Ember Dragon Novel Chapter 579: The Holy Alliance

Chapter 579: Chapter 579: The Holy Alliance

Chapter 579: The Holy Alliance

The dwarf king spread his arms and called out warmly, "Hahaha, co up, honored guests from afar—you’ve arrived just in ti!"

A small door just tall enough for a dwarf opened in Avenderdan’s wall, and the elves bent down to enter.

The pegasi and unicorns took to the skies with the aid of magic, circling before landing atop the ramparts.

Before long, Rhea led the elves onto Avenderdan’s wall.

The dwarf king approached, extending his rough, still bloodstained hand, apparently intending a friendly handshake.

"I am Edd Kraine, Lord of the Highland Kingdom. Please convey my greetings to your queen."

The half-elf hesitated but did not extend her hand. She rely gave a small bow, her gaze lowered.

"Greetings, King Edd. I am Rhea Nairo, General of the Silvermoon Followers and the commander appointed by Her Majesty Isilene for this mission."

Behind her, the tall and graceful moon elves also bowed in unison to the shield dwarves’ sovereign.

"Ah, very good."

Edd awkwardly withdrew his hand and mimicked the elven bow.

Aside from sharing a common enemy in the orcs, dwarves and elves were not easy allies.

Dwarves viewed elves as arrogant and pretentious, while elves found dwarves crude, stubborn, and rude. Though clashes had occurred, they never escalated to war.

But now, with Avenderdan under an unprecedented orc invasion, such details no longer mattered.

The dwarf king laughed heartily: "Hahaha, so you’re the fad ’Twilight Blade’.

I’ve heard of you—you slew a red dragon alone in the north, defeated a spawn of Bhaal, and banished a devil lord to the Nine Hells.

For a half-elf to gain the recognition of proud elves says much about your power."

Rhea gazed at the dwarf. Her silver eyes were calm and cool.

"Thank you, King Edd, but my past deeds pale before the Highland Lord and Shield Dwarf Sovereign.

Now, I’m rely a royal guard captain loyal to Queen Isilene. Her will is my only guide."

Normally, Edd might have muttered, "Figures—half-long-ear, still all arrogance and airs."

But this ti, he swallowed his impulse and quietly wiped the blood from his hands.

The half-elf looked to the massive gold dragon perched atop the rampart and asked softly, "King Edd, this is...?"

"That is Lord Titus, a friend of the Highland Kingdom.

As you can see, he is a mighty and ancient gold dragon. It was he who drove off the orcs at a critical mont and saved Avenderdan.

Not only that, Lord Titus is a gifted spellcaster. He even foretold your arrival."

Edd’s tone brimd with admiration for this "Lord Titus," who had just saved the city.

Rhea t the dragon’s gaze without fear, speaking clearly: "Lord Titus, it is an honor to fight alongside you. With your strength as an ancient gold dragon, this war may turn in our favor."

The gold dragon lowered his head slightly, studying the half-elf. Light glinted in his pale golden pupils. His whiskers floated in the air.

He said softly, "A half-elf chosen by the gods... how curious."

Rhea narrowed her eyes slightly, a faint frown forming. The dragon’s gaze felt too familiar, as if he knew her well.

"A prophet..."

As Isilene’s most loyal and powerful follower, Rhea bore many secrets. She hated being seen through.

She could never imagine that the dragon before her was the sa wyrmling she had spared years ago—the Tyrant of Anzeta.

Fate had brought them together again in this ironic reunion.

A chill ran down her spine, vanishing instantly like it had never been.

"An illusion?"

Rhea gripped the silver sword at her waist, her eyes darkening.

In the guise of Titus, Cassius stroked his whiskers and scales, thinking to himself—

"Heh... not yet. Once Rhea helps Isilene reclaim Serenia, then I’ll shed the mask. That’s when I’ll gain the most."

He buried his thirst for revenge and maintained the dragon’s noble facade.

Cassius continued to stroke his whiskers and smiled aningfully: "It’s a pleasure to stand beside a warrior like you, Lady Rhea."

"Thank you."

Oblivious to the tension, Edd laughed heartily and hefted his warhamr onto his shoulder.

"Thousands of years ago, the Highland Kingdom and Serenia’s ancestors forged a sacred alliance. Today, we gather once more in Avenderdan to face this threat! With your aid, I no longer fear the orc invasion!"

The dwarf king called for his guards to bring out barrels of strong liquor, offering them to the allies before draining his cup.

"To justice!"

Elves disliked fiery dwarven brews and preferred delicate fruit wines, but out of respect, they raised their cups.

Rhea stepped forward and raised her cup without hesitation.

Even the gold dragon received a full barrel, which he carefully lifted with a claw.

"To justice!"

Wooden cups clinked, liquor splashed, and the cheers of dwarves and elves echoed through the sky.

