Chapter 669: Splitting the Storm, Tearing Apart the Dark Clouds
“Fafnir is dead?”
“Mm, I know. Pick a new representative from the settlement area to take his place.”
“......”
Seawater churned with waves, surging forward one after another onto the sandy beach, washing over the dragon’s ankle joints. Garoth paused there for a moment, ending the mental link.
Beside him, the brass-silver dragon Deborah tilted her head and asked, “Is it about Aola?”
The red iron dragon nodded his massive head. “Word just came. Halden’s former emperor, Fafnir, died in their settlement area.”
Hearing this, Deborah tilted her head slightly.
𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺
Halden’s emperor—he had once been a truly great figure. That title had almost stood at the very peak of all Bernardo, looking down upon the billions of lives on the land. Every move he made could decide the fates and destinies of countless souls.
“If this were the past, all of Bernardo would be shaken by this,” the brass-silver dragon said, her voice carrying a hint of emotion.
If Halden’s empire still stood high above, if those Sky Cities still floated in the clouds, if the emperor’s authority still shrouded every city like before… then Fafnir’s death would have been a different scene. All of Halden would have lost its color overnight.
From the Cloud Capital to the most remote Sky City, black silk would spread like a silent flood across every window, every streetlamp, covering every wall and every pillar. Solemn funeral bells would ring out at dawn, one after another, echoing across every floating city above the sea of clouds.
Then, the emperor would be laid on a gilded marble altar, draped in brocade robes, with ten fingers adorned with rings symbolizing glory. Torches would burn for seven days and seven nights, turning the night sky a dark red, reflecting the countless figures bowing their heads in mourning.
In the end, his coffin, pulled by thirty-two purebred warhorses, would pass through the imperial path strewn with iris petals. Buried with him would not only be golden vessels and jeweled swords but also many close ministers and attendants who, after taking a secret potion, lay down quietly with peaceful expressions.
This was Halden’s ancient tradition.
They would continue to serve their king in another world, as loyal as they had been in life.
Then, his bloodline—the heir he had chosen—would take up the heavy crown amid the kneeling of ten thousand. The proclamation of the new emperor’s ascension would intertwine with the dirge of the old emperor’s burial, forming the eternal echo of the empire.
It was as if all glory would continue like this, never running dry.
But reality had no room for “if.”
Fafnir’s death now could barely stir any ripples on this land. As for whether he had chosen someone to inherit his will, whether he had left any final instructions or arranged any backup plans… Garoth neither knew nor cared.
Although Halden still retained some of its old pride, with many unruly people clinging to the good old days, those living on the ground would eventually shed their former stubbornness. It was just a matter of time, sooner or later.
“This emperor probably imagined his own final scene countless times while alive,” Deborah blinked and said. “A grand funeral, the weeping of millions, the ink of historians, the remembrance of future generations… He likely prepared the most magnificent farewell for himself.”
“But I doubt he ever predicted it would turn out like this.”
“Dead is dead.”
The red iron dragon’s expression barely changed. “Grand or lonely, it means nothing to a dead person. Maggots don’t care about the corpse’s identity, and dirt doesn’t become softer just because the deceased was an emperor.”
After speaking, Garoth gazed at the vast, boundless ocean before him.
The silence stretched on for a while.
“Garoth, do you think this person regretted it?” Deborah suddenly asked.
“He did,” Garoth lifted his chin slightly. “He probably had many regrets. Regret for staking everything on counterattacking the Abyss, regret for suspecting and suppressing the Dark Star, regret for all those mistakes that could have been avoided…”
His voice paused, then shifted tone.
“But at least, those regrets had been mostly worn away by the time he ended. Before dying, he had probably accepted all the outcomes.”
The red iron dragon spoke in a low, slow voice: “At least he didn’t die full of rage and resentment—he was fairly calm.”
Deborah showed a thoughtful expression.
After a long silence, she suddenly looked up again.
“Do you think, after Fafnir’s death, how will his people see him?”
