!

Blinding beams cleaved the rain-soaked night toward the cavalry ranks.

Highly concentrated flames and concussive energy capable of blowing horrific craters in flat ground or vaporizing flesh tore into the attackers.

Various other magics swept down as well.

However, the centaur assault formation was not a tight phalanx.

They advanced in loose wedge squads, spaced apart. Most cannon beams struck empty ground, only two achieved real kills, shattering and scattering two centaur contingents. Spell attacks had limited effect; the centaurs were prepared.

Compared to the surging flood, their losses were negligible.

Their advance did not slow.

Soon the Crimson Iron Riders closed within two hundred paces of the fortress.

At that distance, the faces of the leading centaur warriors were clear, their eyes slightly reddened, and their weapons flashed cold light.

“Golems forward! Ready to meet them!”

Officers knew the cruellest moment was approaching.

When the charge closed to less than a hundred paces, colossal golems rose like an outer barricade to block the legion.

“For the blood of our enemies, we sacrifice for Aola!”

Elvy slung her bows back to her saddle, drew a huge sword that gleamed with cold light.

The blade was wide; near the hilt was set a teal gem.

“For Aola! For His Majesty the Emperor!”

She let out a clear war cry that rang across the battlefield. Magical energy burst from her body like a tangible gale, wrapping her and the great sword.

Her hooves dug in, and at the last instant her speed surged again, becoming a streak of light that shot into the air.

“What are you doing? Suicide?!”

All defensive weapons immediately targeted Elvy, preparing to concentrate fire to destroy her.

The next moment they understood why.

“For Aola! For His Majesty the Emperor!”

The Crimson Iron Riders roared in unison.

Their emblems glowed, forming an invisible linkage that pooled their will and fighting spirit toward their general.

In an instant Elvy’s aura swelled, reaching the level of a former regional ruler.

Her wings fully extended, the sword raised high, and the teal gem on its blade exploded with a sunlike brilliance!

In the next heartbeat she became a meteor, trailing a blue-white streak, smashing toward Ironwall Fortress.

Rip!

A gale shredded the golems into pieces in midair; they could not halt the centaurs.

“Slash—!”

A fierce command. The sword fell with mountain-cleaving might.

The teal blade cut through the magical shield like slicing tofu, then cleaved into the thick wall.

Centered on the impact, countless web-like fissures spread instantly. Cracked stones flew like cannon shot in all directions.

The whole stretch of wall shook and groaned, as if ready to collapse.

The blade did not stop; it tore down along the wall into the interior.

When the light faded and dust settled a little, the defenders saw a scene that chilled their blood.

The fifteen-meter-high wall had been split cleanly by a V-shaped breach seven to eight meters wide from crest to foundation—wide enough for three or four centaurs to pass abreast!

Elvy who had delivered that earth-shaking blow panted slightly, her magical energy dimmed a touch.

But her inner light remained bright, saturated with countless warriors’ fighting spirit.

“Crimson Iron Riders—” she drew a deep breath and raised the sword again, pointing into the gap, “Follow me, flatten all resistance!”

Roar! Roar! Roar!

Behind her, the long-awaiting crimson tide exploded out with a mountain-and-sea roar.

Inspired by Elvy’s near-singlehanded breach, the riders surged through the torn opening into Ironwall Fortress.

The defenders at the gap tried to form a resistance, but under the spearhead of Elvy and the mass of elite centaurs behind her, any line they attempted to build melted like snow in sunlight.

Elvy’s blade swung, each strike bringing gore and wind.

She stabbed through like a molten-hot knife through butter, driving hard toward the fortress core and the inner gate.

“Damned centaurs!”

An 18th-level commander cursed, hacking down impediment-ridden Aola cavalry to flank Elvy.

Whoosh!

Elvy’s hooves struck; she vanished like teleportation, leaving a violent wind that bound the human soldier.

The human’s motion to break free froze instantly.

Elvy retracted her sword without glancing at the fallen man and continued to lead her force forward.

In her view, the gains made so far were nothing to boast about.

Ironwall Fortress had no legendary defenders, no powerful level-20 generals. Among the enemy’s many strongholds, it was not a front-line fortress but a whetstone chosen by the Aola Kingdom to open the war.

Its swift fall had been planned.

Elvy’s mission was to win with thunderous speed, giving Ironwall no chance to resist, and to inspire the entire army with a decisive first victory.

Now the wall defenses had been broken from one point and that breach kept widening.

After entering the fortress, the Crimson Iron Riders quickly seized high ground and alley entrances, using precision arrows to suppress any defenders who tried to resist.

Inside, the fortress devolved into brutal urban warfare.

Centaur warriors charged through relatively open streets and plazas, while gnoll cavalry threaded narrower areas, methodically clearing remaining resistance pockets.

Harold and his squad never received any effective retreat or reinforcement orders.

With their commander precisely sniped, communications were cut and the command system nearly paralyzed.

When a small group of gnoll mounted archers discovered their watchtower and began to besiege it, Harold knew it was over.

They resisted symbolically for a few moments, arrows raining from below and the sides, comrades collapsing one after another.

Harold and other survivors abandoned the tower and fell back along the shattered wall toward the inner city.

Along the way they only saw collapse.

Soldiers ran about like headless flies, officers could not find their units, wounded lay unattended.

Flames burned on several buildings, smoke billowed; Aola cavalry rode recklessly through the streets.

Harold did not know where the commander was or whether the fortress commander lived or died.

Survival instincts drove him toward the southwest emergency evacuation passage—a handful of escape routes ordinary soldiers might remember if the fortress fell.

The sky lightened to grey-white.

Dawn approached.

Dragging a nearly fainting comrade and mixed with a group of scattered survivors, Harold crawled out of a concealed drainage tunnel and into the fortress’s rear shrubbery.

He looked back once.

Ironwall Fortress, the stronghold he had garrisoned for seven years and believed impregnable, now smoked and burned in many places.

The flags on the walls were no longer Theo’s; dark-red Aola dragon banners waved instead.

The wasteland wind cut sharp, carrying the smell of gunpowder, blood, and ash—like a dragon’s breath.

“Barbarians... a bunch of rabble...”

Harold stared blankly, a laugh-cry twisting his mouth.

Some of this low-ranked soldier’s basic beliefs had collapsed.

“What are you dawdling for? Move! Move!”

A comrade grabbed him, unwilling to stay, disappearing quickly into the rain.

In less than one night.

Fortress defenders—dead, escaped, surrendered—Ironwall Fortress, the linchpin of the human kingdom, fell before dawn on a stormy autumn night to a devastating, unstoppable assault, and was occupied by the Aola Kingdom.

At the same time.

The Red Iron Dragon Emperor lingered atop a mountain peak, looking south as if he could see the fortress burning.

“This is only the beginning.”

He murmured, his voice rolling like layers of mountains echoing slowly.