The Erald Ridge Mountains stretch across the northern part of the Divine Kingdom of Theo, extending twelve hundred kiloters from east to west, with an average elevation above four thousand ters.
It is not a single mountain range in the simple sense, but a perilous region made up of a series of interlinked towering peaks, deep valleys, sheer cliffs, and dense forests. The range plunges nearly a hundred kiloters from north to south, shrouded in clouds and mist, with treacherous weather, and has long served as an impenetrable natural barrier between north and south.
Across the entire Erald Ridge, there are only three natural passes that run north to south.
Two of them were sealed off centuries ago by the Divine Kingdom of Theo through massive engineering. Countless workers and alchemical machines spent thirty years pouring billions of tons of rock and concrete into the depths of the passes, then permanently solidified them with layer upon layer of magical formations, until they beca impassable even for birds.
The only remaining pass, and the most dangerous of the three, is the Norton Pass.
It is a natural corridor between two of the Erald Ridge’s main peaks, the Sky-Pillar and the Endless Cliff. At its narrowest point it asures only 120 ters, flanked by vertical cliffs with exposed rock where nothing can grow. The floor of the corridor is not flat but a steep upward slope, winding and jagged, the steepest sections approaching sixty degrees. Infantry can barely climb it, let alone heavy machinery.
The terrain here is harsh to begin with, and the Divine Kingdom of Theo spent centuries reinforcing it.
They cut steps and anti-slip grooves into the slope, embedded countless firing apertures and magical amplifiers into the rock walls on both sides, and constructed fortifications at the top. Attackers must ascend the narrow slope, heads tilted up toward a hail of arrows, tumbling stones, scalding oil, and magical bombardnt waiting from the Theo defenders above.
And even if they pay a terrible price to reach the summit, what awaits is not open ground but a mighty fortress embedded into the mountain itself.
The original na of this pass no longer mattered.
Since Aola raised its dragon-standard in the wilderness and founded a kingdom in the north, the people of Theo gave the pass a new na with blunt, practical aning.
Dragonbreaker Gate!
It ant the place where the southward road of the dragon realm would be severed, where their ambitions would be firmly blocked north of the Erald Ridge.
Year 344, March 15th, dusk.
The sky-piercing Sky-Pillar and Endless Cliff were dyed a somber gold-red by the setting sun, the protrusions on the rock faces catching the last light.
In the shadow of the range, a long, silent column of people wound along the north foothill path.
This was the defeated Theo army retreating from the Impregnable Wall.
Most of the soldiers in the column had shattered armor and filthy bandages; many had to lean on comrades to move. Their gazes were hollow, faces eroded by exhaustion and fear. Only when they occasionally looked toward the southern pass did a faint glimr flash through their eyes.
A handful of legendary-level auras cloaked the force, repelling any Aola scouts and magical inquisitions that might have been trailing them.
It was thanks to their protection that the army had been able to retreat this far without being annihilated.
“Open the gate—!”
A clear command echoed down from the gate wall.
The heavy gate of Dragonbreaker Gate, two ters thick and forged of composite magical tals, rose gradually as internal alchemical engines rumbled and mages chanted. The bottom lip of the gate scraped the stone trough below with a dull creak, revealing the lit corridor beyond.
The defeated soldiers quickened their pace in silence.
When they stumbled through the gate, the scene inside made many of them hesitate for a heartbeat.
Warm, dry air washed over them, carrying the scent of broth and freshly baked bread. White-robed dic sorceresses moved among the crowd chanting low healing prayers, gentle healing glows flaring now and then. Neatly ranked gate guards watched them in silence, their eyes devoid of scorn and full instead of sober concern.
All of this felt like another world compared to the northern plains behind them, a land of war and death.
The command platform at the pass’s highest point was a stone terrace carved from the face of the main peak, jutting outward ten ters.
The Unyielding Shield, Whitanart, stood with his hands behind his back, gazing down at the defeated soldiers pouring in like ants.
This legendary warrior stood over four ters tall, massive as a mountain.
