svetikya Page 205
Page 205
As the magic network was manipulated and magic power was continuously injected, a colossal magic circle, originally covering the entire Greyclaw Peak, gradually formed beneath the runes. It was not a physical entity, but rather woven from pure magical radiance, presenting a translucent and magnificent spectacle. The circle's edges stretched to the horizon, encompassing all the dragons and humans brought by Casaloz, including the anamorphic dragons, paladins, and high-ranking adventurers. The circle's intricate patterns shimmered with ancient and profound runic light, slowly rotating and radiating powerful energy fluctuations, yet without any destructive aura. At its core, runes not belonging to this world now emitted an unprecedentedly dazzling light, like illuminated stars, guiding the circle's operation.
The next moment, a dazzling light flashed, instantly illuminating the entire sky. The light was so intense that it caused temporary blindness, yet there was no burning sensation. When vision returned, everything within the magic circle, including all the dragons and humans brought by Casalos, had vanished the instant the light shone. Only the flattened Grayclaw Peak remained, empty and silent in the sunlight.
80. Second Level
As the light faded and a brief feeling of weightlessness followed, the allied forces found themselves no longer atop the flattened Grayclaw Peak. In their place lay a frozen wasteland even more extreme than the unnatural cold of the Great Glacier. Howling winds scraped against the dragon scales and the shields erected by the magic ships, producing a harsh, teeth-grinding sound, and the air was filled with the chilling aura of ice crystals.
The allied forces stood atop a towering cliff, their feet resting on frozen rocks. As far as the eye could see, a silvery-white ice field stretched to the horizon, merging seamlessly with the leaden-gray sky. An intense chill instantly assaulted every being, forcing even the fire-elemental dragons to channel the dragon magic within their veins to withstand it.
Looking down, deep within the distant ice plains, a massive and majestic fortress stands prominently. Constructed from ivory-white rock, its towering column-like towers support tiered platforms, resembling colossal trees carved from ivory stone. Its style is completely different from the architecture common among humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, or other humanoid races on the continent of Faerûn, appearing both ancient and magnificent. The biting wind has draped the fortress in thick frost and icicles, making it seem both integrated into this frigid land and yet also incongruous with it.
The central spire of the fortress pierced the leaden sky, with faint, obscure runic light flowing within it, exuding an oppressive aura.
The teleported allied forces quickly dispersed, each checking their surroundings while maintaining combat readiness. High-level spellcasters deployed their senses, attempting to probe the magical fluctuations in this unfamiliar area.
Among the allied forces, the legendary swordsman Tagan Nightwind, the winged elf swordsman who had been invited by Fiona and Agatha and granted permission by Casalos to travel with the half-dragon legion, froze the moment he saw the fortress. His gaze was fixed on it, filled with confusion and a powerful sense of familiarity. His winged elf bloodline throbbed silently, as if some long-dormant memory had been awakened. But he couldn't explain where this familiarity came from…
Casaloz, who was secretly watching Tagan, hovered on the edge of the cliff, gazing silently at the distant fortress. Then he withdrew his gaze, scanned the allied forces present, and finally settled on the winged elves.
"This fortress is called 'Polar Fortress'," the low-frequency voice easily penetrated the howling wind and reached the ears of every member of the allied forces present, "It was built during the Winged Elves' most glorious period, a fortress symbolizing the highest royal power of the Winged Elf Empire. It is also the location of Dragon Mad Lock, and the final resting place of those dragons who fought against Dragon Mad Lock during the Age of Faerûn!"
The coalition forces quickly digested this information. Referring to Casaloz's previous account of history and the detailed intelligence that had been continuously shared, it was clear that the Arctic Bunker was their ultimate strategic objective, namely the location of Dragon Mad Lock and Samass.
This also means that Samasser and all the forces of the Baelin Church that he can mobilize should be concentrated in this fortress.
Furthermore... based on the premise that countless dragons and winged elves have perished here, and the Dragon Cult's expertise in necromancy, it can be concluded that the allied forces are about to face not only Samass, the Dragon Cult, and dragon liches, but also an extremely high probability of countless undead dragons and undead elves!
However, before the coalition forces could even process this astonishing information, a sudden change occurred!
On the towering platforms of the Arctic fortress, gate after gate slowly opened. Immediately afterwards, swarms of creatures carrying an aura of chaos, hatred, betrayal, and destruction surged out of the fortress, filling the sky like swarms of insects bursting from an anthill in summer, darkly flying towards the cliff where the allied forces were located.
As the distance closed, the black dots that made up the blanched water gradually became discernible as silhouettes. They were all some kind of dragon, with long necks and short, thick tails. Their flight silhouettes were roughly swan-like in shape, with no obvious dragon horns on their heads, spines covering their entire backs, and tattered wing membranes. Overall, they looked like severely wounded green dragons.
Casaloz's voice boomed through the air, like an order piercing the biting wind: "Reorganize according to the plan. Priests, mount the dragons. Silver dragons, lead the way. Dragon horde, ascend in formation. Magic ships, retreat the barrier. Ground troops, prepare for airdrop."
