Chapter 122
Chapter 122
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Convergence at the Dragon's Tomb
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"Arkandor... I've heard the rumors, but damn, he's annoyingly persistent."
Long before Golden Eye conquered the mountains and Sea King the rivers to forge their massive factions of Golden Heaven and Muddy Stream...
Arkandor had been an ancient monster building his power in the Great Steppe, dreaming of the Earth Dragon's revival.
The immense mana he'd accumulated over those endless years was profound enough to sustain the undead horde even as powerhouses like Iron Mask and Donga smashed through them.
He was the leader of the Great Steppe's undead forces, a man who proclaimed himself king over all the undead.
Unlike the other Fingers, he'd carved out his legion single-handedly and claimed a seat among them.
Even after felling so many undead, the two orcs wore grim expressions before the endless waves that wouldn't cease until Arkandor's mana ran dry or he himself was slain.
"Damn it... there's no end to them."
The rumors said he was the trickiest foe in the Great Steppe, perhaps even on par with Golden Eye or Sea King... and they weren't just empty talk.
"...Tch! As if."
Iron Mask shook off the foolish thought creeping into his mind and steeled his resolve.
Golden Eye and Sea King were warriors who stood on a different plane of strength, even amid the Great Cataclysm.
No mere centuries-old relic could have reached the pinnacle attained only by the chosen.
"Donga, keep the kids handling these undead."
"What? Hey, where are you going!"
Crack!
Thud, thud, thud!
Iron Mask, having shattered twenty skeletons, didn't answer Donga but leaped toward the surrounding trees instead.
He glared endlessly at the waves of undead surging forward.
Only then did Donga realize what he was planning and click his tongue.
"Tch! I should have thought of that first... Why didn't it cross my mind?!"
He suddenly hated his own simplicity.
But what could he do?
The latecomer was at fault.
"Hurry up and kill that old bastard!"
"Heh heh heh! Oh dear, how scary. What are you glaring at so fiercely?"
Meanwhile, from far in the rear—too distant to see clearly—where he endlessly summoned undead, Arkandor precisely sensed Iron Mask's gaze seeking him out.
A repulsive laugh bubbled up from him.
"Well, your guts to come after me are admirable... but it won't be easy."
His undead legion was invincible.
Unless it was a monster on the level of Golden Eye, Sea King, or Paon Lichtenauer...
These 'mediocrities' stuck at the master pinnacle couldn't possibly break through his immortal forces.
Arkandor turned his attention from Iron Mask to the undead shattering ahead, letting out a fiendish sneer.
"Heh heh heh! Kill plenty, then kill more. The more you do, the stronger my undead legion grows."
Arkandor had chosen to reinforce this front for one simple reason.
Drakellas, handling the east, would never commit to a frontal clash given his nature—poor synergy with an undead horde.
Tombgrok and Snigl in the center had no failures to atone for, so they'd drag things out passively without orders.
Moreover, Dragon's Gorge was a narrow pass; no room for his undead legion to maneuver.
His true power shone in recycling fallen foes amid endless death—but in that confined space, it'd just be a one-sided slaughter, not what Arkandor wanted.
But Galtrow in the west was different.
More savage than rampaging ogres, craving battle like no other.
And sure enough, he swung his hammer madly, heedless of his subordinates dying.
'Leave the defensive line to that boar-like brute alone, and he'd charge straight into the flames like a moth.'
The Great Steppe's western plains were vast—the perfect stage for his undead legion.
He just needed to gather the corpses of slain trolls and orcs and keep recycling.
'Might as well make it a field trip and provide some support. This was definitely the right call.'
Swoosh!
Pausing his summons, Arkandor checked the sun in the sky.
It was about time to withdraw.
-Galtrow, sorry to cut your fun short... but it's time to pull back.
"...Tch!"
Galtrow unwittingly clicked his tongue at Arkandor's message spell.
Bruised and bloodied all over, his eyes burned hotter than when the fight began.
He was just getting warmed up.
Boom!
Slamming Silver's iron rod aside to create distance, Galtrow snarled menacingly.
"Silver, hate to say it, but the old man's calling us back. Our unfinished fight... let's postpone it a bit."
With that, Galtrow retreated with the trolls alongside Arkandor.
"Don't you dare run...!!"
Silver, pursuing Galtrow, was blocked by a massive wave of undead filling the gap they'd left.
Crack!
Having let the enemy slip away right before him, Silver crushed a skeleton's skull and ground his teeth.
'Next time, I won't let him escape...!'
The site of the final battle was set.
The heart of the Great Steppe.
The Dragon's Tomb.
Facing the surging forces from all directions, the Great Steppe defenders leveraged terrain advantages and efficient troop deployments to hold strong initially.
Yet Lichtenauer Martial Clan, Golden Heaven, and Muddy Stream—who'd struggled at first—pressed on steadily over seventeen grueling days toward the Dragon's Tomb.
No matter how mighty the Five Fingers, holding back three allied forces of equal caliber was impossible.
The Great Steppe had no intention of repelling them with full force either.
It was merely buying time for the Earth Dragon's revival.
Thus, all clashes inevitably converged at the Dragon's Tomb, prepared for that revival.
The Dragon's Tomb.
The land where, centuries ago, the Lichtenauer Martial Clan's ancestors succeeded in sealing the Earth Dragon, Karaktus, after untold hardships.
Even in the desolate Great Steppe, this was the most barren, lifeless place.
Step...
Countless troops began appearing one by one, slowly.
The first to arrive: the Lichtenauer Martial Clan.
Alex, who had confidently led the vanguard, had lost his lofty air.
Tattered clothes, disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes—all told of the torment from Drakellas and the dark elves.
