Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

(Has it been posted?)
They launched an attack, but then they didn't.

The passageway was filled with an indescribable atmosphere, like the smell of sea salt mixed with rust, heavy and somber.

Vollaux remained in the tunnel, awaiting the final signal. The feeling of waiting was like a taut string, stretched to the point of breaking, yet there was still no crisp "snap."

But more than listening for the final signal, his attention was focused on that strange sensation. It was an indescribable feeling, like some entity approaching, or like an echo stirred by his blood. He could feel that strange sensation drawing closer and closer, so close that he could almost hear the sound of his blood surging in his veins.

He vaguely sensed what this meant... an ominous premonition, a coincidence so absurd it was almost fatalistic.

He suddenly remembered a storybook he had once read, a piece of literary garbage that he still remembered to this day, or as Duluqi would say, "dog blood".

Although he didn't know why the word meant that way, or why words like "excessive," "clichéd," "deliberate," and "sentimental" could be crammed into it, it didn't stop him from using it with righteous indignation, just like Duluqi and others.

That story was the most melodramatic he had ever read, bar none!

He was lured in by the title, which brimmed with the spirit of adventure, expedition, and glory, but the content had nothing to do with it. What he wanted to read was adventure, waves, swords, and unknown lands. But the adventure itself was pitifully small, serving only the sake of family, bloodline, and a bunch of meaningless surnames.

He watched and cursed at the same time; he cursed and watched at the same time; he felt better cursing, but he got even angrier watching.

And now...

When the virtual world merges with reality, those plots he once scoffed at no longer seem so melodramatic? He seems to empathize now? He seems to be experiencing the same things as the protagonists in those stories?

Family and bloodline—words that were originally completely irrelevant to him—now vividly intruded into his world. The pull was cold, yet so strong that he couldn't ignore it, like an invisible hand leaving its mark on his heart.

If it weren't for the rules, he would have even wanted to leave and go to other passages to talk to his companions and confirm whether the feeling was just an illusion.

Just as he was lost in thought and his mind was in turmoil, the final signal arrived.

The bugle call signaling the attack exploded in the narrow passage, echoing layer upon layer, like waves crashing against a stone wall.

Coming to his senses, he took a step, his footsteps thumping on the stone slabs, accompanied by echoing breaths. Together with the other dragonborn, he slowly opened the heavy sliding fire door, the gears grinding together with a piercing shriek, as if defying their command.

The moment the fire door was pushed open, Duruchi and the dragonborn worked together to push the heavy ballista. The massive metal monster moved slowly on the groove, the sound of its wheels rolling low and rhythmic.

Their shoulders were straining, and their breaths were trembling.

Propelled by the ballista, it moved along the groove below and finally entered its battle position.

Before the ballistae were even deployed, the bolts were already aimed at the city of Lorthen and the lagoon, not at the vast ocean.

Then, the ballistae opened fire!

The vibrations of the crossbow bolts and the piercing whistling sound that cut through the sky seemed to tear the air apart.

Lortheon has three sea gates: the Emerald Gate, the Sapphire Gate, and the Ruby Gate. The Emerald Gate and the Sapphire Gate are located in the direction of the vast ocean, while the Ruby Gate is located in the direction of the inland sea.

This is Lorthorn's barrier, a symbol of past defensive glory.

The Emerald Gate and Sapphire Gate are connected by a single defensive system, forming two levels, like a staircase built by giants, tightly linked to the vast ocean. The Emerald Gate, which connects to the sea, is located on the lower level, while the Sapphire Gate is on the upper level, offering a clear view of the entire city of Lorthen and the lagoon.

After Darkus arrived in Lorthen, the city wall he climbed with Malekith and Finnubal was within the defense system of the Sapphire Gate.

The city wall defense system is equivalent to a military formation; once you enter, you cannot retreat and must fight to the bitter end unless you are wounded and unable to continue fighting. This is the discipline of Duruci's army, but...

However, the timing of when to begin the battle and the point at which to enter the battle position are crucial.

In a subconscious assessment, the city wall defense system is invincible, unstoppable, and impregnable—an existence that can almost create the illusion that once the firing begins, the dragon will be destroyed in no time.

The high walls, the dense array of crossbows, and the gleaming crossbow bolts all seemed to foreshadow an inevitable victory.

This illusion was so tempting that any commander, any soldier, or even the people of Lorthorn would believe it to be true.

However, this is not the case in precise assessments.

