Chapter 338| This Is A Battle To Determine Whether The Civilization Of Aethel-Terra Is Worthy Of Survival
CRACK... SCREEECH!
The colossal obsidian double doors, towering fifteen meters high, slid open. The deafening screech of volcanic stone friction echoed loudly along the corridor.
The next second, dry, intense heat laced with the thick stench of sulfur violently ambushed their lungs.
Rianor Sudrath stepped inside first.
His dark gray travel cloak billowed heavily, sweeping the floor. His left arm was encased in the Arcanotech Bracer—a sturdy fusion of Adamantite and conductive silver.
The micro-circuits running along the metal plating emitted a dim blue glow. Whirrr... A constant mechanical pulse defied the suffocating heat of the volcanic crater.
Right behind him, Roland strode with a rigid, upright posture. His dark blue diplomatic coat, featuring the silver Wolf emblem on the collar, looked noticeably wrinkled. The dark circles under his eyes were pitch-black from severe sleep deprivation. Yet, his sharp gray eyes were as lethal as a blade.
Eva followed on Roland’s right flank. Her black tactical attire fit her practically. Her brown hair was tied back neatly, while her right fingers never strayed a single inch from the hilt of the dagger at her waist.
Beside the girl, Adul stepped forward, holding his breath.
Bzzzt...
A faint flicker of golden-yellow Aura sparkled around the scrawny boy’s skin. His Aura reacted wildly to the energy pressure inside the hall, closely resembling a vigilant charge of static electricity.
The four of them navigated an obsidian bridge wide enough for three adults to walk abreast. The black bridge stretched arrogantly without supporting pillars, floating directly over a chasm of boiling magma hundreds of meters beneath them.
Gurgle... gurgle... BURST!
Bubbles of magma erupted to the left and right of the chasm, spitting bursts of red fire.
Above their heads, thousands of natural crystal stalactites reflected the refraction of the magma’s light. The vista created the illusion of a cruel, crimson starry expanse flickering across the ceiling of the crater.
At the far end of the bridge, atop a massive obsidian platform polished as smooth as a mirror, a throne stood.
Tharazion sat there.
The Emperor Dragon’s humanoid form loomed nearly three meters tall. His dark golden scales encased a body as dense as eternal armor. A pair of spiral horns curled around his head like a natural crown.
On the right side of the throne, Ignis stood with arms crossed. His humanoid form was covered in blazing copper scales, his red hair combed slickly back. The smirk on his lips was no warm welcome—it was the glare of an apex predator that had just located its prey.
Along the stone steps flanking the hall, dozens of Elders stood lined up. Silent. Their reptilian eyes glared sharply, judging and looking down upon the Sudrath party.
However, Seraphina was nowhere to be seen.
Roland’s party halted their steps in the center of the obsidian bridge. Roland looked up, staring directly through the aorta of the Emperor’s eyes.
Clack... clack...
Ignis stepped down from the platform. The metal boots and hard scales beneath his feet ground harshly against the stone floor. He closed the distance, stopping at the edge of the bridge, and cast a look of pure disgust toward Eva and Adul.
"Tch," Ignis scoffed. He spat lightly into the lip of the magma chasm. "Hah... since when does the sacred Hall of Eternal Flame allow lesser races and uncivilized human strays to soil its floors?"
Gulp. Adul swallowed hard at the sight of the magma abyss below him.
Roland stared at Ignis with a face as flat as a wall. "I came here to speak with Emperor Tharazion. Not to entertain your drivel, Prince Ignis."
Ignis’s smirk widened, flashing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "You have no right to ignore me, human. Very soon, I will be the official husband of the Crown Princess. The affairs of Draconia are my affairs."
"Very soon," Roland repeated. His voice was entirely too calm. "Which means today, you are not her husband yet."
Ignis’s smirk vanished instantly. The copper scales along his neck hissed with intense heat. "You cross your boundaries, Sudrath! I will soon possess Seraphina, and a human like you is nothing more than—"
"Enough, Ignis."
A single word cut sharply from the throne.
Tharazion’s voice wasn’t loud. Yet, the baritone vibration traveled straight through the solid obsidian. Shaking the ribs and molars of every creature in that room. THUMP.
