Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Lain Plateau, Twilight Plains, southern sector.

Lothrian frontline positions.

Soil and rock rose and fell like waves under a low humming, as engineers and the accompanying mages moved through the gradually forming bulwarks.

They did not need to swing tools or chant long spells, since most of the basic labor had been replaced by the towering metal construct standing in the center of the position.

It resembled a giant spider crouched on the ground, its torso over three hundred meters across.

Eight rune-inscribed metallic limbs stabbed deep into the earth; with rhythmic tremors, the ground leveled, compacted, and rose to form chest-high walls tens of meters tall, sharply angled gun platforms, and even protective runes etched into the surfaces of the fortifications that flickered faint light.

In only a few days, the embryo of a fortress with a basic defense system had been erected.

This was not something an ordinary team of casters or alchemists could complete in such a short time.

Its origin lay in that war machine called the Earth Manipulator. In the Lothrian army, it had a more vivid name.

—The Terra Spider.

It was one of the technological crystallizations of the Lothrian Kingdom’s thousand-year legacy, capable of turning any land into copper-wall-and-iron-barrier positions in a short time, making attackers pay with blood while remaining almost immovable.

South of the position, the Lothrian northern expeditionary corps headquarters sat in a makeshift fortress backed by low hills.

In the command hall’s center, a massive magical sand table floated in midair.

On the miniature terrain formed by light and shadow, two dominant colors stood out.

Blue lights dotted like stars, steadily spreading northward to construct layer upon layer of defenses; on the plain’s northern side, the red lights representing the Aola legions had already gathered into a surging sea of crimson, silent yet brimming with oppressive force.

Beside the sand table, a middle-aged general clad in silvery-gray heavy plate armor stood with his hands behind his back.

His face was stern, cheekbones sharp, and his gray-blue eyes were like blades tempered in fire. When his gaze swept the sand table, it seemed to cut through the illusory lights and look straight at the battlefield’s essence.

General Valesia Arthof, commander of the Lothrian northern expeditionary corps.

Unlike Rodrigo, the Shield of Theo, Valesia excelled at coordinating large-scale operations and crushing advances. His style was hard and decisive, and he enjoyed great prestige in the army, nicknamed the Iron-Fist General.

Moreover, he was not only an outstanding commander.

The Iron-Fist General himself had been a warrior in the Legendary tier for many years, a senior Legendary whose blade had tasted the blood of countless powerful enemies.

"Father… General."

A young staff officer hurried forward and reported in a low voice.

His brows and eyes bore a six- or seven-point resemblance to Valesia’s, though his features still looked youthful.

Now he straightened his back, and his tone betrayed a barely concealed pride.

"According to the current progress, at most two more days and the frontline positions will be fully formed — fortresses, bastions, golem platforms, rune gun emplacements… all works completed. Then our army can both attack and defend."

He paused and pulled a smile at his lips.

"The legion of savage beasts hasn’t even dug a few decent trenches so far. Facing our cluster of fortresses, they’ll be like waves hitting a cliff — they’ll be smashed to pieces and nothing else."

Valesia did not reply immediately.

He slowly turned his head, his cold gaze locking onto the staff officer’s face, devoid of approval.

"Savage? Stupid?"

Valesia spoke slowly. "Is that your assessment of the Aola Kingdom?"

Under that gaze, the young officer shivered slightly but persisted: "Report, General! Yes! Before our steel and magic, they are merely instincts-driven beasts. We will win this battle!"

"Win?"

Valesia repeated the word, then suddenly stepped forward, the clang of armor ringing.

"Then tell me: if Aola were truly so pitiful, how did they develop to their current state over more than a hundred years? How did they force Theo to submit? And how can they now stand opposite us on this plain?"

The staff officer opened his mouth; his face began to whiten.

"Every victory Aola has won was built on the bones of their enemies; none of them were pure luck," Valesia’s voice grew sterner.

"Enlisted soldiers can believe propaganda, can belittle the enemy to steady their hearts."

"But you are a staff officer. Your judgment will affect orders! If even you think the enemy is stupid and weak, then who is actually the fool?"

He stared at his son, the young officer he had worked to cultivate.

"Our Lothrian endurance for a thousand years has never relied on arrogant contempt for opponents."

"On the contrary, we study every enemy, respect all their strengths, then find ways to crack them and crush them. My father — your grandfather — told me a sentence at the military academy that I still remember."

"Now, I give it to you."

