Chapter 629: All Truths of the World, I Am the Truth!
The snowfall abruptly ceased one night.
At dawn, a rift split the clouds, and sunlight poured through the gap, cascading onto the snow-covered city walls and reflecting a dazzling radiance.
It was the first truly clear day of winter.
At the same time, the news of victory swept from one city to another like the wind.
The faces of Aola's citizens were etched with the relief of having survived a calamity, alongside an irrepressible excitement.
By noon, the atmosphere had shifted from relief to celebration.
Throughout this war against the demons, the Emperor had not appeared, not even once.
Yet every citizen of Aola could feel his presence.
It was like a profound, warm, and immense span of wings shielding them, granting them peace.
The reverence and admiration of Aola's citizens for their Emperor reached an unprecedented height in this ineffable sensation.
Time passed, and the night deepened.
The dying embers of the celebration still flickered dimly in the street corners.
Occasionally, a few sparks of ember were lifted by the wind, tracing brief arcs in the darkness before dissipating. The Red Emperor Capital gradually fell silent, with lights going out one by one.
Under the quiet night, on the rooftop of a bakery.
A cluster of cats huddled together for warmth, dozing.
Seven or eight cats of various colors curled into a furry clump, their tails draped over one another, their bellies gently rising and falling with even breaths.
A chimney ran from below through the roof, steadily sending up residual heat from the bread oven, warming and drying the tiles.
The stray cats of the capital had long discovered this fine spot; they gathered here every winter night.
Suddenly, one of the cats opened its eyes.
It lifted its head, glancing around in surprise and uncertainty.
"Meow?"
It was a lean gray cat, its fur speckled with a few snowflakes, looking no different from the surrounding cats.
But when it raised its head, a pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Purple pupils.
Like two polished amethysts, the vertical pupils slowly contracted and dilated, reflecting the starry sky above.
It sensed something.
An invisible yet powerful force, like a silent river, flowed quietly through the city's streets and alleys, permeating every brick, every tile, every sleeping life.
The gray cat blinked, rising from the cat group.
Its movements were light, not disturbing its companions nearby.
An orange female cat swished its tail over the spot the gray cat had vacated, then continued dozing, purring softly.
The gray cat walked a few steps along the roof ridge, jumped onto the top of the chimney, and crouched there.
Its purple vertical pupils brightened, sweeping across the entire city.
In its eyes, it did not see snowdrifts or the remnants of fire.
It saw light.
From behind every closed door and window, from the lingering warmth of every cooking fire, from the ashes of every extinguished stove, faint threads of golden light were rising.
The light was thinner than a spider's silk, dimmer than a dying ember, but it was everywhere.
It seeped out from every corner of the capital, like countless fine threads, interweaving, converging, and flowing through the night sky, eventually forming a silent golden river that slowly circled above the city.
The Amethyst Dragon, Iseramas, crouched atop the chimney, his gaze flickering.
He had been on this land for many years.
His hobby, or rather his habit, was to disguise himself as various inconspicuous creatures, mingling in the corners of cities, quietly observing, recording, and studying.
It was his habit, and also his interest.
But what he saw now left him feeling somewhat bewildered.
"Already condensed into tangible spiritual power?" he muttered to himself. "Without realizing it, has Garoth's prestige among the kingdom's citizens reached this level? Despite being creatures of different races, they can be of one mind."
He spread his wings and flew into the night sky.
He quietly reverted to his original form, flying higher and higher.
The Red Emperor Capital gradually shrank beneath him.
At the same time, he saw that the golden threads did not fade with distance; instead, they revealed a more complete outline.
They extended in all directions, like a massive net covering the land of Aola.
And it wasn't just in the Red Emperor Capital.
In the pastoral areas of the Ser Wilderness, at the ports of the West Coast, in the southern plains... everywhere Aola citizens lived, the same golden light flowed.
It rose from every city, converging into tributaries, stretching toward the same direction.
Other dragons might not understand what this meant.
But Iseramas, the Amethyst Dragon who specialized in the spiritual path, understood it all too well.
He couldn't help but feel a shudder rising from his spine, spreading to the tips of his wings.
"A scene like a divine realm," he thought. "Is this still the Material Plane?"
The Amethyst Dragon had never seen a true divine realm, but his inherited memories contained some records that almost perfectly matched what he was seeing now.
The scale, intensity, and consistency of this spiritual power...
They had completely surpassed normal reverence and loyalty.
This was not the allegiance to a monarch, nor the awe of the strong.
It was something purer.
Faith.
Regarding a being, an existence, as the sole light, the sole shelter, the sole truth.
At the same time, it was closely linked to a word:
Deity.
When an existence is enveloped by enough intelligent beings with pure enough faith, faith itself becomes a force, changing the essence of that existence, allowing it to ascend the long steps to godhood.
Given the concentration of faith in Aola Kingdom at this moment...
If Garoth accepted it, he could skip the Mandate of Heaven stage entirely and leap directly to become a demigod Saint.
And not just any Saint—one among the highest ranks.
Iseramas hovered in the air for a long time, his purple eyes fixed unblinkingly on the golden web spread out below.
It gradually disappeared.
But the Amethyst Dragon knew it was only hidden within people's hearts.
"When you regain your clarity, what will you choose?" he murmured softly, his voice dissipating in the night wind.
