Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

New Calendar 462, April 27, noon.

When the sun burned hottest, four horns sounded simultaneously from the four directions of the battlefield, intertwining and echoing across the vast sky and earth.

Immediately afterward, war drums rose from the east, west, south, and north.

Their sound was deep and resonant, each beat quicker and heavier than the last, pounding on every soldier’s chest.

"Advance!"

The order passed down through magical transmission, flag signals, horns, and the shouts of messengers, layer by layer, reaching every corner of the formation.

Then the ground began to tremble.

From a high vantage, four torrents of steel and flesh surged toward the demon fortress, rapidly closing in, while the demons stood ready in tight formation.

On the northern front, the Red Emperor hovered in the sky,

"My subjects, fight for your emperor!"

His voice rolled like thunder, spreading through the army.

Short, absolute.

The Aola legions answered first.

The Ogres and ogre elites of the Starbreaker Maul warhost unleashed earthshaking roars, their heavy plated bellies clanging metalously.

They strode forward, each step making the ground quake, like a moving steel wall steadily advancing on the demon fortress.

Not fast, but unshakably determined.

On the wings, the Crimson Iron Riders accelerated.

Hooves formed a steady thunder, spears leveled, spear tips flashing with cold light under the sun.

Golem phalanxes followed behind, their engines humming low as steam valves at their joints hissed white mist; giant sword-shields rose, taking battle posture.

Warriors of Iron Will tightly guarded the golems, coordinating with them in combat.

Armies from the other Romania nations did not idle either.

Matna’s golem contingents deployed on the left wing with perfect coordination; the dwarven legions formed dense ranks on the right; human contingents from various kingdoms supported the center, filling gaps along the line.

With the Aola legions at the core, the Romania forces formed a sharp spear aimed at the demon defenses.

The demon fortress responded.

Flames along the walls flared as if doused in oil.

Shrill screeches rose from within the stronghold, the demons’ roars full of brutality and madness.

A black tide surged forth.

Leading the demon army were nearly endless waves of imps and dretches.

These cannon fodder were the most numerous, swarming like locusts, shrieking and charging forward with instinct alone. Their numbers far outmatched Iron Will; they had almost no formation, surging ahead blindly—some even tearing each other apart mid-charge, using their comrades’ severed limbs as weapons.

Following them were the iron-mounted demons.

These mounted fiends were larger even than Aola’s centaurs, clad in natural chitinous armor.

When they stamped the ground, their hooves sounded like thunder.

Giant axes, chained glaives, spiked mauls... the iron-mounted demons wielded various heavy weapons, predominately black and purple, forged from abyssal materials that corroded flesh and spirit.

In the air, vulture demons rose en masse like a black cloud.

Their shrieks cut to the bone, a sound that could split the mind and induce collapse. Some griffon riders covered their ears as their mounts trembled and cried out.

Roar!

The dragons bellowed, their deep voices instantly drowning the vulture demons’ cries.

When facing dragons as enemies, one could not help but feel terror upon seeing their forms and hearing their roars; but fighting alongside dragons brought an incomparable sense of security.

"Ranged units, fire!"

Orders cascaded down.

Moments later, arrows, ballista bolts, magic missiles, and alchemical bombs rained down like pebbles.

Dwarven crossbowmen pulled triggers; bolts shot out at speeds multiple times that of sound, pinning charging imps in strings to the earth. Matna’s ranged golems launched shells from their backs that detonated on impact, flames and shrapnel consuming whole patches. Aola golems raised arms and fired mounted cannons, launching solid explosive rounds that detonated on impact with force comparable to high-grade burst fireballs.

Across the way, demon sorcerers conjured corrosive acid rain, fire clouds, and lightning.

Bone on the barbed-lance demons continuously sprouted, flexing with muscle to launch countless barbed spears skyward, which then fell like rain on the Romania formations.

The demons did not intend to stay sheltered within the fortress.

They charged forward as well.

Therefore, both sides endured a hail of ranged bombardment, crossed the fallen, and gradually closed in on one another.

The fiercest fighting began in the air.

Northern aerial forces collided violently with the demon aerials.

An eagle knight attempted a flank strike, lance thrusting into a vulture demon’s chest, but the vulture demon’s agility was astounding; a nimble sidestep avoided the blow and its talons ripped through the eagle’s wing feathers and flesh.

The eagle cried, losing balance.

In the next instant, a vast shadow eclipsed the vulture demon.

