Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

The long and grueling war between the Texi Empire and the Slaine Empire had turned fresh recruits—who, just days ago, would go weak at the knees at the sight of mangled flesh and severed limbs—into true warriors, numb beyond numbness to life and death. Here, the term “veteran” simply meant a soldier who had survived for three months without being killed. Soldiers conscripted from all the provinces of the empire were being sent in an endless stream to the central mountain range of Hailar, rushing forward wave after wave into this land where flashing blades and death were interwoven. Those few who had been thrown into the fray months ago and were lucky enough to still be alive had long since become true human killing machines. Their eyes all gleamed with the same cold, merciless light. After driving back the last enemy assault, they would collapse before even reaching their barracks and fall asleep right there on the ground. When they woke, they ate. Once they were full, they waited for the horns to sound, then charged back into the fray. As long as they could take one enemy down with them before dying, it was considered a good death. And still, many of these “veterans,” lost in the frenzy of killing, failed to retreat in time and remained forever on the battlefield. The high command of both nations had long grown weary of a war that had dragged on for five or six years without a decisive result. Countless battles large and small had been fought. Endless tactics and stratagems had been devised and discarded. In the end, the war had devolved into a simple, brutal war of attrition. Attack and defense had lost all sense of order. Each day, the headquarters mechanically issued new orders to charge. The soldiers no longer needed the enforcement squads and their swords—stained with dried, dark red blood—to drive them forward. At the sound of the horn, they would instinctively form ranks, roar at the top of their lungs, and charge straight at the enemy lines. In that meat-grinder of a battlefield, pain and death no longer reminded anyone that they were still alive. Only being killed by the enemy could grant them true, final release. Even the mages—who were regarded as nobles by virtue of their status—had lost all of their former elegance. Covered in grime and blood, they cast spells and meditated as if their lives depended on it. The once-precious magic crystals and monster cores were now shipped in from the rear in an endless supply, only to be spent in the most extravagant fashion. There was no time to marvel at their beauty or to admire the surging magic they contained—they were drained of power and reduced to worthless dust. The rear of the battlefield was thick with the scent of enchanted incense that improved spellcasting success rates. The air itself had become so saturated with magic that it stabilized the casters’ minds even without burning more incense, allowing them to chant mechanically and still succeed in releasing their spells. The skies above the battlefield were an even deadlier place. There, the ultimate weapons of both empires—the supreme kings of the air—clashed again and again. Dragon Riders, rare and awe-inspiring under normal circumstances, were a common sight here. Becoming a Dragon Rider required more than just strength and willpower. It also demanded luck. Only those who met every condition could undergo the soul resonance required to earn the right to stand before a Dragon God and receive the chance to bond with a dragon partner, signing a contract of shared honor as equals. Even powerful warriors who passed every trial but failed to spark that resonance could not become Dragon Riders. Of every hundred thousand candidates, perhaps one or two might be fortunate enough to earn that honor. The selection process was so strict that the number of Dragon Riders remained very small. But those who succeeded found their battle aura cultivation advancing by leaps and bounds thanks to the resonance with their dragon partners. Some warriors tried to subdue a dragon by force and turn it into a mount, but such individuals faced the wrath of the entire dragon race and relentless pursuit until their inevitable deaths. Even if they succeeded, they would gain none of the benefits of aura resonance—this was the greatest advantage of a true Dragon Rider. Given time to grow, a knight with a bonded dragon could quickly become one of the most powerful beings alive. For common folk, catching even a single glimpse of a dragon was enough to brag about for a lifetime. But here, in the central Hailar Mountains, the sky had become a dueling ground for the aerial forces of both empires. A casual glance upward might reveal a massive dragon streaking across the sky, roaring with fury, its breath weapon carving fiery trails of destruction below, accompanied by screams that never seemed to end. Dragons clashed midair with enemy dragons or other aerial forces, detonating wave after wave of magical shockwaves so powerful that they made the air visibly ripple. The death of a Sword