The allied forces sprang into action instantly, with Casalosz's rigorous prior training and on-site command playing a crucial role. The entire force functioned like a precisely operating war machine, each member fulfilling their role swiftly and systematically.
The metal dragons took to the air immediately, sweeping over the magic ship one by one. Each dragon extended its claws, grabbed a Dawn Lord priest who was lined up on the deck and stood on the gangplank, and threw him onto its back. The paladins on the back caught him and secured him to the dragon's saddle. Then they took to the air again, stirring up a sky full of ice crystals, and climbed towards the leaden gray sky at top speed.
With a pipe dangling from his lips and his white beard whipping wildly in the wind, Elminster leaped onto the back of an ancient golden dragon with a lightness far beyond his years, muttering, "Hey, I don't want to freeze into an icicle."
Alasdra and the others did not join in the fun. Instead, they mixed in with the paladins and the half-dragon legion on the ship, preparing for the landing operation.
Twenty silver dragons broke away from the ascending main force and headed towards the approaching enemy. Their bodies shone brightly with silver light, and their roars echoed through the frigid air. Powerful wind elements surged from them, resonating with the coldness of the surrounding environment and distorting the climate and wind direction of this airspace.
The biting wind that had originally been blowing from the direction of the polar fortress was now guided by this invisible force, rushing headlong towards the oncoming dragon horde. This slowed their charge, disrupted their flight, and provided the metal dragons with a favorable tailwind advantage. (The last two lines appear to be unrelated and possibly machine-generated text.)
The leaden sky grew even darker, with ice crystals and frost forming vortices in the air currents, enveloping the approaching dragons and further restricting their vision and maneuverability. The temperature continued to drop, and the air condensed into sharp ice crystals in a very short time, forming walls of ice blades as the gale created by the silver dragon howled, continuing to cause impacts.
The attacking unidentified horde of dragons numbered over 300. They emitted piercing roars, and their agility and speed in flight surpassed those of the dragons of the material world—referring to the period before the spread of the Ka-type fixed-wing flight method.
But now, the metal dragon horde has completely taken over the magical environment and energy advantage.
The more detailed appearance of the approaching dragons also appeared in the dragon's eyes. Their emaciated bodies, seemingly withered flesh covered with striped scales composed of black, gray and olive green, long black teeth and claws, ghostly green light flashing in their black eyes, and a seemingly perpetually mocking look on their faces.
"Eternal Punishment Dragon!" Fiona roared, revealing the specific subspecies of the approaching dragon horde.
Exiled to the abyss, in the six realms of Kaseri, the original inhabitants of the multiverse prison, in that dark and desperate cage, there are the most vicious and resentful guards, who are also prisoners.
“Slightly more than expected, but still within Plan A.” Casalos made the assessment, directing the dragon swarm to quickly disperse into small combat units of two to three dragons across an airspace hundreds of kilometers long and wide. Despite being outnumbered, they formed a huge and loose encirclement, much like the battle against the dragon lich and the white dragon swarm.
The Eternal Punishment Dragons are not weak dragons. They likely originated from the Green Dragons and, over a long period of time, were gradually eroded and changed by Kaseri's hatred, which flowed like a deep, slow-moving river, and by the powerful torrent of betrayal, gaining seemingly destructive power.
Their bodies are as large as golden dragons—in most cases, size is the gold standard for measuring their strength.
At the same time, the breath of the Eternal Punisher can still ignore most Noble Field damage that is immune to immunity.
but……
The army of Eternal Punishment Dragons let out a series of chaotic and ear-piercing howls, each setting its own target and scattering in pursuit of the metal dragons. In an instant, it became a chaotic mess, breaking up the formation and disrupting the air currents created by the dragons flying together. Some of the dragons that were crowded together even collided with each other in the imbalance caused by the turbulence.
These pathetic creatures, living in betrayal and resentment, possessed absolutely no tactical skills or teamwork. Driven solely by their sheer numbers and uncontrollable destructive urges, they charged fearlessly towards the scattered allied forces. They opened their gaping maws, spewing forth linear destructive fields, or unleashing spells such as magical prisons, imprisonment spells, labyrinth spells, and Ottiluc's magic-sealing orbs, attempting to tear apart everything in their path.
However, these attacks couldn't even touch the metal dragon.
Aside from their sheer number and enormous size, they pose less of a threat to the metal dragon horde than the white dragons, let alone the dragon liches.
"Dawnbringers, pray with me!" Lady Matthew's voice, amplified by magic, pierced the cold wind, sounding the horn of retaliation.
As the command was given, beams of golden holy light originating from the divine realm descended from the sky, converging in the hands of the devout priests kneeling on one knee atop the dragon's back, condensing into an invisible divine spell that they clenched tightly.
The dragons danced in the air, circling and turning on different trajectories, cutting into the upper hemisphere blind spot of the Eternal Punishment Dragon behind them at the most opportune moment. The priest then threw out the divine spell he held in his hand, as easily as standing on solid ground and hitting a huge fixed target in front of him.
The invisible divine magic poured down on the Eternal Punishment Dragon from all directions like a torrential downpour. The Eternal Punishment Dragon, struck by the magic, had no time to react and quickly turned into a phantom amidst the unstable tremors of the illusion, before disappearing without a trace.