Ignis instantly clamped his jaw shut. He bowed his head obediently.
Tharazion’s vertical slits shifted entirely onto Roland. "You sent a message regarding a promise that must be kept, Prince Roland. What promise do you bring before my throne?"
Roland offered a brief, respectful bow before straightening back up. "I have come to fulfill my promise to Draconia. I have returned... and I bring the truth you seek."
Roland glanced briefly to his left.
Rianor took a step forward. Whirrr... The hum from the Bracer on his left arm sounded softly as his right fingers reached into his pocket. He pulled out a clear crystal tablet.
"You have always viewed yourselves as the highest, most sacred race," Rianor spoke. His voice was clinical, cold, and entirely stripped of emotion. "Tonight, I will lay bare a bloody history that even you do not know."
Rianor’s gray eyes reflected the sheen of the tablet. "The history of Project Legion."
Beep. FLASH!
Rianor pressed the surface of the crystal. A beam of deep blue light sliced through the suffocating heat of the hall. The light constructed a colossal 3D holographic projection in the air—right in the vacant space between the humans and the dragon throne.
Orion’s figure projected into view. An old man with half his body replaced by mechanics—the pilot of Legion Prime—stared with eyes weary from bearing the weight of an era.
"I am... Orion. Pilot of Legion Prime. This is my final testimony..."
The raspy voice from the ancient recording echoed along the walls of the crater. The Elders instantly began muttering in visible agitation. Tharazion slowly leaned his massive frame forward. His fingers gripped the armrests of his throne tightly.
The projection shifted at a rapid rhythm.
Visuals of scientists assembling steel giants in ancient laboratories. Legion Prime crashing through oceans of continent-devouring demons. The pinnacle of victory... which culminated in a foul betrayal.
Scientists were slaughtered inside their own laboratories. Metallic volunteers were burned alive. The surviving women and children ran frantically through the blizzards toward the north. Heading to the continent across the sea—the very land that would eventually evolve into the Iron Empire.
Beep.
Rianor terminated the projection. The streams of blue light vanished. Leaving behind an absolute silence that felt infinitely more suffocating than the magma beneath them.
"Those you call weak and filthy humans... were the very race that defeated the demons your grand dragons failed to conquer," Rianor’s irises broke the quiet. "They saved the civilization of this world."
Rianor stared dead into Ignis’s face. "And in return, your ancestors—the ancestors of Luminara, the elves, the beast-kin, and the dragons—stabbed them in the back and slaughtered them to the last. That is the historical sin you have yet to atone for."
Ignis’s jaw hung open. His scales flickered erratically. Yet not a single sentence of rebuttal could pass through his throat.
Tharazion slowly leaned his back against the throne once more. The Emperor closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath that released a plume of hot steam.
"Is that recording... a human magical fabrication?" Tharazion asked with a tone as heavy as an anchor.
"It is not," Rianor answered definitively. "That is raw, untampered memory."
Click.
Before Tharazion could speak again, a small obsidian door on the side of the hall slid open.
A woman stepped inside.
Her long white silk dress contrasted sharply with the gloom of the hall. Her silver hair cascaded freely over her back. Her pair of dragon-red eyes radiated a pure, brilliant sheen.
Seraphina.
The woman’s steps halted abruptly on the stone stairs. Her breath hitched. Her red eyes did not look at the Emperor, ignored the Council of Elders, and didn’t even throw a fleeting glance at Ignis. Her eyes locked dead onto the man in the blue coat in the center of the bridge.
It had been months since that night of parting. Since Seraphina returned to Draconia leading the three hundred and twenty-eight surviving dragons, leaving behind unfinished feelings in the north.
Seraphina’s lips trembled violently. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Roland took a step forward to the edge of the bridge. The fraudulent diplomatic smirk he usually wore vanished without a trace. All that remained was the face of a young man staring at his woman.
"I’m back," Roland spoke softly.
Thousands of kilometers to the north. The freezing cold embraced the fortress of the Sudrath family.
In the main council chamber of the Iron Hearth Castle, a long teakwood table was buried beneath diplomatic documents and continental maps.
