Alice in the Land of Steam

Is Chapter 1445 a duel?

As time flowed on, the deep night once held all of Nidhogg's loneliness and unwavering resolve, and the bright moonlight once illuminated Hraswag's clear and pure eyes. Those simple, direct words ultimately settled deep within his soul, unknown to others. Thousands of years later, the ancient dragon, having lost most of his memories of the past, saw that confrontation again in a fleeting moment of reverie. What reason did he hold onto what he believed to be right, and what reason did he decide to struggle in the mortal world, unwilling to leave?
The truth buried by history is often filled with many sad emotions. When Nidhogg learned that his name came from the great dragon king and that Herasvarg was his bloodline, before he had grown into the all-encompassing Nidhogg, was his mood really as cold and indifferent as it seemed on the surface?

From that moment on, Nidhogg's pursuit of knowledge and honing his skills in battle were no longer limited to venting his nature or fighting fiercely with other dragons his age who looked down on him. For the first time, he had such a clear and strong desire to defeat someone, to tell him that it wasn't only his opinion that mattered.

Thus, the duel at the selection ceremony arrived as scheduled and has continued to this day.

This battle has no end, even as one of the combatants grows old, fading away in the snowstorms of White Gold Mountain, while the other, clad in white bones, defiantly resists the call of death. The grudges and passions between the dragon Herasvarg, blessed by heaven and earth, and the dragon Nidhogg, who devours the heavens and earth, are not something that can be easily erased by time. They exist here, like the roots of a vine clinging to fate, growing alongside the unpredictable ancient trees, reaching into the distant future—though those who know history have already obtained the final answer.

Nidhogg didn't care what others thought or thought. He was the most special soul in the world. He didn't rely on obsession to sustain his will and gain the power to survive. Instead, he came from a memory from many years ago. Although that memory was now fragmented and distorted beyond recognition, he mistook the vampire in front of him for his old rival who had escaped time long ago. He stayed here regardless of everything and tried to defeat him.

Colorless flames burned, and surging memories overflowed from his eyes like a tide, all incoherent. Some returning souls had tried to piece together a complete past from these fragmented memories, but Nidhogg only needed the most crucial piece of memory to remain—proof of his existence, the lifelong pursuit he had always sought.

Submerged by the tide of twilight and firmly bound to the solidified earth, the enormous, pale dragon skeleton suddenly opened its mouth, uttering a hoarse and low voice from its fleshless throat. It was less a roar and more a soliloquy, only the wind tore it apart. In that fleshless throat, no one could understand the emotions of a dead dragon.

He slowly lowered his head, his unfocused gaze traversing time to land on his destined rival. A vast, desolate storm swept across the abyss, whipping up dust that danced lightly in the shadowy darkness. Then, Nidhogg raised his dragon claws, grasping the intangible tides as if they were tangible objects. With a slight effort, he easily shattered them—the cracking sounds were not only the breaking of shackles binding him, but also the resounding crash of ideals and beliefs.

The countess, suffering a backlash from the magic, let out a muffled groan, and a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of her mouth.

After breaking free from the shackles of twilight, Nidhogg did not pursue. Instead, he flapped his hollow bone wings, his massive, clumsy body gradually rising into the air amidst the chilling storm. On his chest, the Nibelungen pulsed like a dark heart, its rhythm resonating with the breath of the dead. The towering mountains trembled in the storm whipped up by the dragon's wings, and the earth was slashed by tangible blades, instantly revealing countless scars.

He had seen similar scars three thousand years ago.

Nidhogg saw it all.

This is no different from my original fate; it's just a repetition of a pre-written script. There's no point in being sad or happy about it; only by rising up in resistance can I prove my courage.

He had reached the highest point, his eyes, brimming with black flames yet still empty, gazing at the earth below, expressionless. Though clearly a resurrected soul, he exuded a solemn and dignified aura at this moment. Under the watchful eyes of countless lives, the dragon, having triumphed over death, slowly unfurled its skeletal wings to their fullest extent, and the shadow instantly engulfed the entire world, bringing a terrifying sense of oppression. Nidhogg's wings seemed to have become a conceptual construct, extending infinitely with his thoughts and beliefs, their edges even reaching the distant horizon, as if a towering wall had risen out of thin air, dividing the visible world into two distinct regions.

The vampire countess was separated from Nidhogg, while her companion was trapped in the dark prison of the heart. Both of them looked up at the same time and were shocked to see a dark wind suddenly blowing from between the hollow skeletons without any warning. It was like a call from the bottom of the dark sea. The ancient and desolate howl pierced their eardrums and echoed in the depths of their souls.

Under the silent gaze of the ancient dragon skeleton, the dark winds gathered around him, occupying every inch of space. Then, they spun, twisted, contracted, collapsed, devoured, and shattered... condensing into huge, deep black holes, rotating heavily and slowly, crushing the surrounding space, tearing out mirror-like cracks, making the enormous and ferocious bone dragon appear as the ruler of the universe, majestic, solemn, and unapproachable.

The Countess's breath almost froze as she relived the awe-inspiring feeling of her near-death experience from countless years ago. In a sense, she and Nidhogg were perhaps the same, the difference being that she escaped death's judgment only through the power of the eternal monarchy, while Nidhogg was driven by his own obsession, stubbornly retaining a memory even after many years of death. He seemed dazed and uncommunicative, but in reality, his will was far stronger than anyone else's. How could one possibly conquer such a savage, cold, and untamed heart?

Many enormous shadows suddenly appeared in the darkness, like schools of fish in the ocean being startled by the commotion of a giant whale turning over, rising to the surface one after another.

