novelraw Chapter 473: The Great Emperor Ignas Arrived on His Loyal Land 23
Chapter 473: The Great Emperor Ignas Arrived on His Loyal Land 23
New Calendar year 344, June 1st, dawn.
Morning light broke through the thin mist over the Emerald Ridge Mountains, dyeing the remaining snow on the peaks a pale gold.
The Aola Kingdom had occupied this natural fortress for nearly two months. During that time, the legions camped here had replenished their ranks, sharpened weapons and claws and fangs, and now massed on the wide gentle slopes at the western foot of the range.
Garoth stood atop a towering black rock cliff.
His wings were folded at his sides, his long tail hung down, and he gazed down at the orderly army below that flowed like an ant colony.
This massive legion was now in full motion, preparing to march south with its sights set directly on Theo’s capital, Silverglow City.
The Blue Dragon Zoraya descended from the sky, folded her wings, and landed a short distance behind the Red Emperor.
Her long neck bent slightly, and her gaze lingered on the Red Emperor’s majestic form.
“My great Emperor Ignas,” Zoraya spoke, “according to our planned route, the first city along the way is Iris City, the Aris province’s economic and cultural center, densely populated and rich in produce.”
“Afterward we will ultimately reach Silverglow City, and along the way we must pass through Theo’s other five provinces.”“Shall I send orders to increase our marching speed?”
Garoth did not move his head; he merely beat his wings once, slow and deliberate.
“Maintain current pace.”
he said.
Aris Province, one of Theo’s six great provinces, was directly governed by a royal-appointed provincial governor.
Outside Theo, among the various human nations scattered across the Romanian Plains, this provincial administrative system was common, though the details varied.
Garoth personally led his legions, approaching Aris Province in an unstoppable manner, yet without haste. His primary aim was not to storm cities immediately but to apply pressure on Theo, to plunge them into fear and anxiety until they requested negotiations.
He had given Theo time, and he had given them a choice.
If Theo’s king and nobles ultimately chose to submit and resolve the dispute peacefully, that would of course best serve Garoth’s interests, achieving maximum gains at minimal cost.
But if they still harbored illusions—baring hope on unrealized allied aid or other impractical fantasies—and stubbornly resisted to the end, Garoth had no problem matching them blow for blow.
He would simply take city after city along the route, crushing all obstacles with flame and steel until the capital named Silverglow lay beneath his feet.
That would bring more trouble, consume more time and resources, and might even provoke wider intervention.
Yet Garoth had already weighed the pros and cons and would not capitulate for that reason.
In any case, he intended to bite off a very large piece of meat.
“The rulers of Theo would be wise to read the situation.”
The Red Iron Dragon stared toward the distant south, thinking silently.
The same day, noon, Silverglow City.
Today’s light was mild and fall evenly across the white marble walls and the towering mage towers, gilding them with a warm edge.
Along the city’s main avenue, the broad leaves of the silver-leaved sycamores rustled in the breeze.
The tender new leaves should have radiated vibrant life, but now the whole city was shrouded in an invisible, heavy chill that even sunlight could not disperse.
The royal court, Council Hall.
Heavy doors were tightly shut, shutting out all outside sound.
Inside the hall stood many people, the kingdom’s most powerful nobles and ministers.
They wore finery that signified their rank and bore their family crests, but none spoke. Nobody even dared to breathe loudly; it was deathly quiet.
The throne sat on a raised platform at the north end of the hall.
A man who looked around fifty, his temples already frosted, gripped the throne’s armrests so tight his knuckles had gone white as he scrubbed at them with both hands.
He wore a deep purple royal robe embroidered with Theo’s royal crest and a jewel-encrusted crown. Yet the body under the robe and crown trembled uncontrollably.
Fear, rage, humiliation, ferocity—these intense emotions churned in his sunken eye sockets until his once-sharp eyes were rimmed with blood.
This man was the contemporary ruler of Theo, King Oliver Chapman.
“Three years... only three years’ time.”
Oliver’s voice broke the silence first, hoarse and dry, like a wounded lion’s low roar.
