Beneath the Red Dragon

The desolate and impassioned spells echoed through the dim space, the rustling wind began to stir the tattered, blood-stained banners, as if the ghosts of the dead were wandering here, whispering softly in the wind.

The ceaseless sound of battle became distant and boundless, like eerie echoes transmitted across time and space.

The spell chants gradually grew solemn and deep,

”Silver and stone, contracts with the cornerstone,”

”The sighing wind is blocked by sturdy walls, forging the four gates steadfastly,”

”Released in the Holy Hall, descending upon the road to the Imperial,”

”Summoned here,”

”Your body rests under the Emperor’s banner, our destinies entrusted to the Heroic Spirit Sword,”

”If willing to follow the calling of the Heroic Spirit, obey this will, conform to this principle, then heed the call and arrive!”

The pale-faced mages, their tattered magic robes fluttering, their worn magic staffs steadily outputting the gushing source of Magic Power, used the powers of Curse Magic, sending the sighing wind far away.

And in front of these casters stood towering, crudely formed golems cast of rock and iron, their faces flat, showing only eyes and mouths.

Simple structures, possessing only flexible limbs, nothing more.

The once imposing figure of Gilenis, the forbidden guard, stood in the shadows, leaning against a wall of piled rock, its rough surface marked with deep crimson like dried blood.

If he raised his head, he could see the silent, massive body of Black Dragon King Rosani, extending hundreds of meters across the sky.

Sculpted like a clay figure, with claws and fangs extended, wings spread wide, hovering over the entire city, its dragon head held high, gazing toward the far horizon.

Gilenis, silent like the statue of the Black Dragon, watched as the sighing wind swept over fragmented, limb-torn comrades strewn across the ground, over shattered armors and cracked, chipped heavy swords of the legion warriors, over cloaks stained black-red from blood.

The fragments and ruptured armor, shattered heavy swords snatched from the battlefield, carried the final echoes of those valiant warriors as they left the world.

Within the sighing wind, the warriors’ final shouts and roars of death were carried afar, wafting over the shadow-shrouded flickering lights of the shattered city, past the sacred solemnity of the cathedral, over countless homes.

It crossed the frontline of war’s flames and smoke, reaching the dark lands beyond.

Here, corpses lay scattered over the fields, wherever the eyes looked, a countless accumulation of demon corpses piled like a carpet, forming a towered mountain, grotesque heads severed and soaked in the thick, not-yet-dry stench of blood.

The once lush water-rich and fertile Land of Long Summer, now corrupted by demon blood into a sterile wasteland.

Even the earth adept at absorbing blood water failed to endure this boundless sea of corpses. Beneath the sea of bodies, the thick blood had solidified into clots covering the soil, whereupon the surface blood gathered day by day, threatening to engulf the surrounding land.

Massive demon dragons, stretching tens to hundreds of meters, lay fallen upon this battlefield, their remaining massive bodies dwarfed amidst the immeasurable sea of corpses and blood.

Among the numerous Low Tier demon corpses, nearly swallowed beneath the broken, blood-stained Royal Banner of the Giant Dragon, lay the fallen warriors of the ”Burning Hooves” legion and this world’s soldiers.

These warriors, every one of them, fell charging forward. They did not succumb to the demon’s claws or weapons but to their own fractured weapons, damaged armor, and depleted Physical Strength.

In front of each fallen Burning Hooves warrior lay the bodies of hundreds of Low Tier demons, along with numerous Mid-tier demons and even some High Tier demon corpses.

The resentment from these deceased demons howled amidst the sea of blood, yet they dared not approach the legion warriors’ Heroic Spirits standing guard over their battered forms.

The souls of these Heroic Spirits retained the warlike fervor of their lives, stained, broken Battle Armor clingers to their figures, and their fractured Heavy Swords still clutched tightly. Great demon, devil, and dragon-like wings extended, draped with phantoms of sinew and fragmented flesh.

And Heart Energy, drawn from their Soul and Spiritual essence, maintained the warriors’ last flicker of indomitable will, keeping them loitering upon this battlefield where wails and grievances rose like dark clouds, as if awaiting, as if guarding.

They knew not where to head next, but steadfastly stood before this ravaged Royal Banner, driving away all vengeful spirits, cleaving through all encroaching ghosts.

Until the distant sighing wind, swept across this land, lifting the Giant Dragon’s wavering Royal Banner.

The Banner fluttered fiercely, like the rallying sound of horns, the sighing wind’s roars and echoes passing over the warriors’ lifeless bodies, gently swirling around the souls of these warriors, offering them guidance.

One by one, the lingering, wandering spirits lifted their heads, memories of their lifetimes returned anew, the shadows of death swept away, restoring the intent of past days.

Thus, the souls followed the sighing wind’s guidance, drifting towards that destined direction.

And so, in the dim space, the whisperings of countless ghosts ceased, as if in fear.

The lifeless rock and steel golems suddenly became animated, as souls from the distant battlefield entered them, the golems’ eyes opened in succession, shining with dazzling light, and unyielding fighting spirit.