A massive claw covered in blue scales struck down from above like lightning, seized the vulture demon’s head, and with a slight squeeze crushed the grotesque skull to pulp.

A blue dragon.

Among draconic sky dominators, blue dragons excel at aerial combat.

Blue dragons streaked with lightning, their speed and agility far surpassing the vulture demons; wherever they passed, the vulture demons became corpses, plummeting to the ground.

They treated the sky as their stage and danced upon it.

These sky knights and the sky-blue dragons were now merely accompaniment to the true giants above.

As the two armies closed, the emperor’s offspring also moved.

Garcro always charged first.

This son of the Red Dragon Emperor, besides inheriting his father’s savage physique and Dragon Pearl affinity, was famous for strict self-discipline and training intensity far exceeding his brothers.

Yet he did not leap into the sky.

Red dragons disliked battles of aerial pursuit.

At the moment ground troops clashed, he dove from the flank.

"Use your blood to forge my legend!"

Garcro roared, wings folded tight, like a burning meteor plunging straight into the densest cluster of demons.

Boom!

Dust mixed with demonic blood and shredded limbs exploded upward.

When the smoke cleared somewhat, the red dragon stood proud amid a circle of rotting demon corpses.

But this gore did not repel the demons; it inflamed their savagery.

More great demons and berserker demons howled as they swarmed the giant beast from all directions.

Garcro laughed with delight; his thick tail swept, snapping three great demons in half at the waist; his forepaws slammed, driving a berserker demon’s skull down into its chest.

He fought bloodily, accumulating countless small wounds but paying them no heed.

Suddenly, a foul wind struck from behind.

A particularly powerful berserker demon leader leapt high, gripping a massive abyssal battle-axe in both claws, and brought it down hard at the vulnerable nape of the red dragon’s neck.

Whoosh!

Scorching Dragon Qi erupted, coalescing at Garcro’s shoulders and neck into two stout arms.

The berserker’s midair motion abruptly froze.

Its upper torso was trapped in a massive Dragon Qi claw.

This demon towered over six meters, muscles knotted, yet looked small and weak before the colossal dragon.

Garcro tried to crush it with a squeeze but found the body unusually sturdy and could not kill it with one crush.

He twisted his head, his tooth-filled maw bit into the berserker’s skull, and he wrenched, tearing the head free to swallow.

Demonic flesh was hard to swallow.

But Garcro savored the sensation of devouring an enemy alive.

"Blood dyes my scales; skulls forge the throne!"

"Ha! Abyssal rot has a certain flavor! Who else wants to fill my belly?"

The red dragon roared, indifferent to the mounting scars on his scales.

Claws, wings, fangs... he seemed born for war, every part of him a slaughtering weapon tearing through the demon ranks.

But the demons were not lambs to the slaughter.

A brain demon leader hidden behind many demons fixed its huge grooved brain on the rampaging Garcro.

Boom!

An invisible psychic shock struck the red dragon’s head like a sledgehammer.

At that instant, dozens of nearby demons seized the chance.

Claws, fangs, and weapons ablaze with corruptive energy rained upon the red dragon, scraping sparks and new wounds across his sturdy scales.

"This little pain..."

Garcro shook his massive head, snapping out of the psychic blow.

"It only makes me happier!"

He swept his tail, snapping a great demon in half, and with a forepaw slammed another’s skull into its chest cavity.

The brain demon maintained distance, brewing another attack.

But Garcro, though at the front, was not alone.

A shadow billowed behind the brain demon.

A black dragon’s claws slid out silently; by the time the brain demon reacted, it was too late.

Rip!

The claw pierced its psychic barrier and tore through flesh. Before surrounding demons could converge, the black dragon killed the brain demon, shook its wings, and vanished into darkness.

Garcro charged back and forth.

Salia skulked in the shadows, ready to strike at demon sorcerers and psychic users.

Meanwhile, on another battlefield, a blue dragon’s wings had become pure azure thunder, streaking at low altitude to incinerate masses of demons.

The blue dragon Gerald, foster-son of the Red Emperor.

He mastered element-framing techniques before adulthood and showed brilliant results on the Rhen Plateau, earning the Red Emperor’s attention and favor.

Laria was also fighting.

Though a red dragon, he was unusually calm and rational, circling midair while issuing a resonant dragon roar that shaped spells.

The final syllable fell.

Rumble!

The earth ruptured, ripped by spell effect into countless fissures; lava surged up like a volcanic eruption, burying and consuming a swath of demons.