The rules and characteristics of the outer realm endowed the outer realm dragons with great power, but also made them no longer easily accepted by the prime material world.
The dragon horde didn't need to find a way to annihilate these Eternal Punishment Dragons. They only needed to transport the devout priests of the Dawn Lord's Guardian Army, have them prepare small sixth-circle spells like Banishment, and they could easily use the power of the Prime Material Plane itself to send these powerful Outer Realm Dragons back to the world they belonged to.
Because while the rules of the outer realm granted them immense power, they also stripped them of their affinity with arcane magic, rendering them devoid of any arcane abilities.
How can one gain any advantage in the ever-changing and unpredictable world of magical combat by relying solely on those fixed, innate magical abilities?
81. Ground
In the air, a few scattered dragon shadows working in pairs or threes crushed the densely packed horde of Eternal Punishment Dragons into dust. Holy light, arcane magic, and negative energy emanated from the dragons, and the roars of the Eternal Punishment Dragons intertwined with the disappearing phantoms to create a peculiar battle scene.
Despite possessing an overwhelming numerical advantage, and even some individual superiority, the Eternal Punishment Dragon swarm was being eliminated at a visible pace due to their outdated organization, tactics, and ingenious countermeasures. They didn't even have a chance to approach the magic ship's landing area, let alone shoot down a single dragon—in fact, the allied forces didn't inflict any substantial damage on them; the banishment spell merely sent them back to their homeland, Kaserli.
The dragon horde was not attacking the Six Realms; their actual targets in the aerial battles were the dragon worshippers who had summoned the Eternal Punishment Dragon to the Material Plane.
Of course, the battlefield situation might have been different if the priests of the Dawn Lord's Guardian Army hadn't participated. After all, warlocks generally don't learn special attack spells like Banish, which have a narrow range of effects, and there are very few mages in the entire alliance who can change spell slots outside of combat.
The magic popularization program in the cooperation between Deepwater Territory and the Silvermoon Federation is still in its early stages, and the mages trained are far from reaching the level of practical combat skills required for high-level battlefields—however, it is believed that with the opening of the Abyss Battlefield, this situation will soon undergo a fundamental change…
During the aerial battle, under Casalos's orders, the eight magical ships swiftly retreated approximately one kilometer to the rear. Positioned at various bases, they collectively formed a massive magical barrier. This semi-transparent, azure barrier enveloped all the ships, creating a solid aerial defensive stronghold. The cold winds and magic were blocked, and the environment within the barrier was improved to a more suitable level. Medical teams were on standby, and priests and healing mages whose spellcasting levels were insufficient for aerial combat prepared spell scrolls and potions, ready to provide battlefield rest and treatment for any potentially injured dragons or wounded soldiers.
Although no dragons have been injured so far, the existence of this mobile fortress undoubtedly provides the allied forces with strong logistical support and psychological assistance. The lookouts on the ship monitor the battlefield from multiple angles, report the situation to the rear in a timely manner, and prepare various supplies to deal with any emergencies.
Meanwhile, the paladins of Damara and the elite half-dragon legions of Casaloz also began their operations. Dozens of beams of light shot from the bottom of the magic ship, teleporting via psychic energy. The Damara paladins, clad in heavy plate armor and wielding weapons infused with the power of faith, while the strong half-dragon warriors, armed with greatswords or long-handled axes, were "parachuted" in batches onto the icy ground below the cliff, led by their respective commanders.
Gaelos Dragon Nightmare and Eisen landed first on the ice plains, followed by twelve towering half-dragons carrying enormous weapons, and finally three hundred paladins and the half-dragon army, along with Elasdra, Kelburn, Lyra, Razor, and Dorne Greybrook's team, which had already been incorporated into the half-dragon army, as well as Tagan.
As the horns sounded for the charge, the paladins summoned their holy mounts, forming two phalanxes—one on the ground and one in the low air—to advance towards the Arctic fortress, together with the winged half-dragons.
The frigid polar winds howled across the ice plains, swirling up fine ice crystals. As far as the eye could see, all was harsh ice and snow. The polar fortress stood tall at the edge of the ice plains, its silhouette appearing oppressive and immense against the leaden sky. The howling winds whipped up ice chips and snow dust, carrying an ancient lament. Ground troops arrayed themselves across the vast ice plains, their steel and scales gleaming in the dim light, forming a long, black torrent. Their target was the fortress forged from steel and millennia-old ice, but first, they had to traverse this land of death, a burial ground for countless dragons and winged elves.
The paladins' shields and spears formed an impenetrable defensive line. Eisen and the twelve half-dragons at level IV were scattered along the front lines of the half-dragon legion, their massive bodies casting menacing shadows across the icy plains. Their breathing was heavy, their nostrils spewing scorching air. The three members of Dorn Greybrook's team—Pavel Simov, Rain Snow Thief, and Will Whirlstone—were no longer operating as a separate squad. Following Eisen's instructions, under the pretext of "better integrating into the half-dragon legion and becoming a member," they had been dispersed and integrated into various vanguard squads of the half-dragon legion. They had all completed their dragon-walking rituals, initially acquiring the Iron Dragon bloodline, and were undergoing the transformation into half-dragons.
