Ashen Dragon

Amidst the earth-shattering roar, the steam tanks were turned into charred wreckage, airships transformed into burning giant fireballs, successively crashing to the ground, with thousands of soldiers wailing in the sea of flames.

The piercing alarm blared, plunging the Empire's positions into chaos.

"Activate energy protection!"

"Damn it, it's those Thrace people!"

Giant armors lifted massive shields, releasing hexagonal force field shields with a diameter of a hundred meters, these shields connecting as one, enveloping the skies above the Empire's positions.

Another hundred mages waved their magic wands, casting spells like the rainfall technique and frost technique to extinguish the sea of flames within the positions.

Finally, the meteor fireball released from the light sphere was blocked by the force field shield, and order gradually returned to the Empire's positions, though they had lost seven airships, over a dozen tanks, and thousands of soldiers.

"Damn those Thrace people!"

Derol roared with a menacing face, slamming his fist heavily onto the table, sending wood chips flying, splitting the table into countless small fragments.

"I want them dead! I want to crush these Thrace people, let them witness the true power of the Empire!!"

The Great Goblin panted heavily, eyes blood-red, gradually calming down, saying to the messenger: "Go, go tell Duke Misha, I want these Thrace people to pay the price!"

"Yes, Sir."

Misha, waving her dragon wings, stood in the sky with eleven Dragon Pact Warlocks, gazing at the distant light sphere.

She said with a solemn expression: "Sure enough, it's her, Tierna, the Angel Divine Duke of the Thrace Kingdom, a legendary warrior.

However—before the master's strength, even your Divine personally descending makes no difference, only to be destroyed by dragonflame!"

Soon, the messenger rode a wyvern to the sky, urgently reporting Derol's orders to Misha.

Misha nodded, then looked around, her fierce gaze sweeping over the faces of the Dragon Pact Warlocks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for these lowly Thrace people to witness the master's strength, for the Great Red Dragon!"

"For the Great Red Dragon!"

The Dragon Pact Warlocks shouted in unison, solemn-faced, like zealots about to perform a sacrificial ceremony.

Before their words faded, Misha stretched out her hand, pointing into the distance.

She closed her eyes tightly, scarlet dragon scales appeared on her cheeks, flowing flames surrounded her body, the majestic Dragon's Might radiated from her.

"Molten gold swims in the vertical pupil, mountains awaken on the spine, magma streams along the scale armor forming new borders—"

The Dragon Pact Warlocks behind Misha closed their eyes, chanting in the draconic hymn, that Dragon's Might grew stronger, nearly becoming tangible.

A massive red dragon's silhouette even appeared above their heads, roaring towards the distant Saint Michael.

"When the wings slice the clouds, a sulfur storm will sweep the entire world—"

The power granted by the red dragon within the Dragon Pact Warlocks transformed into beams of light, accompanying the passionate hymns, converging behind Misha.

Misha raised her fingers, abruptly opening her eyes, blazing fire burst out from her golden pupils, a robust pillar of fire released from her fingertips!

"Roar—"

The dragon's roar came from the distant void, causing all beings to tremble.

The blazing white pillar of fire, like a mighty longsword, tore through and pierced the night sky.

"Cassius above!"

"What is that?"

"It's Lord Misha! She possesses the power bestowed by His Majesty Cassius, those Thrace people are doomed!"

The Empire's soldiers simultaneously looked up, gazing at the pillar of fire in the sky, their expressions filled with fervent excitement and joy.

Derol, with a face of vengeful glee, ordered almost as a roar into the intercom: "Fire! Fire everything!

I want those Thrace people to pay the most painful price! Let them regret challenging the Ashen Empire for the rest of their lives!"

Along with the sound of air bursting, the pillar of fire rushed towards the distant Blazing Sun Barrier with unstoppable momentum.

"Amanata above... what terrifying strength, quick! Block that breath!" Tierna's face changed drastically, frantically waving her wings, raising her longsword, pouring the immense divine power into the Sun Core Pupil.

Those dozen Angel Divine Descendants also flew up, raising their flame longswords, beams of light continuously merged into the light membrane, making it more solid, its surface rotating with the Sun God's Holy Emblem.

"Block it!"

"At all costs!"

"For Thrace, for Amanata!"

Dozens of Sun God Priests once again poured divine power-infused gold powder into the Sun Holy Vessel, the liquid sunlight energy inside the vessel boiling violently, a Sun Wheel Totem appeared in the mirror surface.

At this moment, Saint Michael was completely enveloped in light, like a miracle, mortals could hardly open their eyes.

"Boom!"

The pillar of fire fiercely slammed into the light membrane, the explosion in the sky like a supernova burst, releasing terrifying energy, creating a shockwave sweeping the earth, overturning the ground and tearing the clouds apart.

The golden dome moaned under the continuous bombardment of the pillar of fire, seven hundred and twenty alchemy matrixes on the Blazing Sun Barrier simultaneously flickered.

The surface of the light membrane began shedding holy runes that had flowed for three centuries, like molten gold foil scattering in the void.

Centered on the impact point, the light membrane flickered, trembling, as fine web-like cracks began to appear.

"No—"

"We absolutely cannot let them shatter the Blazing Sun Barrier!"

Tierna roared, divine light erupted from her eyes, golden flames burst from her mouth and nose, her entire body becoming semi-transparent in the glow, clearly exerting every ounce of strength.

When twilight reddened the cast iron chimney of the arms factory, William finally completed the dispatch of the last military train. He leaned against the rivet-covered signal cabin, lit a pipe, and watched the transport team busy in the twilight: mules carrying aerial bombs paralleled trucks loaded with boxes of gas masks, messengers on military bicycles weaving between steam rollers and mobile kitchen cars. Suddenly, the sharp air raid siren tore through the sky, six biplane scouts swept over the city, dropping not bombs but leaflets—His Imperial Majesty's proclamation to all citizens, lead type littering the domed roof of a closing department store.

As the eighth pillar of smoke vented from the Cast Iron City's furnace at the autumn dawn, worker Erin's fingers were already worn bleeding by brass shells. She watched the river of bullets flowing on the conveyor belt, every five seconds a 7.92mm rifle bullet smeared with her blood slid into a pine box, the lid painted with "Southern Territory Supply."

In the steam hammer's roar, the old foreman shouted:"The armor plate for the seventh freight car needs to be quenched before Frost's Descent!" Cranes lifted three-meter-square rolled steel plates above their heads, the dark red residual warmth melting snowflakes into droplets mid-air. At the rail end freight platform, twenty flat cars were loading just-finished Mark IV Tanks, those steel behemoths' tracks crushing granite platform stones like cookies.

"The Empire's bloodstream runs with diesel and nitroglycerin!" When the one-eyed General Von Steine's copper-throat loudspeaker exploded in the central square, Erin's eardrums still quivered from the morning's airship fleet formation. The shadow-casting Zeppelin fleet hovered at three hundred meters altitude, their aluminum skins shining dead fish-belly white in the morning sun, casting shadows that perfectly covered the wings of the bronze eagle statue.

The bustling crowd in the square suddenly quieted down. The old general's mechanical prosthetic traced across the skyline, hydraulic joints hissing like snake tongues: "See those flying whales? Each airship holds two hundred tons of death! And the Southern Territory barbarians still guard their palm trees with flintlocks!" The crowd exploded in cheers, scattering the cold crow perched atop the clock tower, the newsboy seizing the chance to throw extras into the air, the front-page photo showing a new flame thrower burning straw South soldier models.