Ember Dragon

"Crimson Scaled Conquerors, heed the call—Draconic Roar Charge, destroy them!"

Hundreds of knights clad in gleaming light armor and wielding sharp lances rode wyverns, emerging from the portal like a surging tide.

Under the knights’ control, the wyverns opened their bloody maws in unison, unleashing a resonant roar, releasing a majestic dragon’s might.

"Roar—"

In an instant, a massive phantom of a red dragon appeared behind the Crimson Scaled Conquerors, spreading its vast wings and surging with scorching breath, pouncing toward the dozen or so angel-blooded warriors.

"What is that?"

"Is that the legendary Emperor of Ember?"

The angel-blooded warriors battling the wyverns were struck with shock and horror at the sight of the distant dragon phantom.

But Haien steadied himself after a glance and shouted, "They’re just mortals riding wyverns, merely carrying the bloodline of that foul dragon—nothing to fear!"

Yet the oppressive force sweeping across the sky made everyone feel as if the Emperor himself appeared before them, crushing them and their comrades, evoking a soul-deep terror.

"No, wake up, it’s not real—"

Haien snapped out of it, looked up at the rapidly approaching Crimson Scaled Conquerors, panic-stricken, while his comrades remained trapped in the illusion of fear.

Seeing this, Haien had no choice but to flap his wings and momentarily withdraw from the battlefield, leaving behind his dazed comrades.

But even that brief lapse was enough for the Crimson Scaled Conquerors to execute a devastating charge—their signature move.

Using the momentum of the wyverns’ dive, they raised their spears—lances inscribed with disintegration runes—and pierced the chests of the angel-blooded one by one, divine golden blood splattering onto the earth.

Bathed in his comrades’ blood, Haien’s hand trembled slightly on the Holy Spear. His expression turned furious, his face twisted, eyes blazing like twin exploding suns.

With a roar, he flapped his wings. His entire body radiated brilliance and thick smoke, distorting the surrounding air.

"Screeeeech—"

Accompanied by a piercing shriek, a beam of golden light ripped through the sky toward the wyvern riders.

But the Crimson Scaled Conquerors’ captain, the Empire’s Dragonblood Duke—Alger—turned his head sharply, instantly sensing the surprise attack.

Pouring in his full strength, he swung his longsword. His mount, a draconic giant eagle, cried out and dived, their momentum fusing together.

The blade cleaved through the air, slicing the Holy Spear in two, shattering it midair.

"Impossible..."

Haien looked on in disbelief. That spear was formed from the power granted by the Sun God—it shouldn’t be something a mortal could stop!

But he didn’t know—Alger, as one of the Empire’s dozen dukes, now possessed strength rivaling a full-grown dragon.

Coordinating with his long-nurtured giant eagle, his aerial combat prowess neared that of a legendary Warrior. The Crimson Scaled Conquerors under his command had become nightmares for many in the North.

"Haien, Count of the Kingdom of Thrace." Alger’s sharp hawk-like eyes instantly recognized the angel-blooded noble.

Alger raised his sword, pointing it toward the distant angel-blooded warrior, and ordered harshly, "That’s the commander stationed in Isengard!

Surround him! Don’t let him escape alive! Any squad that kills him will be granted a noble rank promotion!"

At once, the Crimson Scaled Conquerors’ eyes burned with greed, like dragons spotting a mountain of gold.

The Empire now thrived, competition was fierce. Advancing beyond the rank of Count was near-impossible.

And in their eyes, Haien was now a flying prize—one that promised both wealth and glory.

"Kill him!"

"For the Empire!"

The Crimson Scaled Conquerors moved expertly, forming scattered teams, intercepting from all sides, nearly sealing off all of Haien’s escape routes.

Hundreds of anti-magic arrows tore through the sky like a rainstorm, and enchanted nets unfurled midair.

This was a hunt—a hunt for the enemy’s commander.