Garoth turned his head, his vertical pupils shifting toward the brass-silver dragon beside him.
He didn’t answer immediately but seriously pondered the question, his gaze drifting over the sea surface.
After more than ten seconds, he finally spoke.
“In the future, it’s hard to say. When the dust settles, maybe someone will remember his good side—remember how he used his last shred of dignity to carve out a way for them to survive, remember his struggles and compromises in dire straits.”
“But what about now?”
“Now? They’re probably celebrating.”
Deborah’s eyes widened slightly for a moment, and a flicker of confusion crossed her vertical pupils.
“Celebrating? Why would that be? Didn’t this emperor go to any lengths for his people to find a way to live? Otherwise, those people on the Sky Cities would still be up in the clouds waiting to die. He did all that, and his people celebrate?”
“Victors are kings, losers are bandits.”
The red iron dragon slowly shook his head, spitting out these four words.
“No matter what he sacrificed, what his final thoughts were, what inner torment he endured when making those decisions, how many sleepless nights he had… People will only remember one thing.”
“He failed.”
“Halden, under his rule, fell from the clouds into a deep valley. The once-proud, invincible empire ceased to exist in his hands. The glory, prominence, and dignity that once towered high—all turned to nothing.”
The dragon snorted a puff of hot air from his nostrils. “As for whether he tried, struggled, or fought for the best outcome for everyone in dire straits—no one cares. Moreover, hating him is far easier than forgiving him.”
“The former allows the Halden people to hold on to one last illusion of old glory.”
“But forgiving him? Acknowledging him as a good monarch means admitting that the empire’s failure and destruction were its own fault. They’d rather believe the empire fell because the emperor was incompetent.”
Deborah fell silent.
At the two dragons’ feet, the waves tirelessly surged forward and receded, each time leaving different patterns on the sand, only to erase them with the next surge, as if they had never existed. All honor, disgrace, joy, and sorrow would eventually settle into stillness.
Then, Deborah lifted her head.
“Time will tell all. Maybe in a few decades or centuries, future Halden people will reexamine history,” she said.
Garoth nodded in agreement with the brass-silver dragon’s words but said nothing more.
Then, the brass-silver dragon changed the subject: “What do you plan to do with the Halden people?”
“Their level of knowledge isn’t low—they rank among the top in all of Bernardo. Even if they’ve hit rock bottom now, given time, they might still have a chance to rise again. The foundation is still there. Besides, they were once subjects of an empire; they have pride in their bones. They won’t be content to live under someone else’s roof forever.”
“Do you intend to gradually absorb them into Sacred Aola, or do you have some other arrangement?”
Garoth paced unhurriedly.
“There’s no need for that,” he said. “After receiving some necessary Aolan education, how far the settlement area develops in the future will be entirely up to them. If they can rebuild their kingdom and stand up again, I don’t mind having one more vassal state in my retinue.”
“Atlan is big enough to accommodate them.”
“But if anyone ever tries to rebel…”
The red iron dragon’s mouth curled slightly, revealing thick fangs. “If that day ever comes, Aola’s dragons and warriors will be more than happy. They definitely won’t mind using the Halden people to sharpen their claws and fangs.”
In the past, the Halden Empire had hung like a sword over Garoth’s head, ready to fall at any moment. He had been deeply wary of it.
But now, he truly didn’t care much about what happened to Halden.
Not to mention the people in the settlement area, who completely relied on Aola’s goodwill. Even the Halden elites who had taken the seeds of hope aboard the ark—those carrying the empire’s last hopes—he didn’t care whether they might rise again or become enemies of Aola.
What he wanted to know more was whether New Halden could truly break free from its shackles and realize the Dark Star’s dream of true rule by the people.
Perhaps, in the distant future, when Sacred Aola launched its Grand Expedition and encountered a nation called “Halden” again in some world, he might take an interest and go see it for himself.
But for now, Garoth had already put them out of his mind.
