novelraw Chapter 476: The Undying Dragon, New and Old Eras 14
Chapter 476: The Undying Dragon, New and Old Eras 14
Ser Wilderness, Dragonback Mountains
The ground was warmed by the sun until it felt slightly hot to the touch. Twisted heat waves steamed up from cracked rock fissures, and shimmering light flickered in the air as if invisible flames burned silently.
The Red Iron Dragon stood in the center of a clearing surrounded by peaks.
This location in the Dragonback Mountains had been specially modified. The surface was paved with sturdy metal, and numerous solidified magical runes remained embedded on top.
Centered on him, countless flames and rigid steel manifested in alternating succession.
Suddenly a sea of crimson fire erupted, heat rolling and warping the air into transparent ripples; innumerable metal spikes and blades coalesced, their cold metallic sheen flashing under the sun.
The two domains alternated and rotated, making the surrounding air nearly congeal.
At the same time, he wore extremely heavy, oppressive armor. Under the influence of the super-heavy array embedded here, his vast body rolled and moved with power, and with thunder-like noises the rune-hardened ground trembled and cracked continuously.
As time passed, the sun tilted westward, stretching the Dragonback Mountains’ shadows longer and longer.
When layers of fiery evening clouds filled the sky, the Red Iron Dragon paused briefly.He folded his wings, his chest heaving like bellows; every breath exhaled a gust laced with sparks, and white mist rose from the gaps in his armor.
Whoosh! Clang!
The Flame Domain and the Steel Domain still alternated around him, but at a much slower frequency than at their peak.
The flame temperature had dropped somewhat, and the metal’s solidity had weakened a little.
“Compared to my body, my domains are still too weak.”
“Even with dual domains, they’re not particularly powerful for me.”
He watched and felt the changes in his domains, a contemplative look on his face.
Putting aside the suppressive effects on enemies and some self-augmentation, a legendary domain is, in a sense, equivalent to a layer of shielding.
When a domain unfolds, it automatically offsets part of incoming attack energy, whether physical impact or magical bombardment.
Under assault, the shield layer will gradually reduce, and if its recovery can’t keep up with consumption, it will vanish and need time to reconsolidate.
At the legendary tier, domains are arguably the fairest tool.
Perhaps due to differences in domain comprehension or development focus, the final manifestations can diverge drastically, but their baseline strength is roughly the same and does not vary greatly because of race.
A newly advanced human legendary’s domain shield initial strength is not far off from that of a newly advanced dragon legendary.
Therefore, domains are crucial for beings like humans, dwarves, and elves.
Their bodies are comparatively frail, total life force far lower than the domain’s shield value. In battle they often rely on domains to protect their bodies, keeping enemy attacks outside the domain and preventing direct harm to the core.
But for dragons, domains are less important.
A legendary dragon’s scales match mythril in hardness, their muscle density far surpasses other beings, and their life force is vast like an ocean.
Their combat style often uses domains to suppress and disrupt the opponent, then rely on overwhelming physique to end the fight quickly.
Use a domain as physical armor? Ridiculous. In pure physical defense, a dragon’s body is far tougher than a domain.
An attack capable of piercing a legendary domain shield might still fail to shatter a dragon’s scales and flesh.
And that’s with an ordinary dragon.
Garoth, as a Red Iron Dragon, already ranks among the top in body strength for his class and, after repeated tempering and multiple evolutions, has reached an almost inconceivable level.
For Garoth, the shield layer provided by domains is almost negligible.
No matter how the shield is specifically enhanced, unless Garoth abandons core training and pours vast time and resources into domain development while neglecting bodily training, the shield will never catch up with the growth rate of his body’s strength.
“Right now, my two domains are tasteless to eat but a pity to discard.”
Garoth flicked his tail, leaving a trench in the ground. “How can I make them useful? Ramping them up step by step is too slow. Or perhaps take a bold approach and single-mindedly accentuate one domain effect?”
He calculated in his mind.
No matter the type, domain effects boil down to three kinds.
Suppress the enemy, amplify oneself, and protect the body.
