The sky over the Rhen Plateau was wrapped in heavy black clouds.

Silver lightning serpents darted through the depths of the clouds like dragonflies, flashing the world an ashen white at times. A torrential downpour struck the muddy earth, raindrops the size of beans pelting down and splashing up countless droplets mixed with blood.

Yet no matter how fierce the weather, it could not suppress the suffocating dragon might.

Rain vaporized into white steam the moment it touched the Red Iron Dragon’s massive body, and the gale could not budge his mountain-like frame.

He stood atop the heights, his whole body battered and bloodied, a shocking tear rent open along his left wing, scales flaked away in great swathes exposing raw, crimson flesh beneath.

He looked to be at his limit.

If a coordinated assault were launched again, this arrogant Red Emperor seemed on the verge of collapsing.

The Lothrian legendaries exchanged glances.

In a normal clash between legendaries, because each had a protective Domain, no decisive result could be reached in a short time. The Lothrian legendaries already held the advantage, losses were small, and they still retained reserves of strength.

But no one dared be the first to strike.

They all knew too well.

This terrifying dragon had died too many times yet always risen again. This time would likely be no exception; no one could see through its true nature.

As if to confirm some of the legendaries’ guesses, the Red Emperor slowly stretched his shredded wings.

His six gigantic arms spread outward, talons forming empty grips as if to clutch some invisible thing in the air.

Hum!

A low vibration rolled across the battlefield.

Those corpses that had fallen not long ago, still warm to the touch, began to tremble faintly.

First the fingers, then the limbs, and finally the whole torso shook violently as if rubbed by an unseen hand.

Their skin rapidly lost luster, muscles visibly atrophied, eye sockets sank inward. In mere seconds, once-intact bodies turned into armor-clad bones, then crumbled into ashen dust that blended into the muddy rain.

At the same time, crimson blood-energy was drawn from each corpse.

What began as wisps quickly converged into rivers, then formed six blood-colored tornadoes over ten meters in diameter, surging up against the storm and spiraling toward the Red Emperor.

The energy condensed into tangible form, shining with an eerie luster under the dim sky.

“Life and death, the cycle never ends.”

The Red Iron Dragon’s low voice boomed over the thunder, “I live, my enemies die.”

He lifted his head, opened his huge maw, and swallowed the bloodstorms whole.

All the wounds on his body began to knit. New flesh buds grew with astonishing speed, far exceeding normal regenerative rates.

The whole process lasted less than ten seconds.

When the Red Emperor lowered his head again, his aura, though not as explosively powerful as at his peak, had returned to a steady, heavy weight.

“Again...”

A young Tower Shield bearer from the Lothrian camp muttered.

The Tower Shield in his hand was already riddled with cracks, his shield arm trembling slightly.

Yet he felt little fear.

He was not alone.

The soldiers around him showed almost no fear on their faces.

It was something deeper.

Numbness and exhaustion intertwined, mixed with a wild, bitter absurdity.

They had endured too many cycles of hope kindled and then snuffed out; their nerves were frayed, on the verge of collapse.

“Enough.”

The Iron-fist General said in a low voice, “Destroy them.”

He forced a bitter smile and willingly dispersed the Domain glow that had surrounded him.

Without Domain protection, the rain drenched him immediately, hair plastering to his forehead. This iron-blooded general now looked like a weary middle-aged man.

Kill after kill, revival after revival.

What kind of creature was this Red Emperor?

He was clearly not human.

A giant dragon?

At this point he was almost beyond definition as a dragon.

In fact, not only the Lothrian people were stunned, even the dragons on Aola’s side were bewildered by the Red Emperor’s repeated deaths and resurrections; this defied their understanding of their own kind.

“There is no second sun.”

“The Romanian Plains shall be ruled by me.”

The Red Iron Dragon’s voice overpowered the thunder.

Those words were addressed like a verdict to the defeated Lothrians. His proud head tilted toward the sky as if he perceived even greater things.

Whoosh!

Iron Dragon Sorog dove from the high sky, spiraled beside the Red Emperor, and his booming voice continued, “People of Lothrian! The war is over! Your era has passed; now begins the era of Aola!”

“Kneel and live, stand and die!”

After a brief silence, Aola’s ranks erupted in a thunderous roar.

“Kneel and live, stand and die!”

..........

One dragon after another rose into the sky, the sound of dragon wings beating louder than the wind and rain.

On the ground, Aola’s soldiers raised blood-stained weapons and roared in unison.

The sound surged like waves, pressing down on the heart of every Lothrian warrior.

