Ember Dragon

On the eastern front, Saint Michael City fell in just a few days.

Droll, the Supreme Commander of the Eastern Army and Marshal of the Empire, led a massive force across the Radiant Mountains like a sharp sword, piercing directly into the heart of the Thracian Kingdom, advancing toward Auguste at an unimaginable speed.

Meanwhile, the Western Army also mobilized, rampaging across the vast plains, ruthlessly tearing apart Thracian defenses and leaving the scattered cities to be handled by the Starfall Legion.

In just seven days, under the Empire’s lightning offensive, Thrace’s lines crumbled. Legions stationed across the kingdom were utterly destroyed.

Following Wilhelm’s "Supreme Order," all of Thrace’s military forces—be it the Holy Guard, Golem Legions, Arcane Corps, or the Angel-Blooded—rushed toward Auguste in a grand mobilization.

At this moment, all forces from both sides converged upon Thrace’s capital—Auguste, known as the "City of Sunrise."

Thracian Kingdom, Auguste.

The soaring Tower of the Sun God stood tall at the city’s center, its surface flowing with liquid sunlight-like patterns. At the pinnacle, the emblem of the solar disc emitted a continuous halo day and night.

It was not only a symbol of faith but also the core of the city’s energy barrier. Its surface was inscribed with solar god runes, constantly converting sunlight into a protective shield.

The Angel-Blooded, under the command of Duchess Tyrena, guarded the tower. Their wings gleamed like molten gold, each wielding a Blade of Judgement, patrolling the skies.

Tyrena swung her longsword and roared at the Angel-Blooded, "Feanso’s fate will be decided by us!

We are the warriors chosen by the Sun God—for Thrace, for Holy Fadlan, and for the great Amanata, we must not let Auguste fall! We must not let this sacred land, bathed in sunlight, fall to the enemy!"

At the tower’s peak were three hundred Crusader warriors, also with wings on their backs, their flawless faces expressionless, like holy statues.

"Heavenly feathers ignite the eyes, blazing swords shatter armor; holy hymns brand the brow, divine sight shines like torches."

The Holy Choir stood around the solar disc at the summit, chanting sacred hymns, reinforcing the barrier with divine power.

The city wall system combined both arcane and divine might.

The outer layer was a grayish-white rune bastion dozens of meters thick, its bricks embedded with expensive alchemical matrices. When attacked, it automatically activated composite defense arrays, dispersing physical shock into the ground and absorbing 30% of magical energy to power the Arcane Corps.

The inner walls were lined with fifty-yard-tall prism towers, topped with crystal prisms controlled by grand arcanists. These could convert absorbed energy into annihilation beams or wide-area shields.

Behind the battlements stood thousands of silent golems, each nearly ten meters tall, their frames forged from meteoric iron and powered by alchemical soul prisons. Once war erupted, they would become pain-immune killing machines.

Inside the city, officers and soldiers rushed through the streets, herding panicked civilians into shelters to prevent escapes.

"Hurry up, those in the back! Move it! Want a whip to the face for being slow?" a Thracian officer on horseback snarled.

A ragged woman holding a child mustered her courage and whispered, "Sir, my child hasn’t eaten for days. He’s really—"

"Snap!" The whip lashed across her back, drawing a weak moan.

The officer didn’t even glance, roaring instead, "Shut up! Do you want to see Auguste overrun before your eyes? Do you want to become food for the vile wyverns?

Anyone who doesn’t know what’s good for them, I’ll brand them a traitor and beat them to death!"

The child clung to his mother’s frail body, crying, "Mama, I’m not hungry anymore. We won’t eat. We won’t..."

By Wilhelm’s decree, all food and housing in Auguste had been requisitioned to support the arriving armies.

Witnessing this scene, Dayev, just having entered the city, sighed deeply and muttered, "Didn’t expect things inside the city to be this dire. The people can’t even eat."

With that thought, he pulled a piece of black bread from his cloak and tossed it to the crying child.

"Thank you, sir," the child sobbed.

Hearing this, the mounted officer turned in anger. But when he saw the holy emblem embroidered on Dayev’s uniform, he said nothing and resumed whipping the refugees forward.

Dayev continued walking, heading to the Kingdom’s Intelligence Bureau to report on the military status across the land.

He looked at the endless troops on the streets, the discarded refugee corpses by the roadside, and felt a deep sorrow—was this once-holy and radiant city now reduced to this?

Since his mission to Istalia, Dayev had long sensed that the Ember Empire would bring earth-shaking change to the kingdom—and to the entire continent.

But never did he expect that day to arrive so soon. In just a few years, the Ember Empire’s armies had reached Auguste.

"Amanata above..."

"Oh gods..."

"Look! It’s His Majesty Wilhelm! What a divine figure!"

"He’ll lead us to break through and reach a brighter future!"

Dayev couldn’t help but look up. From the top of the Sun God’s Tower radiated blinding light, and Wilhelm slowly rose into view at the summit.

Bathed in endless radiance, his burly figure was inscribed with divine sigils. Six flaming wings fluttered gently, and golden solar discs shone clearly in his pupils—he looked like a god incarnate.

In his hands was the spiral spear "Final Judgment," its shaft formed of seven interwoven holy chains, with a miniature sun hovering at its tip, constantly collapsing and reforming.

Even Dayev couldn’t help but murmur, "His Majesty Wilhelm... he seems... stronger than ever."

Since the Sun God fell into slumber, the divine powers of others had waned, but Wilhelm alone remained powerful, like the sun itself—never fading.

