Dao Of Heaven
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Chapter 633: The Dragonia Will Never Be Slaves!
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 15:43:40 +0000 UTCRoarrr—!
Boom—!!!
The earth trembled like a heartbeat. Pale Titans slowly spread into formation along the scarred horizon, their ferocious cannons raised high. They resembled heavily armed knights, and their marching posture was no different from that of humans.
But they towered into the clouds, each hundreds of meters tall. Their flickering void shield arrays connected into one mass, advancing like mountains, unstoppable.
Zzzzz—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh whoosh whoosh—!
The shrieking of energy weapons echoed continuously. Heavy macro cannons roared, and spears of light rained down like hail, blotting out the sky.
Heavy plasma struck the barren plains, erupting into fireballs and clouds of dark-brown smoke. The fiery blasts lit up the heavens like day, burning and flattening everything. Each strike shook the land, tossing sand and earth high, only for it to rain back down.
Dragonia roared, Gigants bellowed.
The night sky glowed with the scorching heat of weapons. The land was drenched in blood, and wails filled the heavens.
...
If the human territory of Elkia on the continent of Lucia was little more than an armed parade, and the Elven Gard war zone—spanning three continents and ruling fifty-two provinces—was but a low-intensity conflict, then on this wild continent, home to dragon lairs and Gigant nations, what unfolded was a mythic war.
As one of the three great continents of Disboard, Valar was unlike Lucia or Alieira, which housed many sentient races.
Compared to the Eastern Union of Werebeasts with their skewed technological tree cobbled into a digital nation, Valar's infrastructure was primitive. Apart from the small areas developed under Elven Gard, it was nearly all wilderness.
This made sense.
For the Gigants and Dragonia were far too powerful. Their numbers were few compared to other lower races, so they had no need to form unified nations like Elves, Dwarves, or Werebeasts. Living as primitive tribes sufficed.
Dragon lairs, Gigant nations—home to races ranked fourth and fifth among the sixteen sentient races of Disboard. It was only natural they became the prime targets of the Luna Wolves Legion's assault.
"I am wrath, I am iron, I am the mercy of angels."
A thunderous explosion shook the skies, its shockwave blasting apart entire hills. Burning fragments of plants and clouds of dust filled the air. A wave of force spread outward from a Gigant's duel, forming a misty ring that first contracted, then exploded.
Bang!
"Roooaaar—!"
The towering Gigant crashed into the mountains, sending up waves of dust. Through the smoke, it let out an earth-shaking roar, the sound wave physically sweeping away the dust that veiled sight.
...
Thick body hair, towering bodies tens of meters tall, slightly hunched backs, slender limbs that seemed too frail for their massive torsos—everything about them declared their identity: the Gigants, ranked fifth among the sixteen races.
"Roar! Roarrr—!!"
Enraged that it had been bested in a contest of strength by such 'insects,' the Gigant roared furiously in its own tongue, hurling away its massive, battered metal club, corroded with violet-red blotches and nearly broken.
It rose again, bellowed, and smashed a nearby peak with one punch. The unique 'Spirit Corridor' technique of the Gigants unfolded, unleashing highly concentrated spirit particles in a projectile form—gathering, fusing, condensing.
At that level of spirit particle eruption, any living creature—even an elf—would be killed instantly upon contact.
Crack!
Forming a massive short-handled battle axe of neither stone nor metal, hot breath reeking of sulfur burst from its nostrils as the Gigant roared and charged again!
"Good, come!"
This radiant Astartes wore pearl-white armor, a wolf's head insignia boldly painted upon the shoulder guard. Beneath a noble crest, an olive-leaf wreath circlet was carved. Across his pristine double-headed eagle chestplate lay the sash and medals of honor belonging to an Astartes Grand Captain.
Clearly, this was a noble Luna Wolf Grand Captain, a high commander overseeing tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of Astartes warriors.
Zzz—!
