novelraw Chapter 337: Magical Satellite
Chapter 337: Magical Satellite
“This will be the dragonflock’s first formal display of our true claws to the wilderness.”
Garoth circled slowly in the high sky, his head drooping as he looked down at the creatures fighting for him below.
His soldiers, his followers, were pouring out from carefully constructed strongholds deep within the wilderness.
At first they were scattered trickles, but as time passed those streams began to converge, collide, and merge.
The metallic clank of armor, the heavy thuds of footsteps crushing the ground, low battle cries and the hisses of monsters braided together into an oppressive sea of sound. Eventually they formed a vast, ferocious legion that rolled across the wasteland like an unstoppable force, surging toward Tempering Heights.
Tempering Heights—this time’s target—was without question a hard bone to chew.
For decades the Raymond Duchy had spared no expense to drive this place into the Ser Wilderness as its sturdiest stake. Its position was treacherous, with cliffs on three sides and only one open face for an army to deploy. It was the very definition of easy to defend and hard to take.
The duchy had stockpiled heavy troops here.
Excellent alchemical equipment, well-trained soldiers, massively powerful defensive weapons... together they formed an intimidating fortress.
Of course, given the Molten Iron Tribe’s current strength, paying the necessary price to take it would not be impossible.Yet Garoth still decided to act in person.
Logically, a chieftain like him should be a blade hidden in the lair—unless faced with life-or-death or decisive moments, he should not move.
Prematurely revealing one’s cards and combat style is tantamount to exposing weaknesses.
That gives potential enemies time to analyze and target those weaknesses.
However, Garoth had his own considerations.
On one hand, as one who had taken up the Battle Dragon path, the growth gained from intense battle exceeded daily training.
A battlefield’s constant changes and diverse attacks would temper and refine him, enhancing his resistances.
On the other hand, he possessed multiple, distinct combat forms and reserves.
Appropriately revealing some conventional techniques—say, the characteristics of a certain breath, a particular fighting trick, or even a seemingly formidable defensive posture—could mislead opponents and make it harder for them to discern his true capabilities.
For Garoth, the one thing that needed absolute secrecy was the existence of the Dragon Pearl.
That second life granted Garoth an unparalleled margin for error.
Huff! Huff! Huff!
High above, the fierce airflow stirred the clouds as the great dragons flew, intermittently revealing their vast, dignified shapes.
Their enormous wings stretched beneath the sky like banners snapping in the wind, giving the followers marching below inexhaustible confidence and courage.
Iron Dragon Sorog, Red Dragon Samantha, Blue Dragon Heriam, Red Dragon Kahir.
Besides Garoth, these four dragons would all take part in the campaign.
They were Garoth’s claws, the fangs of the Molten Iron Tribe.
Tonight they would jointly declare the tribe’s presence and strength to this harsh wilderness.
This war for Tempering Heights meant much more than seizing a strategic point; it was a show of force for the tribe—a thorough, indisputable victory was required to exalt troop morale and lay the groundwork for more intense, wider wars and expansion.
As for Black Dragon Seraphina and Green Dragon Ludwig, the former specialized in necromancy and fighting in negative-energy environments, while the latter excelled at communication and life-domain matters.
Neither was suited to a frontal assault.
They did not join the Tempering Heights assault, but they bore another important task: at a separate secret location they were clearing and transforming a captured undead lair, aiming to make it the core site for the Dragon-Forge Modification ritual—another crucial stronghold for the Molten Iron Tribe.
“Tempering Heights is not terribly far from our Ximu Domain headquarters.”
Iron Dragon Sorog’s voice sounded in Garoth’s mind through their mental link. “At our current marching speed, it won’t take long. We should reach the attack staging area on a deep night a few days from now.”
He paused slightly and added another important piece of information: “Also, Gordon has already sent word back.”
“Crystal Princess Elina has clearly stated she will generously invest in our operation and will provide additional support in her own way.”
At the same time, the Red Iron Dragon’s mouth twitched into something like a smile.
He stared into the distance and his low voice rolled across the sky like thunder:
“In any case, let the coming night burn.”
Then the flock cruised with unhurried purpose across the darkening heavens. Beneath their massive wings, the Molten Iron Tribe’s follower legions advanced across the land like tidal waves—grand, unstoppable, and resolute.
Time passed, solemn and lethal, second by second.
Several days later, deep at night.
Tempering Heights.
