Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Twilight Plains, Aola Legion Encampment

The red-iron dragon lay prostrate on the high platform, his vertical pupils reflecting the horizon where dusk met the plains. His breathing was steady and long, each exhalation carrying scorching winds that brushed the war banners at the platform’s edge.

Around him stood the legendaries of Aola.

Iron Dragon Sorog, Red Dragon Samantha, Beskarl the White Dragon, Fang of Aola, Aola’s Edge, and the two legendary lords, the Amethyst Dragon Lion and the phoenix.

They stood or sat in varied postures, each radiating an immense pressure.

Yet all their light focused on the red-iron dragon at the center.

At that moment, the Gluttonous Ogre Karu licked his fangs and looked toward the red-iron dragon.

“Your Majesty, go again! Throw a few more suns down!”

His voice was coarse, brimming with eager battle fervor. He continued, “That tiny human who plays with time, he just begs to be struck. How many times can he hold out? Wait until he’s exhausted and dies, and with the force of you alone, you can crush the entire Lothrian northern expedition, flatten their capital. I, Karu, will charge at the front and wave banners for you!”

After speaking, Karu hammered his fist against his chest, producing a dull thud.

His words drew assent from several Aola legendaries nearby, low roars echoing through the camp.

“Your Majesty already bears the bearing of a crowned giant dragon; even many Ancient Dragons might not reach this level.”

Beskarl the White Dragon raised his head and offered a measured compliment.

“Dealing with Lothrian’s human crowned ones will be easy.”

Beside him, the phoenix let out a clear trill as flames danced among her feathers.

She tilted her head and, in an elegant tone, said, “Powerful, domineering...especially the way you hold the sun aloft in the sky, radiantly charming, even rivalling my beauty.”

Given the phoenix’s vanity, this was her highest praise.

The surrounding legendaries were used to such remarks and barely lifted an eyelid.

But Garoth, while enjoying the praise, did not lose his reason.

He slightly shook his massive head.

“No, the strategy must change.”

Nearby, a dragon smaller than Garoth, covered in black scales, gazed in the direction of the Lothrian forces.

Iron Dragon Sorog’s eyes narrowed, his pupils shrinking to thin slits.

“Things don’t go beyond three.”

Sorog continued, “Your Majesty’s first two courtesies—the first was a surprise attack, the second struck before they could stabilize—both achieved impressive results.”

“But Lothrian is not stupid, and those who reach crowned status are not fools.”

The path beyond crowned status is not distributed like steps on a ladder.

Any legendary life that reaches the crowned tier essentially possesses an immortal posture.

Given sufficient fate and longevity, every crowned legendary has a high probability of breaking through Mandate of Heaven to reach Immortal. Sadly, the vast majority of crowned legendaries lack that fate, including even long-lived dragon species.

Still, reaching crowned status already demonstrates the best combination of talent, luck, and effort.

“Lothrian’s crowned ones should have realized they cannot remain passive defenders.”

The Iron Dragon’s gaze swept over each legendary present before returning to Garoth.

“If our lord still goes alone, waiting for him will not be just Sodrian’s Shield of Time. It could very well be a carefully planned ambush, gathering all Lothrian high-end existences to encircle and kill.”

Garoth lowered his massive forehead slightly, acknowledging his kin’s analysis.

“Sorog is right.”

“Underestimating the enemy is foolish, especially against a powerful nation with crowned legendaries and deep reserves.”

“They’ve seen my power, they’ve felt the might of a falling sun. Next time, they will prepare specifically to counter me.”

He lifted his head, eyes sweeping over the numerous Aola banners in the camp and the pairs of eyes looking back at him.

“Therefore, there will be no third solitary courtesy.”

“Next time, when I fly toward the Lothrian forces, beneath my two wings will pour out the full Aola legions. We will no longer probe or intimidate. We will launch an all-out assault.”

“The outcome will be decided by this single edge.”

His voice rose like a war drum beating.

“My followers and liege lords, you will follow me and, on the Twilight Plains, smash the Lothrian army and determine the outcome of this war between our nations!”

