210. I am the Red Dragon, Victoria's Red Dragon
Inside Ocean of Information.
Deep within the boundless sea of information, the young girl Priestess stood silently. Beneath her feet, flowing data formed a "sea," reflecting countless projections of her. At this moment, all the projections seemed to simultaneously fall into deep thought—jointly "witnessing" a sudden burst of light.
Originium is her eyes and ears all over the world, faithfully recording everything. For her, obtaining this information is merely a matter of thought.
The question echoed silently in the data stream:
"Who...is he? A life form never seen before..."
"Three distinct forms coexist... just like the Trinity described in ancient mythology..."
"Is he...a god?"
In the depths of the girl's clear eyes, that figure was clearly reflected—he was steadily approaching her.
She hesitated.
Should she make contact with this unknown entity?
From the moment he set foot on this land, she knew everything about what he had done. He never deliberately concealed himself, except for certain subtle moments when he openly displayed his power, mystery, and incomprehensibility. He had even tried to retrieve information from this ocean of Originium records! Although she severed the connection in time, a strong premonition lingered: he was fully capable of forcibly breaking through in a more violent way.
Priestess let out a barely audible sigh, merging into the torrent of data.
"I have to keep going, no matter what."
"Not for myself, but for—us."
The world's suffering, endless tragedies, and cold death were all laid bare before her eyes. But she had no choice—to save the dying embers of civilization, to overcome that final... catastrophe.
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War...
This is a synonym for death and suffering.
The artillery fire, like a runaway beast, trampled life on the earth, leaving behind echoes of howls and roars.
This hellish scene before her was exactly what Talulah had witnessed. Life was being harvested at will, like grass.
However, what is even more chilling than this sheer destruction is the sight of those who writhe and rise again amidst the flames and ruins.
They crawled out of the burning wreckage, staggering, flames licking their mangled bodies, ominous blue firelight flickering in their empty eye sockets.
They ignored the fatal wounds, the shrapnel piercing their chests, and even the flames still burning on their bodies. They were no longer warriors, but rather demons crawling back from the depths of hell, drawn by invisible ropes, silently and persistently launching futile and desperate charges against the lines of the living.
They were already dead. What kept these decaying bodies moving was not a lingering consciousness, but some colder, more blasphemous force of existence, squeezing the last bit of value from their remains.
"What is that?" Talulah asked Lemuen beside her, her brow furrowed on the high ground.
"The Originium Arts of the Dublinn Leader," Lemuen's voice carried a hint of solemnity, "Deadfire… a flame that commands the undead."
"She is… blaspheming the dead." Talulah's voice turned colder.
"Perhaps," Lemuen said noncommittally.
"Victoria is going through a catastrophe, and what ignited it all was the dukes' greed for the throne."
Talulah analyzed, "Does the Dublinn leader also want to sit in that position?"
"After all, she, like you, belongs to the red dragon bloodline," Lemuen pointed out the key point.
"Let's go, let's stop this war first, or… do you have any other ideas?" Lemuen looked at Talulah.
Talulah shook her head. She had no objections but was puzzled by the method to stop the war: "What should we do?"
"I've said it before, Talulah, we now have the strength to challenge fate." Lemuen pointed to the boiling battlefield below.
"I will use force to mediate this war. But there is still one question you haven't answered."
"Talulah, have you thought this through? What kind of person do you want to become?"
"Should we continue down the same path as before?"
"Or... become a king and pave a new path for the people of this land?"
A hint of hesitation crossed Talulah's face; she still hadn't found the answer to this question.
Lemuen didn't urge her. Whatever path Talulah chose, she would respect it.
Just as Lemuen was about to intervene on the battlefield and announce the existence of the Silver Church, the Dublinn troops seemed to receive some kind of urgent order and began to withdraw from the battlefield as quickly as the tide.
"Oh?" Lemuen stopped what she was doing and said softly, "It seems something has happened inside the Dublinn. That's good."
"It saves us the trouble of mediating."
"Then, let's head straight to Londinium."
"After that... I will visit those dukes."
"Let's go, our schedule is packed." Lemuen left her back and walked off in a certain direction.
Talulah took one last look at the battlefield below.
When the smoke clears, there will be endless sorrow for the dead. The survivors will carry on with the will of the departed—or perhaps their deepest fear. The scales in her heart are swaying violently.
Londinium, the heart of Victoria.
The once bustling metropolis now resembles a steel tomb.
Using special methods, Talulah and Remian silently bypassed the heavily guarded checkpoints on the city walls manned by Sarkaz soldiers and quietly infiltrated the city.
Talulah stepped onto the dusty cobblestone street and murmured to herself, "...So quiet."
The sound seemed particularly abrupt in the deathly silence.
It was midday, a time when the sun should have been at its most intense, and the streets should have been bustling with people and cars. Instead, all that could be seen was a chillingly empty space.