Starting with the sandworm ambush, Drakellas had relentlessly hounded Alex and his Tiger Cloud Unit.
...Crunch!
"...Zodiac. When the battle ends, cut off every single dark elf ear without fail. I'll dry them and feed them to the clan hounds as snacks."
Zodiac replied curtly, sensing Alex's icy fury.
"...As you command."
Next came Golden Heaven.
Their orcs were caked in bone dust and rotting flesh from countless undead slain en route.
Finally, on the seventeenth day, Muddy Stream arrived.
Delayed slightly more than the others breaking through the collapsed gorge.
But no major issue.
Three days remained until Earth Dragon Karaktus awakened.
No matter the Fingers' strength, three matching factions united here outmatched them.
Even if Arkandor's undead stalled... Sea King, Golden Heaven, and Paon were fully armed and waiting.
Three days was ample to clean up before the dragon stirred.
Thus, the factions' officers were already certain of victory.
A Great Steppe without its Earth Dragon was no different from any other.
On the opposing side, facing them.
Before the three forces who arrived just before the revival, the Great Steppe troops that had tormented them for nearly three weeks formed ranks around the Dragon's Tomb.
"Heh heh heh! Well done, Drakellas. They knew the Earth Dragon's awakening time, yet you bought it admirably."
"...Blind One. Keep your promise."
Drakellas replied coldly even to Arkandor's praise.
"Of course."
Having lost an arm to Spearmaster Zodiac amid endless guerrilla strikes against the Lichtenauer Martial Clan...
Arkandor nodded readily.
How could he not?
Thanks to that, while other Fingers suffered losses, his undead forces only grew stronger.
'After losing an arm, that's the least I can grant. I'm generous, after all.'
Just as Arkandor smirked inwardly...
"Greeeeat Steeeepe!!!"
A booming orc roar filled the Dragon's Tomb.
"You weaklings without your Earth Dragon dared to mock Golden Heaven!! I'll make you regret that folly right here and now!!"
Shing!!
Golden Eye drew the massive twin axes crossed on his back and bellowed.
"I'll make you regret it to your bones!!"
"""Chwi iiiii!!!"""
With Golden Eye's ferocious shout, the fired-up orcs surged toward the battlefield like an angry tide.
"Hahaha, they don't even know the pleasures of war."
Exchanging words to bolster morale and justify the fight—that was the proper prelude to battle.
Yet these brutish orcs lacked even that elegance.
"Well, can't say I don't understand."
Glance!
Arkandor glanced back.
Twenty-seven nights ago, the eerie aura that swept the Great Cataclysm from Beast Fields onward.
The corrupted Amatres River aura gathering slowly northward had condensed, now overlaying the scattered bones in the Dragon's Tomb.
In other words...
The Earth Dragon was on the verge of awakening.
Knowing that, they'd try to end it before the descent.
The enemy's intent was plain as day.
Swoosh!
Arkandor turned his head and spoke.
"Just a bit longer, and they'd ruin their own finished soup. Idiots, right, Drakellas?"
...Crunch!
Drakellas, minus an arm, gritted his teeth, raised Night's Oath, and shouted.
"...Warriors of the Great Steppe!! Stake your lives to protect Karaktus! Hold just a little longer—He descends soon!!"
With that, Drakellas charged rightward at the Lichtenauer Martial Clan with his dark elves.
Betrayed by Aelion, they'd committed grave sin.
Thus, they were assigned the toughest foe: the Lichtenauers.
"Hahaha! Let's go too—we must atone for Olga's foolery!!"
For the same reason, but in stark contrast, Galtrow led his trolls leftward at Golden Heaven.
"Suffering needless hardship because of those fools."
"Heh heh heh! But with those two bungling, won't you rise to second finger?"
"Heh heh! True enough. You'll inherit my seat too, so let's push till the end."
Finishing their chat, Tombgrok and Snigl advanced centrally against Muddy Stream.
"Good, good."
Despite the overwhelming disadvantage, the Fingers exuded strange leisure.
Arkandor, most relaxed, awakening more undead.
He slowly drew upon the mana amassed over centuries.
"Let's begin. The battle to decide the true master of this continent, Bestrika."
For centuries.
Centuries of waiting.
The moment was nearly here.
Ian, who had volunteered to guard the rear to rack up merits until the advance on the Dragon's Tomb, now had no reason to linger and surged forward with the Latent Dragon Squad.
Ching!
Splash!
Each flash of Ian's four-weapon sword felled a dark elf head.
As the battle flowed smoothly and all began sensing victory...
"...Something's off."
Aelion, captured by Ian and the Latent Dragon Squad and brought to the Dragon's Tomb, muttered at an inexplicable unease.
"What's wrong?"
Ian asked Aelion.
At their first encounter, Ian had pegged this dark elf as a reckless fool blinded by emotion.
But that view had completely changed by the Dragon's Tomb.
"If you're worried your contributions fell short, don't. The Clan keeps its promises, at least."
Aelion's merits were substantial.
Some losses from ambushes by Steppe forces en route, but without his path, timely arrival would have been impossible.
All factions reaching on schedule was solely thanks to Aelion's intel on terrain and Fingers.
"No, it's not that."
Aelion slowly shook his head.
"I arrived exactly as planned. Accounting for Drakellas's murderous rage and ambushes knowing I'd guide... That's the path I chose. And we did arrive before the Earth Dragon wakes—with time to spare."
So why?
Why did those Fingers, awaiting only the descent...
Seem so utterly... at ease?
'Did I miss something crucial? No. If the Steppe had variables to handle three factions, they wouldn't have taken this circuitous route from the start. Then... what? What's giving them... that composure?'
Something was... going strangely.