Among them were towering behemoths covered in crystalline blue, resembling rhinoceroses, pacing the ground uneasily and exhaling hot breath from their mine-like nostrils—these were the Crystal Horned Beasts; there were ferocious beasts with bird heads and lion bodies, their wings burning like will-o'-the-wisps, shrouded in a sinister aura, sending chills down one's spine—these were the Netherfire Griffins; and there were ancient serpents whose length encircled the entire canyon and measured the length of the abyss, their scales seemingly forged from swords, producing an unsettling clanging sound and sparking dim light when rubbed together—these were called the Beg Serpents…

These were all things the Countess had speculated about when she first saw the giant dragon skull. Besides them, there were also winged crystal beasts, Evilskal, Gran Giant Scorpions… The native inhabitants of the Dark Cloud Abyss seemed to have finally reached their breaking point, unable to tolerate the outsiders running rampant on their territory, and were determined to stand up for their authority. Even though they were about to face a giant dragon.

A dead dragon; after all, it is dead.

The powerful aura of magical beasts enveloped Nidhogg from all directions, relieving some of the pressure on the Countess and allowing her to secretly breathe a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't fighting alone. Although the strength of these magical beasts varied greatly—some powerful enough to rival the Countess, others weaker not even reaching the demigod level—as the saying goes, many ants can kill an elephant. No matter how arrogant Nidhogg was, she couldn't ignore the wrath of the entire Dark Cloud Abyss, could she?
Yet Nidhogg did nothing. He remained silently atop the heavens, looking down upon the minuscule vampires. The black hole beneath his dragon wings slowly repeated its swirling, devouring, and pulverizing motions, engulfing everything tangible and intangible, transforming it into mere matter. He seemed in no hurry to attack, instead waiting for the Countess to initiate the assault. As for the other enemies, they were of no concern to him. If one had to explain why, it was probably because, in the duel three thousand years ago, he had similarly ignored all the dragons witnessing the ritual, focusing solely on his opponent, Herasvalg. This scene was merely a replay of the past.

Nidhogg, however, was unaware of the passage of time and its distinctions. He still believed himself to be suspended above Mount Platinum, and that this was the moment to defeat his destined adversary and achieve glorious victory. The Countess, equally unaware, was uneasy about Nidhogg's silence. She vaguely sensed a complex reason behind it, a reason that could cause the dragon, reborn from obsession, to behave so abnormally, yet she couldn't pinpoint it. She also vaguely sensed the natives of the Dark Cloud Abyss observing her actions. Only when she initiated an attack would those beasts follow closely—a display of their cleverness, or perhaps wisdom no less than that of mortals. They had witnessed the Countess's earlier solo attempt to stop the dragon's remains. It was precisely because they perceived the two sides as evenly matched that these creatures, who had previously allowed the enemy to wreak havoc in their territory, had intervened. But they still needed an example, a banner, or simply… someone powerful enough to provoke the dragon's wrath.

A bunch of opportunists!

The countess cursed inwardly, but quickly made up her mind—now that things had come to this, did she still have room to back down?
Although Bloodfang Valenhild's reputation has never reached the distant Eastern Continent, I cannot allow it to be disgraced.

Magic began to surge, building up into a powerful wave.

Was this a signal to war? The native inhabitants of the Dark Cloud Abyss also assumed fighting stances, determined to show this audacious dragon that this was no longer the age of dragons; those who were dead should lie quietly in their graves, preferably never to emerge again for ten thousand years. Nidhogg remained unmoved. He looked down silently, his gaze fixed only on the Countess, or perhaps… only on his destined adversary.

at this time.

……

The young man saw the girl's lips move slightly in his arms, as if she were still murmuring softly in her sleep, trying to convey some important message to the world. He lowered his head and gently pressed his ear to the girl's lips, feeling the warmth of her breath and receiving the message she was desperately trying to send from her dream.

It's very simple, just two words.

Although he spoke haltingly and indistinctly, the young man still heard him clearly, perhaps because he had always been good at listening to the thoughts of others, even the murmurs of dreams.

He does this sometimes; dreams are not an unfamiliar territory.

Upon hearing those two words, Ling remained calm. He simply called over Leticia and Serena, who were nervously observing the battlefield from the porthole. Before they could ask any questions, he handed the girl he was holding to them. Caught off guard, Serena didn't react immediately and hurriedly clung to Ovira's upper body, while Leticia supported the girl's legs, looking at the young man with a strange expression: "What are you doing?"

"Please take care of Ovira for me."

Lin Ge gave a brief instruction, then turned and walked out of the control room. He came to the crack that had become more pronounced due to the violent shaking caused by the resurrection of the dragon skeleton. From here, one could vaguely see the entirety of the huge skeleton, as well as the dark sky, the desolate land, the collapsed canyon, the drifting mist, everything that had been ravaged and destroyed, and of course, the figure of the Countess, and the shadowy monsters in the darkness.

The young man stood on the edge of Nibelungen, calmly watching the scene unfold, oblivious to the fierce, tidal wave that threatened to plunge him into the unfathomable ocean below. He spoke softly, a single sentence intended for the Countess, but he was merely a messenger; the true message came from Ovira, still slumbering in the illusion.

To be honest, it would be incredibly difficult to transmit a voice across such a massive, imposing wall. Even the wind couldn't carry the young man's words; they would be torn apart by the fierce, violent air currents before they could reach him. But incredibly, the Countess still heard those words, as if they weren't produced through the vibrations of her vocal cords and throat, but rather through a communication between heart and soul, clear across vast distances, both within and outside the world.

On the verge of confrontation and explosion, she heard Ling's voice.

“Miss Navel, Ovira just said—”

"This is not a battle."

"It's not a duel."

The pent-up magic erupted suddenly, sweeping across the entire world.

Give me some cats