He was not a giant-blooded man; he was born this way. His entire body was clad in heavy gray-white plate armor, plain and unadorned except for deep defensive runes etched into the tal, faintly glowing in the twilight.
His features were square and stern, jawline carved as if by an axe, and a pair of deep gray eyes as calm as an ancient well, giving away little emotion.
Until a familiar figure, supported by an aide, climbed onto the platform.
Rodrigo Krowen’s battle cloak was sared with dust and congealed blood. His left arm was in a splint, his face pale from magical treatnt, but his eyes remained sharp and clear.
The two Shields of Theo t each other’s gaze.
After a mont of silence, Whitanart spoke first in a low, resonant voice: “What are the losses?”
Rodrigo walked to the edge of the platform, his hand on the cool stone railing, and scanned the troops gathering within the pass.
His voice was hoarse with fatigue as he replied, “Over 120,000 casualties in the front-line corps. Confird dead are around 80,000. More than 40,000 are severely wounded and combat ineffective. About 30,000 captured. Missing… impossible to count.”
He paused, then continued, “On the legendary side, Balor was captured by Aola’s war commander, Aivem is lightly wounded, Hossand’s assault on the capital failed, and the Sky Eye satellite… has been seized by the Red Emperor.”
“The Red Emperor…”
Whitanart repeated the title that had lately sent shivers through their ranks.
The dragon emperor of Aola, who had led his forces personally, had beco a symbol of conquest draped in fla and steel across the Romanian nations.
Whitanart made no further comnt on the campaign, rely reached out his massive, rock-like hand and patted Rodrigo on the shoulder.
Though the gesture was light, Rodrigo swayed slightly.
“Thank you for your efforts, Little Rodrigo,” Whitanart’s voice softened a touch. “From here on, I will fight at your side. This pass will be our shared shield.”
Whitanart’s full na is Whitanart Krowen.
Like Rodrigo, he was born into the Krowen family, Theo’s most illustrious military house; similar blood ran through both n. By strict genealogy, Whitanart was Rodrigo’s uncle.
Rodrigo nodded, eyes still on the interior of the pass.
He saw exhausted soldiers, after receiving food and treatnt, slowly grouping around small fires. Wrapped in blankets and sipping hot soup, the hollowness in their eyes gradually showed a flicker of life.
It was not a rebirth of combative zeal but a more primitive, stubborn thing.
The desire to survive when there is nowhere left to retreat.
“A defeated army often ends one of two ways,” Rodrigo said slowly. “It either collapses in a rout, breaking and dispersing, or… the sad soldiers spill victory from desperation with a last-ditch counterattack.”
His voice was low, as much to Whitanart as to himself.
Whitanart followed his gaze and after a mont nodded slowly.
Indeed—these were sad soldiers.
They had lost the Sky Eye, the long-established border defenses, countless comrades-in-arms, and even their pride as soldiers had been ground down by defeat.
They had nothing left but the hos behind them to defend, and this fortress before their eyes.
An army like this, properly managed, can sotis be more terrifying than a highly spirited elite force.
Because they stood on the edge of a cliff. Any retreat is a fall; they must move forward or perish.
If you give them the slightest hope and keep that taut string from snapping, a defense made from such troops can be stubborn beyond imagination, and the battle array they form after preparation can outperform normal forces.
“You’ll have command here.”
Whitanart turned to Rodrigo and said in a deep voice, “You understand how to lead large armies and hold the morale of troops.”
“With Norton Pass’s terrain, Dragonbreaker Gate’s fortifications, and my Domain… this place will beco a bitter bone Aola cannot gnaw away.”
“We will break their dragon teeth here, and nail their probing claws to the mountain.”
Hearing this, Rodrigo exhaled softly, then looked up at his burly uncle with a small reassurance blooming inside him.
The Shield of Theo and the Unyielding Shield—these two had beco the Krowen family’s most famous “dual shields.”
Unlike Rodrigo, fad for commanding legions and maneuvering armies, Whitanart’s reputation was built on his incomprehensible personal defensive prowess.
