Chapter 670: Asalia: Time Is on My Side
The red iron dragon fell downward.
The cave wall shifted from silver-gray to iron-gray, then to dark red, and finally into blazing white.
Temperature and pressure climbed at a terrifying rate, pressing in from all directions, as if the weight of an entire planet bore down on him.
Garoth could clearly feel destruction and repair occurring simultaneously within his body.
Fracturing, healing; tearing, rebirth; abrasion, tempering.
Pain was everywhere, spreading across every inch inside and outside his body. Even with Garoth’s will, facing this kind of bone-shattering, evenly distributed agony, he couldn’t help but furrow the scales above his brow.
But that was all there was to it.
Pain?
Good. Let it hurt.
Garoth’s mind remained clear amid the pain, his spirit oddly exhilarated, because on him every fracture meant that after healing he would be stronger.
Soon after, he reached the bottom, the extreme depth he had dug to in prior descents.
Terrible supergravity pressed like an invisible giant palm, crushing the red iron dragon’s body as if to flatten him into a sheet of iron.
It was under such extreme conditions that the great dragon began to stretch himself inch by inch.
His wings slowly extended, the membranes trembling under the intense pressure; his limbs stretched front and back, his spine uncoiling vertebra by vertebra from head to tail; his chest expanded, his heart heavy and slow as it pumped scorching blood through the body.
Each stretch seemed as if it would exhaust every ounce of strength.
His movements were sluggish, like rehabilitation after a grievous injury.
But only Garoth himself knew how much force each motion required.
“When the dormancy period arrives, perhaps I can sleep right here,” Garoth thought inwardly.
At this depth he currently required intense focus to resist the supergravity; unconscious sleep would see his body crushed when he lost awareness.
But he adapted quickly.
Garoth believed that in a few more years, when he neared dormancy, he would likely be able to acclimate to this environment, make this place his sleeping ground, and use its extreme conditions to trigger some qualitative evolutionary change.
Meanwhile.
The Bottomless Abyss, the Sulfur Lands.
The sky was the color of iron rust stained with blood, hanging low over the earth, heavy and oppressive. The smell of sulfur filled every inch of air, forming the basic atmosphere of this layer.
The Lord of the Flame Prison, Asalia, sat upon his throne.
He tilted his head slightly, his right hand propping up half his face, thick-fingered knuckles supporting his jaw. Batlike great wings folded at the sides of the throne, his ember-like pupils half-closed.
He seemed to be in feigned sleep, and also as if in thought.
Silence stretched for a long while.
Finally, Barquilorn opened his eyes.
Flame light churned in his pupils, a color between lava and plasma; each blink looked like fire flickering beneath the eyelids, dangerous and seductive.
“Barquilorn.”
Asalia’s voice was low as he asked, “How much longer until the rift in the deep water recovers?”
A dragon-demon stood beneath the throne like a statue, fused with the surrounding sulfurous air.
His skull retained a dragon’s outline, but his jaw was sharper, his eye sockets deeper, and even with his mouth closed two rows of fangs showed halfway, forming a perpetual grin.
This minion of the Chromatic Queen, the messenger of the Lord of the Evil Dragons, had been sent to the Sulfur Lands to act as a kind of bridge.
Or more accurately, as an overseer.
Hearing the Lord of the Flame Prison’s words, the demon stirred as if coming to life, turned his body, and faced Asalia, a flicker of brilliance passing through his eyes.
“Please be patient, my lord.”
Barquilorn bowed slightly, his voice steady. “The deep-water rift is restoring smoothly. At the latest it will be no more than six years; by then you can descend directly from the seabed into the Material Plane without having to tear open those fragile channels.”
He paused, then added, “Of course, that is a conservative estimate. If progress goes well, perhaps four years will suffice.”
The Lord of the Flame Prison adjusted his posture, his great wings slowly unfurling and folding again, his gaze fixed on the dragon-demon without blinking.
“Arrogant human immortals, and their self-important legions, those fools who think they can burn their way into the Abyss... have already been buried by reason in this chasm.”
“Their bones have long rotted beneath the Scorch King; they are now nothing but dust.”
