From the high platform, the view below was staggering. The two armies had encamped along the miles-long tree barricade—countless temporary forts, endless banners, deafening horns. Forty thousand troops in all their might. Even I, veteran of major campaigns, had never witnessed such overwhelming spectacle.
Yet beyond the visible 400,000 lurked Diyari's unknown forces—location, timing, strength all mysteries. I had plans, but worry lingered.
Orc and dark elf camps stood far apart—too distant for mutual support. Attacking one alone was impossible.
Our 200,000 elves held positions along Gaia's trunk—spears and swords angled outward, tens of thousands of archers concealed. Serbei's 5,000 mages had woven a massive azure hexagram across the tree, projecting a visible crystalline blue dome shielding most of Gaia. Covering an entire capital-sized area required over a thousand mages—only possible here, not in human lands.
Yet the dazzling barrier brought no comfort. From dark elf lines poured endless fireballs, lightning, wind blades, hail, boulders—rainbow magic exploding against the shield in spectacular bursts.
High-level spells—super fireballs like miniature suns, super lightning like thunder dragons—shook even the sturdy barrier. Some force penetrated, striking Gaia and sending tremors through the colossal tree.
I glanced at worried Jenna beside me. Colored lights danced across her beautiful face, making her more enchanting. Unable to resist, I kissed her cheek. She startled—then smiled shyly, head lowered.
"Scared?"
Flattered, her crystal eyes met mine briefly before shaking firmly. Days of training had taught basic slave virtues—trust in her master above all.
But the sight below irritated me. That damned tree wall—if not for it, we could trade magic blows instead of turtling up, getting pounded like sitting ducks. Infuriating.
"Turtles offend you? Don't take it out on them."
"Wah?!"
A voice from empty space behind us. Jenna, the grand elder, and I nearly screamed. Serbei materialized—scaring us half to death.
"How did you know what I was thinking?"
"Didn't. Lucky guess."
Serbei shrugged, swaggering beside me to survey both sides.
"Shouldn't you be supporting the mages?"
"No need. Dark elf barrage has lasted half an hour—minutes left before collapse. Exhaustion."
True enough—attacks rapidly dwindled.
Other commanders trickled in. Dark elves ceased magic; orcs sent vanguard—horns blaring, slowly advancing.
A hundred orc infantry approached under two beast-skull banners, taunting.
"Grand elder—who's your strongest warrior?"
"Our mightiest is Great Sword Saint Dragon Fury—currently wandering, location unknown. His top disciple Deep Wolf was assassinated in the Empire. Current strongest: Spear Commander Fei Xiong, Sword Commander Qing Yuan, and Jenna beside you."
Before he finished, two elves approached.
First: massively built—abnormally muscular for elves. Gray rough cloth under heavy armor, carrying a massive spear over 150 pounds. Fei Xiong.
Second: female. Light yellow and deep green open-chest battle garb—half her full breasts exposed, incredibly alluring. Longsword on back. Striking face—elegant yet heroic. Qing Yuan.
Both saluted me and the grand elder.
Jenna noticed my expression.
"Master… you look unwell. Are you all right?"
Xue Yan among commanders glanced concernedly.
"Nothing."
Liar. Hearing "Dragon Fury" resurfaced memories of enslavement. Ten years ago, wandering Dragon Fury stayed with my family at Father's invitation—became sword instructor for us three brothers.
The vain bastard, seeing my "genius," forced me to learn his Dragon Fury Four Absolutes. Threatened ten-year-old me: fail, he'd cut off my balls.
To protect future happiness, I endured four months of hell—the harshest training of my life—becoming the second person ever to master the full set.
But after he wandered off again, I hadn't practiced in ten years. Brain over brawn for me—sword arts useless.
"Commander Fei Xiong requests permission to meet the orc vanguard!"
I eyed the burly elf, then the enemy champion. Fei Xiong strong—but orcs were continental brutes famed for power. Except Dragon Fury, we had no guaranteed victor. Better sacrifice pawns than a commander.
As I opened my mouth to refuse—an eagle cry split the sky. Cheers erupted across Gaia.
I looked up—a tiny black dot circled high.
"Speak of the devil…"
"It's Lord Dragon Fury! He's back!"
Nearly every elf recognized their great sword saint. Spotting the dot, 200,000 troops plus million civilians roared his name, raising weapons skyward. Morale soared at his timely return.
"Good kid, finally back."
Grand elder and Serbei murmured, smiling.
The dot split—Dragon Fury leapt from thousands of feet, riding his giant eagle. Nearly two million on both sides gasped—cheers choked silent, only heartbeats remained.
"Lower bridges! Deploy vanguard! Archers and mage-archers cover!"
Before he landed, I snapped awake—this was his dramatic entrance. To match, I ordered three legions out. Fei Xiong, Qing Yuan, Zhan Ying, Xue Yan rushed to support. If he splattered, I'd collect the corpse. Ha!
Dragon Fury entered view—unchanged in ten years. Long green hair in ponytail, white-and-blue wide-sleeved robe, sealed white greatsword on back.
More surprising than skydiving on eagle: same clothes and hairstyle after a decade. Did he ever bathe?
Crowds watched breathlessly as he plummeted—eyes closed, arms crossed, head down.
Tens of feet from impact—no movement. Then swirling winds enveloped him—righting to feet-first, slowing descent dramatically.
Wind element. No gesture—he simply released and controlled internal wind force for protection.
As great sword saint, wind affinity suited close combat. No high spells, but wind manipulation rivaled senior mages.
He landed gracefully—same lazy pose. Our forces 500 paces behind formed up for support.
Facing 400,000 enemies, Dragon Fury threw his head back and laughed.
"Who dares disturb the sacred grounds?"
He opened eyes, ponytail flicked over shoulder, coldly eyeing the orc champion towering two heads above—no fear.
Our vanguard neared his rear.
The orc swung his massive horned mace mockingly.
"Me, Shigafu, orc vanguard general. Come die, Dragon Fury."
Shigafu postured—mace spinning like needle despite insane weight.
Dragon Fury merely rested hands at sides, watching coolly—sword still sheathed.
"Hey elf, why no draw sword? Scared stiff by general's might?"
Orc guards jeered, rippling laughter from rear. Dragon Fury unmoved—gently caressing sealed eagle-head hilt.
"Seventy-six years sealed—my sword 'Eagle Wind' hasn't tasted blood. If you force me to draw it… I'd be delighted."