Reborn As A Evil Dragon

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*****

An old man in the kingdom's team of casters looked shocked. He gazed anxiously at the marshal of Lucerne's human army—a towering figure two meters tall, clad in dark red magic-patterned armor. He was Cross, loyal to the kingdom and the strongest professional alive today.

A powerful nineteenth-level berserker known as the Crimson Skullbreaker.

"Can you stop it?" A dull voice emerged from beneath the dark red armor.

The master spellcaster, Dakman, who held the second seat in the Kingdom's Palace Mage Group, was the old man who had just exclaimed. He shook his head with difficulty and said,

"It can't be stopped, only interfered with. This magic power is too immense, fueled by far too many casters."

In the old man's elemental aura vision, thousands of auras were gleaming in the distant sky.

And each of these auras represented a fish-man tide warlock casting a spell.

Thousands of murloc tide warlocks!

Even though the old man was a master spellcaster, he felt powerless.

By his assessment, these thousands of fish-man tide warlocks were largely of lower ranks, with only a scant few reaching intermediate or advanced levels. Yet he knew all too well that quantity could breed a power of its own. The sheer volume of their collective might wrought a transformation in the potency of their spells—a terrifying alchemy of numbers becoming force. Bound by a single source of power, their magic wove together seamlessly, each spell reinforcing the next. When thousands of warlocks cast in near-perfect synchrony, united in ritual, the resulting spellcraft was a dreadful spectacle—a tidal surge of power far greater than the sum of its parts, teetering on the edge of unstoppable.

After hearing the old man's answer, Cross was silent for a moment, then made a choice.

"Forget it. If it's just interference, it won't have much effect, and it will waste a lot of magic power. Proceed according to the plan we made at the beginning."

"That's the only way." Master Dakman sighed. Whether they won or lost this battle, the outcome would be a disaster.

As time passed, and under the watchful eyes of the humans, the sky for dozens of miles quickly filled with dark clouds. Crackling sounds accompanied flashes of lightning and thunder.

The rain began to fall.

Big raindrops splashed on the city walls and armor, making the kingdom feel unusually cold.

On the other hand, the sahuagin army, which had been away from the river for some time, erupted in a commotion, cheering as the storm grew heavier.

The cheers of nearly a million murlocs were terrifying, shocking to the soul.

The staffs of low-level human spellcasters glowed with light, releasing spells to soothe the soul—this spell was a must-learn for war mages.

The restless hearts of the kingdom began to gradually calm.

However, the fish-man tide warlocks in the distance had not yet finished their spellcasting. This heavy rain was merely a prelude; the real highlight lay ahead.

The earth shook, and in the plain between the sahuagin army and the Wall of Lucerne, cracks appeared. Jets of water began to spew from them.

This was the murloc army casting a spell to activate the underground river.

The Cuiye Mountains, known for abundant rainfall, harbored numerous underground rivers and high water levels.

"This is their chance at victory."

Dakman, at the center of the palace mage group, felt a flash of horror in his eyes.

They had no idea the sahuagin army would exploit the underground river's power.

At this moment, he felt there was no way to stop it.

This was the combined force of nature and countless tide warlocks. Only legendary mages might stand a chance.

There was no need for Dakman to explain; the human warriors of the kingdom's side also sensed something was amiss.

However, the Wall of Lucerne beneath them—standing over two hundred meters tall and dozens of meters wide, with various defensive spell matrices engraved upon it—offered great comfort.

"It can definitely hold."

"No one can break the Wall of Lucerne!"

The human warriors silently encouraged themselves.

"Foolish humans."

At the center of the murloc army, several noble sahuagins, led by Duke Babakar, gazed at the human warriors on the Wall of Lucerne with pity.

"My strength is rising."

"I smell something wonderful."

Amid the eerie laughter of the sahuagin nobles, the water on the plain rose higher and higher—from a few centimeters to tens of centimeters. It continued to rise, spreading over dozens of miles of land.

"My people and servants, rush forward and tear all humans to pieces!"

Duke Babakar let out a horrifying laugh.

Amid the duke's roaring laughter, nearly a hundred thousand sahuagins surged forward. Their speed was astonishing, and they reached the Wall of Lucerne's attack range almost instantly.

Faced with these ferocious and ugly sahuagins, the kingdom's forces did not hesitate. Countless massive crossbow bolts streaked across the sky, tearing through the air and piercing the hideous green-skinned sahuagins.

Blood began to saturate the land.

The eyes of the green-skinned sahuagins, smelling blood, turned red and their speed increased—a natural trait of their race.

And for the four-armed sahuagin of noble blood, a more terrifying talent—High Blood Rage—allowed them to enter a selfless berserker state, drastically enhancing their combat capabilities.

Thousands of the first wave of sahuagin troops fell under the kingdom's long-range weapons. The sahuagin who managed to reach the wall began their ascent.

"Activate the Spell Matrix!"

The human caster team responded swiftly.

Magic flickered, and spell matrices activated across the towering Wall of Lucerne. Paralysis, slipperiness, freezing, and at least twenty types of attack spells activated, each covering an area ranging from tens to hundreds of meters.