Normally, advancing to legendary rank does not alter one’s racial features.
Whitanart is an exception.
He is pure human yet born with a giant’s fra.
By age eight he already towered over normal adults, able to tear tigers and leopards apart with ease. His strength surpassed normal human limits and kept growing, eventually reaching four ters in height.
He had five tis the usual number of bones, and skin and muscle density and resilience outside human norms.
People had once called him a dragon wearing human skin, a humanoid colossus—both terms born of reverence and fear.
To fully exploit his gifts, Whitanart pursued a dual path.
He cultivated both the Life-Stream path of the martial monk, enhancing vitality and regeneration, and the Watcher path of the paladin, mastering vows of protection and guarding power.
He pushed both paths to legendary mastery.
Life-Stream level 23, Watcher level 24.
Although neither had crossed the level-25 threshold, the overlapping effects of his two legendary paths made his defensive and endurance capabilities unmatched in Theo.
During the first civil war, the Unyielding Shield held against four opponents at once, withstanding multiple legendary assaults without flinching. One of the attackers was even a high-tier legendary; in the end, they only managed to force him to hold out until reinforcents arrived, and he quickly recovered and returned to the field.
It’s worth noting here that “high-tier legendary” refers to level 25 and above, including level 25 itself.
Although Aola’s Red Emperor did not formally reach the rank, he had long been treated as a powerful high-tier legendary.
No one dared to underestimate the great dragon.
Legendaries of level 30 and above are called Crowned Legendaries, aning their legendary domains reach the scope of an ordinary king; their strength itself is their crown.
Those at level 35 and above are honored as Fate Legendaries!
aning their will is like destiny; a single thought can change the wind and clouds.
If a deity arrives in the Material Plane, unless it dares to descend in person and risk everything, its avatars and incarnations might not be a match for a Fate Legendary.
Lothrian Holy King was such a Fate Legendary.
Aside from him, the most powerful legendaries across the Romanian nations through history only reached the Crowned tier; none were Fate Legendaries.
Theo historically had no Crowned Legendaries. In the present age, the highest publicly known legendary is Bosival.
If “the Mountain’s Fang” Bosival is Theo’s sharpest spear, then Whitanart the Unyielding Shield is Theo’s first armor.
Unlike Rodrigo who had gone early to the northern front, Whitanart had long guarded the kingdom’s western borders.
His mission was to guard against raids from the goblin kingdom of Matna and he had not taken part in Aola’s early conflicts, nor had he defended the Impregnable Wall. After all, Theo’s territory was unstable on all sides, unable to concentrate forces like Aola, which had solved its problems on the tundra and relied on the Coldwater Ocean at its back.
Only when Aola’s iron cavalry breached the border and the front lines were in crisis, and when the western goblin kingdom was busy fighting the dwarf kingdom of Cambruk, did the crown finally reassign Whitanart to Norton Pass.
“If I had been present when the Impregnable Wall was attacked, things might have been different.”
Whitanart looked toward the capital and his voice held a hint of resentnt.
“These are not peaceful tis. The lives of soldiers on the front hang by a thread, yet our king is busy balancing his ministers and policing families, even at the expense of defensive safety… shortsighted and petty—no ruler’s bearing.”
Whitanart openly criticized the king.
In truth, the goblin threat on the western border had not been severe; the friction was minor and had not escalated into real war. When clashes at Aola’s border grew, Whitanart had once offered to go north to support Rodrigo, but the king refused, claiming the west needed a senior commander.
The stated reason was noble, but the truth was plain.
The crown did not want the Krowen family’s two shields united in one place, creating a military center that would be hard to control.
Over the years, as border battles increased, the Krowen family’s influence had risen with real power. The dual shields’ fa was known across Theo, and many soldiers trusted them more than the crown itself.
A family whose rits outweigh the sovereign’s safety is always a danger to the throne.