And that was only the beginning.

Laria’s dragon roars kept echoing.

One large-scale spell after another took shape, spawning innumerable flames and lightning strikes.

Among the Aolan dragons who revered bodily might and close combat, Gexiaozhong chose the spell path, mastering both lightning and fire.

More demons died under his magic than under Garcro’s claws.

At that moment, a blood-lion demon lord noticed the spell-slinging red dragon.

Dragons took killing as honor; demons wanted dragon blood. In a lull between spells, the blood-lion demon roared.

Roar!

The sound condensed into a tangible wave and washed across the red dragon, inducing a moment of dizziness.

At the same time, abyssal aura poured from the blood-lion demon, forming illusory wings; it stomped the ground and flapped, charging at the red dragon.

When Laria recovered, the blood-lion demon was within striking distance.

This humanoid demon was slightly smaller than a berserker but possessed indestructible claws, a long, coarse face and teeth, and a mane of ritual hair—ferocious beyond measure.

Laria stared at the charging blood-lion demon without emotion.

Lotus-like crimson patterns lit across his body. His aura surged, his body swelled in an instant, scales glowing like a red-hot iron.

"Filthy fool."

The red dragon murmured, swatting aside the blood-lion demon’s attack with one claw, then driving the other into its chest.

The motion was blindingly fast, a tide of strikes, a signature move of the warrior-dragon path.

Although Laria primarily followed the magic path, he had cross-trained in the warrior path; combined with his Crimson Lotus Form and powerful body, his close combat matched normal red dragons who specialized in melee.

The blood-lion demon’s chest caved in and it fell faster than it had charged, burying itself in a pit.

But it was not dead.

Demons were tenacious; even struck down by the red dragon, they did not die outright.

The blood-lion demon rose with a roar from the pit.

Waiting for it was heaven’s lightning.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Laria’s spell matrix completed; spreading his wings, dozens of thunderbolts struck down from his body, electrocuting the blood-lion demon and surrounding demons to death.

The emperor’s offspring displayed dazzling prowess.

At the same time, the Starbreaker Maul warhost collided with the demon vanguard.

It was a clash of blood and flesh.

Aola’s heavy units averaged over four meters tall, muscles bulging under thick armor and weapons like cast steel.

The demons’ berserkers were even larger.

Yet in sheer physical strength, these demons could not match the Starbreaker Maul’s elite; they looked relatively wiry.

An ogre centurion roared, swinging a giant war hammer.

Across stood a berserker demon swinging a great maul.

Boom!

Weapons clashed, sending out ringed shockwaves.

"For the Emperor!"

The ogre yelled; the hammerhead flared with blazing heat, blasting the berserker’s weapon free and crashing into its chest.

Crack!

The sound of bone breaking rang clear.

The berserker’s chest caved severely.

Still, it seemed not to feel pain; it pulled another double-bladed axe and swung for the ogre’s head.

The ogre blocked with its vambrace.

Sparks flew as the berserker’s counterattack tore through tempered steel, leaving a bloody gash on the ogre’s flesh.

But nothing more.

The ogre’s powerful foot shattered the demon’s knee; it collapsed to its knees. Before it could swing again, the ogre stomped its body and brought the war hammer down on the head.

Flesh flew.

The headless berserker writhed, the axe sliced the ogre’s leg again before finally going still.

A blood-lion demon leapt, biting toward the ogre leader’s throat as he steadied.

The ogre braced the lion’s head with one hand and drew a backup dagger with the other, stabbing into the demon’s belly.

The blood-lion demon howled and released, but its claws ripped open the ogre’s breastplate, exposing bone; the ogre headbutted, breaking the lion’s nose, then plunged the dagger into its eye and twisted until the demon stopped moving.

In single combat, Aola’s ogres were not decisively stronger than these demons.

But they wielded superior equipment, enabling better offense and defense, keeping them on top in engagements with demons.

A pack of iron-mounted demons charged in.

"Hold the line! Shield wall!"

The ogre leader barked, unwilling to neglect defense.

Around him, warriors closed ranks, their heavy shields locking to form a steel bulwark; great swords and axes jabbed out from shield gaps like porcupine quills.

The demon charge slammed into the shield wall with a dull thud.

Before they could press further, centaur riders charged in and disrupted the iron-mounted demons’ formation.