Faith is a double-edged sword.
Accepting faith means gaining power beyond the mortal realm and, in a sense, a form of eternal existence.
As long as one believer remembers, as long as a thread of faith flows, the god will not truly die.
This is the ultimate goal that countless beings dream of.
But faith is also a chain.
A god's power comes from believers, so they are also defined by them. The believers imagine what their god should be, and the god is shaped into that image within the torrent of faith.
The faithful of a tyrant will shape the god into a destroyer.
The faithful of a merciful one will shape the god into a savior.
Either way, an existence shaped by faith no longer fully belongs to itself.
Iseramas shook his head, spun in the air, transformed back into a gray cat, and landed back on the bakery rooftop. The cats were still huddled together; the orange female had sprawled out, taking over his original spot.
He nudged the female cat with his nose.
"Meow."
The female cat meowed in displeasure, rolled over, and made a small space for him.
Iseramas squeezed in, draped his tail over the back of a black cat, and closed his eyes.
Time slipped away under the cover of night.
Winter passed, spring came, autumn and summer intertwined, and ten years flew by in the blink of an eye.
Time reached New Calendar year 664.
This year, the Red Emperor still slumbered.
Under the rule of Aola Kingdom, the Atlantis Continent flourished.
The Abyss invasion of the past had not caused too many problems, and the sky belonging to Halden remained as it always was, neither advancing nor retreating.
That same year, a major event occurred on the Arotala Continent.
The Nausil Empire made a breakthrough in their research on the Fury Curse.
They developed a magical medicine capable of dispelling the Fury Curse, no longer fearing the power that had once caused them so much suffering.
Thus, Nausil finally resolved to completely defeat Kantum.
The elves spared no cost, summoning legendary warriors and forming legions, once again organizing a large-scale campaign, launching a general offensive against the orcs who had retreated south of the Redridge Mountains.
This war lasted for three years.
New Calendar year 669.
The Redridge Mountains were nearly leveled.
The Nausil Empire paid a bloody price, sacrificing countless warriors, but they also reaped enormous rewards.
The Kantum Empire was pushed back.
Orc blood flowed like rivers; they were completely routed.
The remnants fled from the Arotala Continent, forced to return to the already resource-depleted Thalassian Continent.
After achieving this victory, Nausil gave up on pursuing the enemy.
Having lost the elves' moon, though they could severely wound the orc Saints, it was difficult to create an opportunity to kill them.
Both orc Saints were still alive.
If they pressed the attack and wiped them out, the orc Saints, with nothing left to lose, would fight Nausil to the death.
The cost of that would be too heavy.
Expelling Kantum from Arotala was enough. What Nausil needed to do next was to completely eradicate the Cataclysm Storm.
The situation on the Arotala Continent seemed to stabilize and move in a positive direction.
At the same time.
On the Abyss front line of the Halden Empire, at the Roots of Uranoel.
The Bronze Dragon King, single-handedly, repeatedly tore apart the demon legions attacking the Roots of Uranoel.
More than one Great Demon had fallen beneath his claws, and even the most powerful Great Demons struggled to contend with him.
For decades, he remained unwavering, his will so firm that it nearly repelled the corrosion of the Abyss.
And whenever he felt his spirit wavering, he would return to the Material Plane, rest briefly to restore his spirit, and then immediately return to the battlefield.
This Dragon King's performance was exceptionally outstanding.
Because of his existence, the Halden Empire had already reclaimed several siphoning roots, achieving a slight advantage on the Abyss front for the first time.
Until New Calendar year 672.
The Demon King of the Abyss, wreathed in endless flames, came to the front line in person. Even fighting one against two, he held the upper hand.
Halden's immortals could only barely hold on.
The Bronze Dragon King participated in the battle with his Mandate of Heaven body.
At the critical moment, he burned his Sacred Oath, unleashing power that completely surpassed the Mandate of Heaven stage. Together with the Halden immortals, they severely wounded and forced back the Demon King.
This crisis was averted.
But the cost came as well.
Two immortals were severely wounded, their injuries grave; the Bronze Dragon King fell into the Abyss, his fate unknown.
As events unfolded one after another, time reached New Calendar year 679.
Aola's red dragon banner had spread across the entire Atlantis Continent, and the form of an empire was taking shape.
And their Emperor had been asleep for over thirty years.
Meanwhile, on the Thalassian Continent.
This land was never known for its wealth; it was merely a barren region barely capable of sustaining the orcs.
Perennial drought plagued it, with extremely high temperatures.
Only drought-resistant thorns and low shrubs could grow on the slopes, and rivers often dried up in the dry season, turning into murky puddles.
Now, after the remnants of the orc army retreated from Arotala in defeat, this already impoverished continent was squeezed to its limits.
The camp stretched along the dry river valley in northern Thalassia, with crude animal-hide tents packed tightly together.
Hot wind poured in unhindered from the north, kicking up dust and grass clippings, pattering against the tents.
One by one, the orcs' cheeks were sunken, but their bellies were abnormally distended.
Thalassia's resources were utterly exhausted.
Food had been scavenged to nothing; not a blade of grass grew.
Starving orcs could barely subsist on grass roots and mud. From some tents, groaning continued through the night, only to fall silent by dawn.
Once, their iron hooves had trampled across Arotala, their battle songs making elven cities tremble.