“The Impregnable Wall was breached without difficulty. Countless funds were spent and the magical satellite that represented generations of the kingdom’s labor has become the enemy’s spoil! Now even the final natural barrier, the Emerald Ridge Mountains, has fallen into the hands of those monsters!”
He rose from the throne, bloodshot eyes sweeping across his ministers.
“And all of this was caused by that so-called Aola homeland, that red dragon who proclaims himself emperor! At the start of the war, what did they have? Two legendaries! Only two!”
He raised two fingers and shook them violently.
“Now look at us, Theo! We command six great provinces, countless subjects, wealth accumulated by generations of predecessors, finely made armaments! We have more than ten powerful legendaries! Each of them once carried resounding renown!”
Oliver’s voice rose and rose, nearly roaring heedless of royal decorum, veins bulging at his neck.
“We have firm alliances with Reebos, Cambruk, and Sax! We have more legendaries than them! Higher ranks than them! Better equipment and magical items! We hold the strategic Dragonbreaker Gate! We have well-trained legions!”
“Then why—”
He slammed his fist onto the throne armrest.
“Why can’t we beat a dragon that crawled out of the wilderness?! Why did our unbreakable shield shatter?! Why did our Mountain’s Fang, which we prized like a sharpened blade, break?!”
“I can’t understand it! I can’t make sense of it!”
Huff... huff...
The king panted violently, his chest heaving like bellows. Then he turned his head and fixed his stare on several figures standing in the hall.
They remained silent in the shadows or beside pillars, exuding an aura vastly different from the other nobles. They did not need to kneel before the king; they stood tall.
These men were the legendary heroes still remaining in the kingdom of Theo.
Some had been stationed in Silverglow City, others had escaped the catastrophic defeat at the Emerald Ridge and returned to the capital by chance.
Silence held for several seconds.
Finally, a figure clad in gray-black close-fitting leather shifted slightly.
Shadowblade Spencer, who had participated in the earlier encirclement of the White Dragon Beskarl and fought in both the Dragonbreaker Gate and Emerald Ridge decisive battles.
Spencer stepped half a pace forward; a shadow slid off part of his face, revealing a weathered visage.
He lifted his head to meet the king’s gaze.
“Your Majesty, what you say... is not wrong.”
His voice was steady but bore deep helplessness.
“On paper, in pre-war simulations, we did hold numerical superiority, higher ranks, and better preparations.”
“But war, especially at the legendary level, has never been a simple tally of numbers.”
“The gap in legendary rank is actually smaller than in mundane tiers. Except at the major transitions—advanced stage, crown rank, and destiny—where boosts are noticeable, most of the time rank is only a reference.”
“It cannot accurately measure each legendary’s domain might; it cannot compare those strange and countless traits; nor can it... measure the profound differences in the essence of life itself.”
Spencer’s gaze grew distant, as if he once again saw those sky-darkening wings and devastating breath.
“Even the most ordinary dragons, even White Dragons, far surpass humans of the same tier.”
“To successfully encircle and kill a legendary dragon, you need at least four human legendaries of equal level planning meticulously and cooperating perfectly to have even a chance, and that’s only for an ordinary dragon.”
He inhaled deeply and lowered his voice.
“The Red Emperor we faced is not a normal dragon.”
“Even among a dragon race that already stands atop so many lifeforms, he is terrifyingly abnormal.”
“His domain may not look special, but the intensity of his life essence and the traits he displays... exceed all our previous understanding. He is a dragon among dragons.”
“At Emerald Ridge I saw with my own eyes... how he revived from wounds that should have killed him.”
“That was not a simple healing spell, Majesty; it was a reversal of life and death, a miracle—or a nightmare.”
At the mention of the Red Emperor, even the legendary Shadowblade could not completely hide a flicker of fear in his eyes.
The battles in the Emerald Ridge still played in their minds like a nightmare.
The other legendaries present lowered their eyes slightly or averted their gaze, sharing the same solemn weight in their silence.
The satellite falling from the sky, becoming a meteor to smash the gate, reviving from certain death... every move by that Red Emperor overturned reason and trampled their accumulated knowledge and pride. He was so arrogant and unparalleled that even fellow legendaries felt breathless hearing his name.
