Chapter 354: Supplication and Struggle

Caesar’s cataclysmic eruption of power scoured the heavens clean of every foe.

Yet the vortex above, seething with lightning and turmoil, didn’t vanish alongside the fiery detonation. It lingered, revolving slowly, though no more cultists spilled forth from its depths.

High in the air, the silver dragon beat her wings. Power gathered about her frame, silver blades of force manifesting and multiplying until they became titanic swords. They shot toward the vortex—toward Its projection of Heaven’s might.

Argent brilliance formed chains of light as the swords struck the heart of the vortex, grinding against its terrible power until its structure unraveled. The portal that had spewed out endless cultists at last dissipated.

To most dragons, Its power would have been unassailable. Neither sheer magic nor brute strength could contend against it.

But Aurelian was an exception. The powerful strength she brought to bear allowed her to clash directly against It, granting her a significant advantage as long as she didn’t have to face It directly.

Aurelian focused as she attempted to dispel the cloak of Heaven’s strength with which It had shrouded the area, while Caesar turned his gaze downward.

The molten sphere he had unleashed had burst into a rain of fire, kindling all it touched: trees, thickets, beasts, the dwellings of mortals—and mortals themselves.

Smoke rose into the sky, turning the day into ash-streaked twilight. The air echoed with screams. What were such cries to dragons, or to cults who courted gods? To powers on this scale, all beneath them were but ants.

Caesar’s talons clinked together. A pulse of magic swept outward from his colossal frame, guttering the scattered fires and causing the oppressive heat to ebb.

Blazing trees and smoldering brush were snuffed out. What should have become an inferno consuming leagues of forest was quenched by his will.

“You have changed greatly, Caesar.”

Aurelian drifted to his side, her silver scales gleaming as the last shreds of the vortex above unraveled. She cast her gaze at the smothered flames below. If Caesar hadn’t quenched the flames, and without any prompting at that, she would have done so herself.

The Caesar she once knew would not have spared a thought for those weaklings caught between the fury of gods and dragons.

Different dragons viewed the lesser races differently, though most bore them neither malice nor kindness. The gulf between their station was simply too vast.

Only dragons like Sieg or Noelle, who had lived among the intelligent races since their childhood, would be sympathetic to their cause. The others were largely indifferent to other life as a whole.

But just as humans, beastkin, dwarves, and other races fought in wars without any concern for the wildlife and insects in their way, so too did dragons have little concern for those too far beneath their kind.

How many towns had fallen to the stray blows of legends? How many uncounted dead perished unseen, unheeded, while the strong fought for their own lives? Few ever noticed. Fewer still cared.

The green dragon Goelia’s corrosive breath would have scoured foes and mortals alike in a rain of acid, killing all life in the vicinity—and he would have departed from the battlefield untroubled, unaware of the ruin he left behind.

“I have been… tempered,” Caesar rumbled at last, lowering his head. “It is easy enough to curtail needless death.”

He spread his power further still, smothering every last ember, knowing that left unchecked, the flames would claim countless more. All he could do was scour the battlefield clean of their remnants, to spare the innocent what he could.

“I approve,” Aurelian replied. “We have time before the cult can locate us anew, more than enough to see this through.”

Her own nature, and the influence of Sieg and Noelle, had long set her apart from dragons who held only indifference for fleeting lives. Mighty as she was, Aurelian had never embraced the cold disdain of the aloof. Where possible, she would do the same as Caesar..

Within minutes, the flames were gone. Together, the two great dragons departed swiftly, knowing that their victory was only a reprieve. The Church of Dragonkind would soon learn of this place, and hunters would follow their trail.

Far below, the earth lay in ruins, scarred by their clash. From the moment the colossal drake had fallen from the heavens, the surrounding settlements had been devastated.

The weight of the falling beast crushed homes and inhabitants alike, leaving only rubble and blood. Each titanic impact had split the earth, swallowing hapless mortals whole.