Similar to the Starbreaker Maul, the Crimson Iron Riders’ elite centaurs, though slightly smaller, were stronger than the iron-mounted demons. Well-trained and outfitted with superior armor and weapons, they countercharged the iron-mounted demons head-on.

Meanwhile, golems affiliated with the Heart of Machinery confronted the war beasts inside the demon ranks.

They roared like ogres and hissed like demons, but accompanied by engine hum they silently swung swords, raised shields, and opened fire.

One golem led the charge at the frontline.

Before it was a spinal-crushing behemoth.

This six-legged warbeast was covered in bony plates and spikes, enormous in size; its spine cracked like thunder with each charge, unstoppable as it smashed toward the alchemical golem.

Whzz!

Engines at full power.

The golem raised its tower shield with its left arm to block.

Steel met flesh; sparks flew.

The spinal beast roared, driving its six legs into the ground and heaving the golem back. The earth under the golem cracked; hydraulics hissed under strain, but its shielded left arm held firm. The right arm’s massive sword slammed down, the blade sinking into gaps between the beast’s armor plates.

Chomp chomp!

A sawtooth edge spun, tearing bone and flesh apart.

The beast shrieked, shook its head, and its toothed maw lunged for the golem’s breastplate.

The golem slammed its shield, battering the beast’s skull aside; the great sword rose and plunged into a weak spot under the beast’s lower jaw, penetrating the oral cavity into the cranial cavity.

The spinal beast’s roar cut off, its body convulsed, then crashed down.

At that moment, a shadow struck.

Another long-hidden hundred-eyed behemoth burst forth.

A giant demonic beast with hundreds of eyes across its body.

Swoosh swoosh swoosh!

Dense petrification rays struck the golem.

Anti-magic runes flashed, but it was inevitably petrified, its frame freezing stiff.

The hundred-eyed beast howled and tore open the golem’s back armor, wrecking its engine and ripping off its sword arm.

The petrification effect faded.

Yet the golem that should have gone cold now radiated unprecedented white-hot light from its eyes.

"For... His Majesty Ignas!"

A low roar came from the steel torso.

It lifted the giant shield and, in a motion violating its damaged structure, slammed into the hundred-eyed behemoth with furious speed, shattering its shell.

Boom boom boom!

The massive shield rose and fell again and again until the hundred-eyed beast became mush.

Only then did the golem stop moving and topple.

This was not an isolated case.

In intense battles, many golems, even when nearly wrecked, ignited with impossible power.

Closer observation would reveal that they were more than mere golems.

Almost all alchemical constructs powered by black oil, including Aola soldiers’ alchemical weapons, could unleash irrationally tremendous might.

This was thanks to development in the Serene Spirit Wilderness.

The black oil obtained there could imbue dead things with intense emotion, forming a "machine soul." With a machine soul, alchemical constructs transformed as if reborn.

On the Romania flanks, other nations fought viciously amid the demon tide, each showing its strengths.

Matna’s golems lacked machine souls.

Their actions were more uniform, strictly following preprogrammed directives or alchemists’ control.

Cambruk’s dwarves were eye-catching.

These burly fighters swung rune-etched battle axes and heavy hammers, focusing on lower-body strikes.

A dwarf rolled deftly to avoid a great demon’s claw swipe and slammed an axe into its knee flank.

The great demon howled and staggered.

Another dwarf charged in, hammering the ankle and toppling it, then smashed its skull in with follow-up strikes.

They possessed rich experience fighting much larger foes.

The human allied line was the most solid.

Soldiers from Theo, Reebos, and Lothrian formed an unyielding shield-and-spear phalanx, cooperating steadily, using discipline and formation to compensate for individual weaknesses.

Among them, Aola’s direct human troops were particularly striking.

Called "pure-blood Aolans," these warriors averaged larger height and mass than others, muscles straining their armor.

Their weapons were heavier.

War hammers, great swords, and pole-axes whistled through the air in their hands, as casual as pointing a finger; many demons found their ranks immovable, making these Aolan humans the hardest wedge in the human front.

Below the legendary tier, the Romania forces held clear advantages.

Above the legendary tier, the situation was similar.

Aola’s war champion, the Gluttonous Ogre Karu, was reveling in the fight.

Blood-red flames rolled over him; two curved massive horns jutted skyward; his spread wings and colossal frame, coupled with his terrifying visage, made him look like an abyssal fiend rather than a familiar legendary ape-demon across from him.

In contrast, that legendary ape-demon looked harmless.

