novelraw Chapter 469: The Dragon Hunt Plan, Powerful Trait: Beneath the Dragon Throne
Chapter 469: The Dragon Hunt Plan, Powerful Trait: Beneath the Dragon Throne
New Calendar Year 344, Spring, April 2.
Emerald Ridge Mountains, Norton Pass, Dragonbreaker Gate.
Spring was still biting; at high elevation temperatures hovered below freezing, clouds pressed low along the ridges, and the occasional flurry drifted down, sparkling like stardust in the faint glow of the enchanted walls.
Inside the pass, however, there was none of the hush winter should bring.
Heavy footsteps echoed through stone corridors as soldiers ran in formation, hauling bundled bolts and crates of alchemical powder. Winches creaked and groaned, slowly lifting massive siege engines....
The troops bustled, all preparing defenses.
Deep within Dragonbreaker Gate, inside a circular domed command hall.
A meeting that might determine the final direction of the Twin-Ao War was being prepared in silence.
At the center of the hall sat a massive terrain model that dominated the space, crafted from finely enchanted sand and miniature models recreating the rugged landscape extending nearly a hundred kilometers outward from Dragonbreaker Gate.
Along the model’s rim, blue pennants representing Theo’s garrison were tightly arrayed on the fortress walls.On the northern foothill plains and valleys, countless red dots swelled like a tide.
Those were the legions of the Aola Kingdom.
Magic torches burned along the walls, steady light casting the four figures gathered by the model into long, stretched shadows on the floor.
The first was Rodrigo Krowen.
The overall commander of the Theo Kingdom still wore his deep-blue general’s cloak.
He looked much older than months before, with deep eye bags and stubble darkening his chin and cheeks, but his eyes remained as keen as a hawk locking onto prey, fixed on the red dots representing Aola’s forces on the model, memorizing each movement.
The second was Whitanart, the Unyielding Shield.
This dual-path legendary stood silent and steady as his name implied.
Massive and broad-shouldered, his heavy armor bore no ornamentation, only countless defensive runes faintly flowing beneath the plates. Calm and resolute, he was the backbone of Theo’s defensive line at the pass.
The third was not native to Theo.
She stood under 1.5 meters tall but was exceptionally solid, limbs short and thick like weathered stone pillars. Her broad shoulders matched her height, and most of her face was concealed by a knotted, dense reddish-brown beard, leaving only a pair of bright brown eyes—sharp and aggressive. Her appearance often misled people into thinking she was male.
In truth, she was a female dwarf warrior from the kingdom of Cambruk.
She wore black iron plate armor inlaid with mithril patterns. On her back hung a gigantic double-bladed battle axe about her height. The haft was pitch-black of unknown material; the broad blades shimmered with a dark red sheen, as if repeatedly stained by blood and tempered with life essence.
Both her armor and axe radiated the extraordinary quality of legendary equipment.
Est, Copperbeard, the Unbreakable Breaker.
Among the Romanian nations, goblin realms led in alchemical golem technology, while the dwarven kingdom outshone all in forging gear. High-tier equipment circulating the plains often bore Cambruk’s mark.
Est stood out among dwarven warriors, famed for unparalleled defense and armor-shattering strikes.
She had come at Theo’s official invitation and also out of an old acquaintance with Bosival.
Thirty years earlier, the two had teamed up to hunt a stubborn ancient fiend, forging a private camaraderie.
Now Est crossed her muscular arms, her short thick fingers impatiently tapping her vambrace with a dull clang.
In Common tongue thick with a dwarf’s throat she grumbled, “That brat Bosival still not here? I didn’t travel all this way just to stare at sand models. Do those scaly bastards plan to wait until we finish drinking before they climb up to fight?”
No one paid heed to the dwarf’s rough words.
The fourth was also a foreigner.
He wore a deep purple robe edged in dark-gold filigree, sleeves wide, the trim finely embroidered with the Reebos royal sigil. Handsome, with slightly androgynous features, his long hair was tied cleanly into a low ponytail.
He held an Oak Staff, but the most striking ornament was the pendant at his throat: a dark-red heart-shaped gem bound tightly by a thin but tough silver chain.
Dirik, the Shapeshifter, a master who had elevated transmutation magic to profound levels.
In the worldview of changers, matter and energy were malleable; mastery meant understanding and controlling that flux. Dirik exemplified that mastery.
