Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Ser Wilderness, Citadel of Crimson Flame, terrace atop the High Mountain Dragon Court

This was the high ground from which the Red Iron Dragon overlooked his kingdom’s territory.

The ground here was paved with single slabs of metal, magically solidified into an almost impenetrable surface that gave off a faint luster in the dawn light.

Standing here, the gale whipped around, stirring thin clouds and the distant tang of gunpowder smoke. The view was vast, and one could clearly make out a hazy gray-white silhouette on the southern horizon.

That was the Emerald Ridge Mountains stretching for thousands of miles, like the spine of a sleeping giant.

The Red Iron Dragon gazed southward. For a moment his deep black vertical pupils flashed with a subtle uncertainty, which quickly turned into realization.

Just now, he had sensed something in his consciousness—he could clearly feel Karu’s presence.

It was not merely a vague direction or distance, but something more specific.

His location, rough condition, emotional reactions, even certain fragmented thoughts surfaced like reflections on water, faintly appearing in Garoth’s awareness.

When Karu entered Bloodburst State, that sense became especially strong.

Not only could Garoth sense Karu himself, he could almost perceive the environment surrounding Karu through the ogre’s senses.

From a fleeting thought of Karu’s, Garoth understood the reason for this change: it was a trait awakened when Karu advanced to Legendary.

“Could it be that those whose dragon bloodline I transformed, once they step into Legendary, have a chance to become extensions of my strength and will? Or is Karu simply an exceptional case who awakened this trait?” Garoth wondered, tail lightly sweeping across the metal floor.

“Russell is still far from Legendary, he needs more time. Right… I can have Elvy try.”

“She’s already level twenty. Previously she was second only to Karu. After this battle she’ll have accumulated enough; she should break through to Legendary soon.”

“Performing the dragon vein transformation on her now won’t slow her ascent. It will instead establish a deeper link in advance.”

Garoth thought this through.

But he quickly reined in his thoughts and returned his gaze to the terrace.

At this moment, he was not the only intelligent being on the high platform.

Two other markedly different sentient figures stood quietly before his massive foreclaws.

Their bodies were tiny as dust compared to the dragon, but the energy fields around them were solid and overwhelming, proclaiming the essence of Legendary beings.

The first stood about one point two meters tall.

His whole body was encased in a silver-gray exoskeleton patterned with gears and conduits. His face was completely covered by a metal faceplate inlaid with multiple crystalline lenses, from whose gaps two pale blue lights shone.

A three-segmented mechanical auxiliary arm extended from a base on his back, ending in four independently articulated metal fingers that slowly waved in the air, sparks flicking from their tips.

[Destruction Heavy Cannon] Gerbin, one of the Legendary Alchemists of the Goblin Kingdom Matna.

Though Matna was built by goblins, it was not to be underestimated.

Their territory rooted in the Romanian Plains, and like the Dwarf Kingdom Cambruk, they were one of the major plain nations—powerful, second only to the human-dominated Lothrian and Reebos kingdoms.

Generally, nonhuman races found it difficult to secure a foothold among nations dominated by humans—unless they possessed power enough to shake neighboring states.

The second figure presented a stark contrast.

He wore a deep crimson robe embroidered with flame patterns in gold thread. As the fabric fluttered in the wind, sparks of flame appeared and vanished in the surrounding air.

He carried no staff, only a fist-sized dark-red crystal orb floating in his palm.

Inside the orb a cluster of burning white flame was sealed, rotating slowly, each turn distorting the surrounding light.

[Wild Flame] Eldrin, Lothrian Kingdom’s Legendary Plastic-Energy Adept, specialized in destructive spellcraft.

Plastic-energy spells focus on manipulating and reshaping various energies, converting them into their most destructive forms.

Eldrin had mastered this art and had an almost obsessive fondness for fireball magics.

From basic small fireballs to compressed explosive orbs and up to Legendary-grade blazing suns, he performed them all with speed and power that often exceeded peers of similar rank.

In the records of the nations’ Legendary beings, he was known as a “walking fireball battery.”

Eldrin had been dispatched by the Lothrian royal house to reinforce the military alliance with Aola and to assist Aola’s legions in breaching Norton Pass.