Crunch, crack! Seeing the massive shadow close in, the Luna Wolf did not retreat. A crimson disintegration field burst upon his brutal thunder hammer. Violet light flared as countless Honkai energy particles lit up across his form.
As each Legion of the Astartes favored weapons styled after their Primarch, the XVI Legion—Luna Wolves—especially loved long-handled thunder hammers, great lightning claws, and power swords as complements to their ranged firepower.
Bzzzz!
The Astartes body, reforged through layers of Honkai genetic enhancement, surged with power.
Within his Grand Captain–grade masterwork power armor, every fiber of artificial muscle strained to its peak.
Forged with composite soulsteel, lined with black nano-shells derived from the super-dangerous dragon-beast Tyrand, the armor responded seamlessly with its wearer's will, binding flesh, armor, and wargear into one.
Augmented by Honkai energy—the might of the Selene Empire manifested once more!
A step forward—Boom!
"World-Breaker—!"
Rumble—!
A violet-red blast erupted, vaporizing the crust. The searing light turned earth to gas, sparking tremors. Superheated sand and soil, thousands of degrees hot, were hurled into the stratosphere…
Crack-crack-crack—
Zzzzt… hiss!
Thud!
The Gigant collapsed with a thunderous crash, blood spurting from its mouth and nose.
Its massive battle axe shattered to fragments. Its chest was caved through, boiling blood spraying backward in streams. Its spine shattered, jagged bone shards jutted like thorned flowers, tendons stretched and snapped, blood pouring.
Slow the moment by a thousandfold, and it was clear: the Honkai disintegration field of the thunder hammer instantly destabilized the spirit corridor construct of the Gigant's conjured axe. Like smashing Lego blocks, the weapon shattered. The Luna Wolf's thunder hammer, at its peak force, swung upward in a blazing arc, then crashed down upon the Gigant's chest.
"Roaaar—!"
Seeing their kin slain—perhaps family—another Gigant wailed and charged like a raging bull, smashing aside all in its way, rushing the Grand Captain. But—
This was war.
And war was never single combat.
From the rear, the Titans of the Empire, pressing forward and crushing the races of Disboard, raised their cannons.
Vwooom!
The massive blast of blue plasma dwarfed the Gigant's body. Even with defensive sorcery, under the concentrated fire of multiple Titans—
Crack!
The defenses shattered. Spirit particles, glowing faintly, scattered as gray ash—the remains left by slain spirits.
In Disboard, spirits were everywhere, the source of all magic. Using magic consumed them. Upon death, they left behind spirit remains, or "Black Ash," which corroded any living thing it touched. The Spirit Corridors constantly birthed new ones.
Rumble!
When its defenses failed, a quake cannon tore open the Gigant's chest, halting it. In the next instant, searing plasma engulfed it, leaving nothing but a hollow, headless corpse collapsing to the ground.
"I am the blade!"
Unless by death or surrender, battle would never cease. In the Empire's lexicon, there was no word for compromise.
With a triumphant war cry, the Luna Wolf Grand Captain roared toward a Dragonia.
"I am the fang."
On the battlefield, the war chant of the Luna Wolves Legion thundered.
"I am the spearhead."
"Luna Wolves—hold the enemy with severity!"
From the very beginning, the fighting had reached a fever pitch. Like a clash of mobile suits, Gigants against Astartes, Dragonia against Astartes, the struggle was brutal and unrelenting.
The Gigants, furious, hefted hundred-meter-long clubs, swinging them with such force that their howls split the air like thunder.
Astartes officers met them head-on, arms swift as wind. Power weapons, chain weapons, energy blades—combined with their masterful techniques, each strike was lethal. Every clash left trenches tens of meters wide and hundreds long gouged into the ground.
The word-spells of the Dragonia were no less fearsome—lightning flashed, storms raged, thunder and gale resounded like war drums across the battlefield. Explosions cracked the sky, meteors fell blazing, transforming in an instant into shockwaves that embodied pure destruction.