The night air here was cold and metallic, as if tinged with rust. Moonlight pierced low-hanging clouds to illuminate the massive walls forged from huge granite blocks and poured steel, reflecting a faint, hazy metallic sheen.
This fortress, a strategic bastion in the northwest of the Ser Wilderness, began as a small outpost Raymond Duchy seized while the Molten Iron Tribe had withdrawn.
But after decades of constant expansion and reinforcement, it had become the duchy’s hardest stake driven into this wild land.
The walls around the stronghold rose three thousand meters high, their surfaces studded with sharp metal barbs and energy-conducting runes.
Every hundred meters a bastion jutted out, each fitted with a hulking magocrystal cannon. A cold-blue energy core slowly rotated deep in each barrel like the heart of a sleeping beast.
On the battlements stood soldiers in standard-issue alchemical armor.
Their armor joints housed miniature weight-reduction runes, yet their steps were heavy as iron. As they patrolled they struck the ground with ringing footsteps. Only cold, wary eyes peered from beneath thick helmets as they scanned the dark wilderness beyond.
On the highest lookout of the central main keep, a particularly tall, burly human figure stood like a statue at the railing.
His face was chiseled and angular as if hewn by blades; his beard trimmed immaculate; the armor he wore bore scars of many depths, inscriptions of his deeds.
Most striking of all:
On the back of his hand that rested on his sword hilt was a crown pattern woven from countless tiny vows.
Hamilton—General “Iron Wall,” the highest commander of the Tempering Heights stronghold.
This stronghold was Raymond Duchy’s largest and most fortified outpost in the Ser Wilderness. As a mighty paladin who had sworn the Crown Oath—pledging his life to defend the crown, the realm, and to serve king and law—this Iron Wall General was the strongest force Raymond maintained in the wilderness, bar none.
One hand rested on the cold steel railing, the other steady on his sword hilt.
Like countless nights before, he personally stood at the highest point, vigilant. His gaze was that of a keen hawk scanning the dark horizon, searching for the faintest sign of danger.
“Report, sir!”
A staff officer hurried up without panic. His expression was grave; his voice tense and low. “Outposts Six and Seven failed to report back on schedule. Contact has been lost.”
The officer inhaled sharply and quickened his speech.
“The last transmission from the signal crystal before it went dark suffered extremely strong, unknown interference. The fragments we barely received were distorted and blurred; the audio was a harsh, grating noise... but analysis confirms there is a large enemy force rapidly approaching!”
Hamilton’s eyelid twitched barely noticeable, but his chiseled face gave nothing away—only stony hardness.
The officer lowered his voice and cautiously speculated: “Based on experience, it could be a massive beast surge, or some tribe of maddened wilderness monsters in migration that struck us.”
The Iron Wall General continued to stare into the deep darkness, slightly shaking his head.
“A beast surge or maddened tribes would not have the means to interfere with our signal crystals.”
His voice was steady, with a note of gravity. “This attack is from a more dangerous, more organized foe.”
The wilderness had never lacked danger; fierce beasts and magical monsters abounded, and Tempering Heights had been attacked before.
But the signal crystals being disrupted so effectively on such a broad scale was unprecedented.
That meant one thing: the attackers were not acting on instinct like wild beasts; they were intelligent and had prepared carefully.
This assault was likely premeditated.
Hamilton’s mind raced like lightning.
Three seconds later he kept gazing at that perilous blackness and issued an order in a quiet but clear voice that reached the officer’s ear: “Send the order—activate Level One battle readiness! Immediately!”
The officer’s face registered a flash of surprise. He had not expected such a strong reaction.
Level One battle readiness—this was the highest mobilization, meaning the outpost would enter full wartime status: every resource and person would be prioritized for defense.
Despite his questions, long-honed obedience and trust left the officer with no hesitation. He saluted crisply: “Yes, sir!”
He turned and ran toward the communications room.
Then a string of highest-alert orders crackled down from the heights.
All soldiers on rest were urgently recalled, refitted with heavy armor, and seized their weapons to sprint to their positions. The clash of metal, rapid footfalls, and shouted commands filled the air.
All standby alchemical golems were activated; their engines grumbled low as they moved to preset defensive nodes, their heavy steps making the ground tremble.
All magocrystal cannon platforms in the bastions began charging; cold-blue energy coalesced at the muzzles, emitting pulse-like waves that set hearts on edge and stared like giant beast eyes at the unknown dark.
The number of guards on the wall visibly doubled.
