novelraw Chapter 462: Conspiring Against the Satellite
Chapter 462: Conspiring Against the Satellite
The wilderness sky was vast and clear, cloudless for thousands of miles, like a single piece of clarified sapphire draped over the scorched land below.
The Red Iron Dragon lifted his head and stared at the firmament, his enormous body casting a long narrow shadow in the sunlight.
Deep within those black vertical pupils, rune-like stars flowed, combined, and parsed at high speed. His gaze seemed to pierce through layers of spatial obstruction, cross the atmosphere, and aim at the distant, cold void of space.
"It won't take long before I can lock onto its exact position."
He thought silently.
Over the past year, to continue widening their advantage, the Divine Kingdom of Theo had used its satellites frequently.
Teleport raids, the Holy Rain of Healing, orbital strikes... these strategic abilities repeatedly turned local battles and accumulated significant victories for Theo's legions.
Aola Kingdom's Shadowwood Forest and the Oxidation Gorge fell one after another.
The iron dragon Leticia and the holy spirit deer suffered severe wounds in fierce battles and would take time to recover, forcing them off the frontlines.
Thanks to satellite support, Theo had built an impregnable defensive wall, which had become rock-solid in defense.They gained the upper hand in both offense and defense; the balance of conventional warfare was rapidly tipping toward the Divine Kingdom of Theo.
If Aola wanted to win this war, it had to find a way to neutralize Theo's satellites.
Their effects were not limited to battlefields beneath Legendary tier; even when Legendaries participated, magical satellites remained strategic weapons of considerable power.
However, Garoth did not simply rush into space.
He knew very well that taking down Theo's satellites was not a simple task.
When magical satellites were first created, they were imperfect and had been located and destroyed by enemy masters on several occasions. As time passed and technology advanced, magical satellites became increasingly difficult to forcefully destroy.
The first problem was finding them.
Normally, magical satellites resided in hidden parallel dimensional creases and were not in the main Material Plane at all. Any satellite image visible in the Material Plane by the naked eye or ordinary magic was merely an illusory projection used for camouflage.
Only when a magical satellite needed to interfere with the Material Plane—such as for teleport deployment, energy support, or orbital strikes—would it briefly manifest, appearing in the Material Plane.
Even then, it would only appear for a few seconds before immediately changing spatial coordinates and slipping into a fresh parallel dimensional crease, leaving no opportunity for enemies to lock onto it.
Still, magical satellites were not perfect creations.
Each use left faint traces in the Material Plane.
Slight folds in spatial structure, residual magical energy at particular frequency bands, aftereffects caused by dimensional jumps... as it appeared again and again, these traces gradually increased in number, like continually throwing stones into a calm lake, the ripples interweaving.
On one hand, Garoth had access to orbital data provided by allied states.
On the other hand, his Eye of Truth could directly see those spatial traces invisible to ordinary people.
Garoth gazed at the sky.
To normal eyes, the open clear firmament appeared blank, but in his vision it presented a complex and dazzling scene.
A number of tiny points of light flickered like dust motes.
Fainter, ripple-shaped waves spread slightly through space, quickly closing.
The rune kingdom's satellite moved like a crafty fish swimming in the deep ocean.
It would dive and hide within dimensions, then leap out to draw energy from the air. Each leap left subtle ripples that etched marks into spatial structure, gradually weaving into a net.
Unless it ceased participation entirely, lying dormant in some parallel dimension until all spatial traces dissipated with time,
soon,
once the traces accumulated to a certain level and its movement pattern was thoroughly sketched out, it would be completely exposed to Garoth's sight.
However, there was another problem now.
"After gaining effective results, Theo actually reduced its satellite usage this month, only using the most basic, harmless reconnaissance skills, methodically expanding its advantage."
Garoth narrowed his eyes and weighed the situation.
Clearly, Theo's commanders had also considered the satellite's weaknesses.
Although the satellite itself possessed formidable defenses, they chose to be cautious and avoided overreliance on the satellite array so as not to reveal its trajectory.
But without the satellite, how would they secure their advantage? How would they resist Aola's counterattacks?