“Perhaps I need not wait these six years at all.”
Asalia said, “I could gather my legions now and surge directly into the Material Plane.”
“Those insignificant beings of the Material Plane could only watch helplessly as my minions tear open a larger rift for me to descend through, and then my flames will sweep this world.”
Barquilorn listened patiently, then nodded slightly.
“My lord is right.”
“The worms before you who cannot withstand a strike have long lost every card that could challenge you. They tremble on the earth, waiting like wheat for the scythe; they cannot even organize a proper resistance.”
“You can launch an attack now.”
“Your demon legions have sharpened their claws and stand poised; at your command, the end of the Material Plane could begin today.”
When he finished speaking, his tone shifted.
“But allow me to respectfully remind you of one matter.”
“Apart from the empires already buried in the Abyss, in the Material Plane you intend to invade there is a dragon empire called Sacred Aola.”
Barquilorn raised his head slightly.
“And do not forget the pact between you and the great Lord of the Evil Dragons, a thing nailed down by blood and oath, not to be torn apart at will.”
“Whether my lord chooses to invade now alone, or waits until the deep-water rift forms and then attacks...”
He paused briefly, then continued, “Once a pact is made, it must be honored. This commitment is not a trifle.”
The dragon-demon’s manner was respectful, but his words were firm and unambiguous.
Silence suddenly fell over the throne.
The Lord of the Flame Prison’s expression changed.
The flame light in his eyes condensed into two blazing beams, stabbing directly at Barquilorn.
“Barquilorn.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Saying this, Asalia leaned slightly forward on his throne, his wings fully spread, casting a massive shadow across the floor that darkened half the hall.
The sulfur in the air grew sharply stronger.
Scorched earth at his feet cracked silently, fine fissures slithering outward like snakes until they reached the base of the walls and stopped.
“Spouting insolence at the border of a lord’s domain, is that wise in your frail skull?” Asalia said.
Barquilorn did not step back.
Nor did he defy the lord’s dignity. He bowed a little further and said, “You misunderstand, my lord. How could this be a threat?”
“Only a small reminder, from a humble messenger, born entirely of respect for and protection of the covenant.”
“The Lord of the Evil Dragons whom I serve values this pact greatly, and as her minion it is my duty to ensure both parties remember it.”
“It is my calling.”
Asalia narrowed his eyes; the flame in his pupils flickered.
He said, “Demons by nature are chaos. A demon who honors covenants? Such a thing does not exist in the Abyss.”
Barquilorn remained bowed.
He bared teeth in a strained smile and said, “You know demon nature better than anyone.”
“Chaos, deceit, fickleness—these words fit any demon lord, and I never pretended to bind you with anything.”
“But I believe, noble Lord Asalia, that you are not like other demons who only follow instinct.”
“You have broader vision and longer plans.”
“You know what should be done and what should not, what is worth keeping and what can be broken.”
Asalia stared at Barquilorn.
His gaze did not waver, the heat of it like two red-hot blades pressed at the dragon-demon’s throat, yet the demon did not avert his eyes; he stood steady, letting the heat wash over him.
Then Asalia leaned back against the throne.
His great wings slowly folded, shadows retreated from the floor, and the oppressive pressure in the air eased.
“You aided me in the previous war.”
“Although I did not need you—you annoyed my interest and meddled—but you did not stand aside at a critical moment. As recompense, whether I ultimately use the deep-water rift or not, I will honor the pact with the Dragon Queen.”
“Consider it a small reward for your prudence.”
Having said that, he shifted his gaze from Barquilorn and looked again into the empty hall.
Asalia’s expression sank into contemplation; the flame markings on his brow brightened and dimmed with his thoughts.
Attack immediately?
Or wait for the deep-water rift to form?
The former required no waiting; he could dispatch legions into the Material Plane right away.
But the problem was that the existing rifts were not large enough for him to descend directly—his minions would have to tear the rifts wider, and that ripping would be detected and countered by Material Plane forces.
If the resistance proved stubborn, his descent would be indefinitely delayed and dragged into a war of attrition.
