The War Begins

Amidst the endless expanse of the yellowish-brown desert and gravel plains, the human army resembled a winding serpent, crawling unhurriedly out of the deep, dark tunnel entrance.

Stepping onto this land cursed by the gods, the muddy sensation underfoot from the recent rain vanished completely.

Although dark clouds loomed overhead and lightning occasionally flashed across the sky, the sandy soil here was much drier than on the other side of the river, as if it had never been washed by rain.

However, the slightly moist, cool air in the breeze served as indirect proof that the God-Forsaken Land had also been bathed in rain over the past few days.

This weather brought a collective sigh of relief to the army, which was mostly composed of commoners. It seemed that until the clouds fully dispersed, they wouldn't have to worry about the extreme daytime heat of the God-Forsaken Land.

Several soldiers who had braced themselves for a brutal heatwave and drought took their hands off their waterskins. Drawing holy symbols over their chests, they offered silent prayers to the gods they worshiped.

They firmly believed this was a sign of divine mercy.

In contrast to the minor relief felt by these low-ranking soldiers, Robo, bringing up the rear of the army, was far more solemn.

He didn't care whether it was hot or cold, dry or humid. As a Gold Rank Archmage, shielding himself from the elements was a simple matter of casting a spell.

What truly concerned him was when the army would reach its destination.

And when they would engage the enemy.

He had deployed nearly all of their military might for this campaign, leaving the Duchy of Reny dangerously defenseless. If they could not wrap up this war quickly, neighboring nations coveting their lands might seize the opportunity to invade.

After a brief moment of deliberation, Robo issued an order to the mage corps. He instructed them to coordinate their casting and unleash a wide-area Mass Haste spell, aiming to hasten their march toward their destination—

The city known to passing merchants as the black gold of the desert, the home of the Wine Queen.

...

Black City.

At this moment, the city was almost completely swallowed by the pitch-black sky.

It was so quiet that only the howling of the wind could be heard.

Irene sat on the edge of the city wall in her human form, her legs dangling over the side and swinging lazily back and forth. The wind whipped through her pitch-black hair as her deep, dark eyes stared off into the distance.

On her left ring finger, a ring that reflected a brilliant, sparkling light had appeared at some point.

All of this made the little dragon girl look like a carefree, lovesick maiden waiting for her beloved to return.

Yet, beneath this picture of tranquility lay an endless, suffocating killing intent.

Inside the storage ring on her finger rested a colossal machine—the dragon-type power armor.

With just a single thought, she could equip the armor on the spot and enter her peak combat state.

At this moment, Irene was like a fully drawn bow, ready to release a lethal arrow, or a loaded rifle with a finger resting lightly on the trigger.

If she so desired, she could deliver a fatal blow to her enemies in an instant.

“Whoosh...”

A chilly wind blew from the east, carrying yellow sand and stripping away what little moisture remained in the air. The sky began to turn a dull, hazy gray.

The final traces of the numerous pits dug around Black City were completely covered up.

This was a tactic designed by Irene, inspired by tunnel warfare. However, these pits were very shallow and did not connect to one another; they were more like individual, self-contained trenches.

Their sole purpose was to conceal soldiers.

In this fantasy world, city walls built from ordinary stone without magic formations to reinforce them were no different from paper when subjected to large-scale spell bombardment.

An army like the one from the Duchy of Reny would certainly possess a mage corps, so the little dragon girl had no intention of fighting a defensive siege.

On the other hand, if they launched a proactive charge, they would inevitably be subjected to a barrage of spells before they could even get close, resulting in massive, unnecessary casualties.

Thus, Irene came up with this plan: hide the army underground, wait for the enemy to march deep into the ambush zone, and then spring out from beneath the earth to launch a sudden, close-quarters ambush.

This would not only catch the enemy completely off guard but also render their mage corps' area-of-effect spells useless.

Unless the enemy was willing to rain spells down indiscriminately on both armies, their mages would be completely constrained.