As the allied forces advanced to the heart of the ice plains, the ground began to tremble, and a deep rumble emanated from beneath the ancient ice. The malevolent energy of necromancy permeated the air. Countless remains of dragons and winged elves struggled to break free from the ice; they were no longer ordinary skeletons, but powerful beings imbued with decaying life by necromancy. Ancient dragon skeletons reassembled under the impure magic, and rotting winged elf corpses shook off ice shards, revealing withered faces.
"Advance!" Gaelos's voice echoed across the battlefield, remaining clearly audible even amidst the howling winds and the screams of the undead. He raised his holy sword high, holy light coalescing into a halo around him, dispelling the surrounding deathly aura and causing the undead creatures that approached him to shriek in agony, wisps of black smoke rising from their bodies. The paladin phalanx did not falter in the slightest; they pressed their bodies low, clinging tightly to their mounts, their spears held horizontally, like warships cleaving through the surging tide of the undead.
A colossal skeletal dragon rose from beneath the ice, roaring as it lunged at the paladin phalanx. Its broken spine stretched for tens of meters, its hollow eye sockets flickered with malevolent green flames, and its decaying claws slammed down towards Galos. "You're busy, Lin's not free... Lin's not here..."
Gaelos braced himself, leaping out of the formation. His holy sword traced a golden arc in the air, carrying a power seemingly capable of shattering mountains, as he unleashed a devastating strike that shattered the bone dragon's skull. A deafening roar erupted with a shockwave as the bone dragon's skull crumbled under the combined force of the holy light and the devastating blow. A portion of the blasphemous power dissipated into black smoke. The bone dragon's massive body lurched backward from its momentum, crashing into several charging frost troll undead. However, more bone dragons and undead-winged elves surged in from all directions, their numbers vast and seemingly endless.
The paladins began to tighten their formation, relying on their collective divine radiance and concentrated power to withstand the undead's onslaught. Every swing of their swords, every thrust, was imbued with an unwavering resolve. A paladin's longsword pierced the chest of an undead winged elf, the bones snapping with a sickening crack beneath the blade, ultimately pinning it to the ice. Another paladin's shield slammed into the head of an approaching frost troll undead, producing a dull thud. Half of the troll's skull caved in, and its massive body crashed to the ground.
Eisen's half-dragon legion spread its wings and unfurled above the paladin phalanx, forming a wider line that acted like an iron curtain against the attacks from the air—whether they were bone dragons, winged elves, or even dragon liches mixed among the bone dragons, they could all fly!
The Arcane Transformation III, a fusion of Arcane and Dragon Transformation, made Eisen a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Her shimmering, massive scales reflected a dark luster, exuding an aura of indestructibility. Her enormous body, now larger than humanoid, brimmed with explosive power, muscles bulging beneath her massive dragon-like limbs. She unleashed a deafening roar, shattering several fragile undead-winged elves nearby, reducing them to ice shards and decaying bone dust. She charged forward with such speed that the turbulent currents she created left deep cracks in the snow. Her claws, sharp as forged iron, ripped through the chest of a charging frost giant undead, bones and flesh scattering through the air as half of the giant's body was torn off. Arcane energy flowed around her, forming a pale blue aura that imbued each of her attacks with a devastating impact.
The kobold who had followed Casalos the longest and was Casalos's most trusted follower no longer possessed the rich expressions of a kobold. She simply raised her head slightly, the hot breath exhaled from her nostrils condensing into mist in the air. Unlike her dragon lord, who preferred to resolve battles with magic, she, once a physically weak kobold, was more fascinated by and enjoyed the sense of dominance brought by the pure physical power of a dragon.
Following closely behind Eisen were twelve even more terrifying half-dragons.
Their dragonification was more profound than Eisen's, their sizes far greater, and a restrained yet powerful aura of oppression emanated from them, the nascent dragon's might beginning to manifest. Their claws gleamed with an arcane light visible only to those with arcane vision; this wasn't merely the dragon-slaying power learned from Dorn Greybrook, but rather a sign that their innate weapons, acquired through dragonification, had become magical weapons like those of dragons. A half-dragon roared, charging towards a colossal undead dragon transformed from the remains of an ancient dragon. The undead dragon opened its massive maw, spewing corrosive dragon breath imbued with deathly reeking; wherever it passed, ice melted, hissing and revealing black earth. But the half-dragon didn't dodge, charging headlong into the dragon breath. The corrosive venom landed on its scales but couldn't penetrate the hard, shimmering surface—half-dragons could also advance to the sculpted hide; Casalos's twelve carefully cultivated experimental subjects even possessed weapons that were not yet visible in the light of day, so how could they merely be covered in ordinary dragon scales for defense?
The half-dragon's claws pierced the undead dragon's neck, its five fingers tightening. The dragon-slaying power, like a persistent leech, began to dismantle the undead dragon's death core, causing the already dead dragon to let out a painful roar only the living could utter. Its massive body struggled violently, trying to shake off this clinging enemy, but the half-dragon held on tightly, refusing to let go. Another half-dragon aimed at the bone dragon's shoulder. He swooped down, his massive wings slicing through the bone dragon, causing the undead dragon's bone wings to visibly falter before snapping in two and flying away.