Thus the contemporary king took asures: after the first civil war, he assigned the two shields to the most distant frontlines; he publicly promoted yet secretly demoted key Krowen mbers, scattering them across the realm; he covertly supported other military houses to balance Krowen’s power…
Whitanart had long been simring with discontent.
Aola’s Red Iron Dragon Emperor personally led his forces, and by appearing on the front he uplifted the army’s morale and broke the border defenses. In contrast, Theo’s king stayed within the deep palace, hoarding power. Nearly a third of the kingdom’s legendaries remained stationed in the capital to secure the throne, leaving insufficient legendary strength at the front—allowing Aola to break through with one strike.
On this matter Rodrigo frowned deeply as well.
But in the end he did not reply, only shook his head and returned to the present.
“The front has been breached; holding this pass is the imdiate priority. I’ll familiarize myself with the defenses.”
Whitanart said no more and turned to face the vast mountains outside the gate.
He dropped to one knee, massive hand pressed to the cold stone of the command platform, and intoned a low, steady oath.
“By my blood as pact, by my soul as bond.”
“My body and this pass are one; my life continues with this place.”
“Stone as bone, rampart as skin; when the enemy cos I will not yield; life and death are inseparable.”
As the vow concluded, Whitanart’s body resonated with the pass beneath his feet. The runes on his gray-white armor lit up one by one and began synchronizing with the energy fluctuations of the pass’s defensive formations.
He deeply fused his life, his Domain, and Norton Pass’s defense system together.
One prospers, all prosper. One suffers, all suffer.
The pass’s defenses would be strengthened by his presence, and he in turn would draw near-limitless protection from the land. This was one of the powerful skills available to a legendary Watcher paladin.
Elsewhere, after a brief rest, Rodrigo convened a defense eting inside the pass’s command post. Present were the pass’s original garrison commander, surviving officers from the defeated army with command capacity, and representatives of the army’s mage corps.
There was no long-winded talk. Rodrigo issued a series of orders directly.
“First, all retreating units will rest three days. After three days they will be reorganized into new formations and join the defense rotation. dical resources will prioritize the severely wounded; the lightly wounded will use magic and potions to hasten recovery.”
“Second, inspect and recharge all defensive installations within the pass, including heavy artillery, magical amplifiers, and fla projectors. Inventory stored ammunition, oil, and mana-crystal reserves, and report daily consumption and stock.”
“Third, the three main mage towers enter warti status. Detection range expands to seventy kiloters north of the pass. Focus on tracking Aola legion movents and high-altitude magical disturbances, and don’t neglect underground activity. Deploy all available reconnaissance magic-eyes. I must know the exact ti Aola’s main force reaches the foot of the mountains.”
“Fourth—” he paused slightly, scanning the room, “imdiately contact the capital and report the frontline status and Dragonbreaker Gate’s defense plan. We need more reinforcents—not only supplies and troops but, more importantly, legendary fighters. At least two are required.”
Hearing the last order, the aide beside him showed a troubled expression.
The aide lowered his voice: “Commander, the capital’s legendaries… they will not easily obey recall. His Majesty—”
Rodrigo’s eyes turned cool and he cut off the aide, raising his voice so all in the command post could hear: “Tell the capital that I, Rodrigo Krowen, will not command a war destined to fail.”
“Norton Pass is a natural choke-point, but it is not impregnable.”
“If the Aola Emperor personally arrives with his legendaries and dragons under his command, this place will surely fall.”
“If the capital’s legendaries cannot co, then have the crown imdiately seek aid from our allies, especially Cambruk and Reebos. They will not want Aola to punch through the Erald Ridge and threaten the southern flank of the Romanian Plains.”
“Otherwise, if Norton Pass falls for lack of force, the flas of war will no longer be confined to the border. Aola’s legion will march straight to the heart of our kingdom.”
“If there is no chance of victory, then rather than letting countless soldiers die pointlessly and be buried in the mountains, we should abandon this place. At that ti, whether the legendaries left in the capital can still sit in their towers will be for them to decide.”
This was nearly a naked threat.