Roar!

Karu froze a moment, then split his jaws in a wide grin, releasing an ear-splitting low roar full of raw excitement.

“Good! Good! Watching Your Majesty unleash power is exhilarating, but nothing beats getting in the thick of it! Flames of war! Gunpowder! Screams! My claws and fangs are already parched with thirst!”

Karu stood up, his body casting a long shadow.

He pounded his chest harder, each impact thudding heavily.

Nearby, the centaur legendary Elvy, long silent, spoke.

She stroked the limb of her longbow and said softly, “My arrows will snipe those pesky pests off the field for you.”

Because of the Red Emperor’s overwhelming might, Aola legendaries often joked that their existence’s purpose was to cheer and witness the king’s strength.

Yet there burned fierce blood in their veins; they longed to display their legendary prowess.

For a long time Garoth’s radiance had been so blinding that their strengths rarely had a stage. Now the chance had come, and to fight alongside their king.

Iron Dragon Sorog looked at Garoth; his normally steady gaze warmed slightly, muscles beneath his scales tensing.

“This will be the first true instance since we all became legendaries that we fight shoulder to shoulder.”

“That’s right!”

A scorching aura arrived.

Red Dragon Samantha ground her teeth and laughed, “Let other races remember the fear of being ruled by dragons! Our great wings will blot out sun and sky!”

She unfurled her crimson wings, which in the dusk looked like burning banners.

On the other side, several legendaries from Theo stood and saluted with their right hands over their chests, Henderson leading them.

“We will fight for Aola as well!”

Henderson said gravely.

These newcomers understood the stakes: after surrendering to Aola, acceptance depended on proving worthiness in this battle.

The battlefield would be the ultimate test.

Garoth’s gaze swept these new faces, and he nodded slightly.

“Aola welcomes every warrior willing to fight at our side.”

He said simply, and that small recognition reinvigorated the Theo legendaries.

The red-iron dragon looked back toward the Lothrian forces; his vertical pupils caught the distant campfires.

Night was descending and stars were starting to appear.

He knew that while he altered strategy, in those fires the Lothrian officers were plotting how to deal with him.

War was never a one-sided game.

“Even for me, this battle will not be easy.”

Garoth thought inwardly.

But that was fine; he had not unleashed everything he had in a long time. Comfortable for too long, he needed to know his limits.

Lothrian, Valdo, the royal court.

Late at night the royal court burned bright with lamps, but the atmosphere was oppressive like the calm before a storm.

Guards stood beneath colonnades, their armor catching the firelight with cold gleams; their faces were stern and eyes watchful.

King Raymond sat upon the throne, in front of him a vast magical projection displayed the Rhen Plateau’s terrain and the deployment of both sides.

He looked anxious, brow furrowed, fingers tapping the table edge.

At the other end of the communication was Sodrian, in a tent on the Rhen Plateau.

“The Red Emperor’s power exceeds our initial estimates.”

Sodrian’s voice came through the projection, slow and heavy, each word weighed and deliberate.

“Every time his sun falls, I can reverse it with the Shield of Time, but each time it burns what little life source I have left.”

“This consumption... cannot be sustained long-term.”

He paused and drew a deep breath.

“My time... is limited. Passive defense will only exhaust me to death.”

“No matter what your hopes are for this war—negotiation, conquest, or otherwise—we must change.”

Raymond held his breath, leaning forward, and said, “Ancestor, please speak.”

Other ministers in the palace also held their breath, eyes fixed on Sodrian’s projection.

“Per O’Brien’s dying instructions and my judgment, if the Red Emperor becomes an insurmountable obstacle to Lothrian...” Sodrian’s voice sharpened, “then... we must, at all costs, decapitate him.”

Silence followed for a few seconds before the king asked, “Do you have confidence?”

“There is no absolute certainty.”

Sodrian answered candidly, with no pretense. “But to continue delaying, to let my condition decline and to let the Red Emperor learn the limits of my capability, will only reduce our odds.”

He looked Raymond in the eye.