There were no pedestrians, no vendors, no children playing; only the monotonous and heavy rumble of machinery from the distant factory area, like the panting of some huge steel creature, stubbornly pounding against this deathly silence.
Above this background noise, another sound came over us, rhythmic and heavy—the uniform footsteps of the Sarkaz patrol, the metal soles of their boots striking the stone surface with a cold, merciless rhythm, proclaiming the presence of the occupiers.
"Avoid them!" Lemuen grabbed Talulah's arm, and the two instantly slipped into a dark, narrow alleyway.
The heavy figures of the Sarkaz soldiers passed by the alleyway without looking to either side, their muffled footsteps almost touching the ground. Only when the sound completely faded into the background noise of the factory did the two men reappear in the sunlight.
Talulah looked around, her brows furrowed deeply, confusion and shock churning within her.
"What on earth happened here?" she murmured.
She could understand the wars waged by the Victorian dukes outside as power struggles and shifts, but what she was seeing before her eyes... Sarkaz soldiers, these warriors from Kazdel, were moving through the heart of Victoria, the capital city of Victoria, Londinium, as if it were their own territory.
They had become the true masters of this place! But what about the people who lived in this city? Where had all the people of Victoria gone? A series of questions exploded in her mind.
Filled with worry and determined to find the truth, Lemuen carefully guided Talulah through the empty and desolate city streets.
Turning a corner, several already cold corpses lay exposed beside a pile of garbage, untouched and uncollected. Flies buzzed around them, emitting a faint stench of decay.
Further away, in the shadows of the filthy alleyways, they glimpsed a few scattered, staggering figures—emaciated, ragged, with eyes so empty they seemed to have been ripped from their souls, leaving only numb shells, moving mechanically through the streets and alleys like puppets, each step exuding a deathly despair.
Everything she saw felt like cold stones pressing down on Talulah's heart layer by layer, causing her fists to clench involuntarily.
Finally, following the deafening roar of machinery and the billowing heat, they arrived at the outside of a huge factory. Towering chimneys spewed thick, black smoke, blotting out the sun.
As they crept inside, a wave of heat carrying metallic dust and scorching air rushed towards them, almost suffocating them. Inside the enormous factory, in the dim light, countless workers, like a silent swarm of ants, toiled away beside the cold steel assembly lines, their arms repeating endless, monotonous movements. Sweat soaked through their tattered clothes, and their faces showed only exhaustion and blankness.
Lemuen gestured for Talulah to climb up to the pile of discarded building materials. From this vantage point, the interior of the factory was clearly visible.
Just then, a chilling scene suddenly caught Talulah's attention: a worker, perhaps from overwork or hunger, swayed a few times and collapsed beside the roaring assembly line with a dull thud.
However, instead of being helped or pitied by his companions, he was met with—
"Smack—!"
A crisp, cruel crack of the whip ripped through the mechanical noise!
"Get up! You damned lazybones! Get to work!" A tall, menacing Sarkaz overseer roared, his long whip lashing mercilessly at the workers huddled on the ground like a venomous snake.
The rough leather whip tore through the already tattered clothes, leaving glaring bloodstains on the flesh.
"Ugh... Sir... please... spare me..." The worker curled up in pain, his arms futilely protecting his head, his voice weak as a groan, "I really... can't go on... my money was stolen, I haven't eaten for two days..." His words were broken and filled with the despair of impending death.
"Useless trash! If you can't do it, get out! There are plenty of people waiting to replace you!" The Sarkaz overseer showed no mercy whatsoever; instead, he became even more enraged by the worker's pleas, whipping him with increasing ferocity and intensity, the sound of the whip whistling through the air piercing and shrill. It was as if he wasn't punishing the worker for slacking off, but rather intending to whip this frail body to death!
The surrounding workers witnessed this cruel scene, but their eyes remained completely unmoved, showing only a deeper numbness.
They turned their heads stiffly, even quickening their hand movements, as if trying to avoid disaster by waving their hands more vigorously.
Rebellion?
A pipe dream!
In this city shattered by the Sarkaz's iron hooves, how could these commoners, who couldn't even fill their stomachs, possibly fight against these inherently powerful Sarkaz soldiers?
Any struggle will only add a few more corpses to the street corner.
Such scenes are commonplace, the background noise of their struggle to survive in hell.
The workers had become numb, accepting the impending silent demise of yet another comrade. However—
A dragon descended from the sky, its face contorted with rage and ferocity.
A figure, engulfed in boundless rage, plummeted from the heights like a burning meteor! The heavy thud, accompanied by a visible shockwave, announced the arrival of the uninvited guest and ignited the long-suppressed raging flames!
Talulah stood in the open space in the center of the factory, sword in hand, her body radiating an invisible heat! Instantly, countless gazes, some surprised, some fearful, some bewildered, focused on her—for the first time, those pupils, which had been as dull and empty as dusty glass beads, burst forth with an unbelievable light!
Red Dragon!
That iconic figure!
It is a symbol of the legendary lineage of the Victorian monarchs!