Regardless of the power the bone dragon used to fly, that power still acted on its wings to support its weight. With only one wing remaining, the bone dragon lost its balance and fell, being trampled into dust by the iron hooves of the paladin's sacred mount...
Compared to the twelve half-dragons that have already entered the improved version of Dragon Transformation V, the dragon remains frozen for thousands of years are far too fragile; necromancy is far from sufficient to resurrect them in their full glory. The true threat to ground forces lies with the dragon liches hidden among the dragon skeletons.
82. Open the door
The ground forces' advance was slow and brutal. Every inch of the icy plains was soaked with the blood of allied warriors and the stench of decaying undead. Every step treaded upon mountains of undead remains, producing a cracking sound that seemed to tell the story of the land's past tragedy. However, the real threat was not the numerous but relatively weak bone dragons and undead-winged elves, but rather the dragon liches driven by desecrated magic hidden deep within the undead army, and the purple-robed wizards scattered throughout the battlefield, like malignant tumors constantly creating new threats.
The members of Dorne Greybrook's team were scattered and mixed into various corners of this blood-grinding battlefield, displaying a unique resilience and "good luck." Their presence seemed to bring a faint sense of protection to the surrounding half-dragon warriors, which was one of Casalos's purposes in dispersing them—to invisibly radiate that unknown divine blessing throughout the entire half-dragon legion, although no one knew about it.
Pavel Simov, wielding a mace infused with holy light, was part of a half-dragon squad locked in combat with an undead formed from an ancient frost giant. The massive frost giant wielded a giant axe made of solidified ice, each swing accompanied by a heavy, whistling sound. Pavel calmly parried, his mace slamming into the giant's knee, holy light exploding against its bones with a hissing sound. The undead giant's movements faltered briefly. Just then, a shadow descended from the sky—a dragon-worshipping cultist in purple robes, riding a smaller bone dragon, swooped down, its hand bones gleaming with death energy, unleashing a black magic projectile straight at Pavel. Pavel had no time to dodge and could only parry. However, just before the projectile struck his armor, it suddenly veered off course, grazing his shoulder armor and striking a winged undead elf behind him, utterly destroying it. Pavel's body stiffened slightly, then his muscles tensed, and without hesitation, he smashed the mace in his hand into the stiff frost giant before him, shattering its skull. He panted, refocusing his attention on the battle, not dwelling on the momentary lapse, but subconsciously concluding that he was lucky enough.
Raine Stealing Snow's half-dragon squad was being besieged by a group of frost trolls enhanced by necromancy. These trolls had a ghastly green skin and swung their claws furiously. Raine moved swiftly, his harpoon precisely piercing the chest of a frost troll undead, destroying its control core. However, a frost spear, unleashed by a cult of dragons, carrying immense force, was hurtling towards his back. Raine instinctively ducked, but the spear was incredibly fast. At the last second, a piece of ice beneath his feet suddenly cracked, causing him to plummet downwards, narrowly avoiding the fatal attack. The frost spear grazed his helmet, embedding itself in a massive ice rock behind him with a loud thud. Raine rolled with the momentum, his battle axe already cleaving through the leg of another frost troll undead. He steadied himself again, glancing at the broken ice floe. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but he quickly turned his attention to his next target. His breathing was steady, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but he didn't stop what he was doing; he was used to these near-death experiences.
Will Whirlstone, a halfling wanderer, used his small stature, under the cover of half-dragon warriors, to nimbly weave along the edge of the battlefield, searching for traces of the Dragon Cult spellcasters. His slingshot whistled through the air, each pebble striking its target with pinpoint accuracy. He spotted a purple-robed wizard hiding behind a massive skeleton dragon's remains, channeling a powerful mass undead resurrection spell, attempting to awaken the undead deep within the icy plains. Will charged forward, dodging a necromantic breath attack, and swiftly slipped through the gaps in the skeleton's remains. The wizard only had time to cry out in surprise before Will's slingshot lashed out, a pebble carrying immense kinetic energy striking the wizard's spellcasting material with deadly precision, shattering it instantly. The wizard's spell was interrupted, and he let out an angry scream. However, beside the wizard, a polar dwarf undead enhanced by necromancy swung its massive double axes, hacking fiercely at Will. The twin axes whistled through the air, forming a deadly cross attack. Will was thrown backward, the axes slicing just short of his chest. Just as he was about to lose his balance, a protruding ice slab on the ground caught him, allowing him to twist and avoid the subsequent sweeping blow. He swiftly counterattacked, his dagger flashing through the air, precisely piercing the polar dwarf undead's head, severing its connection to necromancy. Will's chest heaved violently as he quickly rewound the slingshot, his eyes sharp as he searched for his next target. His facial muscles were tense, devoid of any extra expression; he knew this "good luck" might save his life at a crucial moment.
The real main force for the attack was the spellcaster array protected by the paladins in the center of the formation.
