Dracotitán

Muria and Kaslana, their forms hidden, quietly watched everything that had just unfolded in the Teleportation Hall, observing the holy warrior's figure disappear in the teleportation circle.

"Shall we go to the Patrick Fortress to take a look? There, like that holy warrior we just saw, there must be many humans gathered."

"Let's go." Muria recalled the weather-beaten face of the holy warrior devoted to Tyr, the god of justice, and saw not a trace of fear of death in him.

Why do ordinary people worship gods? To pray day and night, offering coins, all for what? Isn't it to seek the gods' protection over their souls after death, to enter the divine realm and attain eternal life? But that holy warrior, he must know the consequences of dying in the rescue of the Kingdom of Bavaria: the torment of a soul's descent and corruption. Yet, he still insisted on going.

Muria saw his true faith—it was because Tyr was the god of justice that he believed in him, not just following justice because he believed in Tyr.

After Muria agreed, Kaslana waved her staff, channeling the power of the mage tower and casting a high-level eight-ring teleportation spell, transporting them across most of Aeonian, from one end of the continent to the other.

As the two dragons descended upon the Patrick Fortress, the noisy sounds below reached Muria's ears, but his attention was drawn outside the fortress by a startling sight.

A vast, gray wall of fog stretched from the ground to the sky, its beginning and end unknown, stood less than a kilometer from the fortress, maintaining a parallel distance from its walls.

Within the mist, endless ghosts could be seen wandering, and on the fog-shrouded ground, countless undead roamed.

Muria recognized the fog—it was the undead gray mist, a derivative of the ninth-ring necromantic spell, the Undead Catastrophe. Under its cover, all the dead would be resurrected.

"That's the territory of the Kingdom of Bavaria!" Kaslana said, noticing Muria's gaze.

"Who are you?" Just then, a squadron of well-equipped griffin riders slowly surrounded Muria and Kaslana. "Identify yourselves!"

"Hmm!" Muria frowned slightly, scanning the fortress walls below. Apart from the thousands of soldiers aiming bows and spears at them, there were dozens of ballistae, and even some magic cannons pointed at them.

"How dare you!" Kaslana, seeing herself and Muria surrounded and threatened by humans, became furious.

Fine golden scales appeared at the corner of her eyes, and a faint golden dragon phantom emerged behind her. The overwhelming dragon's presence spread, causing the griffins to screech in terror, their wings flapping weakly under the weight of the dragon's power, nearly dropping their riders.

"I am Kaslana, the Guardian of Dawn!" Though angry, the golden dragon elder sister still announced her name.

"Misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding!" Hearing Kaslana's voice, a golden-rank general flew up from the walls below, apologizing profusely to Muria and Kaslana.

Due to regional limitations, this general had never heard of the Guardian of Dawn, but that didn't stop him from recognizing the identity of Muria and Kaslana through the dragon's presence—two golden dragons.

As gold dragons, there was no need for any alert or defense. So, while apologizing to Muria and Kaslana, the griffin riders quickly withdrew, the ballistae and magic cannons returned to their places, and the soldiers who had been aiming their weapons also retreated...

"This fortress has entered the highest level of alert. They are ready to strike at any moment, instantly responsive to any disturbance," Muria commented, looking at the departing general's back and speaking to Kaslana. He adjusted the space ring in his hand, their compensation.

"The undead gray mist is so close to them, their posture is quite normal."

"March!" "March!"... The sound of uniform footsteps approached. Muria looked towards the source, a legion of heavily armored infantry, arranged in hundreds of small squads, entered the fortress.

"Which reinforcement is this now?" After Muria and Kaslana landed on a roof in the fortress, they heard some discussions.

"Who knows which legion this is? Since that fog appeared, there's been a constant stream of troops entering the fortress, almost non-stop!"

...

"Ha, are they amassing forces, waiting for the Necromantic Council to retreat?" Muria, hearing the conversations below, showed a hint of scorn.

"Muria, don't you think there are too many people in this city?" Kaslana, standing with Muria on a rooftop, pointed to the crowded streets below.

"They're all adventurers." Muria identified them by their attire.

"They're also waiting for the moment when the undead gray mist dissipates," Kaslana commented with a hint of disgust.

"How revolting." Looking at the bustling crowd below, Muria involuntarily thought of scavenging vultures. An apt comparison—these adventurers, and the Kingdom of Obb continuously sending troops, were like vultures waiting to feast on the "rotten flesh" of the Kingdom of Bavaria.

Compared to the holy warrior who pawned his armor for the journey to support Bavaria, these people were nauseating...

"Another group of fearless holy warriors has gathered, ready to enter the Kingdom of Bavaria." A shout came, and the street leading to the fortress gate quieted down.

Then, on this crowded street, people consciously moved to the sides, squeezing as hard as they could to clear the central path.

"March!" "March!"... The sound of horse hooves echoed through the quiet street, as a disorganized cavalry troop advanced along the road cleared by the adventurers.

This cavalry troop, barely over three hundred strong and less in number than the recently arrived infantry legion, had mismatched armor and weapons. Yet, they possessed an aura that brought silence to the entire fortress.

This was a troop of holy warriors, each shining with the radiance of at least ten different blessing spells.

This group of holy warriors, who until today had never met, who worshipped different gods and came from different nations, had formed a team for justice, to save their compatriots from the Undead Catastrophe.

As the holy warriors passed, adventurers on either side of the road bowed their heads in respect.

Before long, a rousing and majestic tune began to play. Hearing the music, bards on both sides of the street took out their instruments and joined in—this was a widely-known song on the continent, familiar to almost every bard.

Amidst the stirring, dignified, and solemn music, the holy warriors exited through the fortress gate opened for them and stepped into the undead gray mist...

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