“The energy defense layer at Dragonbreaker Gate in the Emerald Ridge has reached its peak. The energy density is abnormal,” Gerbin’s voice came from beneath the faceplate, flat and devoid of feeling.

“My recommendation: the first wave should focus on attrition. Commit legions to a fierce assault to force them to continuously expend energy. Once their reserves drop by at least thirty-seven point five percent, make the decisive breach.”

“If the enemy exposes a clear weak point, I can summon the [Gun-Fortress] for targeted strikes.”

Garoth narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze linger on the goblin alchemist for a moment.

He had heard of the Gun-Fortress.

It was a strategic alchemical construct Matna had poured the kingdom’s resources into building.

Its main body was mountain-sized, fixed on a heavy fortress base within Matna’s interior, integrating thousands of magic-energy-accelerated guns, element-splitting cannons, matter-annihilation guns, and other terrifying weapons.

Most alarming were the hundreds of stable dimensional interface nodes preset around the fortress.

One of Matna’s Legendary alchemists’ capabilities was to, through coordinate calculations and energy guidance, temporarily open one-way channels to summon portions of the Gun-Fortress’s turret arrays to distant battlefields for cross-space strikes.

During the first civil war, Matna’s Gun-Fortress had forced several high-ranking Legendaries to withdraw.

Even at partial power, the Gun-Fortress was not a thing to be trifled with.

“Gerbin’s recommendation is sound.”

Eldrin toyed with the orb in his palm; the white flame’s flicker reflected in his eyes. He spoke with a gentle smile, “I can apply pressure in tandem.”

“When the enemy’s defenses waver from sustained depletion, I will call down the skyfire to blanket the area. Paired with the Gun-Fortress, we will shatter Norton Pass’s defenses and burn their flesh and bones to ash.”

His tone was almost genteel, yet the destructive intent in his words made Garoth tilt his head slightly.

That last line carried a ruinous flavor reminiscent of a Red Dragon.

These two Legendaries—one from the alchemical powerhouse goblin nation and one from Lothrian’s deep arcane bedrock—both excelled at destroying obstacles. Their mission here was clear.

Assist Aola, and breach Norton Pass.

Their plans were rational and coldly logical: sacrifice allied troops to reduce the enemy’s defense systems, then strike decisively with Legendary power at the optimal moment.

That was conventional military logic.

“Honored Ignas His Majesty,” Eldrin raised his head and looked toward the massive dragon’s brow, “what do you think of our plan?”

Garoth’s expression remained composed as his deep black pupils swept slowly over the two Legendaries.

“Gerbin, Eldrin,” he said in a low voice, “thank you for your counsel and aid, but in this battle Aola will not wait for a weak point. We will not let our soldiers’ lives fill that gap.”

His tone was even, but both Legendaries involuntarily showed a small sign of acknowledgment.

Eldrin, puzzled, pressed further, “Majesty, do you have a better way to break this?”

The Red Iron Dragon lifted his enormous head and returned his gaze to the gray-white silhouette of the mountain range.

“What the Kingdom of Theo relies on is merely this natural choke point, that supposedly impregnable stronghold.”

“They believe Aola’s forces will be halted, battered to pieces, and that only mountains of corpses can level every obstacle.”

Garoth bared his teeth in a grin that revealed rows of white fangs.

“Then I will personally show them what unstoppable means, and what true power is.”

Beyond seizing Norton Pass and opening a path into Theo’s interior, his deeper aim was to utterly crush Theo’s will to resist and shred the last thread of their hope.

Thus Garoth decided to act contrary to expectation.

He would lead by example and, in the most domineering and undeniable way, smash this natural barrier head-on.

He would make every onlooker see that before real power, terrain and fortified walls were but fragile illusions.

Previously, Garoth might have tempered his approach, mindful of potential external interventions supporting Theo.

But now, with Matna and Lothrian showing explicit support and sending Gerbin and Eldrin as strong reinforcements, external pressure had sharply diminished.

So he no longer needed caution; he could commit his full might.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Gerbin’s voice remained emotionless.

“All will proceed by your will,” Eldrin added with a slight bow as the orb in his palm dimmed a fraction.

From the Red Emperor’s eyes they saw not recklessness or arrogance, but a profound calm and resolution—an expression born of weighing options, simulating possibilities, and concluding this course must work.

New Calendar 344, April 12, late night.