Soldiers gripped enchanted crossbows and weapons, bodies taut, breathing harsh. Eyes beneath helmets brimmed with tension and resolve.
The stronghold bristled like a steel beast fully awakened and coiled for combat.
Meanwhile, increasingly bad news followed in quick succession.
“Report! Outpost Five confirmed lost!”
“Report! Outpost Four confirmed lost!”
The air within the stronghold seemed to congeal; each courier’s grim news added weight to the oppressive silence.
The voice of the messenger began to tremble.
Although no one had seen the attackers’ exact form, the steady flow of reports about fallen peripheral posts created an invisible, mounting psychological pressure.
It felt as if an unseen, terrifying monster lurked in the dense night, quietly moving its steps and slowly revealing its tearing claws and fangs—edging ever closer to Tempering Heights to pick them off.
“General, should we dispatch a rapid-response force to support the peripheral outposts that might still be resisting?”
“Or at least... scout the enemy?”
The officer tried to keep calm as he looked at the tall figure standing like an iron tower on the wall.
General Hamilton did not turn. He only shook his head slightly.
“No.”
He uttered the single syllable simply.
The enemy’s approach was fierce and well prepared.
The best strategy now was to concentrate strength and hold the core stronghold—never split precious forces and give the enemy chances to destroy them one by one.
They had to abandon the isolated peripheral posts.
“Report! Outpost Three... confirmed lost!”
Another piece of grim news arrived swiftly.
Now only Outposts One and Two remained, almost extensions of the main wall themselves.
This meant the unknown enemy was almost at the gates.
After a suffocating silence,
Hamilton’s eyes suddenly ignited with a pure, solemn glow of the Sacred Oath, his gaze becoming piercingly deep.
Sacred Oath Spell—Superior Sight.
From top to bottom, the paladin’s gaze—solid as substance—pierced the night like twin searchlights and snapped toward the dark wilderness beyond the heights.
In an instant his great frame jolted and his pupils constricted sharply.
He saw countless suits of armor glinting with metallic sheen! Countless raised, monstrous blades! Countless horrific forms exuding bloodlust! Even rows of alchemical golems!
They were not scattered bands; they were arrayed in oppressive formations.
They had assembled into a boundless tide! That tide rolled forward, crushing trees, toppling huge rocks, trampling hard ground into mud—their target Tempering Heights, his fortress, bearing down.
But what shook him most was...
High in the thick night sky, he glimpsed several enormous silhouettes leisurely circling!
They were dragonshapes—and not a single dragon.
Hamilton’s light dimmed and returned to normal. He took several deep breaths to steady his racing heart.
Then he unhesitatingly reached into the lining of his armor and took out an amulet.
It was an advanced communication device that could ignore most interference and transmit information directly to higher command.
“Dragonflock leading their follower legions is about to strike Tempering Heights! The scale is unprecedented—requesting immediate support!”
Hamilton spoke quickly but clearly.
Yet the amulet in his hand only flickered weakly and then went dark—no response. It failed to transmit as it normally would.
Alarmed, he tried to trigger it again and switched emergency codes, only to find all communication means seemingly blocked and nullified by an invisible force.
And it was not just his advanced amulet.
He switched to other communication devices and tried those as well, even using others’ tools—and with growing horror discovered every communication device in the stronghold had become inoperative.
“What... what is happening?!”
The Iron Wall General, famed for his mountain-like steadiness and iron resolve, for the first time could not hide shock and even a hint of fear on his face.
He could accept a mass monster assault, even dragons—he would stand and fight to the last blade.
But all communication utterly cut off?
He could not imagine how the enemy had achieved that.
While General Hamilton’s shock over severed communications briefly held him captive,
far away in the Lothrian royal court, within a heavily guarded palace full of precise magical instruments,
Crystal Princess Elina stood quietly before a celestial instrument.
Her eyes pierced space’s barriers with a godlike vantage, drawing the distant Tempering Heights—now in the storm’s eye—clearly into view.
As the celestial instrument turned soundlessly,
in high orbit, a magical satellite belonging to the Lothrian Kingdom glimmered almost imperceptibly with magical light and sealed off all communications between Tempering Heights and the outside.
Compared to before, Elina’s face bore a few more lines, but they did not detract from her beauty.
Well maintained and an advanced practitioner, she still wore a faint smile.
She was not content to be a distant spectator watching the dragonflock destroy a target belonging to an enemy kingdom. Instead, she chose to participate in this assault in her own way—lending the dragonflock her support.