Chapter 179: In the Heart of the Inferno
The battlefield stretched like a gaping wound on the Earth’s surface, a smoking scar where ash and blood mingled. Seen from the heights, the spectacle was of apocalyptic beauty: geysers of scarlet flames shot toward a leaden sky, tinting the clouds with an infernal glow that transformed day into permanent twilight. The titanic silhouettes of dragons traced deadly arabesques between columns of black smoke, their membranous wings beating the superheated air with terrible grace, while on the ground, human formations resembled ants facing antediluvian giants.
The announcement of Patriarch Varnor Ignivara’s death had struck the draconic forces like thunder in a clear sky. A deathly silence had fallen over their ranks, heavy with stupefaction and dismay. This was not simply the disappearance of a commander, but the collapse of a fundamental pillar of their universe. Varnor was not just a general: he was the personification of their ancestral pride, the living incarnation of their superiority over inferior races. His death resonated like blasphemy, an impossibility that shook the very foundations of their faith in their invincibility.
In the human trenches, the atmosphere was hardly more cheerful. The dramatic loss of their S-rank hunters had sown the seeds of a muted panic that spread like gangrene through the ranks. Li Jian, their charismatic leader, lay somewhere beneath the smoking rubble, his body shredded by Belgaroth Ignivara’s claws. Of the brilliant squad of six elite hunters, only two survivors remained: Ming Yue, whose left arm hung limply along her body, the flesh blackened by draconic burns, and Zhou Long, who stood upright through sheer force of will, his mana reserves practically exhausted.
General Wei Shun stood in his makeshift command post, a half-collapsed reinforced concrete construction that testified to the violence of previous clashes. His weary eyes scrutinized the surveillance screens with the expression of a man watching his civilization sink into the abyss. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have deepened by ten years in just a few hours. Beside him, Zhao Ling, his faithful aide-de-camp, tried to conceal the trembling of his hands by convulsively gripping his status report.
- "General..." murmured Zhao Ling, his voice hoarse from smoke and emotion. "Our losses are catastrophic. We’ve lost seventy-five percent of our front-line forces. The survivors are exhausted, demoralized. If we don’t attempt something now, in the next few hours, there will be nothing left of our forces."
Wei closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of millions of lives pressing on his shoulders. When he reopened them, fierce resolve shone there.
- "Then we’ll play our last card," he declared in a voice that carried despite his fatigue. "Gather all our remaining forces. Bring out the reserves, the lightly wounded, everyone who can still hold a weapon. Ask Ming Yue and Zhou Long to prepare for one final assault. Tell them that our nation’s fate rests in their hands."
Zhao Ling nodded with the gravity of a man who knows he might be transmitting his general’s final orders.
- "And if... if we fail, General?"
Wei placed a paternal hand on his subordinate’s shoulder.
- "Then we’ll die standing, as soldiers. But we won’t die in vain."
An hour later, a human tide surged from the Chinese positions. This was no longer a disciplined army, but a desperate horde driven by rage and survival instinct. At the head of this ultimate charge, Ming Yue and Zhou Long advanced like two shooting stars, their mana auras blazing with an intensity that testified to their determination to sell their lives dearly.