Thus, the dwarves, elves, and gold dragon sealed their alliance. Together, they vowed to defend justice and order against the orc invasion from the north.

None suspected that among them was not just a gold dragon—but the red dragon tyrant of Anzeta wrapped in golden scales.

War lood near. After the toast, Edd summoned Bjorn and the Serenia forces to strategize.

anwhile, in the orc hide tents north of Avenderdan, tribal chiefs argued furiously.

Orcs bearing tattoos of dire wolves, vultures, and lions glared and spat insults, nearly coming to blows.

"Gattuso, you’re afraid of that golden lizard?

We should shoot it down and use its head to blood-sacrifice Father Gruumsh! True warriors fear no enemy!"

"Bull**! That’s a gold dragon! Sending regular warriors after it is suicide!"

"Cowards should be skewered with the Blood Spear! Real Gruumsh followers aren’t timid wretches like you! Seems the Coldcrow clan breeds only cowards!"

"True courage is proven with enemy blood, not loud words! I challenge you to a sacred duel—settle it on the battlefield!

Let’s see if your spear pierces my heart first, or my blade takes your head!"

The two burly orcs stood, rage and killing intent flaring in their eyes.

Before Batu unified Ugo Plains, clans constantly warred. Coldcrow and Blackwolf clans had long-standing blood feuds.

Fifty years ago, Coldcrow raided Blackwolf’s base, killed their chief, and enslaved over a hundred. Twenty years later, Blackwolf ambushed their hunters and made bowls from their skulls.

Such brutal reprisals were common among Ugo’s orcs.

Batu had already exterminated Redfang’s enemies—every adult male slain, won and children enslaved. No absorption—just eradication.

Batu’s so-called "Great Orc Nation" was less a state and more a massive tribal collective bound by Gruumsh’s divine authority.

"Smack!"

A loud crack rang out as a table split under a mighty slap.

"Enough!"

Batu Skullcrusher sat atop the central seat, face grim, lone eye burning with fury.

"I gathered you by Father Gruumsh’s will, not to watch you bicker!"

Silence fell. The shouting chieftains fell quiet.

Batu glared, then lifted his blood-streaked axe.

"Gattuso, Quett, forget the gold-scaled lizard—I’ll handle it myself."

Blood glimred in his eye. He grinned, licking yellowed fangs.

"Heh. If it were lward’s ’Silver Wing’, touched by Bahamut, I might hesitate.

But so gold dragon nobody’s heard of?

Thinking he can halt the orc conquest? Ridiculous!"

The vanguard’s loss had been expected, though quicker than Batu preferred.

Even Monk’s death was foreseen—he was expected to give everything for clan and god.

As Batu’s ambitious brother, Monk had even gouged out his own eye in silence. His death was no loss.

The dwarves’ deep-rooted strength needed testing. The vanguard was there to trigger traps and gauge defense. The real assault was coming.

Batu would personally lead it, seize Avenderdan, and beco the greatest orc hero in centuries.

Just then, the old shaman stepped forward: "Lord Batu, I bring troubling news."

Batu frowned. "What is it?"

The shaman drew a polished skull-shaped ritual relic and lifted it with shaking hands.

Images slowly surfaced: Avenderdan battered, elves with pointed ears, pegasi, unicorns.

Batu’s face darkened. "This is..."

The shaman sighed, voice hoarse as wind through dry grass.

"As you see, Serenia sent reinforcents. A powerful legend is among them—a half-elf called Twilight Blade."

Batu snarled. "Damn it! I thought the elf council broke the treaty! Why are they here?!"

The shaman shook his head. "I don’t know. But this much is clear—Avenderdan must fall within seven days. That is Father Gruumsh’s command.

If the blood mist lifts and Heaven Mountain’s reinforcents arrive, not even Father Gruumsh can stop the divine wrath of Moradin’s gods. Then we..."

"Nasu, I know."

Batu’s words were sharp. His eye narrowed, face fierce.

"I won’t fail Father Gruumsh. I will lead the orcs to take Avenderdan within seven days—at any cost."

Overhead, orc-trained eagles and vultures circled, squawking.

"Praise Father Gruumsh—"

"He struck the land to form caves, woods, and wastes for his people."

"We’ll use enemy skulls for bowls, blood for wine, and skin for clothing—all for you!"

Orc shamans raised bone staves and chanted ancient rites.

In the valley, they used dwarf remains to build altars, drinking enemy blood.

Blood-red mist rose from dwarf skulls, spreading across the valley.

As it expanded north, all who slled it—worgs, manticore, owlbears, hyenas—grew more violent.

Wild beasts surged south, now orc weapons of war.

Even the orcs within the mist grew crazed, eyes glazed, chanting "Blood for the Father."

From the gloom rose a massive, blood-glowing eye rune, staring hungrily at Avenderdan.

Below, fanatical orcs drove beasts forward, flooding south like a tide toward the dwarven stronghold.