Despite his noble caster status and high legendary rank—with a level slightly lower—his actual influence across the Romanian nations surpassed Bosival of Theo, the Mountain’s Fang.
Dirik’s gaze rested on the model as he leisurely studied it, demeanor relaxed.
Time passed in silence.
One by one, more legendary warriors entered the hall.
Among them were three Theo legends who had fought the White Dragon Frostwing days earlier, and others who had once risen with Bosival to block the Red Emperor from seizing the Sky Eye.
When most had arrived, the hall doors opened again.
A tall, spearlike figure strode in with a steady gait.
Bosival, the Mountain’s Fang.
He still wore practical leather armor, a longbow on his back and a long sword at his waist, dressed more like a wilderness hunter about to enter danger than someone attending a strategic meeting that could decide a nation’s fate.
Yet his aura was the sharpest in the room, the most penetrating—not oppressive, but the cold edge honed by countless life-and-death fights in the wild, the blade of a dagger hidden in a scabbard, waiting to be drawn.
His eyes flicked over Est and Dirik; he gave the former a quick, familiar grin and nodded courteously to the latter.
Finally his gaze landed on Rodrigo and Whitanart.
“Sorry I’m late.” Bosival’s voice was steady, betraying little emotion. “Seventy miles outside the pass I found an Aola flying-drake scout squad. Cleared them out, took a bit of time.”
“No matter.”
Rodrigo did not bother with pleasantries; he motioned to the model.
“Everyone’s here, time is tight, let’s begin.”
He cut to the chase, pointing at a large area north of Dragonbreaker Gate on the model.
“In the past half month, the Aola Kingdom, using its aerial advantage and massive legions, has sealed off the northern foothill routes of the Emerald Ridge.”
“At the same time, Starbreaker Maul, Iron Will, Annihilating Eye, Crimson Iron Riders... nearly every named Aola primary legion, along with many monster lords and their forces loyal to the Red Emperor, are rapidly converging in this direction.”
His finger traced several main mountain paths on the model, pointing to an area directly north of the pass.
“Critical intelligence indicates that Aola’s war prince, iron dragon Sorog Ignas, moved his forward command here yesterday. It’s almost touching our outer defensive line.”
“Judging by these legion activity patterns and other signs, Aola is preparing a full-scale assault on Norton Pass.”
“They won’t play tricks; they’ll go frontal—smash open Dragonbreaker Gate.”
Est heard this and furiously stroked her dense beard, brown eyes flaring with bloodlust.
She slammed her great axe’s sheath to the ground with a clang that made nearby miniatures tremble and bellowed, “A frontal smash? Ha! My kind of fight! Let those scale-covered brats line up—let them taste a dwarf-forged blade! Let’s see whose bones are harder, theirs or my axe!”
On the other side, Whitanart slowly raised his head, his deep, heavy voice resonating beneath the gray-white faceplate.
“Norton Pass is a treacherous choke point. Reinforced over years with intact magic defense arrays and ample energy reserves, relying on terrain and my domain, the enemy’s effective force able to assault the pass simultaneously will be severely limited despite their numbers.”
“The passage is narrow. If they want to ram through, let them come.”
“Each time they strike, they’ll take heavy losses.”
Dirik had listened with amusement, fingers idly twirling the crystal atop his Oak Staff. Now he spoke with a faint teasing tone, “You generals seem quite confident.”
“That’s encouraging. But permit a reminder.”
“Not long ago, the Impregnable Wall on the Ashen Plain was thought inviolable. What happened then?”
He paused, then chuckled softly, “Aola’s Red Emperor, Garoth Ignas, has a habit of making the impossible real—like turning a magical satellite suspended in orbit into a falling meteor.”
The hall chilled at that remark.
The Ashen Plain disaster and the Sky Eye’s fall were still wounds that hadn’t healed in Theo soldiers’ hearts.
Bosival stepped to the other side of the model.
His gaze swept the blank zones where the red iron dragon might be, then settled on Dragonbreaker Gate.
“Dirik’s warning is valid.”
Bosival’s tone remained even. “That’s precisely why we cannot merely defend. Remaining passive makes us prey. Hunters must take the initiative.”
He took a small step forward, hands braced on the model’s edge, body leaning in.
His posture wasn't that of a staff officer discussing strategy but of a seasoned hunter studying tracks in the snow, analyzing scents on the wind, predicting prey behavior.
His eyes grew not only sharp but deeply focused, as if he could see through the miniature terrain to the heart of things.