"Long live His Majesty Wilhelm!"

"Long live Thrace!"

Thracian soldiers cheered fanatically.

Wilhelm swept his sharp gaze across the surroundings and finally spoke, "My subjects, children bathed in Amanata’s radiance—the most perilous moment is here!

The vile wyvern and its minions have crossed the Radiant Mountains and are headed for Auguste. They wish to make Thrace their dominion.

They want to enslave the Sun God’s children, drain our blood and souls, and turn this sacred land into a hell of bloodshed and sin!"

The soldiers erupted into a roar, cursing venomously and swearing to sever the dragon’s head and break its wings as offerings to the Sun God.

"That wretched beast!"

"That damned monster!"

"Oh gods!"

"No worries, Wilhelm will lead us to slay it!"

Wilhelm’s expression sharpened, his voice booming with power: "But I will make that dragon realize—this is a fool’s dream!

I will make them understand that the great Amanata is inviolable, and the children of the Sun will never bow to cruel tyrants!

Long live Thrace! Long live Holy Fadlan!"

Gripping his spiral spear in both hands, Wilhelm unleashed a beam of light skyward, revealing a massive sun emblem in the golden firmament.

Instantly, a deafening cheer exploded within Auguste.

"Long live Thrace!"

"Long live Holy Fadlan!"

"For the supreme Lord of Eternal Light!"

Whether Angel-Blooded around the divine tower, Holy Guard beside Wilhelm, or Arcane Corps within the walls—all raised their voices with fervent cries.

Even pegasi neighed in chorus, and golems roared lowly, as if longing for victory.

Thracians had always viewed Wilhelm as the rightful successor of the old emperor, their worship of him unshakable.

But Dayev had once seen His Majesty Wilhelm’s body covered in cracks. Just a few years later, how had he become so flawless?

With the surge of disappearances in recent years around Auguste, Dayev often felt chills but dared not dig deeper.

Suddenly, a mounted messenger riding a pegasus appeared in the sky, waving at him: "Lord Dayev, Lord Carlisle is looking for you. As a Transcendent Warrior, you’ve been assigned to the Third Defense Zone."

"Understood," Dayev replied gravely. He drew the longsword from his back and headed in the indicated direction.

No matter what, as a subject of Thrace, he had to give everything to protect his nation and its capital.

Pushing through the crowd, Dayev soon reached the inner walls and climbed up to the battlements. There stood General Carlisle, sword in hand.

"General Carlisle," Dayev greeted.

"Dayev, I’ve been expecting you," Carlisle said with a glance, then turned and entered the tower. "Come with me."

"Is something wrong?" Dayev was puzzled—why summon him privately in such a critical moment?

Still, he followed, instinctively locking the door behind him.

Carlisle sat down, looked at Dayev, and asked softly, "You were a royal envoy once, traveled to the Empire. Is it really as they say—a hellish prison?"

Carlisle’s throat tightened at the word "hell," as if recalling something.

Dayev hesitated, then shook his head and answered quietly, "Not really. It’s prosperous and rich. In some ways, even surpassing Auguste."

Carlisle gave a bitter smile. "Didn’t you see the streets? How can Auguste still be called prosperous? It’s no longer the glorious ’City of Sunrise.’

Today’s Auguste is a giant drained dry by war. Maybe it was once strong and healthy, but that’s long buried history."

"..."

Dayev fell silent, waiting for the next question.

Sure enough, Carlisle locked eyes with him and asked solemnly, "If the one you serve became a terrible monster—would you still follow him?"

"Are you saying—"

Dayev trembled, almost gasping aloud, his worst fears confirmed.

Everyone in Thrace said Amanata had awakened, and Wilhelm had been blessed—that’s how he stayed strong and founded the Holy Guard.

But what if—the Sun God still slumbered? Then where did Wilhelm’s power come from?

Despair clouded Carlisle’s eyes. He said sorrowfully, "Dayev, Thrace is no longer the nation you swore loyalty to—the one that pursued light and justice.

In the past years, I watched our god desecrated by demons, our lands become sinful, and our king seduced by darkness—with no way to stop it."

The weary general looked Dayev in the eye. "Dayev, I know you’re different. Years ago, you were exiled for opposing noble atrocities.

I trust you won’t stand by and watch this place turn into a den of evil."

"You mean—"

Dayev’s eyes widened in shock, realizing something the kingdom would never allow.

Carlisle said nothing, merely pressed a metal item into Dayev’s hand, then turned and left.

"Amanata above, forgive me for my sins..."

Dayev stood there blankly for a long time, then opened his palm. Sure enough—a sigil of a vertical pupil and flame lay quietly there—it was the emblem of the Ember Empire.

"Vmmm——"

From the tower, 24 horns engraved with angelic carvings blared, producing a deep, long tone.

Dayev opened the door and looked out from the battlements, witnessing a sight he would never forget in his lifetime—

In the distant skies, massive airships flew in formation. All kinds of wyverns flapped chaotically like storm clouds stretching for miles, nearly blocking out the sun.

On the ground, dust billowed and the earth trembled. Steam tanks rolled across the wasteland, and armored cars towing heavy cannons sped forward.

Behind them, towering mechs marched in heavy strides, casting intimidating silhouettes on the horizon.

And even farther beyond, countless spatial portals opened in the sky, leading to countless planes of the multiverse, from which the Fire Elemental Legion, the Shadow Legion, and the Hell Pact Legion poured forth...

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