Their deities watched from the clouds and blessed every one of their victories.
Now, they were cowering on this desolate continent, like a pack of wounded beasts driven back to their den, licking their wounds, helplessly watching their strength wither away in the barrenness.
This was the face of the Kantum Empire now.
Feeble, pitiful.
High above, two figures stood side by side.
The Chosen One of the Red Tide and the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
They looked down at the ravaged remnants of the empire, both silent for a long time.
Finally, the Bone-Gnawing Saint spoke slowly.
His voice was hoarse, and he said, "We have betrayed the trust of the Beast of Might."
"We were once the invincible Conquerors. We once believed the whole world would bow before our war drums. But now, what have we become?"
"Trampled remnants, weaklings driven from the battlefield."
"The Glory of Bag has been tarnished by us."
Kantum prided itself on conquest and victory.
But the more so, the harder the taste of defeat.
The Chosen One of the Red Tide remained silent.
His gaze swept across the outline of the Thalassian Continent, just as he remembered it, unchanged for centuries.
But he remembered the last time he stood here overlooking the continent; at the foot of the mountains had been a continuous expanse of military camps.
War banners blotted out the sky; war drums shook the earth.
The eyes of every orc warrior blazed with the fire of conquest.
Back then, they had just completed the unification of Thalassia and were preparing to cross the sea for an expedition. They believed nothing could stop Kantum's iron hooves.
Now, everything had changed.
The fire in the warriors' eyes was gone, replaced by nothing but the survival instinct barely sustained by hunger and defeat. Some had even forgotten why they fought; they were merely waiting to die.
"Things have come to this,"
"I just want to figure out one thing first: why did we lose?"
The Chosen One of the Red Tide spoke slowly, his voice surprisingly calm.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint turned his head and looked at the Chosen One of the Red Tide.
The wind howled between them.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint raised a thick arm, pointing toward the direction of the sea, and far beyond that, the Atlantis Continent, the Rhen Plateau, where a slumbering existence lay.
"Do you even need to think about it?"
The Bone-Gnawing Saint ground his teeth and said, "That dragon, that damn red iron dragon."
"If he hadn't profaned our god, destroyed the Beast of Might's incarnation in the mortal realm, how would we have fallen to this step?"
The Chosen One of the Red Tide already knew the answer in his heart.
His gaze followed the direction the Bone-Gnawing Saint's arm pointed, piercing through the rolling clouds over the ocean, as if he could see all the way to Atlantis.
"The Battle of the South Foothill Plain was the turning point of our defeat."
"Without him, we would have won at the South Foothill Plain, sweeping across the entire Arotala Continent. The elves' resistance would have completely crumbled under our subsequent assault. Arotala should have been covered with Kantum's banners."
"However..."
He paused, then spoke the truth that had kept them awake countless nights.
"The reality is that the red iron dragon destroyed our deity's incarnation."
"Our victory turned into a delusion."
The Bone-Gnawing Saint clenched his fist, the muscles on his arm bulging.
He roared, "We're barely surviving in this barren land, while the culprit is sleeping, gathering strength, preparing to break through to a higher level."
The Chosen One of the Red Tide looked up at the night sky.
The night sky over Thalassia was rarely cloudy; stars were embedded one by one in the sky, bright and cold.
He said, "Great Bag has not answered our prayers."
"He is ashamed of our failure. We were supposed to be his fist on earth, the blade of his conquest of the mortal world, but we brought him defeat."
He withdrew his gaze, fixed his eyes on the direction of Atlantis, his gaze firm as iron.
"Now, we must wash away this disgrace ourselves."
"Wipe the dust from our bodies with the blood of our enemies. Only then will we have a chance to regain the deity's attention, to let the Glory of the Beast of Might once again shine upon Kantum."
"How?"
The Bone-Gnawing Saint asked bluntly.
"Very simple. Go to Atlantis, find that red iron dragon."
"Kill him and offer him to Bag as the best sacrifice—more valuable than a thousand victories, ten thousand heads."
Hearing this, the Bone-Gnawing Saint's nostrils flared, and his breathing became heavy.
"You're right."
"Who will go?"
There was no need for roundabout diplomatic language between the two Saints.
They both knew that at least one of them had to stay in Thalassia; they couldn't both go to Atlantis.
The Chosen One of the Red Tide looked at the Bone-Gnawing Saint and said, "You go. The Grace and Authority you've received lean more toward pure destruction."
The Bone-Gnawing Saint slowly nodded.
A Saint was a general term.
Like an Apostle, it referred to the will of a deity walking in the Material Plane.
A Saint could be a deity's Apostle, or it could be the deity's own incarnation.
At the same time, anyone who could be called a Saint necessarily possessed Authority, enabling them to contend with immortals. However, this Authority came entirely from the Grace of a deity, and therefore Saints were dependent on the deity for their existence.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint slowly clenched his two huge palms, the knuckles cracking.
"I will peel off his scales one by one, bring them back to Thalassia, and pave the steps of the temple with them. Every orc warrior, before entering the temple, will tread over his scales."
"With the blood of the profaner, cleanse the dust from our deity!"
"Go."
The Chosen One of the Red Tide said, "I will wait for your return here."
"You will."
The Bone-Gnawing Saint turned around, facing the direction of Atlantis. "When I return, I will bring back that dragon's corpse."
