Ember Dragon

"Concentrated assault!"

"Boom—"

Dozens of airship turrets simultaneously raised their barrels. Beams of light shot forth and converged, striking the towering bastion.

Next, over a thousand Imperial cannons roared to life. A flood of shells filled the sky. Blinding flashes and choking smoke blanketed the battlefield.

Distant steam tanks joined the barrage, though none dared charge forward—not with the smoldering wrecks nearby.

Under this onslaught and repeated explosions, the light shield’s ripples grew more intense, but still no cracks appeared. It held firm.

Suddenly, the air split with a tearing hiss. Rifts opened in the Imperial formation.

Twelve robed mages emerged from the void, led by a young woman.

Her crimson hair flowed freely, and her golden eyes radiated a faint draconic aura.

Seeing Misha arrive, Drol rushed forward. "At last, Duchess Misha! You’re here! We’ve been stuck for days, unable to breach that bastion."

Misha narrowed her eyes, staring at the colossal structure. "So that’s the Blazing Sun Bastion... The energy is overwhelming."

Drol nodded gravely. "It’s an ancient weapon from Holy Fadlan. It stores sunlight and converts it into energy.

Before our assault began, the Eye of the Sun Core had absorbed nearly two centuries of sunlight—an immense divine reserve. Even our full might has barely dented it.

We’ve spent over 200,000 shells and conducted more than a dozen bombing rounds—and still haven’t broken through."

Misha nodded slightly. "Troublesome indeed. But worry not, Marshal Drol. We possess His Majesty’s power. Even the Sun God himself couldn’t stop us."

Relief spread across Drol’s tense face. "That’s all I needed to hear. Tonight, we launch our final assault. We’ll take Saint Michael in one sweep!"

"Of course. Emperor Cassius will watch over us," Misha said softly.

Night fell. Yet Saint Michael still gleamed like day, encased in its radiant shield—a city that seemed built within a star.

"Whoosh—"

Shells streaked through the night like meteors, hammering the shield and creating constant explosions—flickering, but never breaking it.

"Damn Imperials!"

"This never ends! I can’t even sleep!"

"By Amanata—when will we drive these dragonspawn out?!"

Soldiers on the wall cursed incessantly, their tones more annoyed than fearful.

For Saint Michael’s residents, this was the new normal. Many had grown used to sleeping through the roar of war.

"The situation is worse than we thought. The Ember Empire is powerful."

A silver-armored, beautiful angel-blood descended slowly to the wall.

She was Tyrena Star Angel, Duke of Thrace and one of Wilhelm’s most trusted.

She had commanded the angel-blood legions in the south, battling Kassandra and Seleucia.

But Wilhelm had now summoned her northward, abandoning the southern front to resist the Empire’s invasion.

A human officer beside her smiled obsequiously. "With you here, Duchess Tyrena, Saint Michael is impregnable.

And we still have the Blazing Sun Bastion, His Majesty’s divine gift. These brutish Imperials can’t comprehend the Sun God’s greatness!"

Tyrena shook her head, glancing skyward, her face flickering under the explosions. "No, we mustn’t underestimate them. These Imperials are naturals at war.

In just a few years, they’ve raised a terrifying army. No wonder they conquered Northern Aether and the Highland Kingdom."

She glanced coldly at the officer. "But one thing you said is true—they underestimate the Sun God’s power. They dare wield fire in my presence!"

Tyrena spread her wings and soared upward, raising her burning longsword. "Only the sun is the source of all fire and light!"

"Boom—"

A golden radiance erupted into the sky, forming a massive orb—a miracle of the Sun God.

The twelve arc lenses rotated, focusing sunlight into the orb, which now blazed like a true sun, lighting half the sky.

"It’s Lady Tyrena!"

"By Amanata, a true miracle!"

Soldiers stared in awe as the orb unleashed countless radiant streaks, falling toward the Imperial lines.

"Boom!"

"Boom! Boom!"

Fire rained upon the Imperial camps, sparking massive explosions.

Tanks became blackened wrecks. Airships turned into flaming balls and crashed. Thousands screamed in the inferno.

Sirens blared. Chaos gripped the Imperial lines.

"Activate energy shields!"

"Damn Thracians!"

Armored giants raised massive hexagonal force fields, overlapping to cover the camp.

Over a hundred mages cast rain and frost spells to douse the fires.

The firestorm was eventually halted. Order returned—but seven airships, over a dozen tanks, and thousands of soldiers were lost.