North of the Emerald Ridge, a vast clearing had been artificially prepared.

Stormhammer, Iron Will, Crimson Iron Riders, Eye of Extinction… the elite forces from Aola’s various theaters assembled here in force. Banners filled the field, armor bristled like a tide.

Monstrous and savage warbeasts stood among them under their handlers’ control, emitting roars and howls.

The dark-black army spread like a sea that vanished beyond sight, dotted by countless torchlight and magic orbs that sketched the silhouette of this war behemoth.

At the very front of all the legions, the Red Iron Dragon Emperor stood like a mountain.

Tonight he did not restrain his aura. The nearly forty-meter-long black-red dragon’s body was fully extended; each scale looked as if it had been poured from cooling lava, edges razor-sharp, giving off a cold metallic sheen in the night. His wings were folded at his sides; the crimson membranes bore flame-like patterns that heaved gently with his breath.

Beside him stood Iron Dragon Sorog and Red Dragon Samantha.

Above, White Dragon Beskarl, Blue Dragon Zoraya, Gold Dragon Alberto circled through the sky.

Behind them were War Warlord Karu, Ranger-General Elvy, the Amethyst Dragon Lion lord, the Yaqi Serpentine Leopard lord… every Aolan lord and general was present.

There were no pounding war drums or blaring horns.

Only the suppressed breaths of countless warriors, the faint clinking of armor plates, the rasp of beasts’ claws on stone, and that swelling, almost tangible battle fervor rising toward the sky.

The Red Emperor slowly lifted his head.

He needed no amplification magic. His voice itself was like a rolling thunder, cutting through the silence and reaching every living being’s ears, stirring them to their core.

“Warriors of Aola!”

His tone was low and majestic, echoing faintly among the mountains.

“Tonight, I will personally lead you to crush this natural trench and flatten that impregnable stronghold.”

“This battle is not for the conquest of a city or a region, it is to proclaim to the world that Aola’s might is unstoppable!”

His voice paused, then the Red Iron Dragon rose into the air, wings fully unfurled like a vast banner rippling against the wind.

“In my name, we shall forge Aola’s eternal dominion!”

“To all units—”

The Emperor’s foreclaw swung down, pointing toward Norton Pass.

“Follow me, and crush them!”

Emerald Ridge, Dragonbreaker Gate, the command platform.

Rodrigro pressed both arms against the battlement and stared intently at the blacker-than-night tide to the north.

Accurately speaking, it was not a tide.

It was the Aola host slowly rolling across the plain, advancing toward the pass.

Even from a distance, the silent forward movement of that massive force had a palpable oppression to it.

And at the front of that black tide, the crimson figure circling low across the air was like a nightmare incarnate—

The Red Iron Dragon Emperor, Garoth Ignas.

Even across this distance, Rodrigro felt that coarse, burning, kingly pressure—like invisible hammers striking his chest.

He inhaled deeply and then transmitted his voice through the comms array to reach every corner of the pass.

“All mage towers, maintain full-range detection and anti-teleport runes. Prioritize scans of high altitudes and subterranean layers.”

“All alchemical heavy cannons, prepare armor-piercing rounds and shock rune stones. First volley targets: enemy lord units, large siege beasts, and heavy infantry clusters.”

“All bowmen and crossbowmen to the walls, first wave explosive rune arrows ready—fire on whistle.”

A string of commands rang out clearly; the pass began to awaken like a slumbering giant.

The grinding of gears, the tightening of chains, the thud of running boots, and officers’ sharp shouts mixed and echoed among the peaks.

Finally, Rodrigro glanced at the other Legendary figures on the command platform.

Bosival crouched like a panther merged with shadow behind an arrow embrasure, a longbow across his knees, fingers stroking an arrow of dark-golden shaft; Dirik stood on an observation platform extended from a mage tower, his purple robe fluttering in the night breeze.

These two high Legendaries were central to dealing with the Red Emperor.

Under the heavy night, Aola’s legions pressed forward with slow, determined steps.

On the walls, Theo’s soldiers gripped their weapons until their knuckles whitened; the mages in the towers held their breath as they pushed their minds and runic networks to their limits; the artillerymen rested fingers on activation runes, sweat beading at their temples.