Deborah nodded slightly. “True. At Halden’s peak, with the full might of the nation, two immortals sitting guard, and ultimate weapons like the Platinum Star, they still couldn’t do anything to Aola. In the end, they collapsed on their own. Now, the gap between them and Aola will only grow wider.”
“They’re not worth worrying about.”
Garoth’s gaze narrowed, looking toward the line where sea and sky met, his eyes growing distant.
“Actually, after I reached the Mandate of Heaven level, I didn’t pay much attention to Halden anymore. The Abyss is the real danger. I know how to prioritize.”
Dark clouds gathered in the sky, and faint flashes of lightning flickered on the horizon, as if brewing a storm of terrifying scale. The sea wind also grew fiercer, howling across the beach, kicking up fine grains of sand that struck the dragons’ scales.
Deborah looked up at the sky as rain began to fall sporadically.
“When will the Abyss invade again?” she said. “It’s been several years since Halden’s collapse, but the Abyss hasn’t made a move. Everything is calm, without even a hint… But this calm before the storm only makes me feel more oppressed.”
Garoth slowly shook his head.
“No, the Abyss is already invading.”
The brass-silver dragon paused, then waited for him to continue.
Garoth’s eyes narrowed, his pupils contracting into thin slits.
“Initially, the plan to take the Sky City was to destroy it smoothly—to destroy the Abyss’s anchor points in the Material Plane, thereby delaying or weakening their invasion, at least buying us more time to prepare.”
“But things didn’t go as planned.”
His voice paused, then spoke again.
“After taking over the Sky City, Aola’s sorceresses and researchers obtained its core data and conducted a detailed handover with Halden’s scholars. Both sides spent a lot of time and finally reached a conclusion.”
“What conclusion?”
“After Halden’s collapse, the Abyss’s erosion surged dramatically, breaking through the original boundaries almost overnight. Even if we had turned all the Sky Cities into dust in the sky, the Abyssal Rifts would have appeared anyway.”
“Its corruption has already been tightly anchored to the engines and the spatial points they occupy—unbreakable.”
Garoth turned slightly to face Deborah directly. “In other words, whether we destroy the Sky Cities or not, it can’t affect the Abyss’s invasion.”
In the past, Abyssal Rifts needed to rely on surface carriers to form properly. So both Halden and Aola had tried to prevent the Sky City from falling.
But times were different now.
The siphoning roots had been completely lost, fallen into the demons’ hands. They could open more stable Abyssal Rifts at a lower cost, no longer relying on the ground.
The situation had worsened.
“Destroying the Sky City in advance wouldn’t stop the Abyss’s invasion—it would actually move the invasion date forward. It would cut the relatively ample buffer period by more than half in one go.”
“That would be… opening the door for the demons ourselves.”
Deborah murmured in a low voice. “Does this mean the Abyss’s invasion is completely unavoidable now?”
Garoth nodded. “Yes, there’s no escaping it. The only difference is whether it comes sooner or later.”
As he spoke, a thoughtful look appeared in his eyes. “I don’t know why the Lord of the Flame Prison hasn’t started the invasion yet, what it’s waiting for, or what concerns it has.”
“But I feel I need more time. There’s no need to force them to come now. Since they want to delay, let them delay. The enemy isn’t in a hurry, and I’m even less so.”
Garoth faced two choices.
One was to destroy the Sky City immediately and cross swords with the Lord of the Flame Prison in a short time, putting everything on the table. The other was to let nature take its course, ignoring whatever plans the Lord of the Flame Prison had, and grow stronger over a longer period.
Garoth chose the second option.
The reason was simple.
He had been training on the white dwarf for years, with his body constantly stimulated and adapted under the influence of supergravity. Changes had occurred, and these changes were ongoing, accumulating every day.
The Lord of the Flame Prison might be waiting for some opportunity or planning something.
But for Garoth, the more time, the better.
He wasn’t anxious at all.
The waves surged again, higher this time. White foam washed over the dragon’s ankle joints, reaching the gaps in the scales on his legs.