The comical appearance of the obese merchant, Tooth-Shaving, contrasted absurdly with the destructive spells he unleashed. This dragon, whether out of cunning or a deliberate attempt to surprise Samass, maintained its human form, clad in the ornate attire of the old Waterdeep aristocracy, its obese body adorned with jingling jewels, as if it had just arrived from a wealthy merchant's banquet. Yet, this very comical appearance unleashed the most potent suppressive firepower of the entire event. He chanted no incantations, produced no materials; with a casual wave of his obese hands, spells that would normally require complex preparation were unleashed like machine guns, imbued with supermagic power. Huge fireballs, strung together like candied hawthorns at his fingertips, exploded among the undead, evaporating hundreds, then miraculously returned to him, replenishing their energy before surging forth again.
His casting speed was so fast that even Elminster was exasperated. As time passed, the cascading fireballs piled up, transforming him into a mobile magical artillery turret. Wherever his firepower covered, undead creatures were wiped out, providing the ground troops with the most direct and efficient route of advance. (You're busy, you're not here...)
If an ordinary archmage were to cast spells like him, he would be drained of magic and forced to rest within minutes. But Razor had devoured countless fanged dragons of enemy attributes, and this unrestrained outpouring of spells was the true way to unleash the vast magical power of dragons. This made him the core suppressive firepower of the Allied Forces' ground advance, and only a few people, such as Elasdra and Kelburn, knew his true identity and kept it a secret.
Of course, Elasdra, Kelben, Lyra, and other chosen ones representing the previous generation of the Goddess of Magic were not to be outdone. At this moment, they formed a formation similar to that of high elves in synchronized spellcasting behind the ground troops, merging their magic into one and focusing it on the high-ranking undead and powerful Dragon Cult spellcasters, using devastating magic to eliminate those targets that posed the greatest threat to the legion.
Elasdra, clad in a simple silver robe, her hair swaying slightly in the surge of arcane energy, possessed a serene countenance, radiating an extraordinary restraint and gentleness. Yet, her spellcasting carried a devastating power. An ice spear, conjured from necromancy, hurtled towards her, but within a nearly transparent layer of magical aura surrounding her, it vanished before it could even touch her, dissolving into harmless ice shards. This was the effect of her skillful combination of "Settan Magic Immunity" and "Magic Stabilization." Against low-level magical attacks, she needed neither to dodge nor defend; those spells aimed at her were like water thrown into a bottomless abyss, utterly ineffective. She raised her hand, and a bizarre spell combining "Acid Mist" and "Burning Clouds" erupted from the undead horde ahead. The scorching flames catalyzed the corrosive acid mist, which in turn fueled the flames, incinerating large swathes of undead creatures. Even a few dragon liches hiding among them were caught in the flames, their shrill roars echoing as their skeletons twisted and turned to charred remains. This was a special ability bestowed upon her by Mystra; the spells were etched deep into her mind, regenerating automatically after 24 hours. Her presence was like a banner on the battlefield, inspiring every Allied warrior who witnessed her casting a spell.
Kelben "Black Staff" Orosan, this outwardly serious and imposing archmage, stood over 1.83 meters tall, clad in black robes, and wielding his signature black staff. His face was covered by a thick, black-and-white beard, and his eyes shone with the sharpness and wisdom characteristic of a mage. He rarely spoke, but possessed unparalleled power. A thick disintegration ray shot from the hand of a high-ranking undead spellcaster, heading straight for Kelben. However, Kelben merely snorted dismissively, lightly tapping his black staff, and the ray shattered as if hitting an invisible barrier, disintegrating into scattering ice crystals.
With a swing of his black staff, he unleashed a "chain of lightning." Thick, silvery-white electric snakes, as if possessing intelligence, leaped past the bone dragons and winged elf undead, precisely darting between dozens of dragon liches. The struck dragon liches hissed in agony from the electric current. While they were immune to the paralyzing effects of ordinary lightning, Kelben's chain of lightning was not arcane magic in the traditional sense, but rather a more mysterious power bestowed upon him by Mystra, much like the lightning punishment wielded by the celestial priests of the Karatul continent—possessing a radiant, exorcising power and a "true damage" closer to the core of magic.
The dragon lich that was hit seemed to be draped in the electric shock effects of a cartoon. Under the dazzling silver light, the dark skeletal silhouette was revealed, its eight limbs outstretched and trembling. It was not until the lightning jumped to other targets that it was able to break free of its restraint. Then it fell to the ground in black smoke. Some of the weaker ones were even shattered directly.
Just then, the shattered remains of a dragon lich unleashed a blasphemous explosion, hurtling towards Kelben. The flying bone fragments tore through his robes, leaving several bloody wounds on his skin. However, the wounds closed instantly upon contact, their edges shimmering with silver flames—the power of the silver fire within him, granting him regenerative abilities comparable to a vampire. He indifferently glanced at the fallen dragon liches, his gaze icy, and casually conjured several more force field walls, trapping them in place, awaiting the ground troops' harvest.