“Now, while my state is still good, while I can still fight, gathering every top force of the kingdom to decide the matter in a single decisive battle is our only chance.”

“This is no longer about glory in victory, but about Lothrian’s survival.”

Raymond closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears and the fine sweat forming on his palms.

The instincts of a ruler, the hunger for his father’s honor, and a profound caution toward that ferocious beast collided fiercely within him. He remembered his father’s parting words, the faces of past kings, the centuries of the kingdom’s foundations...

In the end, reality and the sense of crisis overrode everything.

When he opened his eyes again, the wavering in them was gone, replaced by resolve.

“I understand, Ancestor.”

Raymond said decisively, his voice crisp. “I will give you all my support. The kingdom’s trump card will be revealed for you. If we win, Lothrian will clear the greatest obstacle; if we lose... at least we fought.”

He paused, then continued, “Ancestor Elliott, I will personally awaken him. He will fight by your side.”

“The Holy Spirit... will also answer your will and descend onto the battlefield.”

A suppressed intake of breath swept the palace.

Several senior ministers exchanged glances, fully aware of the implications.

Elliott—the aged stalwart—was senior in rank.

He had been the first generation offspring of the Holy King, active during Lothrian’s most glorious days. With limited remaining life, he chose to seal himself in a domain through secret arts to sleep until the day he would fight for the kingdom.

In earlier years when Lothrian nearly collapsed, this legendary had acted, consuming his scarce vitality.

He returned to sleep again, retaining only one final awakening chance. He wasn’t awakened during the second nations’ war because doing so would burn his last life flame.

Sodrian’s projection blurred slightly; he too was moved.

“Ancestor Elliott... he is older than I am and battle-hardened. Awakening him may mean...”

Given Sodrian’s condition, if the battle ended swiftly he might survive; but awakening Elliott meant his life would begin a countdown.

He was a truly ancient legendary, living history of Lothrian.

“It means, whatever the outcome, he will burn his last life away.”

Raymond interjected quietly, “But Ancestor, you are right. This is for Lothrian. Every Lothrian citizen must be prepared to sacrifice at the critical moment—including the royal family... including me.”

He straightened, eyes blazing as he scanned his ministers.

“Besides, I will follow my father’s example and lead the army personally to the Rhen Plateau front.”

The king’s voice was steady; every word struck the ground.

“No, Your Majesty!”

“This is too dangerous!”

“The front is not where you should be!”

Muffled objections came through the communication, several ministers pleading urgently.

Sodrian frowned slightly and shook his head, “Though you are a legendary, you may not play a decisive role in this war. Better to stay behind and maintain stability.”

“The kingdom needs you; the people must see their king govern the capital.”

“This is my decision.”

The king said seriously, “This war concerns the fate of the kingdom; the king must stand with his soldiers.”

“On the one hand, this will boost our morale; on the other...”

He paused and continued, “I will become bait to draw the Red Emperor.”

“A living king is a symbol of conquest for any invader and the best trophy. If we set a trap, I am the best lure.”

“This is too risky! That dragon is clever; he’ll see through a trap!”

A minister shouted.

“Yes, I do not underestimate the Red Emperor. He will recognize a trap,” Raymond smiled. “But even so, I think he will likely come.”

“Look at the Red Emperor’s life. He is steady and cautious at times, but not cowardly. Perhaps he appears restrained, yet at his core he is a proud dragon—though his pride differs from others of his kind.”

He approached the window and looked up at the stars, turning his back slightly to his ministers.

“If we lose, Lothrian may never recover and could face extinction. I, Raymond, would have no face to show to my father and ancestors.”

“Since that is the case, we might as well risk everything.”

The king turned back, eyes alight with resolute fire.

“If we win, Lothrian will clear the greatest obstacle, and the new Federation or greater dominion may be possible; if we lose... we will at least have met the end fighting, not cowering.”

Silence held on the other end for some time.

“Raymond... you have truly grown.”

Sodrian finally said slowly, his tone complex. “Very well. I will wait for you and Ancestor Elliott on the plateau.”