When the model was built, when the simulations began, and when those previously ignored variables came to light, the advisors discovered a terrifying fact.

That was not the disillusionment of delusion, but a conscious fear. The city wall defense system was a deeply hidden trap for Duruci!

A trap filled with death.

A poison that looks appealing and tastes sweet, but can suffocate you.

It's the kind of counterintuitive poison that catches people off guard almost instantly.

If the dragon comes from the south and attempts to approach Lor'then, the city's defensive system will immediately launch a counterattack. Initially, it will undoubtedly gain the upper hand. Two layers of walls, of varying heights, stand side-by-side like meticulously crafted traps, their ranged firepower deployed in an impenetrable array.

The first volley of arrows was enough to turn aerial targets into sieves, and the second volley of crossbow bolts could almost be relayed in mid-air. In those initial moments, the dragon would be forced to raise its head, roll over, and veer off course, as if everything was developing in a direction in which the defenders were destined to win.

However, as time goes by, the situation will subtly reverse. The advantage will be shortened, the balance will be broken, and ultimately, the dragon will make a comeback.

This is not a hypothesis, but a conclusion drawn from the deduction process.

This is similar to a game where one side's lineup may have an advantage at the beginning, but at a certain point, as the opponent's lineup starts to exert its strength and as late-game and counter-role characters come into play, the side that was initially in the lead will find that it is gradually unable to defeat the opponent.

Yes, the early-game lineup matched up against the late-game lineup.

The crucial moment in the battle for the city walls was when a multitude of dragons, bearing arrows, appeared atop the walls. Once the dragons appeared, it was all over.

The dragon's breath will destroy everything; the scorching flames will incinerate soldiers, ranged weapons, battlements, and flags.

That kind of heat is unbearable for humans; that kind of light is also unbearable for ordinary people to look directly at.

With just a few breaths, the entire defensive line would be reduced to charcoal.

The Red Dragon Legion deployed within the city's defenses advanced in echelons, a tactic known as "piecemeal tactics." There was no other way; the length and width of the city walls were fixed, and the actual situation dictated that so many people and equipment couldn't be accommodated all at once. Space was limited, passageways were narrow, and the ballistae and the Dragonborn were simply too large.

Even with the most meticulous scheduling, they could only send people up one wave after another, filling the ranks wave after wave. When one team was wiped out, the next team would take their place, and the flow of people kept increasing. Every advance was like pouring a burning flame into a pot of boiling oil; every second of perseverance came at the cost of blood and fire.

And once the dragon is in place...

How can I fill this in? How can I make up for it? How can I top it up? There's simply no way to top it up.

This is like setting up an anti-aircraft machine gun that hasn't been deployed right under the nose of an attack helicopter and firing at it. It's like carrying a man-portable air-defense system (MANPADS) or rocket on your shoulder and firing at a low-flying attack helicopter right under its nose.

The absurdity of it all made one wonder if it was some kind of malicious script.

Are the fire control systems in the front ranks of the attack helicopters out of order? Are the machine guns below out of ammunition? And this isn't just one or two helicopters, it's a massive flight formation, the kind of overwhelming, all-encompassing attack that blots out the sky.

The same applies to scene and background transitions.

Moreover, the Dragon isn't a true attack helicopter; attack helicopters can't land, but the Dragon can. The Dragon can block the entrances and exits of tunnels, unleash its breath on the tunnel interior, and clear battle positions with its tail and claws.

That scene wasn't war; it was slaughter.

Like some games, once you have an absolute advantage, you block the spawn point and refresh point and beat the opponent, not even giving them a chance to fight back.

That's incredibly stupid, it's like adding fuel to the fire, it's like throwing away lives.

After the model was built and started operating, the strategists, undeterred, tried to optimize the deployment of the city wall defense system, attempting to place more ballistae and spellcasters. Some suggested adjusting the angle, others proposed changing the array, and still others advocated for a dispersed deployment, ultimately resulting in the classic situation of adding more water when there was too much surface, and adding more surface when there was too much water.

At first, it was supposed to be about precise calculations and rational deductions, but later it turned into chaotic trial and error and logical collapse.

When the dough is spun to its maximum, the dragon's advantage and numbers are negated, but this also goes against the original intention and completely turns into another meaningless confrontation.

