Chapter 354: Ants, Praying and Struggling

The bombardment of power, summoned by the subterranean fire veins ignited by Caesar the Red Dragon, utterly purged the enemies from the firmament.

Yet the swirling vortex of clouds, crackling with thunder and churning incessantly, did not vanish with that terrifying molten explosion; it continued its slow rotation, though no further cultists of the Dragon Cult emerged from its depths.

The silver dragon beat her wings, hovering in the void, her own power accumulating around her. Silver blades gradually multiplied, coalescing into several colossal swords that transformed into shimmering, spiked monoliths, which she drove fiercely into the four cardinal directions of the vortex—the manifestation of the "His" kingdom's power.

Radiant silver light wove into chains, shattering the structure of the vortex through constant collision and annihilation. The gateway that had poured forth an endless stream of Dragon Cultists slowly dissipated into the sky.

To other dragons, "His" power is notoriously difficult to oppose; pure magic and physical might often fail against this influence derived from "Him."

Aurelian, however, seemed an anomaly. The formidable power she wielded could clash head-on with "His" force, holding a distinct advantage whenever she was not facing "Him" directly.

As Aurelian focused on gathering her strength to purge the projection of the kingdom "He" had forged, Caesar’s gaze swept over the devastated landscape below.

The molten sphere had burst into a rain of fire, layering the world beneath in flames—igniting trees, thickets, animals, and the architecture and bodies of the nearby sentient races.

Billowing smoke choked the air, staining the heavens a bruised, ashen black. The air echoed with ceaseless wails. How could the clash of two such titanic forces concern itself with the ants below? Perhaps they were not as weak as ants, but in the eyes of dragons and the Dragon Cult, the distinction was negligible.

"Clap!"

Caesar struck his talons together. A ripple of magical energy pulsed from his body, sweeping outward; the flames touched by this force gradually flickered out, and the ambient temperature slowly plummeted.

Trees in the forest, whether roaring with fire or merely singed by stray sparks, were spared. The inferno that would have consumed the woods was extinguished by Caesar’s deliberate intervention.

"You have changed much, Caesar."

Aurelian, having thoroughly dispelled the vortex, flew to the side of the red dragon. She looked down at the disaster he had just barely quelled, speaking with a touch of melancholy—this was a task that should have been hers, yet Caesar had performed it.

In Aurelian’s memory, the Caesar of old would never have concerned himself with these sentient races, as insignificant as ants, caught in the wake of their battles.

Different dragons hold different attitudes toward other sentient races, though most harbor neither malice nor any excess of pity or kindness.

Because the disparity in their hierarchy is so vast, they feel no guilt when the collateral damage of their combat claims these existences.

Save for dragons like Zig and Noel, who grew up integrated into the societies of other races, most dragons view life with a profound indifference.

This indifference does not stem from a cold heart—their emotions are as normal as any other—but just as humans, orcs, or dwarves do not concern themselves with the beasts and insects trampled during their own wars, so too do dragons.

The battles of legendary powerhouses often level cities and shatter fortresses; how many perish in the aftermath? Warriors focused on life-or-death struggles cannot account for the safety of those caught in the crossfire, and sometimes, they do not even realize others have been affected.

If it were Goliath the Green Dragon here, after saturating the sky with corrosive breath to clear the Dragon Cultists, leaving a rain of acidic death to slaughter every weak life in the vicinity, he would simply depart once the battle ended, never even registering the plight of the sentient beings below.

"Hmm. I have experienced some things. Regardless, if I can reduce unnecessary damage and death, I will do what I can."

Caesar nodded slightly, continuing to radiate his power to quench the surrounding flames. These spreading fires would have caused further casualties; all he could do was clean up the remnants of the battle to avoid harming more innocents.

"I do not think that is a bad thing. We still have time before the Dragon Cult tracks us again—enough to finish dealing with this."

Influenced by her own nature and the presence of Zig and Noel, Aurelian did not share the typical dragon’s apathy toward the passing of life. Powerful as she was, she lacked the coldness to despise all things; at the very least, she would avoid meaningless death if she could.

Minutes later, the surrounding fires were extinguished, and the two dragons flew swiftly away. The Dragon Cult’s raiding party had been annihilated, but this would not stop the cult from learning of the event; soon, others would follow the trail.

The land below, scoured by the aftermath of the battle, was a graveyard of ruins. From the moment the massive dragon-beast had plummeted from the sky, the inhabitants had suffered a cataclysmic blow.