"The deadliest mistake on the battlefield is not numerical inferiority, not an equipment gap, but underestimating your enemy."

Beads of sweat formed on the young officer’s brow, his lips pressed pale; in the end he bowed deeply. "General… I was wrong. I will not repeat this mistake."

"Remember this mistake."

Valesia withdrew his gaze and reprimanded with a blank face. "If you ever stand at a command post, every error you make will cost the lives of thousands of soldiers."

He no longer looked at his son, turned back to the sand table, and tapped the red sea with his finger.

"Aola not building fortifications is not because they don't understand. It is because they know exactly where our advantages lie."

Valesia’s eyes sharpened. "I am ninety percent sure the Aola legions will not sit and wait for our positions to form. Even against an ancient kingdom like ours, they will choose to attack proactively, regardless of cost, to disrupt our rhythm."

He had studied almost every major battle in Aola’s rise.

Especially the command style of that Iron Prince.

That was a cold, keen dragon, full of intelligence.

He must understand that if Lothrian’s war machines and defenses were allowed to fully deploy, forming an unbroken chain of fortresses and a net of firepower, Aola would have little chance again.

So preemption — striking first to break Lothrian’s rhythm — became the inevitable choice.

At that moment, as if to confirm his judgement—

"Report!"

A messenger staggered into the hall, voice urgent.

"General! The Aola legions are on the move! The vanguard consists of large numbers of light infantry monsters; the center has ogres and ogre-elite heavy units; both wings have massive cavalry deployed; aerial units are also taking to the sky!"

"Their objective is clear — they’re charging straight for our frontline positions! Their speed is extreme!"

The command hall air turned heavy; all officers’ eyes focused on Valesia.

No surprise flickered across the Iron-Fist General’s face; he only nodded, then issued orders.

"Send orders down."

"All frontline units, immediately halt unfinished construction and, using current cover, switch to defensive posture!"

"Order heavy artillery emplacements to concentrate fire on the enemy’s charge paths. Prioritize striking ogres, ogre elites, and other heavy units!"

"All combat golems advance to fill gaps in the line. Wizard corps, prepare area-of-effect spells, await release orders!"

"Notify all Legendary units to take positions per plan and prepare to engage! Be on high alert for possible Aola dragons!"

A barrage of commands fell like a sudden storm, without hesitation.

Finally he took a deep breath, his eyes flashing with killing intent.

"Want to upset my rhythm? Then try. Let’s see who will truly stand to the end."

Mid-Twilight Plains, open ground.

On the horizon, a gray-brown tide surged first.

Countless gnolls, lizardfolk, and kobolds roared piercingly, brandishing weapons and claws as they launched the first wave against Lothrian’s barely-formed frontline.

These low-tier monsters were the expendable meat of the Aola legions.

Their task was simple: draw fire with their lives, probe the defenses’ weak points, and create openings for the real main force.

Lothrian’s positions lay silent like a sleeping beast.

Until the charging tide drew near within a certain range.

Boom! Crash! Boom! Crash!

Dull thunderous detonations suddenly roared out.

From behind the lines, heavy magical cannons spat blazing light.

Alchemical shells trailed flames in parabolic arcs and slammed into the monster wave, sending earth and flesh flying into the air. Immediately after, rapid-firing ballistae and rune towers behind the parapets began to hiss, a storm of metal and arcane beams weaving a web of death that reaped swathes of life.

The accompanying mage corps’ chants pooled together.

Flame storms, chained lightning, and rains of ice blades — overlapping destructive spells bloomed along the charge routes in dazzling, lethal displays.

Aola’s vanguard was shredded at astounding speed, corpses piling high.

Yet the living monsters seemed oblivious, stepping over the torn limbs of comrades to keep charging, their howls becoming crazed.

Many green recruits facing Aola for the first time went pale and sweat ran down their backs.

But that was only the prologue.

Woooo! Woooo! Woooo!

A low, mournful horn sound rose from deep within the Aola ranks, briefly drowning out battlefield clamor.

The earth began to tremble in earnest.

Footfalls, heavier by several degrees, shook the plateau soil.

Ogres appeared — over four meters tall on average, clad in heavy armor, like moving mini-fortresses.

They wielded giant spiked mauls, battle-axes, or Wolf Tooth Clubs, bellowing deafening war cries and pounding the ground so hard it cracked. Close behind them came equally giant ogre-elites, whose regeneration was astounding: even with shattered limbs, unless wounded continually by fire or strong acid, wounds would knit fast.

On both wings, the thunder of hooves approached like rolling thunder.