Duruci was not Asur; his enemy came from the sea, yet he wasn't. Duruci neither needed nor wanted to engage in a bloody battle on the city walls. If the battle on the walls became a stalemate, Duruci's side would inevitably suffer heavy losses. Although doing so would also cause the dragons to suffer heavy losses—essentially a trade—such a trade would be meaningless.

Worse still, doing so would lead to another outcome that Trucchi would not want to see.

That is, the dragon could not withstand the casualties and eventually left, bringing the Battle of Lor'then to a hasty end.

A victory that should have been glorious, perfect, and historic was turned into a futile war of attrition due to misjudgments in timing and misaligned strategies.

In this battle, Duruci was playing a secondary role; his real killing move was in the air, not on the ground. The ground was merely a trigger, a cover, and a decoy. What Duruci wanted was for the dragon to enter the skies above Lorthen, for the dragon to engage the ground forces in battle, forcing the dragon to lower its altitude so that the ground troops could entangle it.

If the dragon leaves before even entering Lorthorn... then the entire design and rhythm are ruined.

Pursuit is possible, but flying creatures and raiding ships are not high-performance aircraft; their dive and flight speeds are limited, as are their biological structures and materials. Even with magical enhancements, the most powerful magic cannot overcome the realities of air resistance and muscle fatigue.

Just like an eagle can't fly at Mach 1.

At that time, a chaotic battle is very likely to occur, the formation will be out of control, and the targets will be scattered. This is all based on the premise that the dragons do not disperse and leave the field, and that the dragons are willing to turn back and fight.

Otherwise, it would be a long chase, from Lorthorn all the way to the Kingdom of Caledor.

This……

After all the predictions and simulations were completed, the timing of when the city wall defense system would enter the battlefield and when the battle would begin became extremely important, even crucial enough to determine the course of the entire battle.

This may seem like just a matter of time, but in real war, time is often the dividing line between life and death, victory and defeat.

The battlefield is the most inhumane place; it allows no hesitation, no illusions, and certainly no pity.

This was true in the era of cold weapons, and it is also true in the era of firearms.

The molten metal used in cold weapons, even the varying heights of the steps in a city's defense system—these seemingly insignificant details are often the source of slaughter. For a distance, the steps are of uniform height, allowing soldiers to traverse steadily and freely; then, a higher step suddenly appears, catching the entire column of soldiers off guard, causing them to stumble and fall, instantly disrupting their rhythm, and then…

With the advent of firearms, cruelty did not diminish; instead, it became more covert and insidious. If killing was possible, cripple first; if disrupting communications was possible, disrupt them; if sniping was possible, sniping was possible; if capturing prisoners was possible, capture them. Laying booby traps, digging pits… these small actions and insidious schemes, so minor they could be overlooked, but…

There are countless examples of this.

Often, war isn't about head-on gunfights to see who's toughest, but about who's more cunning. To put it bluntly, it's about who's more treacherous and knows how to survive to the end. A soldier's mission is to eliminate the enemy and complete the task, but how exactly to eliminate the enemy and complete the mission requires skill and strategy.

It's not about brute force or courage, but about using your brain and cunning.

Why is flanking maneuvering so ingrained in people's minds? It's simple: when in doubt, flanking maneuvering is the way to go – to flank, to cut in, to break through enemy lines, to decapitate. Once a successful flanking maneuver is executed, the enemy is thrown into chaos.

Of course, this doesn't mean that head-on collisions have disappeared.

In the Battle of Lorthorn, Duruci employed a variety of tactics from the very beginning: illusions, underwater ambushes, ambushes in the waterways... he used every means at his disposal.

The purpose was to weaken the enemy's numbers, demoralize them, and create chaos before the impending, potentially unavoidable, head-on clash.

This is the style of the new era's Duruci—always calm, always calculating, and always striking first. The city wall defense system didn't choose a direct confrontation, but rather a very insidious timing. It chose not to launch its attack when the dragons were close, but rather after a large number of dragons had flown over the air defense balloons above the city walls and towards the city and lagoon, before launching a sneak attack from behind the dragon formation.

This sneak attack was different from the previous helpless underwater confrontations. The moment the battle began, it immediately entered an extremely brutal phase. There was no probing, no preparation, only tearing and burning.

Before the city wall defense system could be deployed, the Twisted Cannons located in the city center fired first.

It lacks the deafening roar of an anti-aircraft gun explosion, and the barrage of shrapnel, but its destructive power is terrifyingly real and eerily quiet.