“Your Majesty, we are not fighting normal legendaries. We face a walking natural disaster.”
Spencer said bitterly, “If at the beginning we had managed to gather all our legendaries and strike him in a proper situation, victory might have been possible. But after two devastating defeats—”
“Enough!”
King Oliver swung his arm wildly, his wide sleeve stirring a gust that cut Spencer off.
“Excuses! All of them excuses!”
He barked, his face flushing with anger.
“You are simply looking for ways to absolve yourselves of failure, of mediocrity and incompetence!”
The king gave a short, harsh laugh.
“Ha... The true owners of planet Bernardo are the human race! At worst, we are humanoid species!”
“Those dragons, long cast out by history, left to claw out an existence in barren mountains or the sea—those beasts should keep to their caves and nests instead of popping out to challenge the order of civilization!”
“Our Theo legacy is long, our foundation deep. How could we lose? How could we lose to creatures from the wild?!”
He turned sharply to his secretaries and the foreign minister.
“Immediately dispatch envoys to Reebos, Cambruk, and Sax! Send extra couriers! Use the most urgent language, explain that a burned tongue imperils the teeth!”
“I refuse to believe these allies and neighbors will stand idly by while a dragon expands unchecked on the Romanian Plains and destroys a kingdom!”
“They will come to our aid! They will send reinforcements, I swear!”
The king waved his arms like a madman, issuing a string of commands as if to shout out all the suffocation and indignation in his chest.
But beneath him, most ministers and legendaries remained silent.
A few hotheaded young nobles showed flickers of excitement, but their faces were quickly clouded by the grey looks of the elders beside them, and they bowed their heads again.
After an unbearably long few minutes, the king’s voice dwindled until only heavy breathing remained.
He seemed to have exhausted himself, sagging back into the throne. He put his hands over his face.
Silence returned to the Council Hall save for the oppressive, heavy breaths.
After an uncertain time, Oliver slowly lowered his hands.
His spine seemed to have aged further, and his crown sat slightly skewed.
He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. When he opened them, the fury and refusal had been extinguished, replaced by a near-numb calm.
“Ezra.”
The king called the senior minister standing to his right, an austere old official.
“At your command.”
“Send my rescue order. Immediately contact Aris Province Governor Anderson.”
Oliver spoke each word slowly, as if every syllable weighed a thousand pounds.
“Order him to disarm Iris City and every town, pass, and fortress within the province. Seal all arsenals. Clear the main roads and waystations that connect to the capital and organize... welcome parties.”
He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
After a few seconds of struggle, he continued, “Prepare... to welcome the Emperor of Aola with the highest honors.”
Those words were equivalent to handing over the prosperous Aris Province and its capital Iris City without a fight.
But it was the price to open negotiations.
Everyone understood that Theo would likely need to concede far more than just Aris.
“Your Majesty!”
A young noble, still with a boyish face, stood in outrage. “We can still recruit more soldiers, mobilize the populace, use every city for street fighting to delay, wait for reinforcements—”
Wait for what?”
Oliver cut him off sharply, his tone still not much changed.
“Send the remaining soldiers to die? Turn Silverglow City into a second Dragonbreaker Gate? Or erase the Kingdom of Theo from the map of the Romanian Plains? To extinction?”
The young viscount opened his mouth but could not form an answer.
“Also,” the king’s gaze shifted to the finance minister and the foreign minister, “the two of you shall lead, together with the interior department, a complete audit of the treasury, the royal private funds, and every great family’s reserves. No concealment.”
“Gold coins, silver, magic crystals, all manner of gems, rare magical materials, precious artworks, ancient books...”
“Compile a list of everything we can muster and make a detailed inventory.”
“Then, led by the foreign minister, draft a preliminary ‘post-war reparations and bilateral relations’ agreement: baseline compensation amounts, cession of interests, and other constrained terms... These specific clauses will be discussed and drafted by you and the present legendaries and then reported to me for review.”
“After that... prepare for formal negotiations with the Aola homeland.”
Oliver Chapman, the King of Theo, had now fully accepted the brutal reality.
Yet in the deepest part of his eyes, a spark still refused to die.
