Chapter 344: The Endgame
Ingrid Garses clutched her staff tightly, her expression tense as she stood on the battlefield. Her voluptuous figure, wrapped in a pristine white robe, trembled in the chilling wind.
"Amanata above…"
Ingrid softly invoked the name of her god, seeking a shred of solace.
Around her were four tall, radiant humanoid armors, summoned through her divine spell, [Pious Guardians], capable of holding back thousands of soldiers.
Yet these guardians brought her no sense of security, as Ingrid knew full well—that terrifying red dragon could return at any moment.
Suddenly, Ingrid, as if sensing something, looked up in terror, her instincts kicking in.
The surrounding space began to ripple violently.
"Screech—"
Two claws ripped through the air like tearing paper, creating a horrifying rift with edges aflame.
Moments later, the massive, fearsome head of the red dragon emerged from within, its pale golden eyes peering down at her with an almost imperceptible smirk.
The near-tangible dragon's aura filled the air, its immense shadow blocking out the sunlight that fell upon her, compelling Ingrid to flee but freezing her in place under its oppressive weight.
Cassius stretched his wings and spoke:
"Your companion managed to survive, though… he and his faction paid a hefty price for it."
"What price can you offer?"
"I… I…"
Ingrid stammered, then hesitated before timidly replying.
"I am an honorary bishop of the Fadlan Empire's Church. The Empire should…"
This legendary priest dared not fabricate any "Chosen One" lies, having already witnessed Dexusus Flaregold's demise for such deceit.
The red dragon despised those who deceived him.
Cassius asked in a deliberately curious tone:
"The Empire?"
"Are you unaware?"
"Your old emperor is dead. Your Fadlan Empire has splintered into hundreds of pieces. I doubt your dear god has time to care—who would bother with an honorary bishop?"
"Wh-what?"
Ingrid was struck as if by lightning, her mouth agape, standing frozen. Even her Sun God staff wavered in her grip.
She had grown up in the Fadlan Empire's capital, chosen at the age of eight for her exceptional piety to serve Amanata's Church, and had risen to a legendary priest and honorary bishop by twenty-five.
Throughout this journey, the Empire had always been her steadfast shield, protecting her from storms.
Now, faced with an invincible foe, the Empire's support had crumbled, and she herself was cornered, forced to confront her mortality.
"I… I don't want to provoke you…"
"Can you let me go?"
Ingrid's voice quivered with grievance, a trace of sobbing seeping into her tone.
She chose honesty, surrendering where she stood.
Cassius lowered his head, a sinister smile spreading across his face:
"I know you've been the only rational one in this group, but that doesn't prove anything."
"As I said—what price can you offer?"
As the red dragon leaned closer, Ingrid felt the scorching air and sulfurous stench blow over her.
Perhaps in the next moment, this dragon would devour her whole.
"I… I…"
At that moment, Ingrid considered submitting.
But as a legendary priest, switching faith so easily might invoke divine punishment.
Cassius lifted his head again, speaking calmly:
"Thirty years—I want you in my kingdom for thirty years. If your divine spells can serve the Fadlan Empire, they can serve the Ember Kingdom."
He paused, a look of ambitious zeal spreading across his face.
"Besides, my kingdom does not exclude any faith. Fadlanians, Amanata's followers—all can be citizens of the Kingdom."
"Perhaps… in the near future, you may openly return to your homeland, not as a captive, but as a bishop of a church belonging to the Kingdom."
"This…"
Ingrid's expression shifted drastically, catching the underlying implications in Cassius' words.
This was the Fadlan Empire, a giant that had ruled Feansor Continent for a millennium, its magical prowess surpassing Anzeta's. Yet the red dragon coveted such a colossal power!
But now, her life rested in his claws, survival fleeting.
She bit her lip, her golden eyes reflecting inner conflict, before making her decision.
"I greet… Your Majesty Cassius."
Ingrid used her staff to kneel, performing a standard salute to a king.
In that moment of bowing her head, guilt and regret surged within her. Raised as a prodigy in the Imperial Church, a lifelong servant of Amanata, she was now to serve a kingdom ruled by a dragon!
Yet she repeated to herself—at least I survived, didn't I?
"Excellent."
"Ingrid, as a legendary Light Priest, you can control the weather with your spells, correct?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then let this sky brighten once more."
Cassius commanded.
The extended battle had drained even him; he had no desire to cast spells himself.
After this prolonged conflict, the land was scarred and desolate, its former visage lost.
The ravaged plains were littered with shattered debris, mountains of corpses, rivers of blood, charred and solidified lava, and melting icebergs.
The vast Inaki and Euryor Rivers had turned red with blood, severed limbs occasionally floating along their surfaces.
It was dusk, the sky growing dim.
Even the evening glow was fading, merging into the impending night, as biting winds continued to howl.
"Hoo—"
The allied forces shared the sky's darkness and despair, compounded by unease.
A stifling atmosphere pervaded their ranks. Silence reigned among them; none dared look toward the distant red dragon.
The northern nobles had watched this "Ember King" defeat the ancient silver dragon they had pinned their hopes on, then systematically kill their expensively recruited legendary adventurers.
Even Duke Leo, the supposed "hero," was missing.
"I wander with the North Wind…"
Somewhere, a mournful song echoed across the battlefield.
It was the "Song of the Northlands," said to have been passed down by the Scanians when they fled to Anzeta. It resurfaced whenever white dragons or frost giants invaded, displacing the resilient northerners, who would always sing it.
"Snow covers my corpse; my beloved cannot recognize my face…"
Viscount Ludon hummed along, gazing over the ravaged land with a sorrowful expression.
He knew that the Northlands, or rather the Northern United Kingdom, was doomed.
The enemy was invincible.
Utterly beyond human capability to resist.
That red dragon was clearly a manifestation of calamity, destiny's judgment, a divine punishment for their decayed rule.
Suddenly, Viscount Ludon looked skyward, his mouth agape, and the grief-stricken northern nobles followed suit.
Because the sky had brightened.