As a silver moon dragon flew over the city defenses and past the air defense balloons, it was unexpectedly struck by the Twisting Cannon. The almost tangible energy beam struck its left shoulder hard, and what happened next was dazzling: its left wing separated from its body, and it plummeted into the lagoon.

This blow was like a tear in reality; the part that was hit vanished from the world. It was as if a sphere from the void had lightly grazed the object, leaving not even ashes behind.

Its left shoulder, chest, and abdomen were all gone. Then, a large amount of dragon blood rained down, turning into countless shimmering red fragments along the air. The dragon, along with its severed left wing, fell from the sky and crashed into the lagoon.

The Fiery Sun Dragon, the Silver Moon Dragon, and even a Starry Dragon were hit.

In just a few breaths, the already chaotic formation became even more chaotic.

To make matters worse, the heavy ballistae pushed into their positions beneath the air defense balloons also opened fire almost simultaneously. The sound of arrows slicing through the air was as dense as a torrential downpour, the metallic whistling and the roar of energy intertwining into a cacophony.

The dragon was attacked from both the front and rear, and from above and below. At that moment, the entire sky of Lor'theon seemed to be torn apart, and the air was filled with the smell of burnt scales and blood.

A blazing sun dragon attempted to ascend, but the instant it raised its head, a crossbow bolt whistled through the air, piercing its lower jaw and exiting its mouth. Like a blazing nail, the bolt pinned it to the sky.

The roar of the blazing dragon turned into a hoarse gasp, flames exploding deep in its throat. It tried to unleash its dragon breath, but only spewed out a mouthful of blood mist mixed with flames and blood. The blood mist trailed a bright red arc in the gale, like the last stroke of blood drawn in the sky by a god—absurd, magnificent, and desperate.

The other silver moon dragon was tumbling, her wings riddled with holes, flames piercing through the ruptured wing membranes like blazing stars behind her. The energy remnants left by the Twisted Cannon still flickered, like marks of the void, the boundary between flesh and reality crumbling bit by bit. Her scales began to shatter and peel away, revealing glowing flesh beneath.

As she flew, she resembled a collapsing work of art, both elegant and eerie. Ultimately, her body broke apart in flight, her hindquarters dragging her forequarters as she tumbled and fell, emitting a low, organ-like groan—not a roar, but a mournful cry as air was forcibly squeezed from her body cavity.

Further away, a blazing sun dragon was plummeting rapidly.

The dragon prince on his back was clad in blue-silver armor, his entire body almost enveloped in wind and fire. His cloak was burned to shreds, the torn strips fluttering high in the air like burning flags. He continued to shout commands as he fell, but every syllable was swallowed by the flames, drowned out by dragon blood and the air currents. No one could hear him, not even the dragon beneath his feet, for the dragon had died the moment it fell.

In the chaotic sky, the dragons tried to regroup, only to find that they could no longer form an array. Wind pressure, heat waves, crossbow bolts, and energy flows intertwined to create countless chaotic air currents.

Some dragons tried to circle back to the city walls, hoping to regroup and launch another attack; some tried to swoop down, hoping to escape this land of death as quickly as possible; and others, driven by fear and instinct, fled into the sky. But many more dragons struggled, fell, and burned.

The air felt like churned seawater, and one's sense of direction seemed to vanish.

The clouds above the vast ocean were completely burned through; the energy from the Twisting Cannon left gaping holes in them, like wounds torn open in the sky. They weren't smooth, but twisted and pulsating, as if the heavens were groaning. But the sunlight didn't shine through those wounds, didn't fall on the falling dragon and the burning debris, creating a chillingly beautiful effect.

No.

Because the wound healed so quickly, the clouds and mist re-condensed, forming layers of swirling gray curtains. In that instant, even the heavens refused to witness the horrific scene.

From the ground, the sky at this moment seemed as if the entire myth was collapsing.

The dragons tumbled through the air, flames burning on their bodies, until they finally transformed into falling behemoths. Those majestic figures, like falling stars, crashed one after another into the lagoon and the city, creating a deafening roar.

There was a dragon that did not give in even as it fell.

He spread his tattered wings and, dragging his half-charred body, lunged at the city wall. His eyes burned with a mad and resolute light—not the flame of survival, but the blazing inferno of revenge. The dragon prince on his back laughed maniacally.

At that moment, the nearby crossbows turned almost simultaneously, and the arrows formed a deadly net.