Human life is brief, but humans can grow faster.
Throughout human history, development rarely moves in a straight line; it leaps in sudden stair-like surges.
Their resilience—one of their greatest strengths—lies in their ability to withstand crushing blows and humiliation and then erupt with astonishing power, producing heroes who can change destiny in an instant.
Theo had suffered an unprecedented defeat today, its spirit badly wounded and dignity trampled.
But perhaps it was precisely in this darkest hour that there was the most potential for a comet-like rise: a prodigy who could one day challenge or even surpass the Red Emperor might be born.
In short, the Theo king was betting on the future.
Two days later.
Iris City, capital of Aris Province.
This prosperous city, famed in Theo for its purple iris flowers and exquisite silk, had lost all its former bustle and color that day. Its great gates had been flung wide open.
No fully armed soldiers or commanders could be seen on the walls.
The main avenue extending inward from the gate was spotlessly clean. Lined along the street were Theo civilians, ordered to come forward to greet the guest. They wore their finest clothes and stood silently, some leaning on family members, faces written with bewilderment.
Anderson, a portly old noble, stood directly in front of the city gate.
He wore the splendid attire denoting his governor’s station and a chest full of medals, but his complexion was ashen and the hand that held his scepter trembled.
Behind him stood the province’s principal officials, all with sallow faces.
Time dragged in a suffocating silence.
At last, the distant horizon began to change.
Dust rose, at first a thin thread, then it widened and climbed fast like an all-encompassing sandstorm. Within that dust, countless terrible shapes moved, and the heavy thunder of footsteps and wingbeats could be heard.
A terrifying sense of pressure struck them even from afar.
The governor’s legs went weak and he nearly fell to his knees, barely supported by his aide.
The dust drew closer.
The Aola legion appeared in view—warriors of all tribes from the wilderness in full armor, like a moving ironwood.
Then, boom!
An indescribable majesty and oppression descended wildly.
All those waiting in Iris City, nobles and commoners alike, involuntarily buckled at the knees and knelt, burying their heads, daring not to look up.
The dust split to either side.
A massive dark-red figure thundered down in front of the gate.
The Red Emperor, Garoth Ignas, had arrived.
He suppressed much of his dragon might, yet with a body like a mountain beast, a single glance was enough to shatter mortal resolve.
His slit pupils swept over the kneeling crowd, over the open gates, over the city that offered no will to resist.
Finally, the Red Emperor’s gaze fixed on the governor at the front.
Governor Anderson shuddered and, using all his strength and humility, pressed his forehead to the sandy ground, and intoned loudly.
“Anderson Ferguson, Governor of Aris Province, on behalf of Iris City’s officials, nobles, and citizens, respectfully welcomes the great Emperor of Aola, His Majesty Garoth Ignas, to grace Iris!”
“May Your Majesty’s glory endure as long as sun and moon!”
“May Your Majesty’s majesty stand like the towering mountains for all ages!”
“All gates of Iris City are open! All weaponry has been sealed! All stores have been inventoried and registered! We invite Your Majesty to inspect the city!”
His voice echoed before the vast gate.
Behind him, trembling, the officials and noble representatives echoed, “We welcome Your Majesty...”
At first the responses were weak and scattered, but soon from the kneeling civilians lining the streets similar voices rose intermittently and then swelled into a low, indistinct roar.
The Red Iron Dragon watched them quietly.
“Lead the way.”
he said, his voice deep as thunder.
The governor seemed pardoned, bowing his body like the humblest of guides and walked forward with trembling steps.
The Red Iron Dragon strode into Iris City.
Each time his claw hit the ground it shook the earth; his shadow covered the kneeling crowds on both sides completely.
Behind him the Aola monster legions flooded into the undefended city like a black tide. The flocks and flying beasts in the sky sent out sharper, shriller cries; the sound of wing membranes cutting the air blanketed the horizon.
New Calendar year 344, June 3rd.
The scorching sun rose. The iris flowers that had spread through the spring withered in the wind.
Aris, one of Theo’s six great provinces, had changed hands without a fight. The Twin-Ao War fell momentarily silent as the two kingdoms began negotiations.