Chapter 152: The Power of the United States and China
When a report mentioned unexpected resistance in Toulouse, a group of French A-rank hunters who had organized a coordinated defense around the Saint-Sernin Basilica, his reaction was immediate and merciless:
- "Immediately send two additional squadrons to Toulouse. I want this pathetic resistance crushed within the hour. No prisoners. No survivors. No mercy. If these hunters want to die as heroes, let us grant them this privilege."
His orders were transmitted and executed without the slightest question, without the smallest doubt. Draconic discipline was an art perfected over millennia, absolute obedience forged in terror and respect for military hierarchy.
Vaerath moved toward the control screens now installed by his draconic technicians - smaller creatures, specialized in technological magic, capable of interfacing their systems with human communication satellites. The images they broadcast showed the extent of the devastation: cities in flames, populations in desperate flight, human hunters overwhelmed by the brutal and perfectly orchestrated violence of draconic forces.
He had participated in numerous conquest campaigns during his eight centuries of existence, destroyed dozens of civilizations across dimensions, but no war had been as total, as perfectly coordinated as this invasion of Earth. Humans, despite their technology and magical hunters, were pathetically under-equipped against the brute power and military experience of the Draconic Empire.
He felt deep satisfaction, a sort of dark and implacable accomplishment in contemplating his work. Yet, something infinitesimal persisted in the depths of his reptilian gaze a distant reflection, almost imperceptible, of bitterness. Perhaps nostalgia for a bygone time when he fought for nobler ideals than endless conquest, when war still had meaning beyond simple domination.
This emotional flaw, however minimal it was, was quickly buried under layers of military pragmatism and racial pride. He was Vaerath, Supreme Commander of the Third Invasion Wave, and he had a genocide to complete.
A lower-ranking dragon soldier rushed into the command room, his scales glistening with sweat despite his reptilian nature. He immediately prostrated himself before his commander before reporting in a breathless voice:
- "Commander Vaerath, all French targets are now under our complete control. The last resistance pockets in Toulouse have been annihilated. French territory is pacified."
Vaerath slowly nodded his massive head, a cruel smile stretching his scaly lips. His claws clenched almost imperceptibly, tracing fine scratches in the armrest of his command chair.
- "Perfect. Transmit my congratulations to all squadron commanders. Their efficiency honors our race." He marked a theatrical pause, savoring the moment. "Now, immediately prepare the troops for the next stage of our conquest. Tomorrow, at dawn, we will march on all of Europe. Germany, Italy, Spain, England - all these human kingdoms will fall under our claws. This blue planet will belong to us entirely before the end of the week."