svetikya Page 203
Page 203
"Too late." Shaving, still in human form, spoke in a low voice. He walked to a corpse, a young soldier, probably not even twenty years old.
Elasdra examined the scene, her keen senses allowing her to decipher the remaining magical markings: "An ice-based instant-death spell, traces of a ninth-ringed Ice Tomb. This must have been the work of a frost giant warlock, and a legendary one at that."
"The guerrillas tried to defend it," Razor said, pointing to the location of the corpses. The warriors' positions were highly disciplined, clearly a trained defensive formation. "They formed a defensive circle to buy time for the Bronze Dragon. But reality..."
"They are just ordinary people. Courage is often powerless in the face of a legendary mage," Elasdra sighed.
She walked towards the bronze dragon and gently closed its eyes: "Rest in peace, warrior."
Razor's fists clenched, knuckles cracking: "Where is that damned warlock?"
"There are lingering traces of teleportation in the northwest direction." Elasdra sensed for a moment, "He just used teleportation to leave, no more than ten minutes ago. However, the teleportation traces have been deliberately concealed... Wait a minute."
She closed her eyes, her senses sharpening: "There are some clues. He was too confident and didn't cover it up thoroughly enough. I can pinpoint his approximate location."
"Enough," the voice of the man who had been shaving his teeth was as cold as the north wind. "Take me there."
Elasdra glanced at him: "You know he's a legendary spellcaster."
"So what?" Shaving Tooth retorted. "He killed a dragon and slaughtered these brave warriors." Elasdra stopped trying to dissuade him.
"Advanced Teleportation," she whispered the incantation, and magical light enveloped the two of them.
Space distorted, and the next moment, the two appeared in a dense forest.
Not far away, a group was resting. A massive frost giant sat in the center of the makeshift camp, dressed in magnificent robes and holding a staff made entirely of ice. He was surrounded by more than thirty elite frost trolls and two ordinary frost giant guards.
"...That stupid dragon's expression was absolutely brilliant." The frost giant warlock smugly remarked, his words brimming with arrogance. "It actually thought it could escape. Those humans were even more foolish, trying to protect a dragon, hahaha!"
"Lord Sakast is invincible!" a frost troll quickly echoed. "The expressions on those humans' faces before they died must have been quite a sight!"
"Truly spectacular." The Frost Giant Warlock, Zarkaster, laughed heartily. "Especially that little girl who led the retreat, shouting 'Cover the retreat!' until her dying breath. Retreat? Where could they retreat to? Before my magic, they were nothing but—"
"Stagnation."
A calm voice suddenly rang out.
The Nine Rings spell was unleashed instantly, with gray ripples spreading out from the center of the Razor Fang, completely freezing space and time within a radius of 100 meters.
In this still world, everything is frozen in time. The frost giant warlock remains in his laughing posture, the guards are rooted to the spot, and the snowflakes falling from the sky are suspended in place.
Only shaving his teeth allows him to move.
He walked slowly up to the frost giant warlock and carefully examined the smug face.
"Sarkaster," he murmured to himself, "a legendary warlock, one of the three great spellcasters under the Ice Queen."
Razor stretched out his hand and drew runes in the air. Not one or two, but dozens. Each rune represented a lethal spell.
"Affliction." He pressed the first rune onto Sarkaster's forehead.
"Disintegration." The second rune was imprinted on the chest.
"Implosion." The third one.
"Sonic boom shattering." The fourth one.
"The Death Spell." The fifth one.
……
As time was about to end, Sarkaster had been hit by forty-seven deadly or high-damage spells.
"Still not enough." He shaved off a few more teeth. "He shouldn't have died so easily."
The moment the last rune fell, time resumed its normal flow.
Saccharst's smile vanished abruptly. He sensed something was wrong, but it was too late.
boom!
All spells take effect simultaneously.
Zakast didn't even have time to scream. His body experienced forty-seven different ways of dying in an instant—disintegration, tearing apart, implosion, pulverization, corrosion…
This is not a simple death, but utter annihilation. The body, the soul, and even the traces of existence are completely erased.