He charged through the hail of arrows, the scales on his chest torn apart by each bolt, the shattered dragon scales tumbling and falling like a meteor shower onto the battlefield. His massive body abruptly halted in mid-air, his muscles taut with a crackling sound, before slamming into the upper levels of the city defenses with unstoppable force.

The loud noise seemed to shatter the air, tearing the entire tower in two.

Splintering stones, flying iron fragments, and burning wood swirled in the air, firelight and ash mixing to create a towering heatwave that made it hard for everyone to breathe. The city walls trembled violently from the impact, and dust and rubble cascaded down like waterfalls, burying soldiers below who hadn't had time to dodge.

The shockwave traveled like a heavy hammer blow. Anti-aircraft crossbow arrays in the distance were overturned, their massive frames lying sideways, the metal gears and cables emitting a piercing screeching sound. The standing Duruqi soldiers didn't even have time to react before being thrown to the ground by the howling heat and shattering debris.

Flames, ashes, blood mist, and broken wings, mixed with falling metal fragments and broken cables, created a chaotic, tragic, and almost surreal scene in the sky above Lorthen.

The sky is burning, the city walls are groaning, and the earth is trembling.

But this was not the most chaotic or the most devastating moment; the dragon's counterattack had begun.

Upon initially arriving at the city walls, some of the riders noticed something amiss. After all, these dragon princes and dragon mages had almost all been to Lor'Thane before; they were intimately familiar with the place, possessing not only memories but also businesses there.

A small number of dragons, guided by them, quickly rose, circled, and maneuvered, rather than blindly flying over, appearing above the lagoon. Or they swiftly swooped down to support an idiot that had rushed into the shipping lane.

A roar shattered the air.

A bronze-colored blazing sun dragon, which had been circling from the side, suddenly swooped down, its wings scraping against the cables of the air-raid shelter, almost creating sparks. The air behind it burned, leaving two scorching vortexes. Its massive body twisted, dodging the bolts fired from the Reaper's ballistae, which rained down on its head, chest, and abdomen, leaving countless deadly streaks. Then it crashed headfirst into the section of the Emerald Gate's wall. With a deafening roar, the stone wall shattered, sending debris and flames soaring into the sky.

Another blazing sun dragon roared, maneuvered, and adjusted its posture, attempting to get into attack position and inflict maximum damage on Duruchi, who was active on the city wall. Unfortunately, just as it was about to take its position, several crossbow bolts appeared in its abdomen, and its entire body shuddered violently in mid-air.

Then, his right wing became deformed.

That tearing sound was the sound of bones and skin breaking simultaneously.

His right wing struck the cable that stretched into the sky.

Due to the dragon's structure and the strength of the cables, the wings did not immediately detach, but the impact caused the air-raid shelter high in the sky to jolt violently, as if it had been pulled by a tremendous force, and it was thrown from its original position. The cables tightly hooked onto the dragon's wings; although not completely entangled, this blow was fatal to the dragon.

His body jolted abruptly, then he was abruptly pulled down like a crane. He struggled and roared, his head pointing towards the sky, his body spinning wildly, his wings flapping erratically, his tail slapping the air. Flames spewed from his mouth, burning his own chest, scorching and desperate.

Soon, the problem of the Fiery Dragon was solved in the most rudimentary way.

The Reaper ballista, tasked with short-range air defense, fired again. The neat metal springs snapped, and a hail of arrows roared as they rained down, striking him with a dense barrage.

Scales burst open, and blood splattered everywhere.

The screams of the raging dragon turned into a final roar. It stopped struggling and, dragging the cable, plunged into the lagoon like a burning star.

Duruci and the Dragonborn did not shout their victory, because they all knew that they were about to face something even more terrible.

A silver moon dragon, braving the gunfire, sidestepped the cables and entered the optimal attack position. This attack position meant positioning its head directly against the city wall, forming a straight line of death. With the dragon's dive and its breath, all enemies on the wall would suffer a baptism of destruction.

In that instant, heaven and earth seemed to stretch and freeze, and time was distorted by the burning air.

The dragon's breath poured down, sweeping across a section of the defensive line.

That wasn't a burst of flames, but a roar that incinerated even the space itself. The air was burned into transparent waves, stone walls cracked instantly, and metal groaned in the intense heat.

At this moment, the city wall no longer resembled a defensive line, but rather a purgatory spine ablaze with flames.