Lucian Sudrath sat in the head chair. His gray coat was still dusty from his return trip from Frostmere, but his military posture remained unyielding and steadfast. On his right, Aurelia sat gracefully, her serene eyes observing every meeting participant.
Rumina sat across from Aurelia. Her fingers were intertwined over the stack of files she had analyzed through the entire night.
And in the guest of honor chair, Selene sat with the elegance of a supreme envoy. The sea-blue robes of the Water Arcanum faction draped around her, her hair combed neatly back. Her pale blue eyes looked straight at the King of the North.
"Hmm... There are many things we must formulate," Lucian opened. His voice was heavy, shattering the silence of the room.
Selene bowed formally. "On behalf of Holy Maiden Anneliese and the Kingdom of Luminara, I bring an official proposal. A peaceful alliance and full cooperation for the Kingdom of Northreach."
Rustle. Rumina opened the first page of the leather folder before her.
"I have already read the initial draft of the alliance from Luminara," Rumina stated flatly, without even glancing at the paper. "Official recognition of Project Legion as heroes of civilization. Absolute eradication of the Heretical Knowledge doctrine from Church law. And a unified military command for the borderlines. From an economic and legal standpoint, Northreach can accept this."
"That is indeed a mandatory first step," Lucian cut in firmly. His gaze swept the table. "But there is one variable we cannot delay for even a single second. The threat of Satan’s revival."
Selene straightened her back. Her sea-blue eyes darkened in intense seriousness. "Intelligence reports from the southern monitors are worsening. The demon Gates are no longer just tearing through the skies of Luminara. Dimensional tear symptoms have now been detected simultaneously along Draconia’s southern border, and all along the western coastline."
"A systematic pattern of expansion," Lucian deduced coldly. "This anomaly will not stop in the south. This wave is preparing to sweep across all of Aethel-Terra."
A momentary silence compressed the council chamber. Only the howling northern wind slapping against the stained-glass windows could be heard.
"Northreach and Luminara alone will not be enough to hold off an assault of this continental scale," Lucian continued. "The eastern front in Draconia is currently being handled by Rianor and Roland. If the history of Project Legion successfully opens the eyes of the dragons, the east will be secure. But..."
"But there is still one giant military machine that has yet to determine the direction of their blades," Rumina chimed in. Tap. Her finger tapped the teakwood table. "The Iron Empire."
Lucian gave a slow nod. "They are the direct descendants of Project Legion who fled north. Their forces are attacking the Khanate not out of bloodlust or because they are allied with demons. They are attacking out of a deep-seated vendetta passed down through generations."
"And that is the exact reason Riven departed for the Khanate border a few days ago," Aurelia added softly. The Queen looked at Selene like a mother extending understanding forgiveness. "My eldest son did not go there to ignite a new war. He went there to open a channel for dialogue."
"To stop the bloodshed... and deliver what has been delayed for thousands of years," Selene murmured quietly. "An apology."
"Yes," Lucian stated with absolute finality. "An official apology. On behalf of all the ancestors who once betrayed and slaughtered their forebears, right after Project Legion saved the world."
Rumina closed her document folder. Tap. "Then what is our next step if Riven successfully convinces them to withdraw their forces?"
"We will not merely hand them empty words." Lucian stood up. Both his palms rested heavily on the continental map of Aethel-Terra laid out on the table. "We will bring the leaders of the Iron Empire directly into the heart of their ancestral heritage."
The gray eyes of the Northern King gleamed. "We will bring them to The Core—the underground chamber where Orion and the remnants of Legion Prime reside within this very castle."
Selene stared at Lucian with a respect she no longer bothered to hide. "Their leaders must see that true legacy with their own eyes. Only by witnessing Orion’s sacrifice firsthand can a thousands-of-years-old vendetta rooted in the northern continent be shattered."
The blue-robed woman placed her hand over her chest. "We fully support Northreach’s strategy."
Lucian looked back down at the map beneath his hands. His gray eyes traced two imaginary routes dividing the continent.
The King raised his face, meeting the eyes of every leader in that room, one by one.
"This is no longer about squabbling over a plot of land between kingdoms. This is a battle to determine... whether the civilization of Aethel-Terra is worthy of survival, or destined to be annihilated by the resurrection of Satan."