Caesar’s eruption from the depths and channeled power from the fire-veins had slaughtered still more. But above all, it was the rain of molten stone—the fragments of his shattered inferno—that claimed the greatest harvest of lives.

The burning hail fell thick as a storm, blanketing the land. No one was able to flee in time; the deluge was upon them before they could escape. Magma swallowed houses whole, consuming those within.

Knights, magicians, and wizards—those who had embarked down the path of transcendence—fared slightly better. They were able to shield themselves and a handful of others, but far too few of them were present in such a remote province.

For most, there was no refuge. Only despair awaited them.

Even after Caesar had snuffed out the remaining flames, their fate might not have changed.

“Is anyone there? Please, help us!” a youth called out desperately. He still lived, though many around him had perished without even bodies left to mourn.

His family home had been consumed by fire, his father and sister swallowed whole by a falling mass of magma that had flattened the roof. His mother and younger brother lay trapped in the debris of the other half of the house, their lives fading by the moment.

When the firestorm descended, he had been training outside. His mother and brother had been within.

The molten magma had crushed his mother’s legs, then fused her body to the earth as it cooled. His brother’s arm and shoulder had been consumed; only cruel fortune spared his head. He clung to life—but only just.

With Caesar having suddenly quenched the flames threatening his house, he had one final chance to act.

Even so, the outcome seemed all but certain. He was merely an intermediate knight-in-training. What could he do in the face of his mother and brother’s torment? He could only watch as their bodies, half-consumed by molten rock, slipped further into death’s grasp.

He dared not even move them. Any attempt to wrench them free from the cooling magma that had adhered to the ground risked tearing away what little flesh still clung to their bones. It would only deepen their agony, hastening the inevitable.

The common folk of this world were hardier than the people of Earth. On Earth, a touch of lava meant instant death. Here, their stronger physiques did not allow such mercy. They endured, lingering at the threshold of death, their strength ebbing as they writhed in protracted torment.

Their hoarse, pain-choked moans reached the youth’s ears, carving at his spirit more savagely than any blade.

He clutched his head in helpless anguish. His eyes were dry, refusing him even the release of tears. Despair exuded from his body like poison.

He was powerless. The dead were beyond his reach. The living—his family, still faintly clinging to life—he could not save.

His mind could offer only one desperate thought: should he grant them mercy with his own hands? Beyond that, the faithless youth had nothing left to call on but prayer—a desperate hope cast to some distant, indifferent power, begging for deliverance.

He was but one individual in the tragedy that had befallen the Dying Crag. Countless others now faced the same despair. They had done all they could. Beyond that, only prayer remained: prayer to any and every power that might hear.

“Is anyone near the Dying Crag? There’s been a terrible calamity here. Many are wounded, but they can still be saved! We need magicians, healers, alchemists—anyone!”

“I happened to be traveling nearby. I saw the battle and took shelter. Now that it’s over, I’m already on my way. I’m no magician, but I have potions to spare.”

“My caravan is by the eastern plains. We’ve plenty of scrolls and healing draughts, but the wagons are slow. Anyone closer, please—help bring them up the mountain!”

“My adventuring squad is on the same route. We’ll meet you there.”

“There’s a Church of Light not far from here. Send word—their clergy can reinforce us.”

“No need. I’m a knight of the church. The entire Church of Light is already on the move. Damn it all—how could such a disaster strike so suddenly?”

“Our party has a devotee of Aelini, Goddess of Wealth. Please, everyone nearby, gather coins and jewels, anything with monetary value! With just a bit more, we’ll be able to invoke a Golden Rain of Renewal, a miracle of wide-reaching healing.”

“Got it.”

“On it!”

“…”

Communication rapidly proliferated through the Prayer Network—frantic shouts, terse replies, wordless silence. Followers of the Church of Nightfall, bound together by their mental link, were rallying with desperate haste in the face of catastrophe.

Perhaps a miracle might descend in answer to their pleas, but more often, it was the sweat and struggle of mortals themselves that kept despair at bay.

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