Hidden beneath the desert sand was an army of thirty thousand men.

Ten thousand of them were the fully trained Black Knights, while the other twenty thousand were miscellaneous conscripts scraped together from various sources.

These twenty thousand represented every last able-bodied man they could muster, leaving behind only the elderly, the weak, women, and children.

Given the lack of time, it was impossible to convert them into dragonborn on a large scale to quickly boost their combat power.

After all, the process of turning someone into a dragonborn involved using highly invasive dragon blood to forcibly mutate another creature's physical body, pushing their life state closer to that of the dragon blood's source.

This process was not only excruciatingly painful but also highly dangerous. Without a robust physique and an iron will, a candidate could easily end up exploding and dying mid-transformation.

The ten thousand Black Knights had been meticulously selected from the strongest and most resilient members of their tribes over several years.

With the war looming, everyone was on edge—a state of mind highly unsuitable for such a volatile transformation. Forcing the process now would not only weaken the two black dragons due to excessive bloodletting, but it could also result in heavy, unnecessary casualties right before the battle, utterly crushing morale.

It simply wasn't worth the risk.

...

Beneath the yellow sand, in a cramped underground pit, several half-beastkin huddled together, nervously inspecting their meager gear.

Iron Bull was one of them.

Through the faint slivers of sunlight filtering down from the gaps overhead, he could barely make out the expressions of his comrades in the darkness.

There was hesitation, bewilderment, and fear.

Yet, every single one of them held their weapons with a white-knuckled grip, whispering words of encouragement to themselves in hushed, trembling voices.

“Iron Bull... are you scared?”

A faint whisper came from behind him. It was the sheepkin, One-Horn. The fellow had somehow pulled some strings to get assigned to the same pit as Iron Bull.

As he spoke, Iron Bull could clearly feel One-Horn, who was pressed tightly back-to-back against him, trembling.

It was only natural. This wasn't a hunt; this was war. Coming out of this with only a bleeding wound would be the best-case scenario. They all knew there was a very real chance they would die here.

But just as Iron Bull was about to comfort his friend, an abrupt voice chimed in from the side.

“Scared of a hammer! Hey, one-horn, I'll look down on you if you keep acting like this.”

The voice was somewhat androgynous, even soft. Iron Bull didn't even need to look to know who it was.

The voice was simply too distinct. Only the small gnoll in their pit, Muge, could sound like that.

If the conscription hadn't been strictly for male beastkin, Iron Bull would have sworn this gnoll was a female.

“Whoo said I'm scared!”

One-Horn shot back defensively, though his face was a bit pale. “I was just... just worried that Iron Bull would be anxious about his family. I wanted to reassure him!”

“Oh, how noble of you,” the gnoll muttered, rolling her eyes in the pitch-black darkness. She didn't believe a single word, but she opened her mouth to tease him some more.

After all, once the battle commenced, survival was a toss-up. If they were to perish on the battlefield, this would be their last chance to speak.

But before she could utter another word, the ground beneath them began to vibrate.

Slowly but surely, the tremors grew stronger.

An alert half-beastkin carefully lifted a corner of the camouflage covering their heads, peeked through the gap, and immediately ducked back down, biting his lip hard.

“Are they here?” Muge whispered.

“Yes!”

The scouting half-beastkin nodded vigorously. “They're here!”

A massive bolt of lightning tore through the dark clouds overhead, and a single raindrop fell from the sky.

Irene held out her hand, catching the raindrop perfectly in her palm.

She tilted her head back to look at the lightning-torn sky and murmured softly, “Tsk, raining again...”

Amidst the deafening thunder, the sky grew even darker.

The rolling thunderclouds, mirroring the massive swarm of dark silhouettes in the distance, swept across the landscape.

As raindrops pattered against the yellow sand, Iron Bull, hidden deep beneath, tightened his grip on his tower shield and battle-axe. A fierce, burning light of battle-readiness flashed in his eyes.