Ignoring the focused gazes, Talulah's dragon eyes, burning with rage, were fixed on the Sarkaz overseer wielding the whip.
The scorching sword in his hand was suddenly raised, aimed directly at the opponent's throat, and a chilling voice rang out like the tolling of a judgment bell:
"Let him go!"
An invisible dragon's might, accompanied by that chilling command, instantly enveloped everything.
The foreman trembled, as if grabbed by an invisible giant claw, and instinctively took a big step back, his face drained of color.
The fear lasted only a moment, replaced by an angry outburst of offense and a sense of duty.
He suddenly let out a sharp, piercing roar, which tugged at the veins bulging on his neck:
"Intruder! Breaker! Alarm! Sound the alarm!"
The piercing alarm suddenly tore through the noise of the factory!
In an instant, heavy, thunderous footsteps came from all directions, perfectly synchronized, instantly drowning out the roar of the machines!
The gate was violently smashed open, the passageway was quickly blocked, and a large number of Sarkaz soldiers wielding sharp blades poured in like a black flood bursting its banks, from various entrances, passageways, and even the second-floor platform!
A cold shield wall rose up, and a forest of spear tips gleamed with a chilling light. In the blink of an eye, Talulah, who was alone with her sword, was surrounded by layers upon layers of shields, leaving no room for escape!
Their escape route was cut off, and their killing intent was palpable!
However, Talulah, who was in the most desperate situation, showed no fear on her face.
Her gaze, sharp as a sword, pierced through the cold helmets of the front-line soldiers, locking precisely on the Sarkaz officer leading the encirclement. Her voice was no longer merely cold; it contained a chilling edge capable of freezing the soul, each word like an icicle piercing the other:
"What are you doing?" she demanded sharply, her voice echoing through the vast factory, drowning out the noise of the machines.
"Answer me!" Her pent-up anger finally erupted into a heart-wrenching roar: "What have you done to the people of Victoria?!"
Facing Talulah's terrifying, almost tangible dragon aura, the leading officer felt as if an enraged dragon was staring at him! However, as a seasoned mercenary, he coldly questioned Talulah.
"Who are you? Why are you standing here?"
His question, like a pebble thrown into a stagnant pond, instantly created ripples.
The workers, who had been bound by fear and numbness, stopped what they were doing with their machines.
Throughout the entire factory, everyone's gaze was fixed, unconsciously, on the figure standing tall in the center, sword in hand.
At this moment, no one would raise their whip to drive them away—for in front of them, in the heart of the Jedi, heavily besieged by Sarkaz soldiers, stood a dragon radiating scorching fury!
Countless gazes—hope in despair, astonishment in the depths of numbness, and unbelievable light bursting forth from long-suppressed emotions—converged into a heavy river, washing over Talulah.
In those gazes, she clearly felt the expectation—the expectation that someone could tear apart this suffocating darkness, the expectation that someone could break this cruel shackle!
How similar this scene is!
On the Ursus tundra.
The infected, those souls rejected by the world, once looked at her with eyes burning with the same despair and hope, hoping that she could raise the banner of resistance, lead them to tear apart oppression, and move towards a vague but alluring tomorrow.
At that moment, the scales that had been swaying violently within me collapsed with those soul-piercing gazes!
A sense of responsibility and power that had been dormant for a long time, originating from the depths of one's blood, was completely awakened!
"Who am I? "
Talulah's voice suddenly rang out, no longer a cold interrogation, but like the resounding of a great bell, carrying an unquestionable majesty and a clear power that pierced through all noise, instantly drowning out the remaining mechanical hum in the factory! The sword in her hand was no longer just a weapon, but a symbol embodying her enlightenment and power.
She suddenly raised her arm, the sword pointing directly at the factory's high dome, blackened by smoke and dust! This gesture was full of declaration and challenge!
"As you can see—!" She glanced around, her gaze sweeping over the faces of every worker, over the soldiers surrounding her, her voice booming like thunder: "I am the Red Dragon! Draco!"
Every word was like a brand, striking heavily in the air and into the hearts of every listener! Red Dragon! Draco! These words carry a heavy weight of history and orthodoxy on the land of Victoria!
"As for why I'm here?"
Her sword suddenly slammed down, whistling through the air, no longer a symbolic gesture pointing overhead, but with a judgmental sharpness, aimed precisely at the Sarkaz soldiers surrounding her, blades in hand. Finally, the tip of the sword seemed to pierce through the ranks of soldiers, striking directly at the leading officer! Her voice suddenly rose in pitch.
"This is my homeland! I am the one who wants to ask you—you invaders! Why are you standing here?"
This final question was like igniting an invisible bomb!
And those workers, those numb eyes, now burst forth with an unprecedented light, a mixture of shock, ecstasy, and disbelief!
Red dragons! Their heir to the throne!
She's right here!
She stood before them!
She's questioning the intruder!
She's saying—this is her homeland!