Soul of Searing Steel

As the Legendary champions’ battle started with a bang in the void, the war at the Sacred Mountain was already white-hot.

The Gray Island, Aida was about a grand scale volcanic island around five hundred kilometers square, sloping down from the Sacred Mountain that was its heart. There were natural deep-sea bays on both west and north of the island complete with huge harbors. Apart from those facilities were countless temples and clergy residences that acted as hubs for divine spell circles.

But now, every single one of those buildings was being consumed by a towering inferno. Yellow-green vapor was corroding the plain wooden huts while intense flames melted sea.

Minutes after the Sacred Mountain shield was broken, the dragons had completely demolished every structure on the outer perimeter of the holy land.

This was the terrifying power that high-tier monsters were militarized. Flying dragons were among the strongest beings at the lower reaches of Silver tier, but they did not lose out to their cousins the giant dragons.

Ordinary people would need at least a four-man squadron to take down one of those winged vermin the same tier. And yet there were now millions of them ejecting liquid fire to scorch the earth, their carnage akin to aerial strafe with petrol bombs used in the pre-existence—or even more devastating.

The only thing that could fight against them were powerful troops with the build.

Such as, say, the Clergy Army of the Church of Seven Gods.

Although strictly speaking the Church had not built a military force dedicated to the Sacred Mountain itself, the clergies appeared to have a natural rapport that far outclasses ordinary troops.

With thirty hundred thousand of elite clergies of Silver-tier or above gathering at the Central Altar Zone by the foot of the Sacred Mountain, they employed every variety of divine spell to hold off the rampant bombardment by the dragons, utilizing makeshift fortresses renovated from temples to mount their defense.

Although the colossal shield that surrounded the Sacred Mountain had been shattered, the smaller barriers covering each temple was still functioning. As the winged dragons kept dropping liquid fire the size of human heads from the air, showering like rain upon the translucent network of shields, the band of priests who were on guard paled at the sheer impact, but stayed calm enough to inject power to the barriers to douse the flames.

They were fully aware that dragon breath was limited—and it takes two days to recover after two to three full-power shots. In other words, if they could endure this phase of the draconic assault, they would have a much easier time soon.

Furthermore, the dragons’ blitz was limited to the east and the north, where the bulk of their forces were. The western and southern zones had easily resisted their collective bombing, although the north of the Central Temple Zone had quite a few altars blown to bits by unending dragon breath.

Like a wave, the swarm broke past the shields and struck the outer defense line, their horrific shriek spreading in every direction.

An ordinary column of soldiers would have fallen by now. The dragons’ flames were over thousands of Celsius, capable of melting steel and killing any man, while their talons could tear through armor easily.

Nevertheless, the holy knights of the Church were different. They replaced the priests who were holding up the barrier as vanguard just before it was about to fall, and coolly unsheathed their weapons. The moment it broke and fires that blanketed the sky came, the knights in the faith of the Sacred Light roared in a combined war cry and brandished their arms.

Radiance of aura and the Sacred Light flashed, and the air was carved with streaks of white shockwave. The fearsome air blades dashed forward in the speed of sound, cutting not only dragon breath but also any of those who came to close.

At Silver-tier, the holy knights’ slashes did not dull in comparison to the dragons’ charge—piercing through steel and armor were an easy task for them after all.

However, the knights also quickly took a few steps back as a multitude of metal- metal-crafted divine puppets flocked out the altars and moved to the front.

Each over two-meters tall and resembling sets of autonomous armor, these constructs based on divine designs were the actual mainstay of the Church’s forces in this war. Nobody was foolish enough to go toe-to-toe against mindless dragons in close quarter combat—every clergy combatant was a precious component of their fighting strength.

With a glorious hymn, pure golden radiance shrouded every clergy and puppet. The entire Central Temple Zone was now dyed with a brilliant gold shade, a clear contrast against the black formation of the dragons.

As gold and black collided, limbs and spare parts scattered through the air in an instant.

Apart from wielding giant swords and giant hammers the size of doors, the divine spell puppets would even throw boulders at the dragons around the altars. Their movements were slow which in turn made their attack miss, but any hit meant a dragon down on the ground. It would then be cut in two, or if they were lucky they would escape with missing limbs or wings.

Still, the dragons could use their huge physique as an advantage to tear apart the metallic bodies of the puppets.

Thus the Central Altar Zone turned into a battlefield between machine and flesh, on one side were puppets while the others were frenzied beings fearless against bleeding and agony.

As the maniacal dragons kept up the pressure, several outer perimeters were declared lost, with half of the clergy injured or dead. The few left used the complex interior of the temple landscape to hold the line, but it was almost futile—the golden line had quickly caved in for a large portion.

But in return, the dragons’ advancing speed was suppressed. Those that managed to carve a path would be attacked from three directions without space to dodge or retreat.

Thus, a brutal tug-of-war began.

It was a skirmish between common clergies and common dragons.