The aide paled, hesitated for several seconds, then nodded deeply and strode away.
After the eting Rodrigo remained alone in the command post.
He slumped into a hard wooden chair and tilted his head back to stare at the stone ceiling, the exhaustion plainly etched across his brow.
Outside ca the sound of soldiers forming up and the knocking of craftsn inspecting machinery; those noises braided together to amplify the stillness within.
“Aola… Theo… the Twin-Ao War…”
He murmured, and a complicated tide of feeling rose within him.
Frankly, he felt a dread at Aola’s newfound cohesion, and a twinge of an unspoken envy.
The Red Iron Dragon Emperor led from the front, riding into the fray personally, inspiring his troops to die for him. All under his command operated with high efficiency under a unified will.
By contrast, Theo’s internal factions bickered; crown and generals distrusted one another; resource allocation was strangled at every turn… If only they could unite, with Theo’s depth and heritage, how could they be so crushed by the rising Aola?
But reality has no ifs.
The front had been torn open, and it was Theo that now fell back to the natural choke-point.
anwhile, in Aola’s High Mountain Dragon Court.
The Red Iron Dragon Emperor of Aola stood in the palace, gaze calm as he regarded a magical projection before him.
It displayed four dragon eggs.
Their shells bore highly similar traits.
A dark red tone dominated, the surface patterned with cold, steel-like black striations, interspersed with patches and veins of silver-white and ancient copper.
This multicolored, interwoven shell indicated that both parents carried multiple bloodlines.
Although the projection could not transmit life essence, Garoth knew these eggs contained his slowly forming direct offspring.
Beneath each shell lay a new life linked to his bloodline, the cornerstone of Aola’s dragonkind future.
“My dear Garoth, your feat of plucking down the star has already reached the Vophal Dragon Domain. What a pity I couldn’t see it with my own eyes.”
A cheerful voice with a laugh ca from the projection.
The brass-silver dragon walked forward, neck gracefully arched. She picked up two of the eggs and toyed with them slowly in her claws, mischief and pride gleaming in her eyes. “Taking down a satellite while rescuing a guardian… tsk, tsk, as expected of the dragon I fancy—imposing. No doubt you’ve beco even more popular with the brood-mothers now.”
Hearing this, Garoth tilted his head, a flicker of puzzlent passing through his pupils.
“The incident happened only half a month ago, and word has already reached Vophal?”
He knew news of his seizure of the satellite had spread rapidly across the Romanian Plains and beco increasingly exaggerated—so claiming the Red Emperor had smashed a space satellite with a rock.
But Vophal’s domain lay across the sea, separated by countless mountains and waters; the transmission shouldn’t have been so swift.
“Oh, Alberto and his father sent word when they ssaged us,” the brass-silver dragon said. “Alberto said he fought shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor, slaying foes wildly on the battlefield. The Emperor reached for the star, while he kept order and thus won glory.”
Garoth: ..........
He snorted lowly—he couldn’t tell if it was resignation or amusent—then shook his head slightly and didn’t expose Alberto’s lie, answering simply, “Hmm, he played a part.”
In the earlier conflict, Gold Dragon Alberto was the only tal Dragon to directly take the field.
He disregarded the tal dragons’ protocols and without needing Garoth’s orders declared that Theo sought to expand the Abyssal Rift and that he must defend order and strike the evil nation—thus volunteering for battle.
His sister, Gold Dragon Nasha, remained stationed at the capital. Though she did not take the field directly, she served as an additional guarantee.
For example, if Athyst Dragon Iseramas had strictly maintained neutrality and ignored the capital, enemy legendaries would have had to weigh the consequences of striking a Gold Dragon. If Nasha faced danger, she could call upon the old Gold Dragon out in the Vophal Domain.
Garoth turned his gaze back to the projected dragon eggs.
After a silence he said slowly, “Normal dragon eggs gestate for one year and hatch in two.”
“My offspring may be special by nature; they might take three years to gestate and perhaps five to six years to hatch, and before that, I will see this war through to its conclusion.”
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