Improvements to these three effects are usually incremental and complementary, fairly balanced. Domains with high shield values often also have decent suppression, and domains with strong amplification won’t have very weak protection.
One idea in Garoth’s mind was to find a way to emphasize a single effect and evolve it to the extreme.
Although this would create a severe imbalance and weaken other effects, at least the domain would become genuinely useful to him instead of remaining awkwardly marginal.
However, he had not yet finalized a development direction.
Garoth flicked his tail, ended his rest, and resumed training.
But not long after, he suddenly froze and stopped again.
He pulled out a crystal.
Click!
Light condensed around the crystal device. First a blurred orb, then it stabilized rapidly, revealing a clear human image.
The King of Lothrian, O’Brien.
He wore that familiar silver crown; the sapphire centered on the circlet looked dim, its edge showing several fine cracks. He was not in a royal robe but in bloodstained silver-gray armor. A deep slashing wound marred the breastplate, its edge curled—evidence of a fierce battle not long ago.
His background was not a palace hall or study but a patch of mountain woods.
Trees were sparse, the ground blackened; faint smoke still drifted through the sky, and in the distance smoldering fires sent up wisps of smoke.
This was because the king had once again chosen to ride out to war himself.
He had advanced to legendary in his military career and seized the throne by killing his brother, so he was not the pampered, ceremonial type of monarch.
He could not bear to have soldiers fight and die at the front while he remained in the palace, waiting daily for war reports.
So when the conflict intensified, he personally rushed to the front, taking command at the Quine Heights sector.
What surprised Garoth a little was O’Brien’s appearance.
Their last direct contact was three years ago when Garoth requested army-array magic from him.
Three years is not a long time for humans, especially for legendary elites whose appearances often remain unchanged for decades after advancement.
Yet compared to then, O’Brien now looked decades older.
In the image, the King of Lothrian’s hair was still neatly combed but dry and lackluster, like drought-season grass.
His face was gaunt, cheekbones prominent, skin lined with deep crevices especially around the eye sockets and mouth, like the fissures of a dried riverbed.
His beard had turned gray in patches, edges uneven, as if it had been a long time since careful grooming.
Only his deep-set eyes retained a sharpness and wise light.
“Garoth, I suppose my appearance has surprised you,” O’Brien rasped, his voice hoarse but steady.
He addressed Garoth by surname without more formal titles, a way of drawing closer.
The Red Iron Dragon inclined his head slightly; the scales on his neck rubbed together with a faint metallic sound.
In a casual tone, he tilted his massive head and said, “Yes, you look much older.”
O’Brien shrugged and sighed, “Compared to you dragons, human lives are just too fragile, in strength and in length.”
“Three years might be a single slumber for you, but for us it has changed many things.”
Garoth replied, “You are legendary with a nation’s resources; you shouldn’t age so quickly in such a short time.”
This wasn’t flattery; it was an objective fact.
Legendary elites still enjoy long lives and gentle aging curves. Unless gravely injured or they exhaust their life force, they don’t undergo cliff-like declines.
O’Brien fell silent for two seconds.
In the image he lowered his gaze, looked at the blood on his armor, then raised his eyes again.
He said, “For us humans, every battle—win or lose—if you’re hurt, it inevitably leaves its mark.”
“Severe injuries can directly cut off the path forward, burning future potential to ash.”
“During the first civil war, I was betrayed and ambushed. Though I didn’t die, I sustained heavy wounds.”
“Afterwards I used the kingdom’s best medicines and summoned the most skilled priests. It took a whole year of recuperation to recover on the surface, but that recovery was only skin-deep.”
“Actually, my body was heavily depleted; my essence was damaged, and my lifespan greatly reduced. It’s very difficult to advance further.”
“I will likely remain at the current high-legendary level. Regrettably, I can no longer personally experience the sights of the crown tier.”
At this, a flash of regret crossed O’Brien’s face for a moment, but he immediately recovered and smiled with carefree courage.
“So you see, my life is slipping away, my condition weakening.”
“Rather than die sickly in a palace bed watching myself waste away, I would rather let this old carcass become a wildfire, burn for my kingdom while I can still fight.”