“I once tracked cunning winter wolves through blizzards in the Searing Silver Range, hunted shadow fiends in mist-dark forests, dueled red dragons under the blazing sun and finally brought one down.”
“From those long hunts I learned a key lesson.”
He looked up. “The fiercer and more dangerous the prey, the more important it is to exploit its instincts, its ingrained pride, its habits.”
“We should not confront them head-on but rather guide them into our trap.”
He paused, then continued, “Aola’s red iron dragon, Garoth Ignas, is undoubtedly a ferocious beast, but he is also a sovereign hunter who has conquered countless foes, built a vast kingdom, and once tore a star from the sky.”
There was no contempt in Bosival’s voice; instead a strange respect—a hunter’s respect for powerful prey.
“Such a beast has an ingrained drive to display dominance directly.”
“He seized the Sky Eye to tell us, ‘The eye you depend on, I can pluck at will.’ He intends to assault Dragonbreaker Gate to tell us, ‘Your last pride, I will shatter face-on.’”
“That is a predator’s unchangeable instinct.”
“Like an alpha wolf ripping into the strongest rival or a lion roaring from the highest rock.”
“The red iron dragon will appear on the front lines. He will act at the pivotal moment and strike the pass himself.”
Rodrigo turned to Bosival, eyes studying him deeply. He didn’t interrupt, but his tightened jaw and slightly constricted pupils showed he weighed the assessment.
Seeing the commander did not stop him, Bosival elaborated his plan.
“So we won’t stop him from attacking; we’ll guide his attack—choose the time and place so he comes our way, under our conditions.”
“Step one: set bait and build momentum.”
He tapped the defensive line around the pass on the model.
“At the battle’s start, we must show stubborn resistance but also feign weakening, giving Aola the illusion that ‘one more push and they’ll break through.’ We want to awaken their urge to attack, the soldiers’ bloodlust, and the emperor’s expectation until it peaks.”
“Step two: create a flaw to draw attention.”
Bosival’s finger moved to the thickest, strongest segment of Dragonbreaker Gate’s main wall on the model.
“Whitanart, I need you to manufacture a breach—not a real weakness, but a gap that appears to have suffered sustained bombardment, a structural flaw. The deception must be convincing enough to fool Aola’s field sorcerers and the Red Emperor’s gaze.”
Whitanart’s expression did not change. “I can do that.”
Bosival nodded, eyes sharpening again.
“Step three: lure him in and trap the dragon!”
“When the red iron dragon uses his own eyes to confirm the breach and believes it’s a perfect chance to break the pass and crush morale, he will come—he will descend upon the breach in person.”
As he spoke, Bosival spread his fingers then clenched them as if seizing an invisible giant beast by the throat.
“And the moment he steps into that zone, when his dragon-body rams or passes through the gap—”
“Whitanart, you must invert your domain. At that instant, channel all the mountain-linked power you wield from external defense to an inner seal. With Oath of Watch, lock the red iron dragon within the wall! Turn that section into a cage isolating inside from out—briefly leaving him cut off and alone!”
Est’s beard trembled with excitement. “Close the gate! Kill the dragon! Good! Do it! Let him in easy, make exit hard!”
Dirik’s smile faded; his face became thoughtful and serious. He rubbed his chin and mused, “If Dragonbreaker Gate is sealed and Aola’s armies outside can only stare, while inside the Red Emperor cannot be reinforced by his legions, that would indeed be the ideal hunting ground.”
Bosival continued refining the hunt.
“When the gate is sealed and the cage forms, that’s when the slaughter begins.”
“At that time, the ambushers at the flanks must strike simultaneously and surround the red iron dragon. Our objective is clear: at all costs, leave him here.”
Whitanart raised a crucial question.
“According to your earlier debriefs, in the orbital engagement the Red Emperor used the legendary artifact we lost during the civil war, the Ring of Despair, and another unknown powerful device to trap you four legends.”
“Might he try the same trick?”
“If we are also trapped and split, the plan collapses, and he could even turn it against us.”
Bosival shook his head firmly. “I will not make the same mistake thrice.”
“The first time I was a bit hasty, prioritized killing his summoned heroic spirits, and escaped the space that way.”
“The second time I kept calm; I ignored the spirits’ interference and focused on striking the spatial barrier formed by the Ring of Despair, creating significant breaches. That level of damage isn’t repairable quickly.”