Lyra Silverhands was slightly smaller than Elasdra, dressed in simple ranger attire with a leather armor over it. Her movements possessed an agility and nimbleness incongruous with her mage status. She carried no staff, yet her gaze was incredibly sharp. Initially, she didn't unleash her full power, instead relying on her ranger experience to roam the edge of the battlefield, searching for weaknesses in the enemy spellcasters. Several Dragon Cult wizards attempted to cast mind control spells from afar, intending to manipulate the allied forces' lower-ranking soldiers. However, these spells, upon reaching Lyra, seemed to hit an invisible wall, dissipating or backfiring on the casters, causing them to howl in pain. This was the effect of the mind-control-resistant magical artifacts she had created. When she realized the enemy's intentions, Lyra's form suddenly shifted. As if shedding her disguise, her ranger attire was instantly replaced by a magnificent mage's robe, faintly glowing with magical light. With a wave of her hand, a massive "ice storm" erupted before her, the violent ice crystals and icy winds freezing several frost troll undead in place before shattering them with a deafening roar. She didn't like to display her strength in front of others, but when the battle demanded it, she would not hesitate to unleash her true power as a level 25 or even close to level 26 mage—that power that had once been underestimated—now transformed into the deadliest frost and fire on the battlefield.
Tagan Nightwind was currently fighting alongside the paladins, his runic sword reaping the lives of the undead with each swing. The blade, glowing with a faint holy light, easily sliced through the decaying bodies of the dead, turning them into ice shards and black smoke. However, his heart was far less resolute than his sword; he was currently undergoing a fierce internal struggle. As a descendant of the winged elves, he had just witnessed the magnificence of the Arctic Fortress and felt a surge of pride in his ancestors' glorious civilization, filled with reverence for those forefathers who had built such a magnificent civilization with intricate magic. But this pride was immediately overshadowed by heavy questions. In ancient times, it was the winged elves who built the Dragonmaze Lock, ending the age of dragons and allowing those once-dominant dragons to personally destroy their empire and civilization. And now, he was standing shoulder to shoulder with these descendants of dragons, attempting to destroy the Lock controlled by the Dragon Cult—undoubtedly a betrayal of his ancestors' legacy, a desecration of their lost glory.
The Arctic Fortress, once the core of power for the winged elves and the pinnacle of their civilization and magic, is now corrupted by evil, becoming the lair of the Dragon Cult, filled with death and blasphemy. He could feel the evil power surging deep within the fortress, a stark contrast to the ancient energy flowing in his blood. The dragons' goal was to destroy the Locked Gate and liberate their imprisoned brethren; they were the side of justice, fighting for freedom, fighting for life. But how would his bloodline, his ancestors, view all this? Would the heroic spirits of the winged elves who sacrificed themselves to break the dragons' rule feel resentment and anger? He knew not what mission he bore, nor was he aware of the special ability hidden within him.
He was merely a legendary swordsman, struggling to find his true inner direction in this bloody grinder. His sword chants became somewhat intermittent, each strike accompanied by an inner turmoil.
As he watched valiant paladins fall one by one in the tide of the undead, as those warriors who had sworn to protect good and justice were swallowed by the cold aura of death and reduced to decaying remains, a deeper pain and rage welled up within him. Those undead had no feelings, no thoughts; they were merely empty shells driven by evil forces. The Cult of Dragons was using the remnants of life on this land to create endless death. The glory of the Winged Elves had long been buried in the dust, their legacy tainted by evil. Now, only the banner of the Allied Forces truly represented the living and hope, the struggle against evil. His sword swung with increasing resolve. His inner turmoil over his racial identity began to be replaced by a growing pursuit of good and justice. He chose to stand with the living, with the light. He even began to feel that if the legacy of his ancestors was being exploited by evil, then destroying it might be the greatest solace for their souls. He, Tagan Nightwind, is no longer merely a descendant of the Winged Elves; he is a warrior fighting for a greater justice.
After a long and bloody battle, the undead army on the icy plains finally began to crumble under the overwhelming offensive of the allied forces. The paladins' iron hooves shattered the undead's defenses, crushing those still standing into fragments, leaving only countless broken bones and rotting flesh on the ground. The half-dragon legion's charge tore the remaining undead creatures to shreds, leaving only a devastated landscape of undead carcasses on the icy plains. Galos Dragon Nightmare's holy sword was stained with countless fragments of undead bone and rotting flesh, yet he remained vigilant, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield, confirming no threat had been overlooked. His breathing was deep and powerful, his chest heaving, but his eyes remained resolute.
Eisen and the twelve half-dragons landed amidst the corpses of undead dragons and frost trolls. Their scales were covered with the marks of battle, and in some places, flesh and blood were even exposed, but they did not care and their auras remained strong.
Under the combined attack of the allied forces, the wizards and dragon liches of the Dragon Worship Cult could only let out desperate roars and were completely wiped out.
By this time, the battle on the ice field was nearing its end, and Tagan Nightwind's inner struggle had also come to a close. The muscles in his arms trembled slightly, and the muscles in his face were pale from extreme focus, but a trace of determination shone through his tired face.