The Red Iron Dragon smiled silently, a cold edge in that expression.
"Sorog, my dear brother, execute your plan. Force Theo to use the satellite. Once that weapon is active, how can they simply stop it?"
He sent a mental link to his brother far at the warfront.
"Good. I have been preparing for some time."
The reply from iron dragon Sorog came calm and resolute.
New Calendar 343, midsummer, the Gray Ember Plain.
Two years of war had carved indelible scars into this land.
Ashes were swept up by the wind and fell, forming slow-rotating black columns of smoke, like the earth's sighs.
What little green the plain had once had now gave way to scorched soil, trenches crisscrossing like wounds, and broken banners and weapons half-buried in dust.
The air was permanently tainted with a mix of sulfur, iron rust, and faint humus.
Thirty li behind the impregnable wall stood the Dazhi Iron Front.
Over time, this forward command post, initially established to confront the Ironwall Fortress, had swollen into a fully functional war city.
Tall alchemical furnaces worked day and night, belching smoke laced with sparks, producing repair parts for weapons and golems for the front. Three gray-white mage towers formed a triangle, their tip detection arrays sweeping sky and ground like searchlights, their beams visible in the yellowed air. Around the camp were three staggered defensive walls made of enchanted concrete and metal frames; on the battlements sat dark heavy alchemical cannon emplacements, their barrels pointed toward regions still held by Aola.
At the center stood the main command, built of dark gray metal.
Square and severe in appearance, its lines harsh and practical; the roof held observation posts and communication antennas.
Rodrigo Krowen stood inside the strategic room on the third floor, hands braced on the edge of a huge sand table, staring at the intricate markers of the situation.
On the map,
blue markers representing Theo's legions had pushed wedges into the red areas showing Aola control in many places.
Shadowwood Forest and the Oxidation Gorge—
two once-critical Aola border points now flew Theo's colors.
Although the Ironwall Fortress still jutted like a poisonous thorn into Theo's border, the balance was undeniably tilting.
Their side had already accumulated many advantages in conventional warfare: ample troops, steadier supply lines, and morale boosted by continuous victories.
"How much have we reduced satellite frequency this month?"
Rodrigo asked without turning, addressing his trusted adjutant Torres behind him.
"Teleport raids on key points went from three times a week to once. The Holy Rain of Healing was used only once in the Palmer Highlands counterattack. Orbital strikes..." Major Torres flipped through his record tablet, paused, and continued, "After the assault on Oxidation Gorge two months ago, we have not used them."
Rodrigo nodded.
He walked to a heavy oak desk and looked over another report written on special magical parchment.
It was a direct transmission from Elven; its contents were simple but could not be ignored.
The Sky Eye's spatial traces in the Material Plane were accumulating, and traceability was slowly increasing.
This meant that although the satellite jumped to new dimensional coordinates after each appearance, its movement trajectory was becoming slowly more predictable.
Like a hunter repeatedly walking through a forest, the footprints became clearer.
Rodrigo knew the satellite had strong spatial defenses.
Even if its coordinates were exposed, the layered spatial barriers and seals were nearly impregnable—legendary masters would struggle to break them.
But he had to plan for the worst.
Garoth, the Red Iron Dragon Emperor and founder of Aola, might possess means to destroy or bypass satellite defenses.
Even if that probability was tiny, war allows no reliance on luck.
"We have amassed enough advantage."
"The upcoming battles must be like chiseling stone, strike by strike—steady and sure—use blades and steel to grind the enemy, not over-rely on a single weapon."
"The satellite is only for eyes, and occasional emergency teleportation."
"As for orbital strikes and the Holy Rain of Healing, they will not be used unless in decisive critical engagements."
Rodrigo said.
Torres moved his lips, about to speak but stopped.
He wanted to say that frontline commanders had grown used to the low casualties the Holy Rain brought, that satellite support provided a major morale boost, and that upcoming battles would likely see sharply higher soldier casualties, with logistics and medical pressure skyrocketing... but looking at the commander's deep-set, bloodshot eyes, he fell silent.