Right now, Karu was pummeling the ape-demon.

Though the ape-demon was tall even among demons, before Karu it seemed a child; its strikes only left superficial wounds.

Karu grinned, showing rows of sharklike teeth.

I’ve nearly abandoned defense, he thought as his thick arms delivered successive blows; each punch made the abyssal field on the ape-demon’s surface flare wildly.

"Too strong! Too strong!"

He suddenly caught the ape-demon’s downward fists with two Dragon Qi arms; his other pair of arms swelled as he entered Bloodburst, balloons of muscle exploding outward and heaved blows onto the ape-demon’s face.

Boom!

The abyssal aura condensed and shattered; the demon’s skull deformed, black blood and teeth spraying.

Yet the ape-demon’s vitality was fierce.

It was not yet mortally wounded.

Demonic bloodline fury erupted; it roared and lunged at Karu, disregarding cost, grappling fiercely.

Swoosh!

A golden-white arrow streaked through the air.

It bore divine properties, dissolving abyssal aura like frost in its wake.

The ape-demon instinctively tried to dodge, but Karu’s arms locked it in place.

The arrow pierced the ape-demon’s right eye.

Golden-white light poured into its skull.

"—!"

The demon screamed the most harrowing cry of the battle as holy energy detonated within, pain like a thousand knives.

"Nice shot, Elvy!"

Karu roared with manic laughter; his four fists hammered like pile drivers into the ape-demon’s head, neck, and chest in succession.

Under dual assault from holy energy and Karu’s savage beating, the legendary ape-demon’s struggles weakened.

Finally, it was beaten to death.

Karu licked demon blood from his fist and looked up to the right sky.

There, Aola’s Edge, Centaur Elvy, stood poised in the air.

She wore light armor woven in silver and pale gold, its lines smooth, outlining her lithe form; in her hand she held a legendary longbow.

Elvy had not engaged in melee.

Yet her effect in the battle above legendary level was unmatched.

The centaur’s gaze swept the entire front; within her sight lay her entire range. Moreover, as the surrounding abyssal aura thickened, she felt her blood quicken, mind sharpen, and her whole body shone with a sacred white light.

Her celestial bloodline was nearly fully activated.

The second arrow’s target was the shadow demon grappling with a legendary white dragon.

Shadow demons excelled at shadow leaps, evasive forms that made the white dragon’s attacks miss and left dark traces on its hide.

"Great His Majesty Ignas, grant me sight."

Elvy whispered internally.

Beneath the Dragon Throne!

Her eyes suddenly became vertical slits, with starlike light sparkling around the pupils.

A golden-white arrow flew.

It seemed to preempt the shadow demon’s next location, piercing its chest the instant it surfaced from shadow.

The third arrow struck a legendary vulture demon fleeing under assault from a fire prince; Elvy seized the chance and the bolt passed through the vulture demon’s right wing, holy energy eating at the wound so the legendary red dragon could leap in.

The fourth arrow pierced a gale demon fighting Russell.

Now Russell had ascended to legendary status.

He had transformed into a dragon-wolf, crackling with golden lightning and moving at blinding speed; attacks came in unending streams, but the gale demon, higher-leveled and also fast, traded flashes with him.

Swoosh!

Elvy’s arrow arrived once more, piercing the gale demon’s weak midsection.

The gale demon faltered.

Russell’s dragon-wolf would not miss such an opening; its maw snapped forward like lightning.

...

Aola’s Edge kept nocking, drawing and releasing with fluid grace; each vibration of the bowstring sent a brilliant golden-white comet across the battlefield. Each arrow arrived at a crucial moment—rescuing allies, dealing heavy damage, or creating a killing opportunity—making life hell for the demon legendaries.

Some demons tried to strike at the centaur.

But they were on the back foot and couldn’t spare forces for Elvy.

Besides, Aola’s Edge did not only fight from range.

Time passed in blood, roars, and thunder.

The Romania Northern forces advanced as a unit, steady and slow, crushing countless demon bodies; the fortress walls drew nearer.

Other fronts advanced smoothly as well.

On the eastern front, the Natacro contingents—

Among them, the Farrel Kingdom’s martial monk legions shone most.

They moved like wind, their breath continuous.

Punches, kicks, elbows, knees... every strike was tight and quick, able to pierce flesh and bone and shatter organs.

Boom!

A sanda monk’s palm struck an iron-mounted demon’s chest.