"You ignorant mortals! How dare you oppose me!" Haien roared, wings flaring as golden flames devoured the arrows around him.

He darted through the sky like a miniature sun crashing toward the weakest point in their formation.

Charred wyvern corpses, broken lances, and shattered armor scattered. Haien consumed everything in his path with fire, breaking through their formation and speeding toward the city.

"This boss is pretty tough—"

"After him!"

"Hold the front line! My promotion depends on you guys!"

Seeing this scene, Alger picked up the intercom and said in a low voice, "That divine-blooded one is extremely powerful. Requesting fire support."

The airships in the sky slowly descended, thick cannons extending from their underbellies, firing piercing beams of light at the angelic scions.

"Shhh—"

Upon being hit by the light, the angelic scion’s eyes dimmed instantly, and their movements slowed noticeably.

Then, dozens more beams slammed into his body, gradually covering him in a frost of bitter cold, until he fell from the sky in a powerless heap.

These magical laser weapons had been meticulously designed by the Empire’s researchers, tailor-made to counter the divine-blooded warriors of Fadlan who possessed the power of the Sun God.

Through in-depth research of the Horn of Eternal Frost and explorations of frost giant ruins, the researchers of the Ember Empire had fully mastered the creation of the "Power of the Eternal Frost Runes" and implemented it in warfare.

"Elliot!"

Watching his familiar comrade turn to ice and crash to the ground, Hain’s expression was filled with rage—yet tinged with terror.

These claws of the evil dragon had developed their weapons to such a degree! Not only could they slaughter mortals en masse, but they could also kill noble, powerful divine-blooded warriors!

"Bang!"

Elliot felt a chill on his back. A thin layer of frost had crept onto his wings, stiffening them slightly, but the abundant power of the Sun God within him quickly melted it away.

Furious, he looked toward the source of the attack—only to see a hopeless scene: dozens of airships blanketed the sky overhead, forming a vast fleet that, with unimaginable efficiency, were gunning down the angelic scions midair.

Those once-invincible warriors of sacred brilliance now fluttered like hunted birds, dodging desperately between the crisscrossing beams, their feathers scattering.

"By Amanata... is our age truly ending now?" Hain muttered to himself.

A fleet of this scale couldn’t have been assembled through emergency mobilization alone. And those weapons—so specific—it was as if they were custom-made for them.

A terrifying thought crept into Hain’s mind: to attack the Kingdom of Thrace, the Ember Empire must have been secretly preparing for years!

Because the Empire’s history was so short, it was likely that as early as its founding—as Fadlan was yet to collapse—that wicked dragon had already begun planning the invasion of the Kingdom of Thrace.

To plot the invasion of the world’s most powerful and prosperous empire at its own founding—what audacity, what greed!

Dread flooded Hain’s heart, and a deep terror of the Ember Emperor took root within him.

But in just that brief moment of distraction, dozens of icy beams wove a dense net in the sky and converged upon him, striking him squarely.

A massive ice sphere, meters in diameter, appeared in the sky and plummeted toward Isengard—sealing Hain within it, his expression frozen in despair.

For some reason, time seemed to stretch endlessly for Hain. His thoughts did not slow, even as everyone around him moved as if in slow motion.

"This is..."

Encased in ice, Hain saw the battlefield of Isengard with absolute clarity—it wasn’t a battle at all, but a one-sided massacre.

Armor-piercing shells fired from steam tanks bombarded the iron-cast city walls, turning them into a riddled ruin. Some sections collapsed outright, burying hundreds beneath.

Empire infantry advanced swiftly alongside steam tanks and giant mechs, muzzle flashes erupting in steady bursts, bullets raining down on the soldiers of Thrace like a torrential storm.

Thrace’ defenders stood atop the walls with outdated weapons the Empire had long abandoned, reloading again and again to return fire.