The other frost giants and frost trolls watched in horror as their leader vanished into thin air, before discovering Razorfang hovering in mid-air.
"It's your turn." The voice of the Archmage Fanglong was cold and ruthless.
What followed was not a battle, but a one-sided massacre.
"Mass paralysis." Shaving Tooth didn't even bother to expend a high-level spell.
A sixth-circle spell enveloped the entire area, instantly rendering all enemies unable to move.
Then came precise single-target spells to eliminate the enemies one by one. Each spell was timed perfectly, ensuring a kill while avoiding wasting mana.
"Magic Missile." For ordinary frost trolls, enhanced low-level spells are sufficient.
"Lightning Bolt." He chose a more powerful spell for the elite.
"Fireball." The two ordinary frost giants then finished them off with flames.
There was no pity, no hesitation, not even anger. Shaving Teeth was like a precise spellcasting machine, calmly carrying out the killing.
When Elasdra arrived, he found a pile of corpses and the expressionless Tooth-Shaving.
"Is it resolved?" she asked.
Shaving nodded slightly, waving away imaginary dust from his hands: "It's resolved. But the dragon can't be saved."
"The same goes for those guerrillas," Elastra added.
"Yes," the voice softened slightly, "they are all heroes."
The two stood amidst the corpses scattered on the ground, remaining silent for a long time.
The cruelty of war is evident. Even with an advantage and all-out rescue efforts, sacrifices are still unavoidable.
"Go back," Elasroz concluded. "Report to Casalos. The other rescue efforts are ongoing."
Shaving his teeth, he nodded, glanced at the corpse, and said, "Inform the Sosar people that Sakast is dead. At least let the victim's family know that revenge has been taken."
"Yes, I will," Elasro promised.
The two cast a spell and left, and the canyon behind them returned to silence.
Snowflakes fall, quickly burying all traces. But those sacrifices will not be forgotten—whether of dragons or humans.
They are all heroes of this war. Even if no one remembers their names, their courage and sacrifice have become part of history.
The war continues.
77. The Ice Queen's Fortress
Casalos slowly adjusted his flight attitude to better withstand the high-altitude airflow. The dragon horde behind him maintained a loose yet orderly formation, a stark contrast to their earlier excited and restless arrival.
The return journey was unusually quiet. You sing of the forest, I sing of the forest, the forest is empty, the forest is here...
Salomes kept his mouth tightly shut, a miracle for such a talkative brass dragon. The two remaining paladins on his back bowed their heads in prayer, and occasionally, faint sobs could be heard from the saddle. Normally, he loved to tell stories of all sorts of things he had seen and heard during flight, from gossip about Waterdeep to legends of the desert, and could go on for hours without repeating himself. But now, he seemed to be under a spell of silence, even his breathing was deliberately slowed down.
Chaturio also calmed down, as if the mischievous nature typical of copper dragons had been frozen. It maintained its standard flight posture, without any fancy rolls or feigned crashes. Last time it flew from the Lead Mountains to Damara, it played dead at least seven times, each time startling the surrounding dragons into screaming. Now, however, it was well-behaved, not daring to deviate from its course by even half a meter.
What surprised Casalos most was another bronze dragon, Mitchell. This creature usually liked to suddenly change altitude while flying, creating air currents to disrupt the dragons behind it. But now it followed steadily behind Chaturio, not even daring to flick its tail. There was no one on its back—all three paladins had given their lives to fulfill their mission.
The golden dragons maintained their majestic posture, but subtle movements betrayed their inner turmoil. Tamarand's tentacles trembled occasionally, and a murky glint of emotion flickered in her molten golden eyes. Serancia's tail hung stiffly, occasionally twitching involuntarily, creating small ripples before immediately stopping. Bryant Scavitar's flight rhythm became slightly erratic, clearly an effort to control his emotions.