“Besides, if another option existed, I’d rather be a general than sit on the throne.”
“Right now this is fine. Even if I burn to ashes, I’ll have no regrets.”
Garoth listened quietly without interrupting until he finished.
An ordinary dragon might not empathize with O’Brien, but Garoth once possessed human memories. Though distant and blurred, that memory allowed him to understand O’Brien’s feelings now.
“With your position, there are many ways to prolong life—worth trying,” Garoth said.
A monarch who is also a legendary figure has many means to extend life.
“Besides palliative longevity methods, the options amount to changing life form,” O’Brien’s tone turned grave. “Become a lich, convert into a bloodline, merge with an elemental, transplant organs from another race... I am human, and proud of being human.”
“Transforming into another form would alter my thoughts, my will, even twist my memories and emotions.”
“I cannot accept living like that—alive but not myself.”
Garoth respected his ally’s decision and said nothing further.
“So why did you contact me personally this time?”
He shifted the topic and asked directly.
If O’Brien contacted him personally, it wasn’t mere lamentation.
“First, congratulations on your victories.”
O’Brien smiled. “Taking the falling star, breaking the gate alone, death and rebirth...each report shocked me, especially the last. I even triple-checked its veracity.”
“To be honest, at that time I felt a twinge of envy and considered dragon vein transformation if it could make me as resilient as you.”
“Though I, too, have ridden out to war, I must admit I couldn’t do what you did.”
“You probably heard some new titles given to you.”
O’Brien added, “The Immortal Emperor and the Undying Dragon—they spread widely. Some places even painted you on doors as a protective totem.”
At this, the Red Iron Dragon lifted his head slightly, calm and seemingly indifferent to those titles.
He said lightly, “Hmph, I don’t care for empty names. Let’s speak of business.”
Empty fame indeed didn’t bother him.
Yet “Undying Dragon” did sound pleasant; Garoth felt quietly satisfied.
Back to business, O’Brien leaned forward slightly, and the image wavered. Garoth could make out several guards behind him busily moving supplies.
O’Brien’s expression turned serious and his gaze sharpened like a blade.
He said in a low voice, “At Quine Heights under my command, the Lothrian legions are in fierce combat with Reebos.”
“This is one of the crucial routes into Reebos’ interior. The terrain is treacherous—easy to defend, hard to attack. Over the past two months the frontline has repeatedly shifted back and forth.”
“Overall we hold the advantage, but Reebos has built three defensive lines here, each leveraging the terrain to build fortified bastions with many war machines.”
“We can’t take this position quickly; we lack a decisive breakthrough.”
“You and Theo have finished your conflict; the Aola army is resting,” O’Brien continued. “I hope to receive support from Aola to open this front. I don’t need much—just a sufficiently powerful assault unit.”
The second Romania nations war differed sharply from the first.
The first civil war saw nations split into two camps around Reebos and Lothrian, clashing along several main fronts like a massive set-piece battle.
This time, after the Federation dissolved, the wars among the Romania nations had more complex aims.
For land, for trade routes, to settle old grudges, and to seize advantageous positions in the new order—countries formed alliances and provided support to allies, but no large-scale coalition like the first war emerged.
Lothrian vs. Reebos, Matna vs. Cambruk, Sax vs. Rhen...
Conflicts became mostly one-on-one, but accumulated new and old enmities made the fights fiercer and more intractable than before, and war spread everywhere.
The fighting between Reebos and Lothrian currently favors Lothrian.
In foundation, Lothrian has always been stronger: larger territory, greater population, richer resources, and more legendary elites.
The first civil war defeat happened because Reebos suddenly deployed secret weapons, even strategic-level arms.
This time, when Reebos attempted to replicate that success and used strategic weapons, the Lothrian Holy King would intervene and destroy them.
Yes, that Holy King personally joined the battle.
But his actual condition, soon after his first intervention and before he could shake the nations, was exposed by Reebos’ intelligence network and made public; it’s no longer secret.
The true Lothrian Holy King, the one who once unified the nations and founded the Federation, actually perished.
He did not return from death.