The demon’s outer flesh remained intact, but something bulged out behind the chest; internal organs were crushed. Another monk dodged a battle-axe and kicked the demon’s knee; a snap sounded as the joint buckled backward.

At the legendary tier, demons were individually ferocious, but too few, so they were overwhelmed.

On the western front, the whole sky was shrouded in storm clouds.

Blue dragons owned absolute air supremacy; countless bolts of lightning struck the ground and detonated, turning demons in the strike zone to charred husks.

At the legendary tier, two Ancient Blue Dragons were terrifying.

The Stormlord and the Maelstromlord.

They were Lamorein’s kin; though not yet crown-level, they approached it, and no demon could withstand their assault.

On the southern front, the Salud nations’ legions deployed.

Magic towers hovered in the air, casters chanting on each floor as spells fell like rain:

fireballs, ice spikes, chain lightning, acid bolts... these low-tier spells seemed endless.

Meanwhile, earth-spike spells thrust up to impale iron-mounted demons, slicking spells turned terrain slippery and sent demons tumbling, then fireballs ignited them.

Higher-level spells poured down without cease.

Meteors fell from the sky, striking the densest demon areas; fire clouds obscured the heavens and unleashed flames that turned demons to char.

Here, the warriors were comparatively relaxed.

Their primary task was to protect magic towers while steadily advancing under the cover of spells.

The battle was increasingly unfavorable for the demons.

The fortress was beset on all sides.

Although the demons fought and counterattacked furiously, the allied resolve was iron, pressing forward steadily.

Ranged units had already begun battering the fortress walls, weakening its defenses piece by piece.

Then.

The northern fortress gate opened once more.

A figure stepped out.

Its muscles bulged to grotesque extremes, skin dark red, scarred and studded with bony spikes.

It wore no armor because its skin was its armor; two giant battle-axes crossed on its back, blades streaked with patterns like flowing blood.

A berserker demon general.

Demons made way, clearing a path.

Its gaze swept the battlefield and locked on the sky above the Aola legions.

There, Aola’s Edge shone with sacred light and was unmistakable.

"The scent of celestial beings."

Disgust creased the berserker general’s eyes. Then it charged.

It moved impossibly fast, its body a blur, plowing through everything in its path—demons unable to dodge became meat paste beneath it.

Boom!

It smashed the ground like a reversed meteor and bore down on Gexiaozhong.

The centaur’s expression turned grave. Arrows flew at the berserker general, but it had already drawn its axes. With a shower of sparks, the previously near-perfect arrows were smashed to pieces by the berserker general.

"If it reaches me, I’ll die."

Under the berserker general’s stare, Elvy felt the threat of death.

Yet she did not feel fear.

Because the sky darkened.

Not with clouds blotting the sun, but with a colossal silhouette descending and blotting the daylight.

The Red Emperor, Garoth Ignas.

The dragon’s wings blotted out the sky as he dove from high altitude with such speed that a sonic boom trailed behind, the air rending with continuous detonations.

The berserker general roared, abandoning its attack on Elvy.

Its axes crossed skyward; dark purple abyssal energy raged along the blades, condensing into a heavy shield wall. Muscles swelled and bone spikes bristled across its body, purple demonic runes igniting as it entered an even stronger battle state.

Still, it could not withstand the dragon’s impact.

The Red Emperor was unstoppable.

The dragon and berserker became a conflagration of black and red, striking like a meteor. Not stopping at the impact point, their momentum carried them toward the demon fortress’s northern wall.

That scene drew eyes from other fronts.

Despite the fierce fighting, the legendaries could not help but look to the northern battlefield.

Chomp!

From fissures in the purple-black brick wall, light flared.

Countless twisted runes linked and floated, forming a massive magic array; viscous abyssal energy ooze welled up like plasma and coalesced into a giant shield before the wall.

The next second.

A meteor smashed into the shield.

Thud!

A muffled roar followed as a fan-shaped shockwave unleashed, blasting everything nearby into bloody mist.

The shield buckled violently, light flashing, on the brink of collapse.

But it did not break.

On the cracked northern wall’s shield, the Red Emperor’s dragon body clung, three pairs of vertical pupils calm and impassive, gazing down at the tiny demons as if watching ants in a bottle.

What monster was this? A true dragon?

Demons behind the shield looked up and trembled.

Even they felt genuine fear facing such a savage, furious dragon.

At this moment, Elvy had not yet shifted into combat form.

Eight heads towering, eight arms powerful.