The Chosen One of the Red Tide smiled and said, "I look forward to it."
A few days later.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint crossed the sea between Thalassia and Atlantis.
He raced above the clouds; only after he had passed did the sea surface below churn up white wakes.
The sea breeze was left behind him, unable to catch up to his figure.
He did not conceal his aura.
Great Bag shared his pride-worthy Authority of Might as a Grace with the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
It was born to crush, destroy, annihilate.
Stealth and disguise—these were the acts of cowards!
As for Halden?
The Bone-Gnawing Saint no longer cared. He crossed Atlantis with a posture of fighting to the death, and throughout the process, no immortal came out to intercept him.
When he approached the Rhen Plateau, the landscape below began to change.
It was more vibrant and lively than he had expected.
The grass was lush, the trees tall, green grass covered the slopes, wildflowers bloomed in the crevices of rocks. There was moisture in the air, and he could hear the sound of a stream.
Moreover, there was an area where the vegetation was even more vigorous than elsewhere.
The green was rich, like an emerald blanket spread over the Rhen Plateau, starkly contrasting with the surrounding environment.
With a sweep of his perception—
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's gaze fell upon this vibrant area.
He clearly sensed that a powerful being was slumbering here.
It was the Red Emperor of Aola, the damn red iron dragon, the one who had brought disgrace upon their deity... and all of this would be ended today.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint clenched his fist.
His knuckles cracked, his breathing grew heavy, his chest heaved violently, and his fangs emerged from beneath his lips.
Just then, pillars of light tore through the clouds.
The pillars of light fell straight from the depths of the sky, each at least several meters thick, emitting a milky white radiance that illuminated the Rhen Plateau as bright as day.
Aola's Sanctuary had detected and locked onto the Bone-Gnawing Saint, and was transmitting Heroic Spirits and various legendary warriors.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint reached out his hand.
A battle axe materialized out of thin air.
It had no ornate decorations, no inlaid gems, no intricately carved patterns—it was the purest form of a weapon.
A broad blade, a thick back, a sturdy haft.
It looked simple and unadorned, yet it radiated an incomparable sense of power.
The Axe of Might.
The blessing of the Beast of Might, Bag, manifested from the Authority of Grace, and also the source of the Bone-Gnawing Saint's power.
At the same time, the Bone-Gnawing Saint swung his battle axe down—a movement of utter simplicity.
But with this simple swing, the descending pillars of light exploded in succession. The terrible force surged back along the transmission pillars to the Sanctuary itself, shaking it.
The pillars of light were extinguished instantly.
The clouds closed back up, and the sky returned to its previous gloom.
"In the name of the Beast of Might."
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's voice echoed across the plateau, roaring, "Garoth Ignas, dragon who profaned the god, you will meet your end today!"
He raised the Axe of Might above his head.
The muscles on his arms bulged to their limit, sinewy tendons and blood vessels standing out one by one, something writhing beneath the skin.
At the same time, the Bone-Gnawing Saint locked onto his target—the area beneath the most lush vegetation.
He roared, fangs bared, forming a ferocious smile.
His body suddenly plunged downward, slamming into the ground like a meteorite.
The war axe was at the forefront, its blade facing down, tearing through the air, crushing space.
The earth rapidly grew larger in his sight.
The next instant, the axe blade made contact with the ground.
Boom!
Rocks cracked and broke, soil collapsed, trees toppled. The lush valley floor was instantly turned into shattered rubble.
Shockwaves spread in all directions, the resulting blast uprooting trees, smashing them into wood chips and broken branches.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's power pierced through the strata, all the way down, blasting toward the place where the red iron dragon slept.
The power was irresistible, unstoppable.
It passed through the soil layer, through the rock layer, through the underground water table, deep into the rock layers where the red iron dragon slumbered.
When Aola's legendary warriors arrived, this was the scene that greeted them.
The earth was cracked and collapsed, broken rock stretching to the horizon. The air was filled with the scorched stench of vaporized rock and dust—all destruction wrought by the Bone-Gnawing Saint's single strike.
But Aola's legendary warriors were not nervous or anxious.
They were certain that their Emperor could not fall from an attack of this level.
It was a conviction settled in their hearts by faith, requiring no logical support.
Just as the sun must rise, as a river must flow to the sea—
Their great Emperor would surely not be killed by an ambush.
The purpose of their coming was only to prevent the intruder from disturbing the Emperor's peaceful slumber. They were never worried the Emperor would be killed.
Then, as if responding to that certainty—
Boom!
The Rhen Plateau shuddered again.
Then a second time, a third time... then continuous tremors, as if a giant hand had grabbed the entire plateau and was shaking it wildly, or as if two monstrous beasts were biting and rolling beneath the earth.
Suddenly, the trembling stopped.
Everything fell silent.
An overwhelming and irresistible aura abruptly rose.
The sky turned dark red inch by inch, as if being scorched by flames. The dense clouds were crimson like blood, swirling as if a massive eye was opening, looking down upon the earth.
This was dragon might.
The dragon might was so intense that it created visual effects resembling burning in the air.
The legendary warriors present involuntarily bowed their heads, feeling a deep sense of awe.
Undoubtedly.
Just as they trusted, their Emperor would crush all obstacles and achieve all victories.
