Ashen Dragon-Chapter 353 - 277 Entering the City
Chapter 353: Chapter 277 Entering the City
Stratholme Fortress.
The bustling city had fallen into silence. People tightly closed their doors and windows, quietly waiting for news from outside.
Due to the prior “Grand Conscription” by the Allied Forces, the streets were scattered with abandoned items and shattered furniture, with patches of bloodstains on the ground.
“Martial law in the entire city—”
“Without orders, no one may leave the city!”
The City Defense Army patrolled the streets repeatedly, vigilant against the invasion of external enemies.
...
“Anyone hiding strangers will be hanged!”
Sometimes they would knock on someone’s door, both to check for spies, and to collect some “protecting the city” fees, of course.
On Stratholme Fortress’s tall, weathered city walls, the true commander of the City Guard Army, Count Galahad Ponte, stood on the tower, anxiously looking at the distant horizon.
“This war will decide everything.”
“The Allied Forces… will ultimately triumph, just like in any disaster that the North has faced in history.”
He always said that.
Every moment of waiting was torture, and Galahad fervently hoped to see the messenger soldiers, to see the lion banner of the Boske Family fluttering.
But he knew this war was far different from the previous ones, its scale, intensity, and duration possibly being unprecedented—a conclusion in a few days seemed unlikely.
The remaining eleven countries of the North had unprecedentedly gathered all their strength, forming an Allied Force of over a hundred thousand soldiers, jointly resisting this seemingly airborne, extraordinarily powerful enemy—the Ashen Kingdom.
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Even when facing the “Frost Calamity” and the “Dragon Calamity” from the North, the Northern Countries had never been so united in their enmity.
That was because the nobles of every country knew: Frost Giants and White Dragons, at most, would bring plunder and death, and might even weaken other countries, giving them more benefits.
But the Ashen Kingdom would treat them equally, hanging them on the gallows and destroying their livelihoods.
“No one can defeat a united Scania.”
“Not even that giant dragon.”
Count Galahad murmured to himself.
Suddenly, the heavy sounds of horse hooves and footsteps were heard, though not in a hurry.
Instantly, officers, soldiers, and even commoner craftsmen on and around the tall walls looked towards the distant horizon, their hearts hanging in suspense.
“How is it possible?”
“It’s only been thirteen days… is the war already over?”
Galahad’s expression was grave. He stared intently at the horizon, his hand gripping his sword sweaty.
The count harbored a terrible suspicion in his heart, but he was unwilling to believe it.
After pondering for a moment, Galahad still ordered his adjutant beside him.
“Send a team of scouts to check the situation; remember…”
But he stopped quickly—because blurry figures appeared in the distance.
Their yellow-black and brown uniforms were all too familiar to him; they were the uniforms of the Boske Family, not only effective camouflage but also symbolic of the lion’s fur color.
“It’s the Duchy’s army!”
“They have returned in victory!”
Seeing the returning duchy soldiers, cheers erupted from the tower, and the soldiers raised their weapons high.
But Count Galahad rubbed his chin, lowering his head, still frowning deeply.
“How could this be…?”
Something wasn’t right.
If it were such a great victory, the duchy’s messengers would have brought the news back long ago, but he had not seen a single messenger to date.
And in the vanguard of that army, there would have been fluttering lion banners, not the current lack of momentum.
Suddenly, the cheers of the soldiers abruptly halted.
The tower fell into a dead silence.
Galahad unconsciously raised his head, only to see a swirling, shivering black cloud appearing on the horizon, covering the army below.
No, it wasn’t a black cloud.
He wiped his eyes incredulously, his lips slightly trembling.
“W-Wyverns?”
“Could it be… the Ashen Kingdom?”
The bipedal wyverns and chimeras flew densely in the sky, their wings nearly touching, like clusters of dark clouds blocking the sunlight.
And on the ground, behind the dejected captured soldiers, were the uniformly arranged Tieflings, Great Goblins, and the mountain-like Land Dragon Beasts.
“Gods above…”
“Is that our enemy?”
“The Allied Forces… have they been captured?”
The officers and soldiers finally came to their senses, exclaiming in fear and bewilderment at this incomprehensible enemy.
With a roar, the dense bipedal wyverns suddenly dispersed in the sky, leaving a wide open space.
The sky was instantly dyed orange-red.
The Red Dragon slowly flapped its massive wings, appearing on the distant horizon.
“The North has fallen…”
“Ashes shall remain forever.”
The calm, clear voice echoed across the wilderness, heard clearly by everyone inside and outside Stratholme Fortress.
“The North has fallen, Ashes shall remain forever!”
On the ground, the Ogres and Tieflings also shouted fervently, welcoming the arrival of the Red Dragon.
Players also shouted haphazardly, and some even ran naked on the plain, filling the surroundings with a sense of freedom.
“No…”
“The North has fallen.”
Count Galahad fell to his knees with a thud on the tower, despair evident in his eyes.
He had thought of the worst outcome, but when the suffocating scene unfolded before him, he still felt his world crumble.
Galahad Ponte was the count personally ennobled by Duke Leo before leaving the city.
The Duke had solemnly promised that as long as he held Stratholme Fortress, he would be granted a true dukedom upon the Allied Forces’ return, placing him among the top echelon of the Northern Nobility.
But now, everything was over.
Count Galahad’s hand trembled slightly as he gripped his sword.
…
Soon, with the sound of synchronized footsteps, the Kingdom’s vanguard troops entered the city.
The Great Goblins and Tiefling Infantry climbed the walls using ladders, quickly taking control of the entire city walls with almost no resistance.
Additionally, they discovered a high-ranking Northern noble committing seppuku on the tower—though this was of little importance to them.
The City Defense Army remaining inside Stratholme Fortress was not elite, more like a bunch of ruffians and strongmen.
In front of the Ashen Kingdom’s army and in the face of thousands of Allied captives, they had no will to resist at all. Some even waved white flags when the Kingdom’s army was still hundreds of meters away.
“Don’t kill me!”
“I surrender, I surrender!”
The City Defense Army, who usually swaggered before the city’s citizens, were now mostly kneeling and shivering, with some even wetting themselves in fear.
Stratholme Fortress, this ancient and prosperous city with nearly a millennium of history, claimed to be the “Lion City that never falls,” the capital of the Boske Duchy, had thus fallen to the Kingdom.