“So the Ring of Despair is essentially unusable now.”
“At least, it cannot again imprison multiple legends as before. I can confirm that.”
Having dismissed that variable, Bosival unstrung his archaic longbow from his back.
He didn’t draw it, merely brushed the semi-translucent bowstring with his finger, a hunter’s excitement flitting across his eyes as he eyed the mighty quarry.
“And the final step, I will take.”
“When the red iron dragon is disrupted, distracted, and shows a true vulnerability, I will seize the opportunity. With my arrow, I will deliver the killing blow—complete this... final hunt of the king-beast.”
Bosival’s voice grew fervent and fiery, unlike his usual calm.
Lure the enemy deep, feign weakness with pride, set traps and wait, cage the beast, coordinate interference, then strike the decisive blow.
Bosival’s plan linked each step tightly, but fundamentally it read less like orchestrating a vast war and more like plotting a dangerous hunt aimed at a single monstrous beast.
He intended to use the whole pass as bait to hunt the Red Emperor.
It was a gamble sure to cost dearly.
Even if the plan succeeded, once the Red Emperor crashed through and was entangled by the legends, his destructive power would far exceed ordinary defenses.
Dragonfire breath laced with flame, pure force shocks, even the aftershocks of legendary domains would wreck devastation within the walls.
Common garrison soldiers would be like grass in such a battle; casualties would be terrifyingly high.
But if they could bring down Aola’s emperor, every sacrifice would be worth it, for they would achieve final victory.
All eyes then fell on Rodrigo Krowen.
Although not a legendary, he had recently suffered a bitter defeat on the Ashen Plain.
Yet the assembled legends did not dismiss his counsel.
Legendary status does not equal omniscience. The legends often focused on honing personal power; coordinating large legions, grasping complex macroscale warfare, and taking the risk of turning an entire pass into a chess piece required a seasoned commander like Rodrigo to weigh decisions.
He listened silently.
His gaze traveled across the model, Bosival, the legends, and the two foreign aides, then he spoke at length.
“The plan’s idea is workable, but the specifics need adjustment to raise success odds and reduce uncontrollable risks.”
Rodrigo extended his right arm, sleeve brushing the model’s rim, and tapped several key points on the pass’s main wall.
“First, the breach cannot be a single point, and it must not be merely illusory.”
“Garoth Ignas, the Red Emperor, has proven his insight and perception with bloody lessons. We mustn’t gamble. We need to create multiple genuine breaches across different defense zones—take risks to make real damage appear. Let signs of collapse appear in series across sectors so he believes this is a real collapse, not a trap.”
“Second, timing for domain activation.”
He turned to the iron-statue-like Whitanart, voice grave.
“You must trigger after at least two-thirds of the dragon’s body crosses into the trap. He’s not a primitive brute; he’s cunning and patient. Too early, and he’ll withdraw; too late, and he might break free.”
“That timing judgment will be yours, not mine.”
“Third, external defense.”
“When we draw the Red Emperor inside and begin the hunt, the outside Aola army will go mad. Their sole aim will be to rescue their emperor, and their attacks will be fiercer than usual. Allied forces might intervene as well.”
“The external wall must not slack due to the legends’ battle within; instead, outer defenses must be heightened to withstand the most frenzied onslaught.”
“If the outer wall falls, the hunting environment collapses and the plan is void.”
“Fourth, and most important.”
Rodrigo fixed his gaze on Bosival. “Bosival, during the hunt your arrows’ primary role is to maim and distract the Red Emperor—debilitate his mobility and counterattack options to create openings for others, not to insist on a single-shot kill.”
“We still do not know what trump cards or special traits the Red Emperor hides.”
“What compels a ruler, not a foolhardy monster, to repeatedly personally lead risky assaults?”
“With intelligence gaps, we must be steady and cautious, not hopeful.”
“Shoot out his eyes to blind him; shoot his throat to disrupt breath and roar; target the key nodes of his dragon qi to throw off his rhythm.”
“Our aim is not a flashy solo kill but ensuring he dies in our encirclement by any means necessary.”
Bosival’s eyes narrowed slightly. He rubbed the bow’s limb with a finger and shook his head slowly.
“General Rodrigo, are you... overestimating the complexity of a beast?”
He said, “A beast is a beast. Dressing it in imperial robes and pretending wisdom won’t change its instinct to seize, conquer, and display power.”