However, to continue protecting Lothrian, the Holy King executed a nearly-complete Art of Immortality ritual in his dying moments. Through a complex ceremony and time, he tightly bound his soul to the land and people of Lothrian, becoming the “Lothrian Holy Spirit.”
This spirit lacks a full self-awareness.
Its sole purpose is to follow the Holy King’s final directives and protect the kingdom.
Every intervention consumes enormous rare materials like High Spirit Essence Crystals.
To a degree, this Holy Spirit now functions as Lothrian’s strategic asset and foundation, not as a living Fate Legendary.
At this point O’Brien continued, “I need a hammer that can break the balance, a unit that can directly strike the Reebos positions, tear apart their defenses, and shock the enemy’s morale.”
“It must have strong defense to withstand assaults and charge; power enough to quickly destroy fortifications; ideally with area attack capacity to clear groups of foes.”
“I thought of one of your legendary underlings.”
“Ancient White Dragon, Beskarl. His frost breath can freeze entire wall segments, his dragon body can endure bombardment, and his dragon might saps ordinary soldiers’ will. He is exactly what I need.”
In a tense but slightly advantageous situation, a legendary dragon can tip the scales.
If Beskarl and Lothrian’s legendaries can punch a hole through the first defense line, the legion can surge in, seize key positions, and use that as a springboard for subsequent defenses.
Once a snowball advantage builds, Reebos’ Quine Heights defenses could collapse.
Asking the Red Emperor to personally intervene would be excessive, and O’Brien did not make that demand.
He knew Garoth had just annexed Theo and needed time to digest territory, suppress resistance, and establish governance.
Moreover, a king personally appearing on another country’s battlefield carries political symbolism and real risk.
“Beskarl cannot be spared at the moment,” Garoth gave a negative answer. “On my newly acquired lands, aside from the fertile Aris Province, there are border towns north of the Emerald Ridge Mountains. The people there are fierce and some remain loyal to the Theo royal family. The terrain is complex and suited for guerrilla warfare.”
“In the past month many rebellions have erupted.”
“Beskarl, with legendary might and flight superiority, is suppressing those uprisings and cannot leave.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed O’Brien’s eyes, but he maintained composure.
“I understand. Defending the homeland is more difficult than conquest. Those rebels are like grass; if not eradicated, they’ll keep springing up.”
The Red Iron Dragon continued evenly, “However, I can dispatch Aola’s war commander.”
“He’s currently available and can reinforce Lothrian.”
At this, O’Brien nodded.
“Aola’s war commander, General Karu...that should work.”
He said this, though his tone implied distrust of the war commander.
That was natural.
Although the Gluttonous Ogre Karu had earned many achievements, he had only recently advanced to legendary and lacked deep seniority.
In a dragon-centered Aola, a legendary ogre’s reputation lacks the same deterrent reliability as an ancient dragon.
Garoth smiled faintly and said directly, “You seem skeptical, but I can tell you clearly: within Aola, Karu’s strength ranks only below me.”
“You can treat him as a legendary Red Dragon of the same tier.”
“Actually, I think he’s stronger than a same-tier legendary Red Dragon.”
O’Brien was surprised.
He hadn’t expected the Red Emperor to rate that war commander so highly.
To equate an ogre with a Red Dragon was the highest praise.
Trusting Garoth’s judgment, O’Brien adjusted his attitude quickly, the hesitation melting away as he displayed a solemn, expectant smile. “Understood. Thank you for your candor. Lothrian welcomes General Karu’s arrival.”
“I believe, with your endorsement, he will bring unexpected breakthroughs to Quine Heights.”
Garoth nodded, “He will depart at once.”
“Excellent.”
With business concluded, a brief silence fell.
O’Brien in the image appeared weary. He leaned back against a charred tree stump. A faint bugle sounded in the distance, probably a rotation signal.
Garoth suddenly asked, “Have you chosen the next king of Lothrian?”
This question crossed a line.
Succession is the most sensitive domestic matter and is usually not discussed with foreign monarchs.
O’Brien hadn’t expected Garoth to broach it. He fell silent, weighed the matter, then looked around and made a gesture. The guards at the image’s edge saluted and fell back, ensuring privacy.