“We will together pave a path toward the future for Lothrian.”

The communication ended shortly after.

After a long pause, a minister’s voice cut in, breaking the quiet.

“Your Majesty, that iron dragon in our court... Gordon Ignas, is kin to the Red Emperor.”

The minister’s voice carried clear hostility. “In this war, I suggest we execute him first to boost morale. With the Iron Dragon’s blood for our standards!”

“Not only would this raise spirits, it would sever the Red Emperor’s eyes within our ranks!”

His words received some agreement from others.

Several ministers nodded in approval, faces full of resentment toward that alien dragon.

Lothrian’s crystal... or more accurately, the Fire Spirit Princess.

Her original intent, after being transformed into an elemental life, was to guard Lothrian with prolonged life.

But since becoming a fire spirit, her character and thinking gradually shifted. She cared less for worldly opinion and royal dignity, concerned less with state affairs and more with power, and her ties with that iron dragon grew closer.

This bred much royal dissatisfaction.

A dragon—especially kin to an enemy sovereign—lingering in the royal court represented a security risk.

But the Fire Spirit Princess was not powerless.

Though ostracized for being an other, the Spark Monastery she invested in produced legendaries in recent years who largely obeyed her.

Thus nobles had complicated feelings toward her: unable to strike at her, yet unable to trust her.

So the court’s resentment shifted to Iron Dragon Gordon.

He became a target; proposals to imprison or execute him surfaced in council repeatedly.

On the throne, Raymond watched the ministers’ reactions but did not nod.

Though displeased with his aunt who was no longer human, as king he must control emotions and consider matters more broadly.

“No.”

The king denied without hesitation, stern in countenance. “Until the dust of war settles, treat that iron dragon well. Take care of him, but increase vigilance.”

The ministers exchanged looks and bowed in turn. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Days later, on the Rhen Plateau, Lothrian’s main camp.

Beams of teleportation light rose one after another, slicing the morning mist and startling distant birds.

King Raymond emerged from the teleportation circle accompanied by an elite guard.

He wore splendid yet protective royal warplate, a sanctified sword of kingship at his waist. His expression was solemn, bearing resolve and gravity.

Arriving with him was another presence emitting a twilight yet heart-troubling aura.

An old man with white hair and beard, gaunt and frail in frame.

He wore a monk’s robe, the wide garment exaggerating his thinness.

His face bore deep ravines carved by age, his skin like dried bark, eyelids drooping as he moved slowly and stooped, appearing on the verge of collapse, one severe cough away from death.

Yet merely standing there animated the elements unusually.

Earth, water, wind, fire.

Four elements in four colors... weaving behind him into a slowly turning four-colored halo.

The halo was not dazzling, but impossible to ignore.

Elliott, the Holy King’s descendant.

He was an ancient crowned from Lothrian’s most glorious era—a powerful martial monk who refined the human body to extremes and mastered the Four-Element Balance, honored as the Crown of the Four Elements. He also dabbled in Star Path and Martial Arts Path, blending multiple combat techniques over a long life.

Now, the Crown of the Four Elements’ breath was like a candle in the wind.

But before a candle dies, it can still erupt burningly.

Sodrian, who had been awaiting him, came forward.

His gaze lingered on Elliott with respect and sorrow.

This ancestor was older and of higher rank, a living legendary who witnessed Lothrian’s glory, and now would spend his last life fighting for a kingdom that might feel foreign to him.

Though Elliott’s sleep was meant to burn his last life for Lothrian, Sodrian felt this revealed their own incompetence: they needed their ancestor’s protection again, forcing an elder who should rest to ride into battle.

“Ancestor Elliott, thank you for answering the call.”

Sodrian bowed slightly.

Elliott slowly lifted his eyelids.

His eyes were murky but flashed with sharpness at the core. His gaze scanned Sodrian’s younger face and then Raymond.

“For Lothrian, this old husk is still of use. I slept many years for today.”

He paused and asked, “Raymond has told me most of the situation... That red-iron dragon, the so-called Red Emperor—truly so formidable? Can he, as a high-level legendary, compare to a crowned giant dragon?”