Man and beast roared together. Endless lances of light rained down from above. The whole world seemed to collapse, engulfed in seas of fire and light.
This was already a forbidden ground for mortals. Not even the Empire's auxilia and auxilia militia could step foot here—indeed, not even most of the Astartes had the right to enter.
Only those who had undergone multiple Honkai augmentations, flesh reforging, function enhancements, reborn and sanctified into towering warriors, could earn entry to this mythic battlefield.
Fortunately, the Gigants and Dragonia were few in number.
The invading Imperial fleet was not the Luna Wolves' full might, but it was the largest expeditionary fleet under the Primarch's direct command. Though forces were split across many theaters and countless exploration fleets struck outward, the numbers of officers and veteran soldiers were still more than enough.
Boom!
Amid thunderous blasts, a warhammer crashed through the sky. A struggling dragon was struck as though by a mountain, hurled backward violently. The earth shook as if a land-dragon had turned in its sleep, the ground rippling visibly like soft cotton candy.
Rumble—!
A cry like blood from a cuckoo tore the sky. A spray of crimson mist, a colossal red dragon hundreds of meters long, hurled across the land, reducing mountains within a kilometer radius to scorched rubble. Like a tornado, it whirled, convulsed, and then fell silent.
Upon closer look—the warhammer had crushed its skull entirely. Fractures spread like webs across the earth, running for dozens of kilometers. The dragon's head was twisted grotesquely, bones shattered outward, brow split, brain and blood sprayed together.
Thud!
...
Scarlet cloak billowing, a towering figure stood proudly upon the dragon's skull. Horus wrenched free the Worldbreaker warhammer—bestowed upon him personally by Empress Selene—and stood before the lair, unshaken even amid the fury of the dragon race, facing storm and flame.
"This is the most foolish choice, last Dragonia Ruler, Reginleif. Unless you desire the extinction of your kin."
His fair features furrowed with sorrow, as though grieved by the Dragonia's decision.
He lifted his gaze to the white Dragonia Ruler before him, western draconic features wreathed in human-like rage.
"No records of cannibalism. Then there is still room. I, Horus Lupercal, in the name of the Sacred Selene Empire, as Primarch, Apostle of Selene, and God-given Wolf Shepherd, promise you—the Dragonia will be given proper place."
So spoke Horus.
Of the twenty Primarchs, Horus was neither bloodthirsty nor eager for slaughter. A capable commander, yes, but also a man of compassion. Though he ruthlessly crushed the Empire's foes, he strove to avoid needless bloodshed.
Among the three factions, Horus was closest to Leiva's Third Legion Black Templars—the neutralists. Yet his conduct leaned more toward Alex's First Legion—the Dark Angels.
With the secrets of Disboard's history and races revealed by Selene, Horus had already drawn his lines between those to destroy, and those to draw in.
Alas, it was a bitter truth.
In this world, humanity was no more than hairless apes before the other races. The Demonia might hunt them—but no race considered humanity worth the effort.
Certainly not to eat. To the higher races, humans were ants. At best ignored in good humor, at worst crushed casually in bad mood. Food? Not even enough to wedge between their teeth. With no Spirit Corridors, no nutrition—they were waste.
Thus Horus could only laugh bitterly after his survey.
Shameful!
In other worlds, weakened humanity at least served as livestock, as food. But here? Whether luck or misfortune—humans did not even qualify as fodder! Truly worthless…
"Are you insulting us?!"
The Dragonia Ruler Reginleif saw sorrow in Horus' eyes—but felt only rage, the fury of insult.
"Extinction?! Even extinction, what of it?! Hartyleif fell to the God of War, Aranleif perished to the Ex-Machina—did Dragonia Rulers ever bow?!"
"You nameless self-styled 'human' race! Dragonia will never be slaves!"