The younger golden dragons were even more noticeable. One of the young golden dragons from the Dracol family—Cassaloz remembered it as Oris—flew erratically, rising and falling. Whenever it realized it had strayed from the formation, it would jerkly adjust, the membranes supporting the airflow making a sharp snap. Another ancient golden dragon, on the other hand, was completely the opposite, stiff as if frozen, even its normal gliding movements resembling a kite drifting in the wind, utterly lacking the golden dragon's supposedly most elegant flight posture.
The Claws of Justice, led by Hevilan, appeared highly professional. The silver dragons maintained a textbook formation, their spacing precise to the meter. However, this excessive precision seemed amiss. While the Claws of Justice were usually disciplined, they wouldn't be so mechanical. Azak flew to Hevilan's right rear, a position that should have been occupied by another bronze dragon.
Moonwing and Morningstar flew side by side. The two silver dragons usually got along well, often touching each other with their wingtips during flight. But now they maintained a standard two-meter distance, as if there was an invisible wall between them. Sephira kept adjusting his breathing rhythm, trying to make himself look normal, but the more he tried, the more unnatural he appeared.
The atmosphere among the bronze dragonflight was even more oppressive. Their losses were second only to the annihilation of the white dragonflight. Uriel's lightning had completely died out, which was highly unusual for bronze dragons. Normally, there would be tiny arcs of electricity flickering between the horns of bronze dragons, a natural manifestation of the lightning element within them. Now, however, they were dull and lifeless, like rusted copper.
Worasega's condition was even more worrying. The Holy Watcher's translucent body had developed visible cracks, like shattered glass. This indicated that one of its beliefs had wavered.
"Hold on," a paladin on the back of the bronze dragon behind the Watcher whispered. "We're almost there."
Volasega did not respond, but mechanically maintained flight.
The bronze dragons of Inbutu fared slightly better, having undergone more systematic training. But the empty saddles were still glaringly obvious. Six bronze dragons had lost their riders, and two more had vanished into the depths of the icy plains, dragon and rider alike. The survivors maintained a tight formation, as if that would make them feel safer.
The brass dragons began to diverge in their behavior. Some, like Salomes, remained completely silent, while others began to whisper among themselves, but deliberately avoided discussing the battle itself.
"Do you see that ice field?" an old brass dragon tried to lighten the mood. "Doesn't it look like a dog lying down?"
No dragon responded to it.
“I mean, if you look at it from this angle…” it continued, its voice growing softer and softer until it finally shut up.
The other brass dragon—Cassolos remembers its name was Jasper—kept counting: “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…”
"What are you counting?" his companion couldn't help but ask.
“The number of heartbeats,” Jasper answered mechanically, “from takeoff. The number that keeps me from thinking about anything else.”
The bronze dragons were also divided into two factions. One was the completely silent faction, represented by Chaturio and Mitchell, and the other was the "pretending to be normal" faction, consisting of a few young bronze dragons. The latter tried to joke as usual, but the jokes were stiff and the laughter was forced.
"Hey, have you heard?" A bronze dragon forced a smile. "The White Dragon Ice Hockey Team was wiped out. It looks like this year's Dragon Clan Ice Hockey League will have to be canceled."
The other person chuckled in agreement: "Yeah, what a pity. I even bet on them to win."
This awkward conversation lasted for a few minutes before stopping. Even the bronze dragon realized that now was not the time for pranks.
Klaus, Amuris, and Elvia, the three chromatic dragons, maintained their usual indifference. Amuris's astral construct flickered occasionally; this ancient blue dragon was checking its systems to ensure no hidden dangers remained from the battle. As for the dead white dragons, those fools deserved to die. Elvia harbored somewhat complicated feelings for her fellow white dragons, but the white dragons easily suppressed these subtle emotions stemming from empathy. The weak are eliminated; it's the law of nature.
As for Roaring Howl... the Ancient Red Dragon continued to glide lazily, occasionally adjusting its angle to ascend using the thermals. It had no interest in the metal dragons' sorrow, even finding it somewhat laughable. It believed that war meant the death of dragons, and that making a fuss was pointless. However, the fact that this thought was also present in its own mind made Casalos feel a little strange.
The communication crystal vibrated.
