Obsidian, the Emberglow Dragon, stretched his majestic body across the sky, eclipsing the rising sun, as if he had become the firmament itself.
At this moment, he was both the sky and the sun; it seemed all light and heat originated from his mighty power.
The true sun paled behind him, leaving only a supreme deity between heaven and earth, looking down upon all living beings.
His molten-gold gaze not only illuminated the land but also ignited the suppressed longing and anger in the hearts of Sendarra's commoners.
He needed no words; his very presence instantly silenced the battlefield's clamor.
Both the rebel army and the noble guard felt a heavy chest, constricted breathing, and found even standing difficult.
Even without actively releasing his Dragon's Might, his existence alone made all beings tremble like ants under his gaze.
The next second, Obsidian's wings slowly flapped.
There was no thunderous roar, nor a sweeping gale.
Only countless tiny, warm sparks gently drifted down from the edges of his wing membranes, covering this bloody battlefield.
They emitted a soft, golden-red glow, fluttering like fine snow in early winter, yet their color was warm and intense, devoid of cold.
Where the sparks landed on the rebel soldiers' wounds, the wounds healed and scabbed over at a visible rate, leaving only faint red marks;
Where they landed on frozen soldiers, the ice melted, and their stiff limbs regained sensation and color;
Where they landed on exhausted priests or Paladins who had fallen, their depleted divine grace surged anew!
The most astonishing miracle descended upon the fallen warriors.
The sparks also scattered upon their cold bodies—whether the corpse was intact or merely a puddle of flesh, wherever the sparks touched, a golden-red glow enveloped them.
In an instant, broken limbs quietly reattached, shattered organs gradually restored, stopped hearts beat again, and congealed blood flowed once more!
One, two, ten—nearly a hundred rebel soldiers who had long since died in battle, amidst a mix of horror and ecstasy, dazedly and obediently rose to their feet again!
They looked at their bodies, perfectly restored, then raised their heads to gaze at the deity in the sky, their eyes filled with shock, gratitude, and unspeakable reverence.
Divine grace, vast as the sea, descended!
"A miracle! This is a miracle!"
"Our Lord has manifested! The Emberglow Dragon's blessing!"
The ecstasy of surviving disaster and an even greater fervent faith instantly ignited all the rebels!
They fell to their knees in excitement, prostrating themselves towards the sky, their shouts echoing to the heavens, deafening!
Rielian watched as his severely wounded comrades instantly recovered, and his fallen comrades one by one dazedly rose. A huge joy surged through his entire body like a warm current.
He subconsciously turned his head to look at the long-extinguished execution pyre.
It was empty.
Only cold ashes swirled in the wind.
Liriel had not returned.
This cold fact poured over his head like a bucket of icy water, instantly extinguishing all the joy in his heart.
Rielian's heart sank, and an unspeakable sense of loss and sorrow gripped him.
Why?
Why could our Lord send down a miracle, reversing life and death, yet not bring back the Saintess who had led them to this day?
This question pierced his heart like a thorn, causing unspeakable pain.
At this very moment, the reaction of the noble army was entirely different.
That sacred rain of sparks, a gift of healing and rebirth for the rebels, was an unbearable divine pressure for them!
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Like harvested stalks of wheat, swathes of noble soldiers could no longer stand, their knees hitting the ground heavily, bowing their heads to the great presence in the sky, their bodies trembling violently with fear.
Their weapons clattered to the ground, ringing clearly in the silence.
Even the more strong-willed ranger generals and high-ranking mages turned deathly pale, sweating profusely, large beads of sweat rolling down their cheeks and soaking their collars.
They barely stood, teeth clenched, desperately resisting the instinctive urge to kneel before the deity, their eyes filled with despair and bewilderment.
Their power, their proud arcane arts, were still as insignificant as dust before a deity who had not even exerted himself.
Just as the noble army struggled to hold on and the rebel army cheered and prostrated themselves, Obsidian's molten-gold eyes subtly shifted, looking towards the Pale Tower in the distance.
A hint of profound meaning flickered deep within his eyes.
As if he had sensed something interesting.
—Divider—
Deep within the Pale Tower, at the core of the Well of Stars.
The severely wounded Council Leader Gilvaradin Starweaver slowly awoke amidst violent coughing.
The tearing pain in his chest and abdomen still relentlessly tormented him.
The earth-shattering shouts outside the tower, and the undeniable, vast-as-a-prison divine might, prevented him from resting.
He struggled with all his might to crawl to the window, and the sight before him tore at his heart.
His army was kneeling, their bodies trembling like sieves;
Those lowly rebels, however, were reborn in divine grace, one by one rising from the pool of blood;
And above the sky, the black giant dragon, obscuring the sunlight, floated silently, as if silently declaring—his rule had come to an end.
"No—!" Gilvaradin let out a roar, blood gushing from the corners of his mouth.
Extreme anger and despair consumed his remaining sanity.
It was him!
It was that evil god!
He had bewitched his Silvani, turning her into a parricidal monster!
He had incited these maggots, stirring up this rebellion!
He had even sent those damned Dragonkin to steal the mana that kept Sendarra running!
And now, he had personally descended to take everything away!
With his severely wounded body and depleted magic, Gilvaradin knew he had no chance against him.
But it was this despair that birthed the most extreme madness.
A thought, long sealed and forbidden, quietly emerged in his mind—Queen Azshara!
The mad queen who summoned demons to destroy their ancient homeland!
Since the gods were not on his side, then—let the power of the abyss incinerate everything!
Better to perish together than to watch everything be taken away!
"Cough, cough—hahaha—hahahaha!" He coughed blood while letting out a nearly deranged laugh.
He struggled to crawl towards the core of the Well of Stars, the last energy reserve of Sendarra and the source of its entire magic network.
Soon, he arrived there, a large mana-gathering magic array.
This was a marvel he had personally built after the Sundering, using Sendarra's stored artifacts and mana.
Without the waters of the Well of Eternity, and without the Eye of Aman'Thul, he could only rely on his own wisdom and ambition to painstakingly construct this magic nexus.
Even so, Sendarra's magic system had operated for nearly four millennia in the original history.
This alone was enough to prove Gilvaradin's might and foresight.
However, at this moment, all these glories and history had become meaningless.
He tremblingly extended his blood-stained fingers, slowly carving at the edge of the magic array.
These were the magical runes he had personally inscribed—now, he was altering them, stroke by stroke, into forbidden sacrificial runes.
He knew all too well that he was opening a door that should never be opened.
------------------------
I've posted 70+ chapters in advance on Patreon.
Webnovel updates will still be daily, as usual.
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
[email protected]/TripleCrown
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"