Even though Lothrian held the advantage for much of the battle, and their legendary fighters performed admirably suppressing Aola’s legendaries, morale began to crack.

Then.

The first sword fell into the mud.

Under the Red Emperor’s shadow, the sword-bearing warrior dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the muck.

Then a second sword, a third...

Like a wheat field swept by a gale, the tide of surrender spread from the battlefield’s edges toward the center.

The clang of metal hitting earth rose and fell; more and more people chose to kneel.

There were exceptions.

Some roared and launched final charges only to be cut down by Aola’s fighters; some pressed blades to their throats for a dignified end; some stood frozen, eyes vacant, as if their souls had already left.

But the instinct to survive is the most primitive of drives. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

More and more bodies fell to their knees until the field became a black, oppressive mass.

The legendaries began to make their choices as well.

“General Varesia?”

One legendary emanating teleportation light looked toward the Iron-fist General at his side.

Varesia slowly shook his head and remained where he stood, letting the rain wash over him.

Flee? Where could they run to?

His wife, six children, seventeen grandchildren... they were all in Valdo.

After this battle, Aola’s legions would face no further obstacles and their blades would point straight at the heart of Lothrian.

Without any crown-level defenders, what could Lothrian use to hold back the Red Emperor? Should resistance be intense, those suns that once rose over the Rhen Plateau might then fall on Valdo’s streets.

The outcome was decided.

A wise choice could make the process less brutally tragic.

The Iron-fist General realized this, and felt a deep fatigue wash over him—his will to resist was gone.

The legendaries’ choices split roughly in half.

About half tore open teleportation scrolls or cast magic and vanished in silver light; the other half stayed, suppressed their breath, and surrendered to the nearest Aola legendary.

Two or three who tried to teleport were interrupted midway.

Somewhere on the battlefield, two legendaries stood guard on either side of a central figure.

“Your Majesty, you must leave.”

The legendary on the left said softly, “We will buy you time.”

The King of Lothrian did not answer.

He stared at the imposing figure in the sky, the Dawnlight royal sword in his hand dim and wet with rain.

Was this war a mistake from the start?

He asked himself.

Yes, he admitted, but he also knew for himself it had been an unavoidable mistake.

Lothrian had risen again from the ruins after two great wars and reclaimed its supremacy.

Any ambitious ruler, when power and military might recover, would not tolerate another force rising rapidly and refusing to submit.

He simply could not understand.

Why could the Red Emperor be so strong?

Decades ago this dragon was notorious but not invincible to crown-level foes, not one to be overly feared.

Decades later, forces assembled to challenge crown-level dragons were repeatedly annihilated before him.

All crown-level lives burned out yielded only two fleeting victories.

It was over.

Lothrian’s hegemony ended here.

His dreams and aims shattered with it.

Raymond lifted Dawnlight, the sword blade reflecting his pale face and bloodshot eyes.

“Your Majesty?!”

The two legendaries realized something was wrong and tried to step forward, but it was too late.

The king dispersed his Domain, pressed the sword against his heart, and with all his strength drove it inward.

The legendary blade easily pierced the chestplate forged of refined iron and plunged into flesh.

Raymond stifled a groan as blood welled from his mouth.

Warm liquid ran down the blade into his hand and mixed with the cool rain.

Drip, drip.

Drops fell from the sword tip and bloomed briefly as red flowers in the mud before fading.

Raymond suddenly recalled the day many years ago when his father placed this sword in his hands.

The late king had been gravely ill, his gaunt hand gripping Raymond’s tightly, eyes full of hope for the country’s future.

“Raymond... Lothrian... I entrust it to you...”

At the time he’d been so excited, so eager to prove himself.

Now he used the sword that symbolized sovereignty to end both his own fate and his kingdom’s.

His vision blurred.

In a daze, Raymond thought he saw his father’s silhouette through the rain, shaking his head in disappointment before turning away.

“Father... wait...”

He wanted to follow, to kneel and beg forgiveness, but his legs had lost strength. His body pitched forward and crashed into the mud, Dawnlight still embedded in his chest, the hilt trembling slightly.

The last thing before his eyes was the gray sky and the unending rain.

The Red Iron Dragon watched all this in silence, his pupils betraying no ripple of feeling.

His gaze left the king’s corpse and swept over where teleportation lights had dispersed, showing no intent to pursue.

This battle had not been easy.

Garoth felt waves of weakness flow through his body; his condition was far from ideal. If he were ambushed and killed again... that would mean true death.

“Time...”

The great dragon exited combat posture; his enormous form gradually shrank, returning to regular dragon shape.