Gold-tier knights and judgment priests, along with their counterparts the giant dragons did not participate. That was even truer for Supreme-tier combatants such as knight commanders, high priests, and giant dragon leaders—who did nothing but stared vigilantly over the battlefield, alert against any players of the same tier leaping into action.

The defense line on the western region of the Gray Island.

To the Supreme-tier blue dragon [Windrider] Suralno, everything that happened in the past year was unfathomable like a dream.

Blue dragons were the epitome of freedom and self-centeredness; they disliked rules and lived in carefreeness. These giant dragons who were born in the sky loved hovering amongst the clouds, admiring scenic landscapes everywhere.

All that happened on land did not matter to them—and they were the species that had the least contact with humans. Instead of involving all those trivialities happening across terra firma they would much rather soar towards the sun.

Nevertheless, it was a year ago that Verdia of the [Eternal Mountain Wind]—the figurehead of the blue dragons in name only—issued a blood summon, suddenly and unusually. The legendary dragon compelled every blue dragon who was wandering every corner of Mycroft to assemble at the Stormwind Nest, indicating that there was some important announcement.

But just as mentioned before, these dragons were self-centered and without restrictions. Therefore, many simply ignored Verdia’s call and simply kept roaming the skies anywhere else.

Blue dragons lived and died in the skies—like albatrosses, the young lived on the backs of their fathers. They do not have nests, making them impossible to be found or threatened, making authority nothing less than a joke to them.

Still, Suralno had somehow developed an unusual curiosity towards the call. Although now it was regretting that it had essentially thrown itself into the Abyss, the Supreme level dragon arrived at the Stormwind Nest and met Verdia—as the only blue dragon that went.

That was when it was enlightened of the insanity—that the Pentashade Dragons were ready to invoke a draconic plague to throw the entire Mycroft Continent into disarray. They had even already gathered an army of berserk dragons that would quickly invade and destroy the ancient Far South Kingdom.

Verdia was quite thrilled, as if everything was a mere lift of a finger, while Suralno was left gaping.

Dragon God almighty! What made them so bold? This was an all-out war against the human kingdom. For the precious few dragons that exist presently, it meant extinction if the losses were just a little too much!

Suralno thought this was the end. It was fine for the Pentashade to go crazy occasionally since they could just flee if they lose—however, it was pure dementedness that it was now somehow fighting on the Gray Island Sacred Mountain against every clergy on the Continent!

By the horns of the Dragon God—this was a land under the protection of the Seven Gods. Even if they did conquer the island, what should they do when the Seven descend upon the earth? Even the two Dragon Gods would never hold out against the rage of those Seven Gods—what the hell did the other dragons ate that fell them into this madness?

Suralno hence started to suspect that it was the only sane dragon amongst the Pentashade who could consider this. Naturally it might have gone crazy too—otherwise, why would it simply ignore the call and flap its wings on the blue yonder in sweet emancipation?

Come to think of it, the source of the craziness could be traced to a hundred and fifty years ago. Dragon of the Nether Sea and the Lord of the black dragons had gone to the outer reaches of the world in search of the respective Lords of the green and red dragons.

While Kanor did not manage to track them down, it had returned with an unusual statue, and began to behave abnormally. It seemed to have sought out the other two Legendary Pentashade dragons and conspired for a long time.

Things started to go haywire then.

Blue Dragons never liked being in groups or cared about news of their own race, and that was all Suralno understood about the happenings. That being said, it had sensed that its kin was gaining in malevolence in the time it roamed over the Continent.

The Metal Dragons were a proponent of order while the Pentashade Dragons were unregulated. This did not mean that they were innately evil—instead, they emphasized freedom to some extent, but since the unusual developments there was an incessant flow of news that the Pentashade were attacking men, elves and dwarves alike.

Undoubtedly, the silliness culminated with the black dragons Mandagar and Grundy’s working together to wipe out a small human country a hundred years ago. The shocking tragedy saw every champion of the human race forcing the way into the dragon island and have the entire species compromise.

“What, no more?”

A dissatisfied voice rang as Suralno felt a terrible pain on its neck.

As a matter of fact, the most inconceivable was the here and now, the blue dragon of freedom could not help but think.

It was being interrogated by a human.

Suralno’s entire body was stuck on the ground just like a lizard churning around in a mud pit after someone had hammered into the dirt. There was a black greataxe sparkling with foreboding red radiance hovering over its blue neck that was caked in mud, and its gigantic body had a gaping wound that showed bone.

Its blood was streaming out steadily and already welling in a crater beneath it, forming a pool.

And within the pool was the man with black hair and red eyes holding the axe aloft. In his other hand was a silver greatsword, and his tone was rather impatient when he spoke.

“I don’t want to know what caused the draconic plague. What I do want to know is where the other Supreme-tier dragons are. So stop spewing crap since you still seem to have a brain—I’ll spare what life is left in you if you talk.”