Elliott’s voice was calm, but the question itself indicated the gravity he assigned.

High-level legendary dragons sometimes can fight above rank and challenge human crowned ones.

That is not unheard of; history records such anomalies.

Species gap matters: dragons consume far more resources and require longer growth, so their strength is expected; yet that strength still has limits.

Such cross-tier confrontations usually apply to single combat.

Lothrian’s assessment, however, equated the Red Emperor to a crowned giant dragon, not merely a crowned human.

That changes everything.

It implies at least three to four human crowned ones may be needed to reliably subdue him.

Sodrian spoke in a low voice, “I felt it myself—he exceeds reason.”

“At that moment, another beam of light descended, different from the prior ones.

This beam was purer, more sacred, bringing a comforting power.

As the light dispersed, a majestic, ethereal silhouette slowly condensed.

Clad in ancient royal robes, with a dignified and vague visage, tall and shrouded in radiance, his form took on a substantial spiritual quality, radiating an aura that demanded reverence.

It was Lothrian’s guardian, the Holy Spirit.

When the Holy Spirit fully manifested and scanned the assembly, Elliott’s frail body trembled.

His cloudy eyes cleared as he stared at the Holy Spirit’s face.

Though blurred, the contours and aura matched his memory of his father exactly.

He knew in his heart this Holy Spirit was his father’s soul shaped by a special spell.

Elliott hesitated, voice faint at his cracked lips.

His eyes held nostalgia, pain, a bit of admiration, but mostly a deep sorrow.

He could sense clearly that this Holy Spirit, though bearing his father’s image and power, lacked the living emotion and wisdom; it operated on a directive.

That is why the nations treat the Holy Spirit as a strategic weapon rather than a crowned life form.

The Holy Spirit’s gaze paused on Elliott for a moment.

A faint smile touched the blurred face, voice gentle.

“Elliott, long time no see. You look much older.”

It sounded kindly, but its eyes held no real feeling, like lines read from a script.

“Father, your majesty remains.”

Elliott fell silent for several seconds; a thousand words condensed into that simple reply. He then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

When he opened them, his gaze had calmed; personal feelings were suppressed.

They were blades for Lothrian.

Besides, to fight at the end alongside the reverent remnant of the Holy King could relieve some of his regrets.

“What about the other one?” The king looked toward the Crown of Time.

“Grant is adjusting his state. He must bring his body and the Unyielding Sword to peak,” Sodrian answered. “Hmm, he should be nearly ready.”

Soon, as if replying, another figure emerged from deep within the camp.

He wore heavy sanctified plate armor and carried a broad two-handed greatsword inscribed with countless runes. His armor bore battle scars, each seeming to tell of glory.

Grant, a recently crowned legendary from Lothrian’s postwar rise.

A glory paladin who fused honor and martial skill, he represented Lothrian’s new edge and was honored as the Crown of Lothrian’s Glory.

Overall he lacked Sodrian’s inscrutability and Elliott’s deep foundation, but in raw offense—bound by his vow to slay great foes and protect honor—he was the most prominent attacker among the three human crowned ones; a true breach blade.

“Your Majesty, Lord Sodrian, Lord Elliott.”

Grant saluted the king and the two ancestors solemnly. “I am honored to fight with you for Lothrian.”

“This will be my glory.”

At that point, Lothrian’s top forces had assembled.

A tense, heavy air spread; everyone understood what the coming battle meant.

Not long after, in a tent shielded by heavy wards,

the three crowned ones, King Raymond, and the iron-fisted general gathered, with the Holy Spirit standing silently among them.

The tent was simply furnished with a strategy table and several chairs, but the ward’s light flowed across the walls, blocking all prying eyes.

“First, we must designate primary and secondary roles and clarify responsibilities to coordinate effectively and unleash maximum strength.”

Sodrian began, “In the fight against the Red Emperor, I will take lead. His body is strong and defenses astonishing, but I have time power with methods capable of tearing him apart; they just require conditions and timing.”