Boom!
A figure burst out from the earth.
It was the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
Like a stone shot from a slingshot, he shot upward toward the sky, tumbling several times before stabilizing himself.
The smile on the Bone-Gnawing Saint's face had vanished, replaced by solemnity and coldness.
"Already broken through?" he murmured, staring at the crack in the ground. "Good. Only a dragon capable of breaking common sense like this could have had the chance to destroy our god's incarnation."
The Bone-Gnawing Saint was not angered; in fact, he was overjoyed.
If the red iron dragon was weak, would that not mean his god was weak?
The stronger the red iron dragon was, the more pleased the Bone-Gnawing Saint became.
It proved that the Beast of Might's incarnation was not defeated by a weakling; his god had not suffered unnecessary disgrace.
At the same time, he still believed the advantage was his.
On one hand, any being who reached the level of Saint or immortal basically possessed an unyielding will and an undefeatable belief, forged through one victory after another.
His entire growth history was a chronicle of defeating stronger enemies.
He had defeated enemies far more powerful than himself. His belief was tempered in blood and fire.
On the other hand.
Although the red iron dragon had broken through to the Mandate of Heaven stage, the Mandate of Heaven was, by nature, below the Saint level. Moreover, he had just awakened from slumber, his condition was poor.
"Die!"
He raised the Axe of Might again, a blinding light condensing on the blade. "With your blood, wash away all the disgrace of Kantum!"
But before he could strike, a brilliant light flared.
Mud, rocks, and groundwater were all hurled into the air, instantly evaporating in the intense heat.
Light surged from beneath the earth, like a blazing sun rising from the ground. Its temperature was inconceivably high. Without stopping, it smashed straight toward the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint did not retreat.
He raised the Axe of Might, its blade meeting the dragonqi bomb.
The moment they made contact, the dragonqi bomb shattered as if struck by an invisible giant fist, breaking into pieces that then broke into smaller fragments, completely dissipating without leaving even a trace of energy.
Then, the earth split open.
The ravaged surface split in two along a center line, the massive chasm expanding to both sides like a giant door opening.
The edges of the chasm continued to collapse, with large chunks of rock falling into the dark abyss, producing dull echoes.
Scorching air currents surged from the fissure, carrying the smell of sulfur and magma.
"Atlantis, your Emperor has returned."
Accompanied by a deep voice, something rose from the darkness.
At first, it was just a dark silhouette, almost blending into the surrounding blackness. But as it rose higher, the silhouette became clear and concrete.
A dragon.
A red iron dragon of enormous size.
It was over seventy meters in length, its skeleton prominent, its outline clearly visible through its scales.
Every spinous process of its spine jutted high, like a row of sharp ridges, extending from the back of its neck to the tip of its tail. Its wings were folded against its sides, the wing membranes drooping, looking like two withered leaves.
It looked... huge but extremely emaciated.
The red iron dragon had never become like this even after its longest sleep.
But its aura had already stabilized at the Mandate of Heaven level.
At the same time.
A crimson radiance fell from the sky, illuminating this withered, emaciated body.
It looked up.
Scale by scale, its color changed from crimson to pitch black. Its chest expanded, its wingspan widened, and molten-like patterns of light emerged from the gaps between its scales. In the blink of an eye, its form transformed.
Dragon qi surged and reshaped simultaneously, forming three heads.
Their eyes all opened at once, their maws slightly parting, revealing sharp fangs.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint paused for a moment, then his killing intent intensified.
Though it looked much thinner, he still recognized it—the red iron dragon before him had previously used this form amidst the chaos to destroy the Beast of Might's incarnation with dragon breath.
It was the simultaneous dragon breath from these three heads that had completely erased the Beast of Might's incarnation from the Material Plane.
At the same time.
All the patterns of light on the dark giant dragon lit up. Its three heads simultaneously opened their maws and sucked fiercely in different directions.
With this inhale, the elemental energy of the entire Rhen Plateau trembled. All energy that could be drawn surged into its mouths.
Its body began to fill out rapidly.
The outlines of its ribs and spine were gradually covered by layers of newly swelling muscles.
Its withered muscle fibers began to fill with blood, expand, becoming plump and elastic. A faint luster appeared on its scales. The folds in its wing membranes gradually smoothed, becoming taut and springy.
Seeing this, the Bone-Gnawing Saint did not hesitate.
He gripped the Axe of Might tightly and descended, plummeting to kill the red iron dragon.
What greeted him were countless suns.
The red iron dragon's wings spread, and one after another, dragonqi bombs resembling blazing suns condensed, surging toward the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
The intense heat turned the air into a curtain of plasma; everything in sight began to warp, melt, and evaporate.
The dragonqi bombs launched like a continuous stream of cannon fire, one after another, so dense there was almost no gap, forming a torrent of energy spheres.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint did not slow down.
He charged straight at the nearest dragonqi bomb, holding the Axe of Might in front of him.
The instant the axe blade made contact with the dragonqi bomb, the bomb exploded, but the explosive energy was forced apart by the power of Authority attached to the axe blade, flowing past the Bone-Gnawing Saint's body on both sides.
The next moment, the dragonqi bomb shattered.
The second, third, fourth...
The Saint was like a reef moving against the current, cleaving through the torrent of blazing suns.