He raised a foreclaw and touched the scar at his neck, where new flesh had only recently formed, still a bit soft to the touch.

Stopped by time twice, beheaded twice, once even cut to pieces.

Were he in a pre-sleep state earlier, he would have been a corpse without even a chance to revive.

“It was only the second time I was frozen that I evolved a sliver of resistance.”

Garoth replayed the fight in his mind.

This was crucial.

Although the Crowned Time Warden Sodrian seemed spent, who knew how many more bursts he might have had? Crown-level foundations are unfathomable, often hiding final means of annihilation.

Luckily, Sodrian didn’t have the opportunity to use more.

And anything that could not permanently kill Garoth only made him stronger.

Eternal War Eternal Progress granted him not only the ability to evolve in the moment during battle, but also preserved part of those evolutionary gains permanently after the fight.

Although the proportion kept was small, and each retention seemed random,

Garoth had a gut sense:

His resistance to time’s power had permanently improved by a trace.

Weak though it was, it was a qualitative change from zero to one.

Next time he faced a time-type enemy, he would at least not be helpless at the start.

“My body, forged by a hundred trials, yet fragile under time’s blade.”

Garoth stared at the clouds thinning in the sky and fell into thought, “There are countless strong foes and dangers in this world. I cannot become arrogant because of this victory, nor can I underestimate other legendaries, especially crown-level existences.”

Though he had achieved a massive victory, the Red Iron Dragon was not complacent.

This battle also exposed many of his shortcomings.

For example, his Rage Without Fear of Death and Dragon Pearl both triggered because of Undying Life, but if a crown-level on Lothrian’s side had pulverized him to dust, even if he revived he would be left at rock-bottom condition.

Also, his speed of evolution during combat was still insufficient.

If he had evolved the corresponding resistances faster during the first time stop, he could have ended the fight more easily.

Regardless, in the end he was the victor.

“One day, I may be able to adapt to any harm instantly, evolve perfect matching traits, and retain them all permanently.”

“Then, with an infinitely evolving body, I will become the true ultimate lifeform.”

The Red Iron Dragon thought to himself.

This was not fantasy.

This victory proved he possessed such potential and the qualification to walk that path.

As the battle ended, the rain gradually lessened.

Gaps opened in the clouds, and a few shafts of dawn slipped through to illuminate the scarred battlefield.

Aola’s soldiers began clearing the field, collecting weapons and rounding up prisoners. The dragons circled low in vigil, occasionally issuing deep roars to cow anyone harboring treachery.

Varesia was brought before the Red Emperor.

The king had taken his own life, the Holy Spirit was temporarily dispersed, and many crown-levels had fallen.

Varesia himself was the legion’s overall commander and a high-level legendary; at present, he was the highest-ranking Lothrian left here.

“Esteemed His Majesty Ignas.”

The general glanced at the majestic dragon, then very directly knelt, paying little heed to pride.

“Valdo will not resist.”

He bowed his head and said, “Among Valdo’s garrison are many of my confidants. I will persuade them to cease resistance, only ask that you spare the city.”

The Red Iron Dragon looked down at him and nodded slowly.

“A wise choice.”

He said, “I do not delight in slaughter. Cities that surrender will receive Aola’s protection.”

Varesia exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly.

Then he asked, “How do you intend to deal with Lothrian?”

The Red Emperor did not answer immediately.

He looked toward the distance, to the lands of the Lothrian Kingdom.

“The name Lothrian will not disappear entirely.”

Garoth finally said, “This land will welcome a new order. As long as Lothrian accepts a new ruler and recognizes its place, it can continue to exist.”

In short: become a vassal of Aola, much like Theo.

Unexpected leniency...

Varesia was surprised; he had expected Aola to swallow Lothrian whole after such a major victory, but the Red Emperor seemed disinclined to do so, at least for now.

Upon reflection, he could roughly understand the Red Emperor’s thinking:

Powerful, intelligent, and patient... to lose to such a dragon monarch was not unjust.

“Thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty.”

Varesia said.

Then Iron Dragon Sorog flew over, showing some interest in Varesia as he examined him closely.

The Red Iron Dragon no longer paid attention to the scene below.

He spread his wings and ascended into the high sky.

From above, the Rhen Plateau battlefield was gradually falling silent; the stench of blood was being swept away by the night wind. Further away lay the lands of the Lothrian Kingdom.

He looked in other directions as well, his gaze sweeping across the territories of various nations.

Soon these places would see a new order.

The entire Romanian Plains would come to echo a single voice.

There might still be trouble and challenges along the way, but no major obstacles remained. His era was slowly beginning to unfold.