Centaur cavalry columns formed their charge; their armored upper bodies and muscular lower halves sent plumes of dust skyward. Mixed among them were various lion-beasts and giant wolves, forming a surging torrent.

The sky darkened.

The sharp cries of griffons rent the air as flying monsters formed black storm-clouds sweeping over Lothrian’s positions.

The host pressed close, but Lothrian’s defenses reacted in order.

Long-range fire tilted skyward; dense anti-air volleys and anti-air spells lit the firmament.

One war golem after another rumbled its engines, ready to meet heavy units, while deep in the position the Terra Spider’s hum abruptly rose a whole frequency.

Rumble!

The battlefield terrain changed violently!

Before and on the flanks of the Aola charge routes, the earth split open into fissures dozens of meters wide and bottomless in depth!

Those at the front — the gnolls — were caught mid-charge and screamed as they fell.

The quicker ones scrambled up cliff faces or leapt over gaps, but just as fissures opened they began to snap shut, crushing and swallowing those who could not get clear in time.

Not only fissures.

Clusters of jagged stone spikes shot up from the ground, piercing ogres’ feet; flat earth suddenly rose into jagged ridges bristling with rocky teeth, acting like natural chevaux-de-frise, splitting and slowing ogre formations; formerly solid ground instantly liquefied into sand, trapping centaur hooves and slowing their speed…

The earth seemed endowed with life, lashing out madly at every Aola soldier who set foot on it.

Golems waiting in reserve dashed from cover to exploit the chaos, coordinating with the terrain changes to counterattack the disordered Aola ranks.

For a time, Aola’s vanguard and center suffered heavy losses, and their momentum stalled.

However, the suppression did not last long.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

Columns of light descended, illuminating key nodes of Lothrian’s frontline.

Gun emplacements, command posts — they were targeted.

When the light faded, figures clad in translucent ethereal armor and wielding phantom weapons solidified into being.

They ignored physical impediments, flickering into existence, and immediately launched ferocious attacks on nearby Lothrian soldiers and war machines.

Aola’s Sanctuary — the Heroic Spirits arrive!

At the same time, streams of barely visible light rose from the corpses of recently fallen Aola soldiers across the battlefield, gathering skyward.

Those were the souls of the dead, being reclaimed by the Sanctuary to be reshaped into new Heroic Spirits.

"They’re Aola Sanctuary troops! Wizard corps, focus your minds and interfere! Don’t let them secure footholds!"

The frontline commander shouted hoarsely, his face grave.

Lothrian’s magical satellite also had teleportation capability, but each teleport of a living body required massive energy and strict protection — costly, used for key tactical strikes. It was impossible to sustain near-infinite troop deployments on a pitched battlefield like Aola did.

The Sanctuary was not an ordinary magical satellite but a strategic heavy instrument.

Its existence meant the Aola Kingdom could almost infinitely recycle troops.

Both sides’ morale would be seriously affected.

Imagine killing an enemy with your life, only to see it return moments later in another form — the blow to morale would be devastating.

Conversely, when Aola soldiers saw comrades resurrected and reappear, their ferocity in battle became easy to imagine.

As Sanctuary Heroic Spirits sowed chaos inside the defenses, the Aola assault, which had been disrupted by the Earth Manipulator, gradually steadied and even became more furious, pressing forward despite losses.

For these soldiers, death seemed merely a passage back to the Sanctuary for quick recovery and redeployment.

"For the mighty Red Emperor!!!"

A frenzied roar exploded from the sky.

Everyone looked up to see a meteor burning with dark-red flames streak across the heavens, plummeting toward the battlefield’s center.

Boom!

It slammed into a newly raised rocky ridge!

Shards of stone shot out like rain and dust billowed skyward.

From the pit, a mountain-like figure slowly rose to full height.

He was like an iron tower, a pair of curved horns on his brow, his body covered in red dragon scales. Dark-red flames licked and burned across his skin; a broad pair of dragon wings unfurled behind him, whipping up a blast of searing heat.

Fang of Aola, the Gluttonous Demon — one of the Red Emperor’s sharpest fangs.

The instant he landed, his burning giant eyes locked onto the humming Earth Manipulator that continued to alter the terrain.

Without any unnecessary movement, the Gluttonous Demon stamped the ground and surged forward.

Where he passed, the earth cracked and flame-waves rolled.

The Earth Manipulator sensed this uninvited guest.