Each of his axe strokes was simple to the extreme.
Swing, chop, slice, sweep—no fancy techniques, no unnecessary movements. Pure power was poured out in the most direct way.
One after another, dragonqi bombs shattered before him.
Even the flames formed by prematurely detonated bombs parted around him, forced to create a vacuum tunnel. Flames flowed past his body on both sides, like a waterfall striking a rock and splitting into two streams, unable to harm him in the slightest.
Authority—the rule by which the world operates.
Controlling Authority naturally meant having the power to overwhelm all beings who do not possess it.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint was not a deity, nor did he possess true Authority. But merely having a portion of the Authority of Might granted by a deity's Grace was already enough to make him unstoppable in the Material Plane.
Rumble!
In an instant, all the dragonqi bombs were detonated prematurely simultaneously.
This was the red iron dragon's own doing.
He realized that firing dragonqi bombs one by one could not break through the Bone-Gnawing Saint's defenses, so he simply detonated all the accumulated dragonqi bombs at once, creating a zone of destruction with high temperature and pressure.
Flames engulfed the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
Within the flames, the Bone-Gnawing Saint's arms bulged again, his muscles swelling far beyond before. Sinewy tendons coiled like pythons around his arms, blood vessels bulging, almost bursting through his skin.
The Axe of Might sensed its wielder's will and began to respond.
The axe haft hummed and enlarged, the light on the blade becoming blinding.
He struck downward with a thunderous chop.
The space in front of the blade shattered like glass, black cracks spreading along the path of the axe.
The raging flames scattered before this power, the fire blown out, the heat crushed. Even the blood-colored clouds in the sky were torn apart by the axe's momentum, revealing a straight crack stretching to the edge of the sky.
The axe continued its descent.
A straight chasm bloomed across the earth, bottomless, wide enough to contain an entire city.
But.
It did not hit its target.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's pupils contracted slightly.
The red iron dragon's figure had vanished an instant before his strike landed. The Axe of Might had only struck the ground.
Suddenly, the Bone-Gnawing Saint's senses flared with alarm.
Above!
He looked up and saw the red iron dragon, having somehow shot up into the clouds.
The figure in the sky had completely changed form.
The pitch-black dragon scales were gone, replaced by a layer of willow-leaf-shaped scales clinging tightly to its body. Each scale was thin as a cicada's wing, its edges sharp as a razor. Its limbs had become more slender and elongated, its claws extending like scimitars.
The Rift Form.
Born for speed, forged for slaughter.
But different from the previous Rift Form, the molten-like patterns of light remained in the gaps between its scales, like dark-red veins flowing across its armor.
They shimmered faintly, constantly absorbing energy from the surroundings.
The red iron dragon descended from the sky.
Its wing bones folded to the limit, its body taut into a straight line. With its claws as the tip and its body as the blade, it fell from the sky like a bolt of red lightning.
It was too fast.
But a Saint was still a Saint.
He reacted, raising the Axe of Might.
The claws collided with the axe's flat side.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint was pressed downward by the force of the impact, but that was all.
Terrible power surged forth.
The giant axe swung with tremendous force, directly throwing the red iron dragon back.
The red iron dragon's body twisted almost into a spiral as it flipped in an instant to disperse the force, then flapped its wings and flew sideways, circling from the Bone-Gnawing Saint's left to behind him.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's expression was like iron.
He raised his left fist and swung it in the air.
Boom!
A visible ring of ripples spread from his fist. Where the ripples passed, the sky was no longer the sky—it became like water, undulating like waves.
The air was compressed into visible folds, each fold containing enough power to tear steel apart.
Too fast, and too close.
The red iron dragon was caught by this wave of force.
Crackle, crackle... its scales fractured, as if crushed by an invisible giant hand.
Its body was sent tumbling uncontrollably, the wing membranes torn by the air currents.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint pursued, his figure drawing a straight line through the air.
Dragonflame erupted.
A torrent of crimson flames erupted without warning, sweeping at incredible speed toward the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
Rip!
The Axe of Might cleaved through the dragon breath.
The axe blade split the column of fire down the middle. The split dragon breath flowed past the Bone-Gnawing Saint's body on both sides, converging behind him to form a blazing sea of fire.
The residual force of the axe blade slashed through the air toward the red iron dragon.
The red iron dragon dodged this axe-light, ceased its breath, and charged head-on at the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
At the same time, its body changed again, rapidly shifting to a semi-upright posture, its center of gravity rising, radiating an aura of invincibility.
The Radiant State!
A layer of golden luster appeared on its scales, as if it had been plated with gold.
Garoth activated a single Radiant State and charged straight at the Bone-Gnawing Saint.
Boom!
Claws and the giant axe collided head-on for the first time.
A tremendous force transmitted, and both sides' expressions changed simultaneously, both staggering backward.
The orc Saint's Axe of Might vibrated slightly, a shallow claw mark left on its blade, while the dragon's Arm Guards cracked layer by layer, covered in spiderweb-like cracks, pushed back a greater distance.
"Such immense power, even surpassing my own."
Garoth was inwardly shocked.
Something peculiar had happened to him, allowing him to break through to the Mandate of Heaven stage earlier, but at the cost of some issues with his physical condition.
Still, the Mandate of Heaven was the Mandate of Heaven.
At this moment, he was far more powerful than before.