Saint or Archmage—an event that would normally shake the world—was hardly worth remarking upon here. Even the vaunted reputation of Dragon Riders was no longer unassailable. Every month, at least one Dragon Rider and their dragon fell on this battlefield—slain by an equal opponent or, worse, wounded and captured alive. When that happened, the light-armored infantry—whom Dragon Riders normally ignored—would swarm them at the cost of horrific casualties, burying them under sheer numbers. The saying “many ants can kill an elephant” had here become grim reality. Of the Slaine Empire’s officially registered 105 Dragon Riders, 61 had been deployed to the Hailar front. The remaining 44 guarded the royal capital and palace. The Texi Empire, by contrast, could muster barely a dozen Dragon Riders. Their only real counter to Slaine’s might was a force of over six hundred Griffon and Thunderhawk Riders. Individually, these mounts were no match for a dragon, but with superior numbers and disciplined formations, they could still fight on equal terms. Wooooooo~ A strange, sharp, and eerie sound echoed from the snow-covered peak of one of the mountains rising above the snowline in the central Hailar range—peaks that had been frozen for untold millennia. A figure in black armor stood at the summit, a bizarre seven-inch-long flute pressed to his lips. The razor-edged wind slashed at his body, which was fully encased in secret black steel armor, while the crimson cloak behind him snapped and flapped like a battle flag. Above his head, the air rippled like water, and a monstrous beast with crown-like horns, metallic scales covering every inch of its body, and a pair of vast, terrible wings tore through the void into reality. “ROOOOAR!” The dragon’s bellow, laden with sovereign majesty, thundered across the sky a hundred meters above the peak. The soundwave spread out like ripples on water, scattering the lingering mist that shrouded the peak. The shockwave triggered avalanches on nearby mountains, the dislodged snow roaring downward until it became a cataclysmic cascade. A young gold dragon, not yet a thousand years old, revealed its fearsome form in the sky. Its body, more than thirty feet long, moved with shocking grace despite its size. After circling the peak once, it tucked in its wings and dove straight toward the summit. Just as it was about to smash into the rock and ice below, it let out a low growl, then suddenly seemed to hang suspended in midair before crashing down. Ice and snow exploded in all directions, shards clattering against bare rock. The summit nearly collapsed under the impact. This strange, momentary levitation was unique to gold dragons—a magnetic field that generated an anti-gravity effect, allowing their massive, heavy bodies to land safely. Without this innate talent, the ground would be unable to bear their weight; they would sink into the earth as though stepping into quicksand. The seven-inch-long dragon flute was the symbol of the knight-dragon bond, a relic of an ancient pact made ten thousand years ago between dragons and humans to fight alien invaders from beyond the stars. It was forged through the combined efforts of dragon and human alchemists and artisans, using rare and precious materials. Once a dragon signed a knight’s contract through the flute, it gained access to an eternal resting space and the ability to tear through space when summoned. The dragon could recover and sleep in this pocket dimension, then emerge through the rift when it heard the sound of its knight’s flute—even from the other side of the world. The dragon flute was not only the witness to the contract, but also a spatial anchor and a magical storage artifact. Each flute had its own unique sound, and a dragon could only respond to the flute belonging to its own knight. This gold dragon looked like a living weapon bristling with spikes. Its wings seemed forged from countless blades, its natural metallic armor covering every joint and limb, more exquisite and deadly than anything a human master smith could create. Dark sigils crisscrossed its scales. Its claws, sharp as divine weapons, casually shredded ancient ice as hard as steel. Lightning crackled faintly along its horns, and the air around it reeked of blood and killing intent. Its massive, blood-red, slit-pupiled eyes glared down at the knight as though ready to rip him to shreds at any moment. “Goldie, how’s your recovery coming along?” The young man’s voice came from beneath the sealed helmet, which covered his entire head save for a narrow slit for his eyes and the hot mist of his breath. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the dragon’s threatening posture. “Hmph! Damn it, I’m itching to tear into those Texi Empire pests again. Heh! But don’t you go dying on me, little Morin—I’d be really sad.” The dragon’s ruined tail writhed as though alive, the mangled section slowly regenerating before the knight’s eyes. The intricate structure knitted itself back together at visible speed, but even so, its strength would be greatly reduced until it fully recovered.