novelraw Chapter 280: Five years later, the war breaks out
Chapter 280: Five years later, the war breaks out
After the shocking border bloodshed conflict erupted in Alva Valley.
The dispute over the core interest of territorial sovereignty caused the Duchy of Harthale and the Duchy of Abbe to almost simultaneously issue strongly-worded official statements, engaging in severe mutual condemnation and denunciation, instantly filling the air with the smell of gunpowder.
At the same time.
Those other duchies with varying degrees of closeness to these two major duchies, with or without conflicting interests, and even those with some past friction and conflicts,
seemed to be subtly manipulated by invisible hands behind the scenes, gradually dividing and gathering.
Eventually forming three distinct factions—neutral observers, open supporters of Harthale, and staunch backers of Abbe.
As for the powerful kingdoms that served as the true pillars and core of the Lothrian Federation.
Their reaction appeared exceptionally calm.
Even to the point of indifference.
They seemed to turn a blind eye to the escalating conflict between the duchies right under their noses, showing complete disregard for such minor skirmishes, merely continuing to meticulously follow the Federation's centuries-old established rules and regulations, methodically initiating mediation procedures, and routinely sending envoys to Harthale and Abbe in a perfunctory attempt to quell the dispute.However, this time.
The attitudes of the two major duchies were completely different from before.
They did not choose to compromise and retreat under the pressure of kingdom mediation as they had in the past.
On the contrary.
Like provoked hedgehogs, they each produced dusty border treaties one after another, historical documents dating back hundreds of years, citing classics and arguing based on reason.
They refused to concede an inch of territory at the negotiation table, displaying an unprecedented tough stance.
They were determined to firmly grasp those disputed areas with ambiguous sovereignty, which both sides claimed legitimate rights to, into their own palms.
Thus.
Under the complex gaming and influence of various forces, after an exhausting, prolonged diplomatic stalemate lasting over five years with continuous small-scale border friction,
in the late summer of New Calendar Year 256, on an exceptionally sunny day,
the Duchy of Harthale and the Duchy of Abbe brazenly tore up the core treaty that maintained internal peace within the Federation, formally issuing hostile declarations of war filled with conflict and flames against each other.
For now.
Those powerful kingdoms with substantial strength and deep foundations remained as steady as bedrock on their high platforms, maintaining puzzling patience and silence.
They coldly observed the escalation of conflict at the duchy level, as if silently waiting for some critical moment to arrive, or perhaps accumulating some deeper scheme.
However.
The numerous duchies within the Federation experienced dramatic shifts in their positions during these six months of tense confrontation.
The neutral duchies that had previously tried to stay out of the conflict had almost completely disappeared.
They had either clearly aligned themselves with Harthale's side or firmly chosen to support the Duchy of Abbe.
Those duchies standing in opposing camps, while not yet engaging in direct armed conflict and full-scale war like Harthale and Abbe,
due to historically accumulated territorial disputes, trade friction, or long-standing grudges of varying degrees,
saw their mutual hostility and tension rapidly intensify like dry firewood touched by sparks. Border friction continued, small-scale conflicts occurred frequently, and the air seemed frozen with tension.
The border bloodshed conflict that served as the trigger was called—the Alva Valley Incident.
At the same time.
While the nations of the Lothrian Federation harbored hidden agendas, with undercurrents swirling and winds of change blowing,
in that forgotten wilderness land located at the convergence of the Ser Wilderness and Permafrost Tundra, far from the clamor of the civilized world,
the Molten Iron Tribe, this fierce beast, had developed as rapidly as wildfire sweeping across plains over the past five years.
Its momentum was fierce and drew attention.
Thanks to the monster races' astonishing tenacity and near-fanatic reproductive drive, the population of various clans within the tribe had snowballed dramatically, showing explosive growth.
Additionally, thanks to the tempering of blood and fire from previous brutal wars,
just as fine steel removes impurities and reveals its edge through forging, batches of powerful chieftains and elite warriors capable of holding their own had continuously emerged like mushrooms sprouting wildly in a rain-soaked forest, appearing throughout the tribe's various corners.
However, behind the gratifying expansion and power growth, there existed shortcomings that couldn't be ignored.
One of the tribe's most highly anticipated core projects,
the Dragonforged Warriors transformation project, was currently stuck in an anxious state of stagnation.
Although Green Dragon Ludwig and Black Dragon Seraphina had both successfully taken up their professions, embarking on the paths of Nature Dragon and Necromancer Dragon respectively, and were following the tribe's requirements to simplify and deconstruct the dragon bloodline rituals with ample live subjects supplied for research, due to their relatively low levels and somewhat deficient understanding of life, flesh, blood, and soul aspects, the Dragonforged Warriors transformation project currently showed no effective progress.
Blue Dragon Heriam and Red Dragon Kahir had also completed their professions as Storm Dragon and Wild Dragon.
It must be said that White Dragon Trixie was quite skilled at motivating the other little dragons to become stronger.
In the Black Iron Plains—this industrial heartland of the Molten Iron Tribe—earth-shaking changes were also occurring.
Relying on the digestion and absorption of the Gold Fang Tribe's alchemical legacy, continuous technical exploration, and the tilt of resources and policies, the scale and complexity of the Molten Iron Tribe's alchemical industrial system had expanded several times over in just five years.
Although that highly ambitious concept—having multiple intelligent beings collaboratively operate a super-giant golem—still remained at the blueprint and small-scale verification stage, with a long road ahead before combat deployment,
nevertheless,
those combat golems standing like iron guards rooted throughout the Molten Iron Tribe's various important strongholds, ready at any moment to crush any invaders, now far exceeded the total number during the Gold Fang Tribe's peak period.
In summary.
The current Molten Iron Tribe's scale of all subordinate legions had almost expanded to the limit of what the convergence lands' current resource output level could support, and the tribe's overall strength had reached an unprecedented peak.
It had powerful troops and sturdy horses!
—Vast monster legions, screened through the fires of war, filled the wilderness camps.
It had fully developed capabilities!
—From basic industry to high-level chieftains, from resource reserves to organizational structure, all had established solid, relatively complete systems.
It possessed loyal cohesion!
—The faith and awe toward that Death's harbinger sitting high on the Dragon Valley throne had long been deeply engraved in the heart of every tribe member.
Its morale had reached the pinnacle!
—After five years of intensive military preparation and explosive strength accumulation, the entire tribe was permeated with an intense desire for battle.
All warriors were eager and ready, all golem engines were rumbling in warm-up, all eyes were fervently turned toward Dragon Valley's direction.
They were constantly prepared.
Awaiting only the command from their supreme king to once again unleash a frenzy of iron and fire, conquering broader territories and seizing more dazzling glory for him.
At this moment.
The Convergence Lands King covered in black-red metal-cast dragon scales shimmering with metallic luster—Garoth Ignas—had just completed his daily essential arduous training.