Considering his minions’ poor previous performance in the Material Plane...
That possibility was not unlikely.
The latter plan was far safer.
The deep-water rift was vast, like a scar across the world, ancient and not comparable to a freshly torn fissure. If he waited a little, he could descend with overwhelming force and make victory a foregone conclusion.
The downside was giving the enemy six years.
But six years.
For a demon lord, for an immortal, for an almost eternal being, six years was a blink—microscopic, almost negligible.
A single sabbatical in the Abyss could last centuries; a scheme might span millennia—these were commonplace.
Six years, what could it accomplish?
Asalia had little faith in his minions.
He leaned toward waiting.
Many demons liked risk and gambling, throwing everything into a single gamble for their goals.
But Asalia was different; he believed prudence was not a vice.
The dragon-demon watched Asalia’s expression change and read the balance weighing in the lord’s mind.
“My lord, if you wish to hear my advice,” he said, “I believe you should strike now. Do not give that red iron dragon any breathing room.”
Asalia’s pupils shifted slightly and turned again toward Ross.
Barquilorn continued, “That red iron dragon, Scarlet Emperor Cangxing—his growth rate is terrifying.”
“From a secluded corner to master of a continent, he did it in only a few hundred years.”
“Such speed would be astonishing even among short-lived humans; in dragon history it is almost unprecedented, barely any precedent at all.”
“You might think waiting a few more years is fine—time is trivial in your long life.”
He inhaled deeply, then said deliberately, “But wait a few more years, and he may undergo some unforeseen qualitative change.”
“I do not know what that would be.”
“Regardless, it is best not to give him any time.”
The Lord of the Flame Prison let out a low laugh, laden with contempt and dismissal.
“Barquilorn, spare me the joke. A legendary being still far from the Mandate limit—he grows fast, but so what?”
“Do you expect him to leap to Immortal in one bound?”
Asalia shook his head. “I admit this Scarlet Emperor Cangxing is not trivial. In the Material Plane his Mandate body already stands at the pinnacle, nearly comparable to an Immortal. That is no ordinary legend; he has some substance.”
“But that is all.”
“There is a chasm between legend and Immortal—the gulf of potency and the barrier of life tiers cannot be spanned in just a few years. It took me millennia to reach Immortal; I know the difference well.”
Asalia was not ignorant of the red iron dragon.
He knew the red iron dragon had defeated a newly made Immortal bronze dragon.
But he also knew that the bronze dragon had only just become Immortal; its potency was still immature and could not demonstrate its true power, whereas his own mastery of Potency was far more seasoned—they were on entirely different levels.
During the battle in the Abyss, Asalia’s Potency had not been fully unleashed.
The reason was simple.
His Potency was peculiar.
In lands Asalia had already conquered, his Potency manifested as suppression of other Immortals’ Potency, nullifying foreign Potency within his domain.
This suppression made it difficult for the two Holden Immortals to use their Potency; they were forced to compare raw attributes with the mighty Barlo Flame Demons and risk heavy injury.
On the other hand,
When Asalia reached the Material Plane, on land he intended to conquer, his Potency would be maximized—that would be his truest state.
“So, my lord, you mean?” the dragon-demon asked softly, although he had already roughly grasped Asalia’s intent.
Asalia leaned back slightly, his massive form sinking into the seat, his eyes narrowing.
“Wait.”
“Wait for the deep-water rift to form, and I can descend into the Material Plane in the shortest possible time with absolute superiority, crushing them and making victory predetermined—leaving no room for accident.”
Asalia’s gaze narrowed.
At last he said calmly, “Time is not on their side.”
This was not arrogance.
If some reckless demon lords had won in the Abyss, they might have launched into the Material Plane without thought.
But Asalia’s strength lay in foresight.
His decision came from a synthesis of experience, worldview, and judgement, producing a clear conclusion.
If it required sixty years, he would not wait.
He knew the red iron dragon’s growth rate was abnormal and to be neither underestimated nor taken lightly.
But...
Six years?
The Lord of the Flame Prison smiled silently, closed his eyes again, and waited for time to pass.