“Currently there are two candidates.”
“My third son, Erik, is steady and adept at politics. He manages affairs with clarity and has good relations with the nobility. But he’s somewhat conservative, lacking daring. In military decisions he favors caution over decisiveness and may lack necessary courage and strength.”
“My ninth son, Raymond, has weak political instincts and often loses out in court struggles, but he has military talent. He joined the army at fifteen, rose through the ranks, fought in many small conflicts, and once commanded a legion-level operation. He has strong potential and may reach legendary.”
O’Brien paused and continued, “Erik is better suited for peacetime rule; he can keep the kingdom stable, please the nobles, and let people live in peace. But the Romania plains are turbulent now, and peace will be hard to maintain.”
“I prefer Raymond. He’s more like me—military straightforwardness and boldness, willing to go to the front and face danger.”
“After this war I will pass the throne to him. If I die in this campaign, the magic scrolls I left will convey my wishes.”
Garoth’s forehead scales furrowed slightly.
From Aola’s interests, he favored a conservative ruler.
That would mean relations between Lothrian and Aola would likely remain stable; alliances would hold, trade continue, and peace persist.
A conservative king won’t take rash risks or suddenly change policy—an ideal state for Aola.
A king more like O’Brien—militaristic, ambitious, glory-seeking—would introduce uncertainty for other kingdoms.
Garoth gave no clear reply and said nothing overt.
“For the next monarch,” he merely asked, “how will he treat the alliance with Aola?”
O’Brien inhaled deeply and spoke carefully, word by word.
“I will tell him: Garoth Ignas is a sovereign, but first and foremost he is a powerful dragon with long life and increasing strength. To be allied with him requires sincerity and wisdom. Don’t play political games or betray trust.”
“This alliance, this battlefield-proven friendship forged in blood and fire, must be nurtured, because it benefits Lothrian.”
Garoth nodded slowly.
“I also cherish Lothrian’s friendship,” the Red Iron Dragon said. “Aola wishes to coexist peacefully and prosper together.”
He paused and made a promise.
“For ten years after you leave, Aola will not alter any terms of the alliance with Lothrian, as a grace period for the new king.”
O’Brien inclined his head and smiled.
“I usually don’t trust an evil dragon’s promises—you’re fickle and greedy,” he joked lightly and the mood eased. “But I believe you won’t break your word. Ten years should be enough for Raymond to find his footing and learn how to deal with dragons.”
As the communication neared its end, the king suddenly said as if remembering a small personal matter, “If one day Raymond does something foolish—short-sighted—then, for the sake of today’s conversation, please give him a chance to be corrected.”
“This is not a king-to-king negotiation; consider it a dying friend’s request.”
Garoth was silent for two seconds.
Wind howled down the valley, raising dust. Night birds cried in the distance. Darkness was falling.
“One chance,” he said.
Though he had never met O’Brien in person, Garoth held a favorable impression of the Lothrian king.
This monarch possessed a soldier’s frankness, a politician’s shrewdness, and a warrior’s pride.
He had supported Aola at critical moments; while that support also served his own interests, it had helped Aola through the fledgling kingdom’s hardest times. When Aola requested army-arrays and aid, Lothrian had responded decisively.
For a private request, Garoth was willing to reciprocate out of that recognition.
“Good,” O’Brien smiled. “Farewell then, Garoth. May your flames never extinguish.”
The communication ended.
O’Brien’s image flickered a few times and dissolved into light points.
The Red Iron Dragon stowed the crystal, lifted his head slightly, and looked toward the direction of the Lothrian Kingdom.
Twilight had fully enveloped the Dragonback Mountains; stars began to appear in the sky, and a thin crescent hung above the peaks.
A key figure of an era—the King of Lothrian, Aola’s old ally—was slowly drawing his curtain, while Garoth’s own era was only beginning and the future’s canvas just opening a corner.
What challenges and opportunities would follow remained unknown.
He hoped O’Brien’s son would value the friendship forged by his father in wartime.
The Red Iron Dragon whispered once, then resumed his training under the deepening night.