He looked at the iron-fisted general. “Varesia, share your thoughts on the Red Emperor.”

Varesia stepped forward with some unease.

Known for his iron hand and coldness, the general’s movements were cautious now, and his face lacked its usual hardness, instead showing clear tension.

After all, whether high-level legendary power or a top general’s status, none of that could fully match the present assembly.

He could only barely participate.

“The Red Emperor, Garoth Ignas,” Varesia cleared his throat to steady his voice. “Also called the Red Flame Scourge, Lord of Molten Iron, Master of Aola... and Undying Dragon.”

Getting to the point, the general warmed up, voice quicker and focused.

“Apart from absurd physical strength and the recent long-range sun strike capability, the most baffling event is his ability to resurrect from death and return with full vigor.”

He displayed a magical image replaying fragments from the Norton's Battle.

“In Norton’s Battle he was seen by many, struck by the huntsman’s fateful blow. His skull and heart were pierced and shattered together, yet he did not die. Instead, he became stronger in a short time; his aura surged and he returned to full health.”

The image of the red dragon falling then rising again cast a grave expression over those present.

Elliott exhaled slowly, voice measured: “A legendary dragon that can resurrect is indeed formidable.”

He understood the difficulty of legendary revival, especially for dragons.

Thus the Red Emperor’s resurrection was more uncanny.

Raymond asked, “If he keeps reviving, how do we truly kill him? With spells that prevent resurrection? We lack crowned spellcasters. Though the Holy King ancestor was magic-martial, the Holy Spirit retained no such spell skill.”

“However, our royal vault holds a stock of one-time spell scrolls.”

For human legendaries, the largest barrier to the next tier is often lifespan.

Unless one uses life-extending means with tremendous costs, fragile cast-based professions tend to be shorter-lived than physically strengthened paths.

Thus, in higher legendary tiers, spells-users are rarer; crowned spellcasters are almost nonexistent.

None of Lothrian’s crowned ones were pure casters.

The iron-fisted general looked at Raymond. “Your Majesty, the Red Emperor has high spell resistance. We will use anti-resurrection scrolls, but we cannot rely on them alone.”

He switched the image to a detailed analysis of the Red Emperor’s chest.

“Also, from the Norton footage and countless simulations, we can conclude the Red Emperor does not possess an absolute undying body.”

“His weakness is in the left chest, roughly between the third and fourth ribs toward the interior.”

The magical diagram marked the left chest in red, indicating abnormal energy concentration.

“In a short time he grows stronger—probably linked to some legendary trait—but his resurrection and return to strength are essentially because a hidden energy organ in that left chest stores massive life energy.”

“Moreover, he wasn’t truly dead then; he was at death’s door.”

Varesia scanned the room. “If we sever his head, truly cut off his brain, or tear him limb from limb, or pierce that energy organ ahead of time, we can permanently kill him.”

At that, the Glory Crown stirred.

He said gravely, “Knowing the weakness raises our odds considerably.”

Sodrian, however, shook his head slightly.

“Don’t forget: in Norton’s battle, the Red Emperor did not display the long-range ‘sun’ method nor the crown-like oppression he shows now.”

“He has grown during his slumber, and the growth is far beyond imagination.”

Varesia nodded in agreement. “Yes, Lord Sodrian is correct. Still, decapitation or dismemberment remains the best way to kill the Red Emperor.”

He paused and continued, “Perhaps his weakness has shifted and he can still revive.”

“But from prior revivals, he became somewhat weaker afterward and didn’t instantly return to peak. If we can kill him twice, we can end it.”

The king asked, “Twice... that’s conjecture.”

“If he revives again at near-full strength, how do we respond?”

Varesia smiled bitterly, “Then the heavens would truly forsake Lothrian.”

A moment of silence followed.

Sodrian broke it: “No perfect life exists.”

“Every ability exacts a cost. Differences lie in the magnitude of the price. Whether the Red Emperor can revive multiple times is secondary. In this battle we must simply do our utmost.”