However, the Bone-Gnawing Saint across from him was no weakling. His strength even surpassed Garoth's, making Garoth feel, for the first time, the sheer overwhelming force of sheer stats.
More precisely, it wasn't just about stats.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's power and Garoth's power were two different things.
The two figures clashed violently.
Claws and the giant axe met repeatedly, each collision producing a deafening roar.
And as time passed, the red iron dragon's condition continued to recover.
From the withered and emaciated state when it had first burst from the ground, it was gradually regaining muscle fullness and scale luster, absorbing energy from the air with every breath.
But its opponent was too strong.
A Saint.
A Saint at the pinnacle of the Material Plane.
Though the red iron dragon was gradually regaining its footing in the battle, the Bone-Gnawing Saint maintained the upper hand.
The Axe of Might tore through the dragon's scales again and again, leaving deep wounds on the dragon's body that reached the bone. The red iron dragon's blood gushed from the wounds, turning into flames that burned in the air.
Aola's legendary warriors did not intervene.
Unless the Emperor commanded, they would not disturb his battle.
And though the red iron dragon appeared to be at a disadvantage, they all believed it was merely an illusion. Regardless, the final victory would surely belong to their great Emperor.
And in fact, that was the case.
Though Garoth was at a disadvantage, he was not entirely immersed in the battle.
From the moment he awakened, he had sensed countless golden threads.
They came from everywhere within Aola's territory.
When he focused on these threads, countless voices also sounded in his mind.
"Great Red Emperor, grant me strength so I can lift an ogre."
It was a kobold's voice.
Along the invisible threads, Garoth could clearly perceive its location.
In a mine shaft on the northeastern border of Aola.
It had gotten upset after being bumped by an ogre while walking, so it was praying to him, wanting the strength to lift an ogre.
"Great Red Emperor, I've lost a bag of gold coins."
"I know praying to you about this is stupid, but I saved them up bit by bit. If you can help me find them, I will praise you every day from now on."
It was a goblin's voice, carrying a careful sycophancy and unease.
"Great Red Emperor, please bless my child to be born safely."
"Great Red Emperor, my neighbor blacksmith's business is better than mine. The swords he forges are sharper than mine. It's not fair. Please teach him a lesson, or give me some good luck—either is fine."
Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions...
Countless voices, coming from every corner of Aola's land, from every city, every village, every road, every fishing boat, every mine, every smithy, every farm field.
These voices merged into an ocean.
A noisy, chaotic ocean filled with all kinds of desires and demands.
Garoth knew what this was.
Faith.
The reverence of Aola's citizens for him had reached the level of faith.
And when the quality and quantity of faith were sufficient, it naturally began to converge on him.
It was a new kind of power.
Completely different from the system of evolution and training that Garoth had developed himself, yet equally powerful, relying on nothing material, and it was the strong foundation of all gods.
The battle continued.
More wounds appeared on the red iron dragon's body. Most of its scales were broken, blood gushing from dozens of wounds, but its eyes were slightly narrowed, remaining calm as it pondered.
"My base condition is poor. Even if I activate a double Radiant State, the best I can hope for is to make the Saint flee."
"To kill him here, I need greater power."
"Should I try the power of faith?"
A single Radiant State was reaching its limit.
After a brief weighing of options, Garoth's eyes grew sharp.
He made a decision.
Across from him, the Bone-Gnawing Saint's breathing was somewhat heavier than before.
After the fierce battle, a deep, bone-deep gash stretched across the giant dragon's chest. Beyond that, the red iron dragon was also covered in wounds, while the Bone-Gnawing Saint's condition was still relatively intact.
Victory was in sight.
"You destroyed our god's incarnation, bringing unprecedented disgrace upon the empire."
"To wash away that disgrace, I have crossed continents and oceans."
The orc Saint paused, a grin with bared fangs appearing on his face.
"You have not disappointed me."
"To be able to fight me to this extent at the Mandate of Heaven level is something to be proud of. But that's all!"
With that, the Bone-Gnawing Saint's body lunged forward.
His figure left a residual image in the air. The Axe of Might hummed in his hand, the light on the blade growing brighter and brighter, as if it would gather all the light of the world onto that single edge.
"Die beneath my axe, become the sacrifice for Kantum's rise!"
On the other side.
The red iron dragon looked at the approaching Saint, the corners of his mouth tilting upward, revealing sharp fangs.
The shining golden light underwent a qualitative change at that moment.
His dragon scales fractured. Blood and light merged, turning into an eerie, beautiful rose-gold radiance.
Crackle! Crack!
His dragon horns kept forking and growing, like flowing hair, like a war crown.
Double Radiant State!
His aura skyrocketed.
The wounds on his body healed instantly. The broken scales regrew. The withered muscles swelled anew.
But this was only the beginning.
"Wherever I am, there is my kingdom."
"Subjects of Aola, offer your faith to your Emperor."
A deep, resonant voice sounded simultaneously in the minds of Aola's citizens.
They were momentarily stunned, then their faces showed devotion and reverence as they began to pray to their Emperor.
In an instant, countless threads of faith emerged from the void, surging like a tide toward the giant dragon, from all directions, from every corner, from every believer praying to him.
They crossed space and time, passed through all obstacles, converging on him without resistance.
At the same time, the ocean of countless voices was no longer chaotic.