If the commander said so, he must have reasons.
As Rodrigo's long-time adjutant, Torres knew that the general did not speak lightly.
Still, he had one more question.
After hesitating a moment, he asked, "Commander, since the situation favors us, could our Legendaries take the initiative? Given Aola's current open circumstances, if the Legendaries step in, they might quickly crush all resistance and end this war of attrition."
Rodrigo shook his head and walked to the window, watching the busy and orderly camp below.
"It's not that simple."
He said calmly.
Aola publicly had only two Legendaries: the Red Iron Dragon Emperor and the White Dragon Beskarl.
But Legendary dragons could not be treated like ordinary Legendaries, especially their emperor... he was unfathomable.
Theo had little intelligence on him.
How strong was he? What innate traits did he possess?
These remained shrouded in mystery.
Sending Legendaries in blindly risked disaster; if things went wrong or they were caught and reduced, the situation could instantly reverse.
Rodrigo intended to force Aola's emperor to act first, using ordinary soldiers' lives and the front line as the price to collect information, test his abilities and reactions, and then have their Legendaries strike as a follow-up.
Then, at great cost, aim for a decisive Legendary confrontation to secure victory.
Cold but, in his view, necessary calculation.
Rodrigo's gaze then passed over the busy soldiers and machinery to the gray-white monument standing in the camp's central square.
The monument was tall and solemn, densely carved with the names of the fallen.
From the autumn of New Calendar 341 when the war began until now, the names had filled four faces; stonemasons were tapping and polishing the fifth face clean.
Every day new names were added.
"May the spirits of our warriors rest in peace," Rodrigo whispered, making a simple prayer sign across his chest with his right hand, "Their sacrifice and heroic spirits will bless Theo's final victory."
As commander, casualty numbers were a coldly weighed factor.
But Rodrigo, though pragmatic, was not heartless.
He did not want to see too many familiar lives erased forever from this Gray Ember Plain.
Yet he also understood clearly: if the satellite truly suffered problems—destroyed or disrupted by Aola—or if the anticipated Legendary duel could not be concluded quickly and cleanly but instead dragged into stalemate or a costly win... then even if the stonemason polished ten or twenty more faces on that monument, it would be far from enough to record all the fallen.
War always carries sacrifice.
Some costs cannot be avoided however one plans.
Over the next two weeks, events unfolded as Rodrigo expected.
Theo's legions launched a series of small but ferocious offensives across multiple fronts.
Without the instant boost of the Holy Rain of Healing, casualties rose in assaults and defenses, and field hospitals became overwhelmed; yet relying on accumulated advantages, superior equipment, and a relatively complete tactical system, Theo's army still advanced steadily.
According to staff calculations and repeated simulations,
given the current strength and response speed of Aola's defenses, by steadily grinding down through attrition, Theo had a good chance of taking one or two more border strongholds by the end of the year, isolating the stubborn Ironwall Fortress completely.
Then, regardless of how strong the fortress's defenses, without support its fall would be only a matter of time.
Mid-July arrived.
At midday, the Gray Ember Plain's sky was washed an intense blue, the burning sun beat down on charred land, sending up waves of heat.
At the Dazhi Iron Front, duty sentries mechanically scanned the surrounding wasteland.
Though outwardly vigilant, their nerves had inevitably loosened.
Positioned behind the impregnable wall defense, with several forward outposts as buffers, this place was theoretically very safe; in two years of war it had never been attacked.
Distant cannon fire could be faintly heard from ongoing front-line skirmishes, but nothing seemed unusual.
Inside the General Headquarters, Rodrigo and several front commanders held a routine magical communication meeting.
Floating crystal spheres cast dim flickers of light while the generals reported progress and needs on their respective fronts.
Three days before the meeting, Aola's forces had launched fierce counterattacks in multiple directions, more intense than some Theo generals expected.
Yet during the meeting, the commanders' tones were generally uplifting.
They felt this was Aola's desperate last flail after losing key territories.
Like a fish flopping wildly when suffocating—violent but short-lived, consuming already scarce living forces.