On the Demon’s charge path, the ground rolled like a living thing; layers of soil and stone folded and merged to form a heavy hill tens of meters tall in an instant, attempting to entomb him.

Yet as the hill formed, a dull thunderous pounding came from within; spiderweb cracks rapidly appeared across the surface.

Boom!

The mountain shattered; amid flying rock rain, the Demon once again burst free. Several places on his scales were broken, but the flames on his body burned fiercer than before.

He closed in on the Earth Manipulator.

"Stop him!"

Several Lothrian Legendaries responded, sweeping in from different directions as domain lights flared, joining to intercept.

Lothrian already had a numerical advantage in Legendaries concentrated here and now formed an encirclement.

At the same time, every Lothrian soldier on the position glowed with faint golden light that streamed like threads toward their Legendaries.

The Oath of Ten Thousand Armies' Command took effect: the army’s morale condensed into substance and empowered the strong!

Bolstered by the formation, the Lothrian Legendaries’ auras surged — their attack potency and domain intensity visibly increased. The Gluttonous Demon felt the pressure multiply, roaring as new wounds opened across his body.

But the Aola legions also wielded formation power.

Amid countless Aola battle cries, a fierce aura rose and coalesced in the air, finally forming a phantasmal war-spirit dozens of meters tall.

This was a war formation from Reebos, turning morale into an independent fighting spirit.

Its form was not fixed.

One moment it looked like a sinewy ogre, another like a centaur with hooves in the air, another like a giant wolf with a human torso — yet every form bore distinct draconic features.

The Aola war-spirit howled and lunged at the Lothrian Legendaries besieging the Demon.

Massive claws slashed, fangs tore — although incorporeal, each strike shook the domain.

Almost as the war-spirit formed, a point of golden light flashed far above in the sky.

A proud centaur warrior reared, all four hooves in the air, standing in defiant poise.

She had sun-kissed skin and a lithe frame etched with golden markings. In her hands she held a giant longbow nearly her height, drawn to a full moon; on the string, an arrow of condensed energy glowed with blinding gold.

Aola’s Edge, Elvy.

Her gaze pierced the chaotic battlefield and fixed on the metallic spider.

Air flowed still around her; all the clamor seemed to fade, and only the target filled her sight.

"Pierce it."

The words slipped from her lips like a whisper.

The arrow flew, silently.

In the next instant, the air along its path was torn apart, dragging a straight vacuum vortex that traveled faster than sound, streaking toward the Earth Manipulator.

The timing of this shot was exquisitely trained.

Lothrian Legendaries engaged with the Gluttonous Demon were too occupied to intervene; even those left defending, though alert, could not stop such a supersonic arrow in time.

Yet the command headquarters’ generals did not panic.

They had confidence in the Earth Manipulator’s defenses.

Sure enough, at the moment the arrow was about to strike, the manipulator’s outer surface lit up with a solid amber-yellow shield. Countless runes flowed across its face, heavy and stable.

Boom!!!

Gold and earthy-yellow light collided, producing a visible circular shockwave that depressed the surrounding ground and sent crackling energies skittering. The air heated and warped.

When the light abated, the Earth Manipulator was unharmed.

The amber shield rippled slightly, then steadied.

Elvy frowned.

That arrow had drawn heavily on her strength and combined physical penetration, energy breach, and rune disruption — yet it could not break even the outer shield?

The defensive strength far exceeded expectation.

Before she could adjust her tactics, a calm, deep voice sounded in her mind.

"Fix your gaze on it."

Elvy startled, then obeyed without hesitation.

Her eyes changed in an instant.

Pupils constricted and lengthened into cold vertical slits; the world in her vision seemed stripped of color and noise, leaving only the metallic construct and the unceasingly flowing amber shield.

On that shield, several red dots flickered and shifted positions.

Weak points? Intermittent nodes of vulnerability in the energy grid?

Elvy understood in a flash.

It was His Majesty!

The great Red Emperor was using her eyes to observe the battlefield and giving a crucial hint.

No time to hesitate.

Elvy drew a deep breath, energy surging anew. Her hooves traced a sharp arc in midair as she spun, drawing her bow again.

This time, the golden light on the bowstring compressed to the extreme; the arrowhead’s spark coalesced into a palpable point that seemed able to pierce anything.

On the other side of the battlefield, the Gluttonous Demon roared, blood-red flames soaring.

With a fist he smashed a Lothrian Legendary’s domain into threads, the man sent flying like a meteor, crashing and collapsing half a parapet.

The Demon’s might dominated attention.