The heavy creature had crashed down, effortlessly crushing buildings and grinding the residents within and around them into pulp before they could even attempt to flee.

The tremors from the impact had split the earth, and many ordinary folk, lacking supernatural power, had vanished into the yawning fissures.

The wide-scale destruction caused by Caesar’s eruption from the ground had also claimed many lives, but the greatest toll came from the rain of magma unleashed by the bursting molten sphere.

Blobs of lava of varying sizes fell from the sky, densely blanketing everything. Those who realized the danger and attempted to flee had no time to escape the reach of the molten rain.

The magma landed on buildings, melting through them and consuming those inside. For those struck directly while running, the end was instantaneous—they were simply dissolved.

Knights, mages, and sorcerers possessing supernatural power fared slightly better; they could at least shield themselves and a few companions, surviving the sudden catastrophe.

But in this remote region, such powerful individuals were few. The ordinary residents faced only despair.

Even after Caesar extinguished the flames, the despair remained.

"Is anyone there? Please, help us!"

A young man shrieked in desperation. The fate of those around him was perhaps worse; at least he still lived, while others had not even left a corpse behind.

The house his family lived in had been half-melted; the flames in the remaining half had just been extinguished. His father and sister had been completely consumed by the lava that had pierced the roof. In the collapsed ruins of the other half, his younger brother and mother were trapped, their lives slowly ebbing away.

When the magma fell, he had been outside practicing. His mother and brother were together; the splash of lava that destroyed half the building had sprayed into the other side.

His mother’s legs had been struck, and the cooling, hardening magma had pinned her to the ground. His brother’s arm and shoulder had been swallowed by the molten rock. Had they been struck in the head, even this lingering, agonizing existence would have been a luxury.

The house, once roaring with the fire ignited by the magma, had consumed his hope, but the fire’s abrupt extinction—thanks to Caesar—had granted him a reprieve.

Yet the end seemed hopeless. As a mid-level apprentice knight, he could do nothing for his mother and brother. He could only watch as they drifted toward death, their bodies burned and locked to the earth by the cooling stone.

He dared not move them; any external force would likely tear away more flesh, only deepening their agony and accelerating their demise.

The common folk of this world possessed greater physical resilience than those on Earth; had they been struck by lava on Earth, they would have perished instantly. Their slightly stronger constitutions kept them from death, leaving them to struggle in the weakness before the final line.

This made the pain before death agonizingly prolonged. The moans of weakness and suffering pierced the young man’s ears.

It was a torture to his spirit. He clutched his head in helpless agony, his eyes dry—no tears would come, only an overflowing, suffocating despair.

In the face of this sudden calamity, he was utterly powerless. He could do nothing for the dead, and he could do nothing for the kin who still drew breath.

Beyond the torment of whether to grant them a swift end, the faithless youth had no one to pray to, no ethereal existence to beg for salvation.

This youth was but a microcosm of the residents of the Fading Peaks. Countless others faced the same despair. They had done all they could; now, they could only pray—to whatever entities they could reach.

"Is anyone near the Fading Peaks? There has been a severe disaster. Many are wounded, they can still be saved—we need mages, sorcerers, or potions!"

"I happen to be traveling nearby. I saw the situation; I took cover, but now that the battle is over, I am heading there. I am no mage or sorcerer, but I have some healing potions."

"On the plains east of the mountains, I have several carriages—my caravan. We have enough healing scrolls and potions. My carriages are slow; if anyone can head this way, please bring these supplies."

"Understood. I am on the same trade route. I am bringing my adventure party."

"I recall there is a temple of the Church of Light nearby. Notify them quickly; it would be better if they could provide support."

"No need. I am a guardian knight at that very chapel. The Church of Light is already on its way. Damn it, how could a disaster of this magnitude happen so suddenly?"

"Our party has followers of Aelini, Goddess of Wealth. I beg those nearby to provide gold coins or other recognized currency. If we pool enough, we can cast the grand healing spell, 'Golden Rain of Recovery'."

"Understood."

"Immediately!"

"..."

Within the prayer-communication network, a group of Nightfall Church believers happened to be nearby, exchanging messages—some urgent, some brief, others silent.

But all who were connected through this unique artifact of the Nightfall Church were running, striving, and working for the sake of the disaster at this very moment.

Perhaps they prayed for miracles to descend, but compared to the struggles and efforts of the mortals themselves, such divine intervention was, in the end, a rarity.