The sahuagins climbing the wall were thrown down by slipperiness spells, paralyzed mid-climb, or frozen in place and subsequently shot through the head by the crossbows of human warriors.

The first wave of the battle reached a stalemate.

Judging by casualties, the sahuagins were dying by the moment, while not a single human on the kingdom's side had been injured.

It seemed the kingdom held the upper hand, but Lucerne's officers felt an increasing heaviness in their hearts.

There were simply too many sahuagins.

The hordes of sahuagins were overwhelming, an unending tide against which the city's defenses strained. The arcane matrix woven into the city wall, activated in desperate response, demanded an endless feed of precious elemental crystals—each heartbeat devouring wealth. Every passing minute, gold drained like water, an agonizing expense.

The market, once a bustling hub of commerce, had only recently begun to show signs of revival. New merchants, wary yet hopeful, started to venture back into trade routes. Mercenaries and adventurers cautiously filled the void left by the catastrophic events that had befallen Voltan City. Yet, the scars of the disaster lingered, casting a long shadow over the region.

The recent annihilation of the Saranian Kingdom—a minor player in the grand geopolitical game—had further destabilized the delicate balance. Despite its modest stature, Saranian held immense value as a critical provider of food supplies. Its collapse sent ripples through neighboring territories, exacerbating shortages and fueling unrest.

Meanwhile, the rise of a new queen in Dal reshaped the political landscape. She had consolidated her power, extending Dal's influence to fully encompass the former Saranian borders. Now a burgeoning kingdom in its own right, Dal stood firm against the human kingdoms, refusing to yield to their demands for grain. Ordinarily, diplomatic pressure might have been enough to force compliance, but the shadow looming over Dal rendered such strategies futile.

It was no secret among those who moved the pieces of the grand chessboard—the Black Tide avoided Dal for a reason. And it didn't take a genius to discern why. The enigmatic Black King, a figure of mythic dread, stood in the queen's shadow. His presence emboldened her defiance, allowing her to provide only the bare minimum grain required by the church's mandates while thriving on her terms.

This defiance infuriated the human kingdoms and their leaders. Dal was expanding, thriving, and growing stronger, all while avoiding the scrutiny and ire of the major players. The reason was clear: the Black King's reputation for slaughtering top-level players like insignificant pests had paralyzed even the boldest factions. None dared to point fingers at Dal, knowing the cost of drawing his attention.

Two devastating wars, the obliteration of a major city, and the absorption of an entire kingdom had left a trail of ruin in their wake. Countless lives had been lost, and threats loomed on all sides. Yet, the most disquieting element was the eerie silence of the great powers. One by one, the major players seemed to have withdrawn from the field, their once-mighty influence now a shadow of its former self.

It was as if a plague had swept through the ranks of the mighty, leaving only whispers of their former ambitions. In the chaos, Dal thrived, unchallenged and unbowed, its queen ruling under the protection of a king who turned legends into screed kids.

Every crystal burned cost fourfold its former price.

Even if victory came today, the grim truth loomed—without an end to this costly defense, defeat in the longer war for survival was certain.

"Haha, I want to see how long you can hold on."

At the heart of the sahuagin army, Babakar grinned ferociously.

An hour after the first wave of sahuagin troops retreated, a second wave of 100,000 surged forward.

Wave after wave followed.

This was pure attrition warfare, one of the sahuagins' best tactics. It only took a year for a sahuagin to mature from fish eggs to a fighter, and only six years to become a fully trained sahuagin warrior.

The Sahuagin people, who possess vast seas, rivers, and countless breeding grounds, are seldom concerned with population growth. Instead, their primary concern is food.

Food scarcity remains the chief factor limiting their relentless expansion.

The war raged for a full day and night, accompanied by torrential rain and the ceaseless gushing of underground rivers. The once-dry plain before the Lucerne Wall was transformed into a shallow, sprawling lake.

"Summon the sea beast servants!" The Fishman Duke Babakar commanded, his gaze fixed on the rapidly rising water levels.

Obediently, the tide warlocks—short, thin, blue-skinned fishmen wielding coral staffs—began their summoning rituals.

Sea snakes stretching several meters long, small sharks, massive clawed lobsters, water arrow turtles, and countless other sea beasts materialized from distant oceans and rivers, drawn by the tide warlocks' magic.

These summoned creatures immediately joined the battle at the wall's frontline, targeting and dismantling the spell matrix etched into the Lucerne Wall.

Even before the sea beasts' arrival, after a grueling day and night of ceaseless assaults by the sahuagin army, the relentless attacks had managed to destroy less than half of the spell matrix. But with the inclusion of the summoned sea beasts and monsters, the process accelerated significantly.

"Prepare to cast a large-scale spell," ordered Darkman, the second seat of the Kingdom's court. Observing the growing chaos, he realized it was time to unveil one of their trump cards. His voice carried a weight of urgency and determination.

Hundreds of human casters channeled their magic into their staffs, directing their combined power into a white bead, as large as Darkman's head, which radiated an intense and dazzling aura.