Ballistae, infantry, towers, and even the dragonborn reloading were all vaporized into charred shadows by the intense heat. Where the Silvermoon Dragon's breath swept, there was no trace of life; stone bricks melted like wax under the heat, flowing into a grayish-white liquid; the reliefs on the walls were vaporized directly; the once exquisite battle emblems emitted a shattering buzz in the scorching heat, then exploded into a rain of metal.

The armor resonated from the intense heat, exploding into countless sharp fragments almost simultaneously. Before Duruchi and the dragonborn could even scream, they were charred along with the ballistae, engulfed in flames, and reduced to black ash that drifted through the air.

The city walls, ravaged by flames, looked as if a layer of skin had been peeled off; the towers were incomplete, and the lines of the protective walls were twisted and distorted by the fire. The once straight anti-aircraft cables now hung like charred spider silk, swaying in the wind and emitting a mournful, trembling sound. Steam billowed, and scalding white mist rose into the sky; the air was filled with the suffocating stench of burnt flesh and molten iron, a smell so strong it made even the wind tremble.

However, Duruci did not give up the fight.

The Silver Moon Dragon was shot down by ranged fire from a distance. After crashing into the cable, several air defense balloons collided with each other due to inertia, and then it plunged headfirst into the lagoon.

Where the smoke and steam from the place destroyed by the Silver Moon Dragon had not yet dissipated, new figures appeared in this scorching hell.

Wearing filter masks and still-smoking cloaks, they forced their way out of the thick smoke. Coughing up burn blood, they stepped over embers and charred corpses, pushing spare crossbows to redeploy their defenses.

The sounds of commands, the scraping of metal, and painful gasps mingled together.

A soldier named Duruci knelt on one knee, reloading his crossbow bolts on the scorching stone slab. The burning ground melted the soles of his boots and scalded his knees, but he didn't utter a sound, only gritting his teeth and continuing to work. Another soldier, vomiting, tried to repair a severed anti-aircraft cable; the skin on his hands was charred black, yet he held on tightly. Soldiers and doctors responsible for collecting the wounded searched blindly, trying to find anyone still alive.

Ashes fell on their shoulders, like some kind of cursed snow.

Just as they managed to restore order, the shadow of the sky swept across once more.

A giant dragon was descending from the sky, its enormous wings blocking out the light, as if night had once again enveloped the earth, its eyes gleaming like molten gold, and its breath causing the air to swirl.

The soldiers in the second echelon raised their heads, and for many, their eyes were blurred with a mixture of sweat, blood, and steam. Their hands trembled, yet they gripped their weapons tightly; their hearts pounded, but not one of them retreated.

At that very moment, a magical crossbow bolt struck the Sun Dragon squarely in the abdomen.

The dragon's mournful cry pierced the entire sky, the sound causing the water to churn and rocks to crumble. He continued to try to maintain his altitude, his wings flapping frantically in the air, but more metal arrows rained down on his body.

Blood splattered in the air, forming a scarlet arc that gleamed with a metallic sheen, before he plummeted, crashing headfirst into the shipping lane.

However, the crisis was not over; everything that had happened before seemed to be just the prelude.

Akregon, who was directing operations from the city wall, stared wide-eyed. His gaze reflected a collapsing sky, and a colossal dragon, almost the size of a Direhorn, was about to dive down.

At that moment, the sky trembled, the clouds were torn apart, and every scale reflected the sun's brilliance, like thousands of burning blades falling at once.

Without much thought, Arkregon ran towards the Emerald Gate, preparing to jump down, transform into a giant dragon in mid-air, and ascend to fight the behemoth.

He is anxious!

He doesn't pretend anymore!

Just as Arkregon completed its transformation, the Star Dragon's eyes slowly turned downwards.

Those were terrifying eyes burning with flames, deep, cold, yet possessing a chilling clarity. He looked down at the low, fragile battlements. If he wanted, in the next second, a single breath, a dragon's breath, would have incinerated them all. But he didn't. He looked down at Vorax, who stood there, looking up at him.

Those were his offspring.

At that moment, he established a connection with Volacs, and their consciousnesses briefly overlapped.

It was not words, nor magic, but a resonance of blood and soul.

And in the distance, there is even more resonance.

Then, his body swerved, abruptly changing trajectory before the arrow arrived. It was an incredibly dangerous arc; his massive form sliced ​​through flames and smoke, grazing the cable, passing the balloon, and flying towards the vast ocean.

"Why! Ignimus, why!" Rahil, perched on the dragon's back, broke down. (End of Chapter)