At that moment—

"For His Majesty!"

Elvy whispered, the bowstring thrumming.

The golden beam was faster, thinner, and keener than before, vanishing almost as it left the string, leaving only an empty trace revealing its path.

Sssst.

The amber shield on the Earth Manipulator trembled, and at one of the red flickering points a thumb-sized hole appeared.

The shield energy around the hole wildly thrashed, spewing fine streams of chaotic energy.

Sizzle sizzle sizzle!

Elvy moved like lightning — turning midair, drawing, firing in a single fluid motion.

Nine golden streaks followed one after another with near-perfect precision, penetrating the fresh hole and slamming into other flickering red points.

The manipulator’s hum sharpened, the shield flickered violently and webbed with cracks.

Penetration marks appeared on its armored body, and one mechanical limb stiffened mid-motion; a forming fissure froze halfway, slowing to a halt.

"Effective!"

Elvy’s spirit soared, eyes fixed on the Earth Manipulator.

"Retreat!"

The precious war machine no longer tried to maintain control. Its eight limbs retracted violently, the soil beneath its torso boiled, and the massive metal body began to sink, attempting to dive into deep ley lines and flee the battlefield.

At the same time, with the manipulator’s continuous intervention gone, the dramatic terrain shifts stopped.

Spreading fissures ceased to expand, the sprouting rock spikes stopped growing, and the sandified ground gradually hardened again.

"Charge!!! For Aola! For His Majesty!!!"

Aola roared like an avalanche.

That phantasmal war-spirit howled and swelled, becoming more substantial.

Main forces that had been severely hindered by terrain surged like a torrent at Lothrian’s frontline now without earthly cover.

Ogre mauls smashed rune walls, ogre-elites climbed over obstacles despite arrow storms, centaur cavalry cut into gaps like hot knives, and flying units dove in to coordinate with Heroic Spirits…

Lothrian soldiers were well-trained, golem power formidable, and the Legendaries still held advantages.

But Aola’s legions ignored casualties and attacked in waves. Every bastion and emplacement endured terrifying pressure.

Corpses became new steps; blood soaked the soil.

Aola soldiers climbed these flesh-and-bone stairs, layer by layer swallowing Lothrian’s defenses.

The battle entered its most brutal phase.

The phoenix and the Amethyst Dragon Lion appeared in turn; the former scattered nirvana fire that incinerated all, while the latter roared and rampaged across the line, crushing golems.

But more Lothrian Legendaries also joined the fray.

For each Aola Legendary that appeared, at least three Lothrian counterparts emerged, well-equipped and maintaining numerical and tiered superiority.

Aola Legendaries were all wounded and unstable, yet their tenacity was incredible; none had been truly slain.

Casualty numbers climbed at astonishing speed, especially on Aola’s side — the corpses of low-tier monsters almost covered every inch in front of the position.

The sun sank, staining the clouds and the wide plains a shocking blood-red.

When the last resisting Lothrian gun emplacement was smashed by an ogre’s body, the Aola legions finally leveled the frontline.

Ruins, scorched earth, wreckage.

Half-finished fortresses collapsed, sunk in dark, viscous pools of blood.

Aola soldiers’ corpses piled like mountains, especially the vanguard gnolls and lizardfolk, with grievous losses.

Lothrian’s losses were relatively smaller, but countless expensive golems, heavy cannons, and unfinished works had been lost.

Legendary-level fighting gradually ceased.

On Aola’s side, the Gluttonous Demon was drenched in blood, scales shattered in many places, breathing heavily; Elvy’s face was pale and her bow hand trembled slightly; the phoenix had gone through a nirvana rebirth and shrank somewhat; the Amethyst Dragon Lion bore deep wounds to the bone.

Lothrian Legendaries were relatively better off but all wore grave expressions, showing no joy.

They had besieged for a long time but had failed to slay or truly maim a single Aola Legendary.

These creatures’ vitality was excessively high.

Woooo!

A low horn sounded again from Aola’s rear ranks.

After fierce fighting, Aola too had reached the limits and could not continue to press.

At the signal, Aola soldiers began alternating covers and withdrew, leaving behind countless corpses and ruins. Lothrian’s remaining forces were likewise exhausted and did not rashly pursue; instead they took the time to reorganize, tend the wounded, and guard against counterattacks.

When the twilight finally swallowed the plains, this brutal first frontal encounter came to a temporary end.

Late at night, the northern expeditionary corps headquarters.