"The satellite hasn't detected large-scale enemy military changes, but do not be complacent."
Rodrigo interrupted a general's excessive optimism.
"The iron dragon prince Sorog of Aola is known for cold-blooded calm—he would not launch such seemingly reckless counterattacks without contingencies."
"All lines must strengthen reconnaissance, especially ground and aerial monitoring. Be on guard—"
Suddenly,
he frowned slightly and his voice cut off.
A faint tremor came from beneath his feet, as if a heavy mallet had struck the ground.
Rodrigo looked down; the stone floor did not move, but that vibration was not an illusion.
It was not the periodic rumble of the camp's alchemical furnaces, nor a residual echo from distant friendly bombardment; it was a deeper, richer tremor, as if it came from the earth's depths and was rapidly approaching.
Other officers in the command felt it too, stopping their work to look at the floor.
The faint tremor became a noticeable shake.
Ripples formed in cups on the table, maps on the wall trembled, and the command building's sturdy structure emitted unsettling grinding sounds.
"An earthquake?"
Torres asked in surprise.
Rodrigo's face changed rapidly; years on the battlefield sent every hair on his body standing.
"No! From underground! Enemy—"
Before his warning finished, the earth gave a tortured groan.
Rumble!!!
The solid ground bulged and cracked like fragile eggshell, then suddenly burst open!
Soil, rubble, shattered floorboards and building materials shot upward like a fountain, and dust swirled through the command's lower levels!
Amid the shaking and spreading dust, a gargantuan creature erupted from the earth.
The creature resembled a worm magnified many times over, more than five meters in diameter where exposed, its segments extending beyond sight. Its body was covered in glossy, hard chitin like obsidian. In sunlight filtering from above, it reflected a dim sheen.
Its head had no eyes, only a ring of huge spiral mandibles that spun at incredible speed, grinding bricks, wood, and metal into powder as it advanced.
On its smooth shell were densely carved secret magical runes.
These runes efficiently absorbed sound, vibration, and energy fluctuations, so when such a colossal beast burst through the ground, strangely little noise was made and hardly any strong aura bled out.
If one did not see it with one's own eyes, perception alone could hardly sense such a terrifying creature.
"Burrower worm! It's a burrower worm!"
An old soldier recognized the monstrous creature, his voice full of shock.
They were a race that swore allegiance to Aola at the kingdom's founding, migrating from the deep underground. While no lord-level individuals arose among them, their collective strength was astonishing, especially adept at large-scale subterranean tunneling and surprise attacks.
With satellites patrolling sky and ground, such underground attackers gained unexpected strategic value.
Thus, under Sorog's instruction, their existence had been strictly secret, never revealed in external wars.
The burrower worms’ secret presence exceeded Theo's expectations and detection range.
But that was only the beginning.
Soon a second, third, fourth... more than thirty giant burrower worms burst through the earth at different points across the Dazhi Iron Front, instantly splitting and throwing the entire front into chaos.
Before the dust settled, the mandible rings on the heads of the first group of burrower worms suddenly split open to the sides.
Bottomless throat passages were exposed.
Boom!
Powerful figures leaped out.
Ogres and ogre elites and other heavy units poured forth!
These monstrous warriors, over four meters tall on average, wore thick, expertly crafted armor and wielded massive rune-etched weapons rivaling siege hammers. When they hit the ground they unleashed deafening battle roars and rampaged, destroying everything around them without discriminating targets.
Another group of Dragonforged Warriors leapt from the "wormholes."
They were elite units bred through Aola's Dragon-Forge Modification ritual—different races, but all covered in dense, varied colored dragon scales with reptilian vertical pupils.
Well-equipped and disciplined, with formidable auras, they immediately organized into combat squads and surged toward key nodes like an unstoppable force.
Finally, the largest of the burrower worms broke through amid the earth's convulsions.
Its mouth nearly eight meters across swung open and launched a dark-red, curled, ball-like "projectile" with a piercing howl!
The projectile smashed into and collapsed a building—
bricks crumbled, dust billowed.
But that was not a cannonball!