"Dragon Lord." It was Eisen's voice, the half-dragon warlock's tone respectful and devout, with obvious worship, "The Ice Queen's castle has been breached, and Iraqi has been captured."
"What are the casualties?"
"The Half-Dragon Legion suffered three dead and seventeen seriously wounded," Eisen quickly reported. "The Damara Paladin Legion suffered eighty-four dead and one hundred and thirty-one seriously wounded. The Dawn Guard suffered one hundred and three hundred and one hundred and fifty-six seriously wounded."
The numbers were within expectations, Casalos quickly calculated in his mind. Gaelos's decision to insist on rescuing the hostages received unanimous support from the gold dragons, with Hevilan stating directly, "The Claws of Justice will never turn a blind eye to the suffering of the innocent." Even the usually pragmatic Tamarand sided with morality. The bronze dragons, needless to say, were eager to rush in and rescue the hostages themselves.
Faced with this situation, Casalos had no choice but to respect his ally's decision. He would let the humans of the good side bear the consequences of their moral choice, while his half-dragon legion would provide technical support.
"Understood," it announced on the public channel. "Iraqlai has been captured. Everyone speed up and get to the rest area as soon as possible."
"Captured?" Havilland's voice was filled with doubt. "She surrendered?"
“It seems so,” Casalos replied. “We’ll discuss the specifics when we get there.”
The dragon horde began to accelerate. Even exhausted and sorrowful, the mission must continue.
Half an hour later, the Norfralon Mountains came into view. This massive mountain range, stretching for thousands of kilometers, resembled the spine of the earth, with countless peaks rising and falling in a jagged pattern. Each mountain had its own name, but finding a specific one within such a vast range was like finding a needle in a haystack. The local landowner, the Ice King Palotanthal, certainly knew something, but it had long since chosen to slumber to avoid the dragon's wrath. Tamarand remained silent, and Casalos, having little connection with it, refrained from disturbing the former King of Justice.
The Ice Queen's castle sits in a wide valley. Damara's banner has been raised atop the castle walls, and paladins patrol the ramparts. Outside the castle, large numbers of rescued civilians are receiving treatment and resettlement.
Casalos landed first. His massive body created a deep crater in the snow, and before the dust it kicked up had settled, Eisen strode over. But she stopped ten meters away and respectfully knelt on one knee.
"Dragon Lord." Her tail trembled slightly, a sign of excitement, but it was quickly suppressed.
"Get up," Casalos transformed. "Take me to Iraqlai."
“Yes, ma’am.” Eisen immediately stood up and led the way.
Other dragons descended one after another. Tamarand transformed and followed immediately, followed by Hevilan, Uriel, and other key members. However, the brass dragon and copper dragon, who usually loved to join in the fun, did not follow this time.
Iraqi was trapped within layers of barriers. The once invincible Ice Queen was now somewhat disheveled; her magnificent robes were burned and torn, and her face, seemingly sculpted by ice, was filled with weariness. Yet, her eyes remained sharp and sinister.
Gaelos stood outside the cell, the Holy Sword held horizontally in front of him. Sister Martha maintained the divine seal beside him.
“You’ve all arrived.” Galos gave a weary smile. “She requests to see all the responsible parties.”
"Why did you surrender?" Casalos asked bluntly.
Iraqlai slowly raised his head, his icy blue eyes sweeping over the crowd: "Because Qislindo is dead."
This answer surprised everyone present.
"How did you know?" Haiweilan frowned.
"I am the High Priest of the Lord of Winter!" Iraqlai sneered. "Although I cannot defeat so many dragons, I can still see some things from afar. Just an hour ago, I confirmed the death of Qislindor."
Her gaze shifted to Casalos: "Congratulations, Iron Dragon. To be able to kill a demigod lich, you are stronger than I imagined."
"What does this have to do with your surrender?" Tamarand interjected.
“Of course it’s related.” Iraqlai’s smile grew even colder. “Qislindo is dead, and Samass will not come to my rescue. Continuing to resist will only lead to our deaths. I’m not as foolish as those dragon liches.”