Five kilometers, four kilometers, three kilometers…

The vanguard of Aola’s wagon train entered the edge of conventional long-range weapons. Wall-mounted cannons began to adjust elevation. Archers strung their bows and set arrows to the strings.

But Rodrigro kept his lips tightly pressed and did not give the order to fire.

He waited.

He waited for the Aola force to enter the optimal lethal range. He waited for their formations to compress due to the narrow slope and engineered obstacles before the wall—maximizing first-wave ranged lethality.

Then, suddenly.

A dragon’s roar split the clouds from the very front of the Aola host.

As if slammed against an invisible wall, the advancing Aola columns halted in unison, flags snapping in the wind.

Under the thousands of focused gazes,

that dark-red dragon form—the Red Emperor—slowly lifted his head.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the night and distance, through the flowing golden shield, and fixed directly on Rodrigro atop the command platform.

Rodrigro’s heart contracted, a dire premonition welling up.

The next second—

Whoosh—boom!

To the stunned defenders’ eyes, the Red Iron Dragon did not charge forward. Instead his wings beat powerfully, and his enormous body shot straight upward like a meteor launched in reverse, tearing the air, accelerating impossibly fast and punching through low clouds toward the star-strewn, night-shrouded high sky.

“What is he doing?” Bosival squinted at the heavens, a flicker of disbelief flashing in his eyes. “High-altitude reconnaissance? Did he detect our trap and plans to avoid them?”

Rodrigro’s pupils narrowed.

An absurd and terrifying thought, which somehow made sense for the Red Emperor, exploded in his mind.

“No… he’s not running away… he intends to fall from above onto the gate!”

“Whitanart!” Rodrigro roared, voice raw with urgency, “maximum readiness! The Red Emperor intends to personally strike Norton Pass!”

Whitanart’s face shifted.

Without hesitation he let out a deep, resonant roar. Brilliant light exploded from his body.

Ancient, inscrutable watch runes blossomed across his armor like living things, then streamed along his arms into the battlements and into the rune network at the wall’s foundation, instantly spreading through the entire Unyielding Bulwark.

A hum!

The defense shield over Dragonbreaker Gate—no, over the entire Norton Pass mountain—seemed to tremble.

Drawing on the two towering peaks flanking the pass as natural energy nodes, countless defensive runes embedded in the mountain, wall foundations, and ley veins activated.

Pale-gold light flowed like awakened veins through the mottled rock and cold metal, spreading and weaving until, a hundred zhang above the pass, it converged into a semi-transparent energy shield bearing the spectral image of the mountains.

The surface shimmered with layers of runes flashing in and out.

[Unyielding Bulwark]

It was not a simple magic barrier, but Whitanart’s Legendary Domain fused completely with the ley energy of the Emerald Ridge and the pass’s fortifications.

In this state, the pass’s defenses rose to an unfathomable level, capable of withstanding the continuous bombardment of a Crowned Legendary.

But the cost was enormous.

Whitanart himself would be deeply bound to it; if the shield broke, he would suffer grievous harm.

Rodrigro’s gaze swept over the other Legendary silhouettes on the platform.

Bosival, like a shadow-blended panther, crouched at an arrow slit in the command stand’s corner, longbow across his knees and fingers on a quiver of dark-golden arrows. Dirik stood on the mage tower’s observation balcony, purple robes fluttering in the wind.

These two senior Legendaries were core to opposing the Red Emperor.

Under the thick night, Aola’s host advanced with slow but relentless momentum.

On the walls, Theo’s troops gripped steel, white-knuckled; mages strained at the edge of their power, linking minds to runic arrays; gunners poised their hands on trigger runes, sweat beading.

Five kilometers, four, three…

Aola’s vanguard entered conventional long-range weapon range. Wall cannons adjusted elevation, archers set explosive rune arrows.

But Rodrigro kept waiting.

He waited for the perfect killing range, when the enemy’s formations would must be compressed and choked by slope and obstacles.

At that moment—

A dragon cry split the skies from the frontmost Aola host.

Like striking a wall, the advance halted.

Then, under concentrated gazes,

the dark-red dragon raised his head.

His stare pierced night and distance, through the thick flowing shield, and locked onto Rodrigro on the command platform.

Rodrigro’s heart lurched.

The next second—

Whoosh—boom!