They merged into a single voice, a single will, a single faith.
"With the blood of our enemies, honor Aola!"
"With victory as our crown, forge the Emperor's glory!"
Aola's citizens believed their Emperor could be invincible, always achieving victory, forever winning.
The red iron dragon's body began to expand.
In the blink of an eye, it grew at an unbelievable rate from seventy meters to hundreds of meters.
Muscles rolled beneath its scales, bones extended within its flesh, wings spread outward, wing membranes unfurled like a continent opening up.
Seven hundred meters.
Eight hundred meters.
Nine hundred meters.
One thousand meters.
When the expansion stopped, the Radiant Dragon had reached a size of one kilometer. A brilliant Crown of Victory floated above its head.
It was a crown condensed from the Authority of Victory, appearing more real than any physical crown. Several gems were set into the crown, each representing a decisive victory.
Divine, colossal, majestic, dignified...
Perfectly matching the image of their Emperor in the minds of Aola's citizens.
The divine, radiant dragon hovered in the sky, its wings blotting out the sun and moon, casting a shadow over the tiny orc Saint.
Seeing this.
Aola's legendary warriors bowed their heads one by one, their eyes filled with loyalty and devotion.
Their Emperor was also their deity.
They were willing to bask in the Emperor's glory, giving everything for him.
On the other side.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint's body trembled.
He had stopped his charge, his face filled with fear and shock as he looked up at the divine, majestic figure.
No, not just like a deity.
The giant dragon at this moment was a true god!
As a Saint, he naturally understood the power of faith. Faith could turn the mundane into the miraculous, allowing a mortal to ascend to godhood in an instant. His own strength also came from faith.
But his faith was insignificant.
The faith of the Kantum Empire all flowed to the Beast of Might.
And this immense faith was now completely concentrated on the Red Emperor, allowing him to leap to become a top-tier demigod, enabling him to manifest a transcendent divine body that only a deity's true form descending to the Material Plane could achieve.
Run!
The Bone-Gnawing Saint no longer had any will to fight.
He turned and fled toward the Thalassian Continent.
On the other side.
The divine, radiant dragon looked at the orc.
His expression was majestic, his eyes devoid of emotion. He raised his right claw.
Even this simple act of raising a claw triggered hurricane-like shockwaves in the air. The rubble on the ground was blown away, trees uprooted.
A powerful pressure inexplicably seized the orc Saint.
The orc Saint felt as if stuck in a swamp, his movements slowing, then retreating, being pulled toward the dragon's claw.
He struggled with all his might, but all efforts were futile, as if an invisible hand had grabbed his body, dragging him backward.
The sky-covering giant claw descended.
Like a giant reaching down to cover an ant, like a human pressing a palm onto a small stone—the speed was not fast, it could even be said to be slow.
But it was not slow; it was irresistible.
Like sunset, like tides, like fate...
It was destined to happen, inescapable.
The next moment, the orc's tiny body was covered by the giant claw.
His flame of life was extinguished in that instant.
A Saint.
An existence at the pinnacle of the Material Plane.
In life, he was like the blazing sun of Kantum, revered by countless orcs. But in death, he was as insignificant as a speck of dust, gone without a trace.
At the same time, the giant dragon hovered high in the sky.
Rose-gold flames flowed slowly over its body like an imperial robe woven from faith. The Crown of Victory, condensed from the Authority of Victory, floated above its head, blazing like a sun.
Its vertical pupils lowered, sweeping across the land.
It swept across the bowed heads of Aola's legendary warriors, across the civilians and soldiers looking up at the sky, across every city, every road, every farm field, every citizen praying for him.
His gaze held no emotion.
It was only observation.
Like a father looking at his child; like a monarch looking at his domain; like a deity looking at his faithful.
Lofty and aloof, though physically present in the Material Plane, he seemed to come from another world.
Then, his voice sounded.
"My will is the border; my words are the law. All truths of the world, I am the truth!"
"Those who follow me shall prosper; those who defy me shall perish!"
"Praise my name, the Emperor of Aola, the Lord of Victory and Glory. You are born in my land, you are born in eternity!"
These words, like mandatory doctrines to be followed, crossed mountains and rivers, crossed every inch of land belonging to Aola, resounding throughout all of Aola.
After speaking a few more words, on the eighth sentence, his voice suddenly stopped.
A hint of emotion appeared in the eyes of the divine dragon. The scales on its brow slightly furrowed, forming a dignified pattern.
The next second.
The majestic figure rapidly shrank, its brilliance dissipating.
It turned back into a red iron dragon just over seventy meters long.
The rose-gold color on its scales faded, the crown dispersed, the flames extinguished.
The red iron dragon floated quietly in the sky, its gaze still fixed on the land below. Emotion surged back into its eyes, as if it had come alive, no longer like the unfeeling statue of a deity it had been before.
New Calendar year 679.
The Bone-Gnawing Saint crossed continents and oceans, arriving alone on the Atlantis Continent to launch a surprise attack on the slumbering Red Emperor.
The Red Emperor awoke from his long slumber. Using his Mandate of Heaven body, he gathered the faith of all people, manifested a thousand-meter divine giant body in the Material Plane, and with a flick of his claw, completely obliterated the orc Saint. The news spread, shaking the entire planet Bernardo.