“To me, the Red Iron Dragon’s actions prove his pride and arrogance to the core.”
“That temperament is far from cautious.”
“You think too much.”
Rodrigo’s face hardened instantly.
He met the hunter’s sharp gaze without flinching.
“Bosival, do you think a creature that rose like a comet over a century, founded a state with a dragon’s body, backed by Dragon Domains and support from Lothrian, and united many under his banner would be a mindless beast?”
“Savage, brutal, arrogant... those might be disguises to mislead enemies.”
“Beneath the Red Emperor’s scales I see a cold and ruthless heart.”
“He is not to be underestimated. No degree of caution is excessive.”
A ripple crossed Bosival’s eye; his brow tightened almost imperceptibly.
Rodrigo fell silent and stood taller, arm pressing on the model, body spear-straight.
“My friends, this battle concerns national fate.”
“What we plan here is not merely to win a fortress defense but to end this war engulfing both nations!”
“If the Red Emperor falls here, the Aola Kingdom will instantly lose its singular, irreplaceable king.”
“Then factional lords, monster tribes, and even dragons will immediately scramble for power. The strong Aola Kingdom will fracture from within and collapse without combat!”
He swept his gaze across every face present. “It differs from human realms.”
“If a human king dies, the dynasty survives if deep structures and legendary support remain—another can be raised. But Aola is built entirely around the Red Emperor’s authority.”
“That grants terrifying cohesion and mobility, but it is fragile.”
“If the highest pillar falls, the whole edifice topples.”
Rodrigo’s look solidified across their faces.
“Conversely, if our plan fails and Dragonbreaker Gate is smashed by the Red Emperor... the pass’s natural defense is lost, Theo’s interior will be exposed to Aola’s iron hooves, morale will implode, and the Twin-Ao War will tip decisively toward Aola.”
“We have no margin for failure, no retreat.”
“This battle...”
He inhaled deeply and intoned each word, “must be won! No failure allowed!”
New Calendar Year 344, Spring, April 7.
North of the Emerald Ridge, Tumbled Rock Valley.
This spot lay behind Aola’s massing camps, strewn with jagged stones and uneven ground.
“Aola will triumph! Theo will perish!”
A roar shook the valley air, full of unhidden pride and wild joy.
“For besides our great, invincible Emperor, I, Grand Warlord Karu, have finally become a legend! Hahahaha!”
Gluttonous Ogre Karu threw his head back, a grin splitting nearly to his ears as he laughed thunderously.
Compared to before, his draconic features had become more pronounced.
Two curved horns on his brow had thickened and ruggedized, the keratin gleaming metallic, pointing skyward.
Thick, hardened dark-red scales now covered nearly every inch of his flesh.
Most striking were the pair of broad, massive dragon wings unfurled from his back.
The wing membranes were tough, skeletal frames robust, and bright red, lava-like patterns ran across the surfaces. Even at rest they radiated heat.
More unusual, blood-colored veins faintly pulsed across and between his dark red scales.
Those veins flickered with each breath, resonating with his heartbeat.
He inhaled deeply.
The surrounding air seemed torn, hissing softly.
In an instant, solid-seeming crimson flames erupted from every vein along his skin, instantly enveloping his mountainous frame.
Under the blood-flame, his body swelled astonishingly, muscles knotting like tightened steel cables.
Beneath the Dragon Throne
—You are loyal to your dragon lord; you are his extended scales and claws. Therefore, you may share in the afterglow of his power.
Through this trait of loyalty and linkage, Karu gained the qualification to draw upon part of the Red Emperor’s power.
What he displayed now was the Bloodburst State.
As his legendary rank rose and he dug deeper into the Beneath the Dragon Throne trait, he might manifest even greater power in the future.
After testing the Bloodburst State’s effects for a while,
Karu paused from his frenzy to continue eating, his stomach like a bottomless pit capable of devouring massive quantities in moments.
The Great Stomach
—You possess an almost endless appetite and a terrifying digestion-to-energy conversion system.
This trait is rooted in his gluttonous ogre nature.
Now he could more quickly accumulate vast energy and store it more efficiently, fueling the gluttonous state he naturally possessed.
That state let him bank energy through eating and then release all stored power at a critical moment for a massive burst.
Karu devoured wildly while staring toward the Emerald Ridge silhouette, exposing teeth as sparks flared from between his scales.
“Dragonbreaker Gate... hehe... just wait...”