To the defenders’ astonishment, the Red Iron Dragon did not charge forward but flexed his wings and shot straight up as if launching in reverse into the heavens, tearing through clouds with unbelievable acceleration toward the star-filled sky.

“What is he doing?” Bosival squinted at the sky, blinking in disbelief. “High-altitude scouting? Or did he detect our trap and wants to avoid it?”

Rodrigro’s pupils contracted.

An absurd, terrifying idea—suddenly reasonable when applied to the Red Emperor—exploded in his mind.

“No… he’s not intending to flee… he’s going to strike downward from above onto the pass!”

“Whitanart!” Rodrigro barked hoarsely, “full alert! The Red Emperor is going to crash Norton Pass himself!”

Whitanart’s face changed.

Without hesitation, he unleashed a low, resonant roar; a blinding light burst from his form.

Ancient watch runes surfaced on his armor and streamed like living beings into the battlements and along the city wall’s rune network, instantly infusing the entire Unyielding Bulwark.

The pass’s defensive shield brightened to an almost blinding intensity.

Its thickness visibly swelled from translucence into near-solid form, its surface layered with increasingly complex spectral runes—like one heavy coat of armor after another welded onto the golden giant shield.

Now the barrier no longer looked like mere energy. It resembled a real, solid wall formed from condensed radiance, emanating an unbreakable weight.

“A drop impact from the sky… Even a Legendary giant dragon’s body, at that speed and with that momentum, would suffer horrifying recoil. Scaled cracking and bone shattering would be the mildest of injuries!”

Bosival’s brow knitted as he drew an arrow to the string.

“Is he insane?! This is a suicide strike!”

The Emperor’s first attack had completely exceeded their expectations and lay outside all plans.

At the same time, a suffocating, invisible pressure descended from the sky.

Both attackers and defenders alike craned their heads to the heavens.

At first it was merely a dark-red speck at the zenith.

Like a new, inconspicuous crimson star in the firmament.

Then the speck rapidly magnified, dragging a long, searing white tail of plasma and fire like a meteor’s atmospheric trail.

Its descent speed was beyond comprehension.

In two or three seconds the speck swelled into a clear dragon-shaped silhouette and kept expanding wildly!

And it was no ordinary meteor.

It was the Red Emperor, the so-called “Crimson Flame Scourge.”

He tucked his wings tight, pressed them to his body, bowed his head, limbs folded—his entire form streamlined to an extreme. Each scale glowed red-hot from air friction; edges began to melt, trailing sparks and metal vapor.

Scorching heat enveloped his body, but he paid it no mind. His dragon pupils fixed only on the gate beneath the golden shield.

Dark-red breath flames belched from behind his wings, etching a path of destruction.

Pulled by gravity and driven by his dragon qi burning, his speed increased.

Roar!

The air sliced with a piercing scream that could not catch up to his fall; sonic boom rings trailed far behind him.

And he was not alone.

Almost as he began his dive, two Legendary spells had already formed.

Gerbin’s mechanical arm array expanded into a complex multi-panel formation, and pale-blue energy converged frantically within it. Eldrin’s orb flared hugely as the white flame inside ballooned many times over, the nearby air violently refracting from extreme heat.

Thus, along the Red Emperor’s descent trail, space abruptly tore open into dozens of irregular rifts.

Blinding high-energy beams shot forth; enormous fireballs—each over a zhang in diameter—coalesced.

They followed him like a meteor’s escort, a cascading barrage of guidance and destruction lighting the night sky.

“Hold! Whitanart! Hold no matter what!”

Rodrigro’s vision teared from the dazzling light, but he glared on and roared, “By my bloodline! By my soul! Forge the Un—yield—ing—Bul—wark!”

Whitanart’s voice sounded solemn as a prayer, each syllable like a last effort.

Cracks split across the gray-white plate armor; blood welled from the fissures, but he seemed not to notice. He poured more of his domain power into the shield.

The golden giant shield over the pass firmed again, the mountain specters on its surface coalescing.

It felt as if the very essence of that segment of the Emerald Ridge had been drawn upward and transmuted into a barrier.

The next instant—

The Red Emperor arrived amid skyfire and streaking light.

There was no sound—or rather, any sound was overwhelmed by a more terrible sight.