Although he himself was completely unaware of this ability, when his faith and will converged with the expectations of the allied forces to their peak, an ancient resonance originating from the depths of his winged elf bloodline was finally triggered by some invisible force. The sturdy barrier enveloping the polar fortress quietly opened a crack, and icy blue light shone through the crack, clearly revealing the passage leading to the interior of the fortress, like a newly formed scar tearing a gap in the solid fortress.
"The passage is open! All troops, heed my command! Charge into the fortress!" Gaelos's voice echoed across the battlefield once more, carrying the unquestionable majesty of a Damara king. His holy sword pointed towards the rift. The ground forces, like receding waves, swiftly converged, then surged forth like a bursting dam, carrying an unstoppable, overwhelming force towards the newly formed fissure. A chilling wind howled from the passage, carrying new death and new unknowns, but the allied warriors were fearless.
83. Devastatingly powerful
Gallos shouted slogans loudly, but he wasn't stupid and didn't order his ground troops to recklessly plunge into danger. "You Yongmei, you're busy, you Lin Zaizai, aren't you here..."
After leading his troops to the barrier, he raised his holy sword, signaling them to halt and establish a tight defensive line around the rift. The paladins of Damara brought their shields together and pointed their spears diagonally, forming an impenetrable wall of steel; the half-dragon legion, meanwhile, erected a temporary defensive barrier behind them, preparing for a possible counterattack. They stood ready, waiting for the aerial battle to completely end.
In the air, the fierce roars of the Eternal Punishment dragons had weakened. The dragon breath of the metal dragons, combined seamlessly with the banishment spell of the Dawn Lord priest, sent the last batch of Eternal Punishment dragons back to Kaseri. The holy fire of the gold dragons, the frost of the silver dragons, and the lightning of the bronze dragons intertwined to form a curtain of light, clearing away the shadows in the sky. The afterimages of the Eternal Punishment dragons vanished in the holy light of the banishment spell, and the leaden sky cleared again, leaving only the roars of the metal dragons echoing in the cold wind. The battle was over. The metal dragons circled once, confirming that no enemy had escaped, and then glided down to rendezvous with the ground troops.
"The ice plains are still shrouded in the power of blasphemy, and safe terrain is limited. We will first transform into humanoid races and rendezvous with the ground forces. As for the brass dragons and copper dragons..." Casalos paused slightly, "The responsibility of protecting the skies is entrusted to you."
The gold, silver, bronze, and iron dragons responded swiftly, lifting the paladins and priests from their backs to the ground. Their massive bodies instantly shrank in magical light, transforming into humanoid forms. Tamarand became a blonde human warrior, clad in heavy armor and wielding a longsword; Hevilan transformed into a silver-haired elf woman, a scimitar hanging at her waist; Uriel molded himself into a tall, slender half-elf, holding a lightning-struck spear… The other dragons also displayed their unique abilities, mostly choosing to transform into human adventurers or elven mages, while a few opted for half-human forms, nimbly traversing the ice.
The brass and copper dragons let out discontented growls. Unable to transform into humanoid forms, they could only hover on the periphery, their tails whipping up gusts of cold wind as they expressed their dissatisfaction at being unable to participate in the core battle.
“The barrier rift has opened, but rushing in recklessly is suicide.” Casalos glanced at Tagan Nightwind in the army, knowing full well that this barrier rift was inextricably linked to the winged elf, though he was completely unaware of it—it was all part of the plan.
Elminster, pipe in mouth, leaped from the back of an ancient golden dragon, landing lightly, his beard trembling slightly in the cold wind. "Alright, Casalos, you're right. Rushing in recklessly, we'd probably suffocate under that barrier." He narrowed his eyes, a wisp of smoke rising from his pipe, pointing towards the faint blue light barrier above the Arctic fortress. "That barrier isn't ordinary; Samasser has definitely hidden something sinister inside."
“The fluctuations in the magic network here are extremely unstable, as if it has been forcibly distorted by some external force. Entering rashly may trigger unknown defense mechanisms,” Elasdra added.
Kelburn snorted coldly, tapping his black staff lightly on the ice. The arcane gem at the tip of the staff flashed with a dark light, but he didn't say anything more.
"So, shall we dismantle this barrier?" Leila spoke on behalf of her lover.
“Dismantling a barrier directly is no small feat; the winged elves’ magical prowess is no less than that of any elven empire. We might need to coordinate an attack from within.” Casalos glanced at Ilminster, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Old man, aren’t you best at this kind of sneaky work?”
Elminster snorted, his pipe dangling from his lips. "Sneaking around? Humph, this is a strategic infiltration." He turned back to Casalos, a smile playing on his lips. "It's time we old folks settled accounts with Samass!"
“Bring the Shaving Tooth,” Casalos shrugged nonchalantly. He'd brought these harp masters here precisely to confront Samaster—ultimately, Samaster was in this predicament because of these guys and their unreliable goddess. Of course, Casalos’s goal was for them to kill Samaster, not to die: “And Gaelos, Sister Martha, and preferably a few more paladins…”
Upon hearing this, Toothshaker rubbed his nose, revealing an exaggeratedly pained expression. "Me again? Casalos, are you sending me to my death?" His tone was half-serious, but his fingers were already gripping a spell scroll in his sleeve, ready to act at any moment.