The storm was coming.
A deep-sea storm, carried by the monsoon, was taking shape on the horizon. Forked lightning grew wildly in the clouds, and thunder rolled.
The red iron dragon stood amid the wind and waves, unmoved.
“The storm is coming.”
“What I need to do now, before it truly arrives, is to make myself stronger each day than the day before. Then, I’ll split the storm and tear apart the dark clouds.”
Thunder crashed.
Rain poured down, shrouding heaven and earth in a curtain of white. The sea surface was pounded into countless fine droplets. Everything in view blurred into a chaotic mess.
Half an hour later.
In the deep void, on the white dwarf.
This long-dead star hung in space, silent and still, with no other celestial bodies around it.
As soon as the red iron dragon’s four feet touched the ground, they left uneven imprints.
Every inch of the white dwarf’s surface was extremely hard, with a density beyond imagination.
But Garoth was no longer the same as when he had first arrived.
His weight had surpassed the limit that the star’s surface could bear. If he didn’t deliberately restrain himself, every step would leave marks on the ground. But these marks wouldn’t last long. Over time, under this extreme supergravity environment, the cracks would slowly heal, keeping the planet’s state unchanged, as if nothing had happened.
The red iron dragon walked forward.
His pace was unhurried. Each step left new cracks, leaving a trail of deep footprints behind him. After hundreds of steps, he stopped.
Before him was a large hole.
Bottomless.
It looked as if something had forced its way in, splitting open, crushing, and grinding the dense material into powder. The diameter of the hole was enough for the red iron dragon’s body to pass through.
This was not natural.
This was Garoth’s work—countless days and nights of slamming his body into it, digging inch by inch with his claws, spending immeasurable time and physical strength.
He stood at the edge, lowering his eyes to gaze into it.
The material of the white dwarf was dense to an incredible degree, and the deeper it went, the higher the density grew, skyrocketing exponentially. Every descent added to the maddening pressure.
At the deepest point Garoth had excavated, it was no longer safe even for him.
One wrong move, and his scales would crack, his tendons snap, his bones break.
But this was exactly what he needed now.
As long as it couldn’t kill him immediately, the more extreme the environment, the better.
The red iron dragon lowered his head, examining his own body.
His size had shrunk significantly.
His majestic frame had now reduced to the scale of his crown-level period. If one only looked at the silhouette, they might think this dragon’s power had waned, sliding from its peak.
But that was just an illusion.
As his size shrank, the red iron dragon’s weight had surged again. His body density had reached a new level, with every inch of flesh and blood now several times heavier than before.
Muscle fibers were compressed to their limit, densely packed.
Bone structures had undergone countless microfractures and reconstructions in the supergravity environment, becoming denser than the hardest alloys.
Every inch of scales carried several times more mass than before, stacked layer upon layer, like thousands of layers of steel.
…This increase in density was far more terrifying than a simple increase in size.
At the same time, Garoth lifted one front claw, turning it over to examine the scales.
The dragon scales had become smooth and polished.
Any dragon that had weathered storms would have rough scale surfaces covered in countless marks. Garoth was no different, his body full of Battle-Hardened Patterns.
Now, however, his scales showed a mirror-like sheen, with the gaps between scales growing finer and tighter.
From a distance at first glance, they almost looked like a seamless metallic coating.
This texture was somewhat like a newborn dragon’s, having never undergone any battle wear—a smooth, porcelain-like glaze covering the scales.
Fresh, complete, flawless.
But if anyone thought this meant a decrease in defensive power, they would be sorely mistaken.
The red iron dragon withdrew his gaze and looked again at the hole.
The bottomless darkness awaited him.
“Asalia.”
“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but if I were you, I would start the attack immediately. Time… is not on your side.”
The red iron dragon silently thought to himself.
Then, he folded his wings against his body, pressing the broad wing membranes close to his sides. He leaped down, diving into the deeper parts of the white dwarf, his figure quickly swallowed by the endless darkness.