Simultaneously, Darkman began preparing his Sixth Tier Return to Nature: Thunderstorm Technique. Over the sahuagin forces, the already ominous sky thickened with even darker clouds, crackling with electric fury.

"Raise the ring!" Darkman's eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion, gleamed with resolve as he roared internally. The bead, brimming with the concentrated mana of hundreds of spellcasters, released a beam of magical light that pierced the stormy heavens.

What had initially been a localized thunderstorm rapidly expanded in scale, fueled by the immense mana infusion.

Seventh Tier!

Eighth Tier!

Super-Large Thunderstorm!!

BOOOOOOOM!

The sky above 100,000 sahuagin and thousands of summoned sea beasts was completely enveloped by a tempest of black thunderclouds, crackling with unrelenting lightning. It seemed as though doom itself hovered over the battlefield.

In the next moment, the darkened heavens were lit as bright as day by the barrage of thunderbolts.

An endless cascade of lightning rained down, striking sahuagin and sea beasts with unrelenting fury. Each flash of lightning left blackened corpses in its wake, while those spared direct strikes were paralyzed, their bodies writhing in the electrified waters, frothing at the mouth as they slipped into unconsciousness—or death.

At the rear of the sahuagin army, over 700,000 remaining soldiers watched in terror as the battlefield ahead was consumed by the relentless storm.

Amid the chaos, Duke Babakar stood unmoved, admiring the spectacle.

"What a beautiful spell," he remarked with cold detachment, completely indifferent to the lives of nearly 100,000 sahuagin and thousands of sea beasts lost in the onslaught.

To Babakar, these frontline sahuagin were nothing more than expendable cannon fodder—mere "one-year-old" garbage. Their deaths mattered little; the ethnic incubation rooms would soon replenish their numbers.

The true elite of the sahuagin army remained untouched, carefully shielded from harm.

The super-large thunderstorm spell, elevated to the Eighth Tier, raged on for half an hour. By its end, not a single living creature remained within its radius.

"Continue summoning the sea beast servants," Babakar ordered coldly, ignoring the countless corpses floating in the water beneath the Lucerne Wall.

The tireless tide warlocks resumed their summoning, calling forth yet more small sea beasts, nurtured within their tribal nests.

As the residual electricity from the massive thunderstorm began to dissipate, nearly 100,000 fresh sahuagin cannon fodder, accompanied by thousands of monsters and sea beasts, surged toward the Lucerne Wall. Their relentless assault further weakened the already crumbling spell matrix.

At this pace, the defenses of the Lucerne Wall could not hold.

Sahuagin swarmed up the towering wall, over 200 meters high. Those who managed to breach its summit were met with the swords of human defenders. Heads and limbs were severed with ruthless efficiency, sending dismembered bodies tumbling back into the flooded plain below.

Yet, a few exceptional sahuagin dodged the defenders' attacks, thrusting their tridents into human warriors with deadly precision.

Close-quarters combat erupted across the wall, and human casualties began to mount.

Another day and night passed.

Thousands of human soldiers perished, and tens of thousands more retreated, battered by injuries and exhaustion.

Marshal Cross remained atop the wall, his gaze distant and unflinching. Any sahuagin who approached him was swiftly dispatched by the guards at his side—or, when necessary, by the marshal himself.

The area around Cross was littered with hundreds of sahuagin corpses, including numerous intermediate-tier fighters. Their bloodied remains spoke volumes of his unmatched prowess.

"Marshal, if we retreat now, we can still preserve our forces," Darkman urged, his voice filled with concern.

Cross, his expression hidden beneath his mask, lowered his gaze in contemplation. After a moment of silence, he replied calmly,

"If I can kill Duke Babakar, this war will be won."

Darkman, observing from his position at the center of the palace mage group, sighed heavily.

Luring Babakar out would not be an easy task.

"Do you have a plan, Marshal?" Darkman asked cautiously through their telepathic link.

"If I become trapped within the murloc army, Babakar will come," Cross replied with chilling resolve.

Darkman's eyes narrowed, instinctively wanting to protest. But knowing the futility of arguing with Cross, he fell silent and eventually gave his reluctant consent.

Cross's will was absolute. Not even the king could sway his decisions, let alone Darkman.

Though a master spellcaster and the second seat in the Palace Mage Group, Darkman knew that his status paled in comparison to Cross's legendary reputation.

Marshal Cross, second only to the kingdom's missing legend, was a force unto himself. His exploits filled entire volumes of heroic tales.

Dragon Slayer. Crimson Skull Crusher. Conqueror. Bloody Berserk. One-Man Army. The Mad Rage.

The titles bestowed upon him were as numerous as the powerful foes who had fallen to his blade. Adult white dragons, six-headed swamp serpents, master-level professionals, and enemy generals—all had been crushed beneath his indomitable might.

On the fourth day of the war, the spell matrices of the Lucerne Wall were nearly obliterated.

The sahuagin, sensing victory, fought with renewed fervor.

By then, the water surrounding the wall had risen over ten meters deep, and the tide warlocks began summoning larger sea beasts.

*****

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