He stood and traced lines above the strategy table with his finger.

“First, use Raymond as bait to lure the Red Emperor. If he doesn’t come, we break through other Aola legendaries’ defenses and surround him, even if it costs more.”

“Then, the Holy Spirit’s Mandate domain must be deployed at first opportunity.” 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Unlike summoned heroic spirits, the Holy Spirit retained his domain. Although its power was somewhat reduced and each use burned many spirit crystals, the domain’s potency was undeniable.

“Within the Mandate domain we will surround the Red Emperor.”

“Sodrian and the Holy Spirit will take the front. Ancestor Elliott, with mastery of the Four Elements and experience in Star Path and Martial Arts Path, will enact skills akin to spells and distract the Red Emperor.”

“Grant will be the main attacker; you should inflict the most damage on the Red Emperor.”

The Glory Paladin faltered, “Me?”

Frankly, he lacked confidence.

Though a crowned of glory, facing someone comparable to a crowned giant dragon made him less sure. He had great offense but lacked in other respects compared to the crowned ones present.

“You are a supporting main attacker. I said the fatal blow will be mine.”

Sodrian’s gaze sharpened. “People assume I excel in defense and evasion, but I am a swordsman and possess an unrivaled edge. Time attacks cost more, and require perfect timing.”

Among the crowned ones, Sodrian was neither the youngest nor the eldest.

Yet undeniably he was the strongest.

Time’s power was extraordinary.

Time passed during their discussion. Morning light finally chased away night as the plateau brightened into pale dawn.

Their plans took shape; not entirely certain, but bolstered with enough resolve.

With four major crowned ones—including a Crown of Time and the Holy Spirit—this lineup could take on a crowned giant dragon. Treating the Red Emperor as such was prudent given the stakes.

But ultimately, the Red Emperor still was not a crowned giant dragon.

Compared with true crowned dragons, he likely still lagged somewhat.

Lothrian’s advantage lay in numbers and coordinated tactics.

The paladin knelt, fist to his chest.

He said in a deep voice, “Guided by glory, my sword will reach! The Unyielding Sword will cleave a path for Lothrian!”

Elliott slowly exhaled, voice drawn, “With my broken husk, I will pave Lothrian’s final road.”

King Raymond gripped his sword hilt and looked over these mighty figures from different eras.

The ancient Holy King’s son, the Shield of Time, a new-generation Glory Paladin, and the Holy Spirit embodying the Holy King’s will.

A determined light rose in his eyes. “Then I entrust everything to you.”

“This battle is not for vain fame, but for Lothrian’s future! For our shared future, for the thousands upon thousands of Lothrian citizens!”

At this moment, crowned ones spanning multiple eras had come together.

They set aside ranks and ideological gaps, holding one goal.

Time continued to flow.

Following this, the Red Emperor did not launch solitary raids on Lothrian’s main camp.

His cautious image had been firmly established; Lothrian’s legendaries were not disappointed but more vigilant, prepared at all times.

At the same time, the Holy Spirit and the king’s presence—especially the Holy Spirit—boosted morale hugely.

Lothrian’s soldiers who saw the kingdom’s ultimate guardian felt their faith strengthen. Morale peaked again; legions massed and trained with high spirits, united and awaiting the call to decisive battle.

That calm was broken on the fifth day at dusk.

As the sunset dyed the Rhen Plateau blood-red and twilight crept across the eastern horizon, the horns of Aola rolled in from afar like muffled thunder.

Deep and desolate, one blast after another, unending.

On the horizon black shapes drew near.

From a distance one could see under the Red Emperor’s lead dragon wings blotting out sky and moon, and Ironhoof’s warriors trampling earth like tidal waves, sweeping toward Lothrian’s encampment.

Lothrian’s legions likewise surged forth, led by their crowned ones, to meet Aola’s onslaught.

Satellites gleamed one by one, like eyes watching the scene.

Other nations looked on coldly, witnessing the fires of war.

They knew whichever side won, the situation on the Romanian Plains would be overturned, and a new era would be forged in blood and fire.