But under such overwhelming firepower, any soldier who dared peek out would be shredded instantly, even their heads pulverized into a mess of flesh and brain matter.

Massive humanoid machines stomped across the battlefield, shaking the ground with every step. Hundreds of missiles launched from their backs into dense crowds, incinerating dozens in a single blast.

In desperation, the defenders of Thrace opened hidden gates in the walls, releasing decades-old iron golems, hoping the weapons left behind by Fadlan could repel the enemy.

Once, these towering constructs were every enemy’s nightmare—immune to blades and arrows, crushing squads with a single blow.

But now, in the Ember Empire’s "new-style warfare," they were nothing more than clumsy targets.

"Boom—"

Before a formation of over thirty massive armored suits, the few iron golems were swiftly overwhelmed by the flood of firepower and reduced to heaps of useless scrap.

The Arcane Corps stationed in Isengard also raised their staves in unison, chanting spells. Common war spells like Solar Burst, Lightning Ring, and Meteor Storm lit up the skies.

But then, a massive ogre appeared above—standing beneath an airship. It was Langpu, the Empire’s Chief Minister and also a grand archmage.

He commanded dozens of Imperial Court Mages, channeling magical energy into a colossal spellcaster engine.

"Vmmm—"

A hundred-meter-wide anti-magic field blanketed the skies above Isengard, instantly crushing all Arcane Corps spells.

Langpu, aboard the airship, grinned at the enemy mages, humming cheerfully as he caressed the skull necklace at his throat—perhaps ready to expand his collection again.

"Is Isengard... truly falling to the Empire like this?" Hain’s mind was racing, gripped by utter despair.

They hadn’t even managed to mount a proper counterattack—everything in Isengard was being crushed by the Empire’s ruthless offensive.

And Hain, a divine-blooded count, wouldn’t even witness Isengard’s fall—he would die here first, frozen in this icy tomb.

"No—"

"I am chosen by His Majesty Amanata. I am a citizen of holy Fadlan. I cannot die like this!" Hain’s thoughts burned, his desire to live intensifying.

The ice sphere that imprisoned him hovered in midair, as if suspended by some unseen force.

"Crack."

Suddenly, fine cracks spiderwebbed across the surface of the sphere. Then, it shattered—shards flying in all directions.

Hain’s eyes snapped open. He muttered, "For Isengard. For the Kingdom of Thrace..." Then, his voice rose in a shout: "And for the eternal Holy Fadlan!"

Two beams of light burst skyward. The ice melted into water, then evaporated into mist. The angelic scion’s entire body was engulfed in the flames of the sun, radiating divine brilliance.

He spread his wings and soared into the sky, heading straight for the fleet above—he was attempting to ignite his divine core, like the late Duke of North Aether!

He intended to trade his life to annihilate the Ember Empire’s fleet completely!

Hain let out a soul-shattering roar: "Die with me! I shall live forever in the glory of His Majesty Amanata!"

The soldiers of Isengard looked up at the ever-brightening figure above, stunned, as if grasping their last hope: "It’s Count Hain!"

"This feeling of basking in light—it’s the great Sun God! He hasn’t forsaken us! We’re still children of Fadlan!"

"It must be His Majesty Amanata descending!"

"Long live Holy Fadlan! Radiance everlasting!"

Bathed in sunlight, the soldiers of Isengard summoned their final courage.

They charged without fear, fighting the Empire’s steel monsters in brutal melee, seemingly ready to die for their faith.

But then, the heavens tore open. A monstrous claw ripped the sky apart, a spatial rift yawning across the firmament, exuding a world-shaking pressure.

A massive, grotesque dragon head slowly emerged—and swallowed the miniature sun in the sky whole.

Instantly, the entire battlefield dimmed. Light vanished.

Isengard fell into shadow. The soldiers stood in stunned silence, frozen in place, staring hopelessly at the sky.

Count Hain... was he eaten?

Their sun—their final faith—was swallowed like a joke?

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