Magical lamps cast halos that lit Valesia’s rugged features.

He stood over an unfolded latest battle report, his gaze heavy.

"Preliminary tally: our dead and those gravely wounded and out of the fight number about 8,200, with professionals making up roughly thirty percent. We lost nineteen advanced golems, thirty-eight hurricane heavy cannons destroyed, and over half of various engineering devices…"

"All frontline fortifications are destroyed; magical material reserves are severely depleted."

"The Earth Manipulator’s outer shield is damaged; part of the energy circuits overloaded, but the core structure is intact. It has retreated into the ley lines for repairs and is expected to restore basic functions within three days and redeploy."

"Aola’s side…"

The reporting officer paused, then continued, "According to battlefield traces and spell estimates, their casualties should be between 120,000 and 150,000, over ninety percent of which are low-tier gnolls, lizardfolk, and kobolds. Ogres, ogre-elites, and centaur casualties number around six thousand."

"Their lord units: it is confirmed that a level-20 apex serpent-leopard lord was killed and its soul taken by the Sanctuary."

"Their Legendaries are confirmed wounded, but none dead or removed from combat."

"One of our Legendaries was heavily injured by the Gluttonous Demon; his domain severely damaged and requires recovery time; the rest sustained light wounds and are stable."

From an exchange ratio perspective, Lothrian had clearly gained a significant advantage, inflicting staggering losses on Aola at relatively smaller cost.

But no smile crossed Valesia’s face.

He turned and walked to the observation window, looking toward the plains shrouded in night; a cold wind poured through and carried the scents of scorch and blood.

"One hundred twenty thousand… the vast majority of them, in Aola’s eyes, are nothing but regenerable consumables."

The Iron-Fist General spoke in a low voice. "And they have the Sanctuary. Some of the monsters who died today will have their souls reclaimed and be reshaped into Heroic Spirits to be thrown back into battle."

"Each of our losses is real."

He turned his gaze across the generals, whose expressions varied.

"Aola has withdrawn, but we have not won. This was a costly probe for both sides."

"Order the entire army to strengthen vigilance and repair the frontline positions."

"If Aola wants to fill the gap with lives? Fine."

Valesia’s eyes glinted sharply. "I want to see how many lives they can throw into this meat-grinder. Let them come, again and again, until their last drop of blood runs out."

At that, an officer could not help speaking with worry in his tone.

"General, if the Earth Manipulator is used frequently at the frontline, won't it… draw too much attention and invite the Red Emperor’s personal involvement?"

At the question the command room’s mood tautened.

Decades ago the Red Emperor’s celestial-satellite descent had been legendary across the Romanian Plains and was widely told throughout the Atlantis Continent.

Valesia fell silent for a moment, then let out a short mirthless laugh.

"Attention? I’m sure of it. After today’s battle, the Aola sovereign has already noticed the Earth Manipulator, whether or not we use it often afterward."

"So what?"

He scanned the gathered officers. "If he wants to destroy or seize it, let him come. What we deployed are not just battlefield machines."

He had already considered the Red Emperor’s possible intervention and prepared corresponding countermeasures.

The following days turned, just as Valesia predicted, into a brutal war of attrition.

After the Earth Manipulator was repaired and returned, Lothrian’s defenses were rebuilt, reinforced, and even pushed forward at a faster pace.

Aola’s legions launched ferocious assaults repeatedly — frontal assaults, flank maneuvers, night raids — each time leaving countless corpses.

They occasionally destroyed newly built works and briefly forced Lothrian back.

But they never fundamentally stopped Lothrian’s defensive line, which advanced inch by inch into Aola-controlled territory.

Lothrian’s war machine and deep reserves gradually displayed their power.

They held the advantage without impatience, accumulating small gains like a snowball to slowly drag Aola into their favored rhythm, forcing the Aola legions to retreat again and again.

This kingdom’s hegemon advanced step by step with an unstoppable momentum.

Meanwhile,

On the edge of the Lain Plateau, atop a steep mountain peak.

"My eyes evolved; they can cooperate with Beneath the Dragon Throne."

The Red Iron Dragon gazed toward the Lain Plateau.

In the previous battles, he had discovered that by sharing followers’ vision through Beneath the Dragon Throne, he could partially manifest his True Eye’s effects.

Gleaning an enemy’s weak points had been a small trial.

As for the Earth Manipulator...

He did not doubt Lothrian had been waiting for him to lose his restraint and had set traps accordingly, yet he also had surprises left for Lothrian.