Large areas of the Ashfire Continent are like this, with extremely high surface temperatures, only suitable for life forms like the molten spirits to survive.
Even for someone like Duke, a Level 2 Mage, they rely on a strong constitution and the magic power within to resist the constant assault of high temperatures.
However, it doesn’t actually affect Duke much, as he himself is a Level 2 fire attribute Elemental Mage, and this environment feels quite natural to him.
Mages proficient in fire attribute magic all gain certain benefits here, as the concentration of fire attribute free energy particles is extremely high, surpassing all the places Duke has been before.
Even a simple secondary Fireball Technique can display twice the normal strength here.
Rex continued introducing the information here: "The civilization of the molten spirits is more complex than we anticipated. They have a complete social structure with craftsmen responsible for production, warriors for combat, priests for rituals, and lords for governance. Their cities are built with comprehensive planning and functional zoning, including residential areas, commercial zones, industrial sectors, ritual districts, and administrative centers. They even have their own language, writing, history, and legends."
He pointed to the surviving murals among the city ruins.
"Those murals record their history. Not primitive graffiti, but genuine works of art. Their craftsmen blend pigments using lava and magic metal ores, painting intricate patterns on obsidian walls. Their priests engrave runes on buildings with magic to enhance defense and function. Their lords build magnificent palaces for themselves, comparable in scale to cathedrals of human kingdoms."
Duke looked at those murals, impressed by the powerful lines, precise composition, and intense colors, indicating a considerable level of aesthetic achievement.
Their craftsmen blend pigments using lava and magic metal ores, painting intricate patterns on obsidian walls, even understanding the use of ore particle size and sintering temperature to control color depth.
"So, don’t treat these elemental lives as beasts," Rex’s voice deepened slightly, "they are intelligent, civilized, and organized, never underestimate them."
"Do you know why you few have come to me? Because originally, my few Level 2 Mage subordinates, in the previous campaign, either died or were wounded, leaving few usable, which is why you are here."
Rex said no more and turned to continue forward.
The ground in this open space is no longer obsidian but gray-white volcanic ash, soft and silent underfoot, kicking up fine dust.
At the edge of the open space, a defensive line composed of slave creatures stretches before them.
That defense line extends for several miles, its end not visible at a glance.
Slave creatures line up in dozens of parallel rows, each row spaced about a hundred steps apart, staggered to form a tiered defensive depth.
The front row consists of heavy armor units, large in size, clad in thick alloy armor, wielding gigantic shields and spears, tasked with bearing the initial impact of enemy charges.
The middle row contains ranged units of varying forms, some with four arms, each wielding a crossbow; others resemble stationary turrets, with backs that can open to reveal internal energy emission organs.
The rear row consists of casting units, mostly races inherently capable of elemental manipulation.
They are few in number, but each can cast wide-range attack magic on the battlefield.
Mobile units are interspersed within the gaps between rows.
Smaller in size, agile in movement, they are responsible for quickly moving across the battlefield, reinforcing weak points, or pursuing when the enemy retreats.
Scattered foxholes are placed at the forefront of the defensive line, housing lurking races that remain motionless like unobtrusive rocks, their eyes constantly fixed on the open space ahead.
The entire defensive line is extremely meticulous, not a simple pile of cannon fodder, but a finely calculated and tactically planned war machine.
Every slave creature has its own position and duty, knowing when to attack, defend, move, or hold its ground.
During downtime, they gather quietly to talk about their homes, past comrades, and the possibility of freedom after the war.
They compete for better food portions during distribution, cry out in pain when wounded, and emit sorrowful growls when a fellow tribe member falls.
But with one command from the commander, all emotions are suppressed under contract, obeying unconditionally.
Duke’s gaze crossed the defensive line, looking ahead.
On the distant horizon, he could see the defensive fortifications of the molten spirits, barriers cast from lava, with lines of dark red figures standing atop.
Those are the molten spirits’ armies, patrolling the barricades.
Beyond is the undulating mountain range and dark red sky, with molten spirit cities concealed within the mountain folds, their buildings yet to be destroyed by artillery.
Occasionally, one or two flying molten spirits rise from behind the ridges, with wings spanning over ten meters, bodies like giant birds solidified from lava, trailing sparks with each wingbeat.
They hover at low altitudes, speedily and nimbly, eyes watching the slave defense line’s deployments, relaying information back behind.
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