"Damn Thracians!"

Drol roared, slamming his fist on the table—splinters flew, and the wood cracked apart.

"I want them dead! I’ll crush them! I’ll show them the Empire’s true might!"

Breathing heavily, eyes bloodshot, he calmed and ordered a messenger: "Go. Tell Duchess Misha—I want Thrace to pay."

"Yes, sir."

Misha spread her wings, hovering with eleven Draconic Warlocks, staring at the orb.

Her voice was cold. "So it’s her—Tyrena, Duke of Thrace. A legend."

"But before our master’s power, even gods will fall. The dragonflame will consume them."

A messenger on Wyvernback arrived anxiously with Drol’s command.

Misha nodded and swept her gaze across the warlocks.

"Now they shall witness our master’s might. For the Great Red Dragon!"

"For the Great Red Dragon!"

The warlocks echoed as if beginning a sacred rite.

Misha raised her hand.

Her eyes closed. Crimson scales shimmered on her cheeks. Flames danced around her body. Draconic might radiated from her.

"Molten eyes glide, mountains awaken along spines, magma flows down scales to draw new borders—"

The warlocks chanted in draconic, their pressure intensifying.

Above them loomed a colossal red dragon phantom, roaring at Saint Michael.

"When twin wings tear the sky, a sulfur storm shall consume the world—"

The warlocks’ power flowed into Misha like rays of light, amplifying with their fervent hymn.

Misha raised her hand and opened her eyes. Her golden gaze blazed as a massive pillar of fire erupted from her fingertip.

"Roar—"

A dragon’s roar echoed from the void, shaking the world.

The blinding firebeam tore the night sky like a sword.

"Cassius above!"

"What is that?!"

"It’s Lady Misha! She has Emperor Cassius’s power! The Thracians are doomed!"

Imperial troops stared skyward, faces alight with zeal.

Drol’s voice boomed over comms, full of vengeance: "Fire! Fire everything!

Make Thrace suffer! Let them regret ever defying the Ember Empire!"

The firebeam roared through the air, smashing toward the Blazing Sun Bastion.

"By Amanata—such power! Stop that breath now!" Tyrena shouted, infusing her divine power into the Eye of the Sun.

Dozens of angel-bloods flew up, raising burning swords. Their light flowed into the shield, forming a solar emblem.

"Hold it!"

"At all costs!"

"For Thrace! For Amanata!"

Sun Priests poured divine gold dust into the Holy Solar Urn. The sunlight inside boiled as solar totems shimmered.

Saint Michael blazed like a miracle—mortals couldn’t even keep their eyes open.

"Boom!"

The beam slammed the shield. A supernova-like blast rocked the heavens, tearing clouds and earth alike.

The ground beneath Saint Michael turned transparent. Granite vaporized in milliseconds—magma surged.

The golden dome groaned. 720 alchemy arrays on the Bastion lit up.

Holy runes that had lasted centuries peeled away, scattering like molten foil.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield, centered on the impact.

"We can’t let them destroy the Bastion!"

Tyrena roared, divine light in her eyes. Golden fire spewed from her mouth and nose.

Her body glowed, skin cracking with radiant fissures—she had nothing left.

But the firebeam only grew stronger, its power reaching godlike levels.

Meanwhile, Imperial artillery thundered. Thousands of shells rained onto the flickering barrier.

Once unbreakable, the shield now flickered weakly under the assault.

"My lady! It’s reaching the limit!"

The chief Sun Priest coughed blood, forcing power into the Eye. Its glow dimmed.

"No—"

"Impossible!"

Tyrena screamed, golden tears flowing. Her voice was bitter with despair.

Even she could no longer stop it. Cracks spread across the shield.

Finally, with a shattering crack, the light shield broke—into fragments of divine solar power.

The firebeam struck the Bastion, melted through, and bored a ten-meter-wide hole of molten iron.

"Gods..."

"By Amanata! Our Bastion—it’s falling!"

"Boom—"

Amid shrieks and metallic groans, the bastion collapsed—becoming a tomb for countless Thracians.

The Blazing Sun Bastion, a relic of Holy Fadlan for centuries, was no more.

With the shield gone, Imperial shells rained freely, blasting the walls and killing defenders by the hundreds.

Steam tanks and armored vehicles roared forward in a full-scale charge.

"For the Empire!"

"Long live the Great Red Dragon!"

Soldiers surged south, shouting slogans. The counterattack had begun!

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