Beneath the Red Dragon

Chapter 490 - 29: Cultivation_3

And the Dragon King and the Warriors’ Attendants held their breath, as one after another, hazy yet clear shadows struggled and emitted silent screams, forcing their way out of this enchantingly beautiful witch’s body.

It was as if the fabled Hell’s mouth had opened upon this beautiful witch, letting countless terrifying ghostly apparitions crawl out from her body, emerging into the world.

The Dragon King and the Warriors’ Attendants could no longer distinguish the faces of these shadows, unable to recognize the individuals those shadows were casting. But they all knew that these were the slaves who had just been burned alive in the flames, becoming sacrifices for the Red God R’hllor.

Countless shadows entangled and condensed at this moment, like many wronged spirits howling, killing, and devouring each other, terrifying the surrounding attendants to the point their legs trembled, faces turned pale, and teeth chattered.

Ultimately, the countless shadows formed into a massive twisted ghostly face, roaring as it floated in mid-air, sniffing the air like the ghost of a hound, then drifted off in one direction.

"Follow it, quickly, dispatch all elite warriors to annihilate those outsiders," the Dragon King, seated upon his throne, cast a wary glance at the slightly weakened priestess who was re-donning her crimson robe on the ground, and quickly gave an order for his warriors to lead a team in pursuit.

No sooner had the Dragon King issued his command than he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a brilliant rainbow flashing by, coming from afar in the night sky. At that moment, the Demon Dragon Knights of his house, along with their Demon Dragons, let out cries of terror.

Unable to resist, the Dragon King looked up into the sky. At that moment, his eyes widened suddenly, his mouth opened, and shock and fear completely paralyzed his limbs, rendering him immobile.

The head of the skyward Demon Dragon was severed by that radiant stream of light, its enormous dragon’s head letting out only a brief wail as it detached from its massive body.

A Demon Dragon, over thirty meters long, fell bleeding from the sky, along with the knight on its back and its lost head.

A dozen unlucky attendants hadn’t time to react before the descending Demon Dragon’s corpse smashed them to pulp, its flowing Dragon Blood spilling upon the square in front of the Great Monarch’s Fortress, inciting screams among countless attendants.

Many handmaidens and slaves fled in terror while some of the unretreated warriors, alarmed by the huge commotion, hurried back.

Thud, thud, thud,

One by one, warriors clad in gigantic and bizarre armor seemed to descend from the heavens, blocking the warriors’ path.

Wearing armor, each warrior stood over three meters tall, appearing as a giant to the Valerian slave warriors and mercenaries, causing hesitation and reluctance to advance.

"Stop, live, advance, die!"

The Decurion of the "Burning Hooves" Legion plunged his giant heavy sword deep into the stone slab before him, a cold voice resonating from beneath his face armor, the chilling murderous intent in his tone stopped even the Pure, trained through brutality and blood to attack lightly.

The Dragon Descendant Werewolf Saha flapped his flame-engulfed wings, descending from the sky to land in front of the Dragon King, guarded by warriors.

The werewolf’s claws still dripped with the hot blood of the Demon Dragon, each drop splattering onto the ground and corroding the stone slabs into tiny perforations.

He looked at the Dragon King, continuously retreating and attempting to escape into the Great Monarch’s Fortress, and said with a light laugh, "You don’t need to come to find us; we are already here."

With the werewolf’s wings flapping on his back, his figure vanished in an instant, the intense momentum blowing the surrounding torches and candle flames into flickering, dimming the lights.

The next moment, the lights relit, and on the ground, heads rolled, and blood began to spread.

The screams inside alerted the slave warriors and the Pure outside, and these warriors exchanged glances, then raised their long spears, roaring as they charged at the blocking warriors, "Kill!"

The Decurion’s face armor, with eyes engraved from a Magic Crystal, flashed with a red glow as he drew out the heavy sword before him.

The massive giant sword seemed to lose its weight in the Decurion’s hands, gleaming with an edge that the darkness could not conceal.

The slave warrior attacking first couldn’t even capture a trace of the giant sword’s movement, only seeing a cold gleam rise, and his entire body was cleaved from head to toe, his Iron Armor split cleanly in two.

This process was so swift that the warrior’s bisected body stepped forward two more steps holding his long spear before collapsing heavily, his internal organs only then realizing they had lost their encasement and restraint, scattering outward, a red and white mess all over the ground.

The remaining slave warriors and the Pure, startled by this brutal blow, unexpectedly halted their advance.

"What foolish, damned people,"

The Decurion stood tall as a Demon God, the red light on his face armor flaring, his cold voice sounding like the pronouncement of death.

"Even with the generous virtues of my master, your stupidity cannot be forgiven," the Decurion said softly, leaning on his sword, "Slaughter them all, leave none alive."

Tread, tread, tread,

A dozen warriors passed the Decurion, advancing toward the slave warriors who now wore wary expressions.

Though the "Burning Hooves" had only sent two squads here, totaling twenty men, if not to prevent the Dragon King from fleeing, these warriors believed that one of them alone would be sufficient to deal with these feeble opponents.

The Decurion stood leaning on his sword, eyes closed, listening to the sound of steel cutting through enemy Iron Armor, weapons, and bodies, his own body’s boiling battle blood gradually guided to calm.

Such trifling trash did not need him to act, and mastering one’s will and conserving Physical Strength during battle was an essential lesson for every Legion Warrior.

The Decurion’s strength lay in treating every moment as a time for self-cultivation.

The clash of steel, the sound of flowing blood within the body, and the chaotic hubbub from the city, everything was captured by the Decurion’s mind, ultimately forming an image within his heart—a unique Dragon.

"Emperor’s glory,"

The Decurion murmured, opening his eyes. Before him, all was already calm; only the Imperial warriors, blood, and severed limbs remained, no enemies.