Everyone saw a dark-red, burning mass, as if it carried the weight of the sky itself, strike the shield’s apex at a vision-rending speed like a meteor!

Time seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.

Then—crack!!

As if the entire mountain were shattering, an explosion of splintering noise radiated from the impact point across the whole shield!

The Unyielding Bulwark—constructed from ley energy, a Legendary domain, and defensive works and theoretically capable of withstanding Crowned Legendary onslaughts—visibly caved at the impact point! Countless spiderweb-like fissures radiated madly outward from there!

The cracks did not run straight; they branched like lightning and spread like dried-earth fractures, instantly consuming more than a third of the shield’s surface!

Golden light flickered wildly.

Vast amounts of energy poured out as particles from the cracks like an upward-falling golden rain.

At the same time, under the hideous recoil powerful enough to flatten peaks, over a quarter of the Red Iron Dragon’s scales shattered and burst; some exposed dragon hide charred and curled. Though severe, his injuries were far less than Theo’s Legendaries had expected.

“Ugh—!!!”

Whitanart was struck as if by an invisible hammer to the chest. He stumbled backward several steps and spat a mouthful of blood mixed with broken internal fragments, staining the battlement red.

His body trembled fiercely beneath the gray-white armor, yet his two hands remained crimson-bloodied and held fast as he continued supporting the domain.

“Hold… hold—!”

Watch runes flared frantically, trying to mend the spreading fissures.

But repairs could not outpace the damage.

Meanwhile, the skyfire and streaking energy simultaneously slammed into the Unyielding Bulwark.

They accelerated the fissures’ spread and collapse, yet the shield still showed tenacity and refused to shatter completely.

However, the Red Iron Dragon’s assault did not end with a single strike.

While the shield had not fully collapsed, the coiled dragon suddenly unfurled.

His wings snapped open like blades and plunged into the shield’s cracks. His foreclaws gripped the fissure edges, muscles bulging!

“Roar!!!”

With a roar that split the heavens, the Emperor’s wings and claws simultaneously tore outward.

In an instant, cracks opened along the two massive mountain peaks like splitting ribs; the colossal shield that covered Dragonbreaker Gate was ripped at the apex, torn wide to create a huge breach.

The Red Iron Dragon’s bulk passed through the gap, through the raining energy particles.

He crashed into Norton Pass’s interior with unmatched power and momentum, smashing onto Dragonbreaker Gate itself.

Boom!!

The earth shook!

Centered on the impact, a section of what should have been thick, solid wall crumbled like a giant cookie ground under a giant’s foot.

Tons of boulders, bricks, metal fittings, defensive engines, and the Theo garrison perched upon them were crushed, flung, and pulverized into blood-splattered dust and debris, rocketing skyward.

A giant crater opened where the wall had stood; radial fissures crawled along the still-intact stretches of wall on either side.

Dust rose like a mushroom cloud, saturated with the smells of smoke, blood, and stone—instantly blanketing the area.

At the center of that dust and rubble, the dark-red, peak-like silhouette of the dragon slowly righted himself.

“Those who obey me prosper; those who resist me… turn to ash.”

Cloaked in smoke and blaze, the monstrous dragon bellowed over the ruins; his echo rolled among the peaks.

Silence.

On the shattered pass, the surviving Theo defenders stared at that dragon silhouette amid the ruins, at the gaping tear in the shield, at the collapsed lengths of wall and their fallen comrades—like invisible hands had gripped their throats, leaving them speechless.

Terror surged, drowning courage and discipline. Many soldiers’ weapons trembled, and some slipped from numb fingers.

Outside the pass, after a brief hush, Aola’s host erupted into an earsplitting, mountain-shaking roar.

“Hail the might of our king!!!”

Witnessing their emperor descend like a falling scourge and rip open the supposedly impassable barrier, every Aolan warrior, every lord and dragon felt their blood boil to a fever pitch.

No further exhortation was needed; repressed battle fervor and worship flowed into an unstoppable tide.

“He has cleared our path! Cavalry, charge! Flatten the pass! Slaughter the wretches!”

“For Aola! For Ignas the Glorious!”

“Charge—!!!”

Under the deep night, the Red Emperor single-handedly cleft the defenses with unmatched strength and descended onto the Dragonbreaker Gate’s ruins, and behind him the war host poured forward like a black flood finally unleashed.