Knight Lord: Start with Daily Intelligence.

Chapter 471 Dwarven Legendary Relics: Crimson Dragon

Su Li hovered in the crimson-gold light, gazing at the figure in the center of the scorched earth, a figure that resembled a mobile fortress. Gorenson Iron Anvil's cold eyes, burning with the flames of wisdom and destruction, pierced through the barrier of millennia, locking firmly onto him. Su Li gripped the battle flag in his hand, the flames of the Kadrin Calamity rising silently, preparing for yet another fierce battle.

However, to everyone's surprise, it happened.

Gorenson Anvil didn't unleash a battle roar, nor did he activate the chilling war machine beside him. He simply lowered his arms, which were clasped to his chest and covered by heavy iron gloves. Beneath the roaring lion-headed helmet, his resolute, anvil-like face, with its deeply furrowed brows, revealed an almost cold, rational scrutiny that seemed incongruous with this eternal battlefield.

Before Su Li could figure out how to approach him, he spoke first, his voice deep and resonant, like flowing molten lava buried deep underground, carrying the clanging quality of metal rubbing against metal, yet clearly piercing through the ceaseless background noise of battle in the illusion:
"Junior." His gaze pierced Su Li sharply, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority, as if he were inquiring about the simplest technical parameter. "Tell me, how many years... have I been dead?"

This sudden problem was like a boulder thrown into a stagnant pool.

"Hiss..." Arielia gasped, her emerald pupils contracting sharply.

Orstein and all the chosen knights froze instantly, their eyes filled with disbelief and astonishment beneath their cold helmets.

They had just endured the frenzied, irrational attacks of the previous two legendary dwarven spirits. Those illusions were completely consumed by the rage and resentment of their own deaths, making them utterly incapable of communication, their eyes fixed solely on destruction.

And before him... For the first time, cracks appeared on Gerson Grayrock's ashen face. Anger was replaced by immense confusion. His knuckles turned slightly white as he gripped his battle axe, staring intently at Gorensen, as if trying to find a flaw in that cold, rational gaze.

Even Mhava, bound by rune chains and suspended in mid-air like a tattered sack, had his faint soul fire flicker violently, revealing extreme surprise and doubt—this was completely different from the script he had envisioned!
A deep look of surprise flashed across Su Li's eyes, but it vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold understanding. The tension in his heart eased slightly. Being able to communicate meant that a pointless, potentially more devastating battle could be avoided.

He stepped forward and stood at the edge of the scorched earth pit, facing Gorensen from afar. The flames on the battle banner in his hand subsided, but the crimson golden divine radiance still enveloped him.

“Master Gorenson,” Su Li’s voice was steady and clear, like striking cold steel. “It has been nearly ten thousand years since the end of the War of the Longbeard and your fall.

“Ten thousand years…” Gorenson repeated the number. Beneath his lion-headed helmet, his eyes, burning with a cold, intelligent flame, narrowed slightly, a sharp light swirling within them, as if he were rapidly calculating something. His face showed no shock, no sadness, only a cruel, engineer-like focus when faced with abnormal data.

“Just as I suspected.” His deep voice rang out again, carrying a certainty that came from the friction of metal. “I sensed it… just a short while ago.” He lightly stomped his foot, which was covered in heavy adamantite plate armor, on the smooth, mirror-like bottom of the charred pit, where traces of high-temperature melting remained.

"Aware?" Su Li pressed, a question shared by everyone present. How could someone immersed in the moment of death, repeating the obsessions of their past life, perceive the passage of time? "How did you realize... you were already dead?"

Gorenson abruptly raised his head, his cold, hawk-like eyes staring directly at Su Li. A pure, technical fervor mixed with utter contempt for a clumsy imitation burst forth as if it were a tangible force:

"A feeling? Hmph!" He let out a cold, metallic snort, like a hammer slamming into scrap metal. "It's runes! It's the principle of engineering! They... are wrong!"

He raised a massive iron hand, his knuckles covered in amplification crystals pointing towards the distorted illusionary space around him, towards the giant cannon radiating an aura of destruction, and towards the unnatural smell of blood and gunpowder permeating the air.

“Those damned, pointy-eared magicians who toy with leaves and moonlight!” he practically roared, his voice filled with the dwarf’s deep-seated contempt and loathing for elven magic. “They try to imitate our runic art, which we dwarves are so proud of, with their vile illusion magic? Imitate the earth-shattering engineering explosives? Imitate the pure power forged from steel?!”

Gorenson's voice suddenly rose, filled with fury at being severely offended: "One glance! Just one glance! Any competent dwarven runesmith or engineer could see it! This clumsy imitation, this fake energy flow, this... this damned magical construct that completely violates the fundamental principles of Earth Pulse and Energy Conduction! It's like a toy built with sticks, trying to pass off as an adamantite fortress! It's the most wicked blasphemy against dwarven wisdom!"

He clenched his massive iron gauntlet tightly, and the amplification crystals at his knuckles emitted a dangerous red light, as if he were about to personally tear apart this illusory world at any moment.

"This piece of junk, which has distorted even the most basic laws of physics and the conservation of energy, thinks it can deceive Gorenson Anvil's eyes? Dream on!" His roar was like the hiss of a steam boiler about to overpressure, full of pure technical anger and extreme contempt for the elven magic.

It was this intolerable technological flaw that, like a cold, sharp thorn, pierced his senses, which had been clouded by the moment of death, making him realize the absurdity of his own existence and the passage of time.

Gorenson Anvil's eagle eyes, burning with the cold flames of wisdom, lingered on Su Li for a moment, then swept over the dozen or so fully armed Chosen Knights floating in crimson-gold light behind him, as well as the undead Mhava, bound by chains of holy flame and exuding a blasphemous stench.

Finally, his sharp, piercing gaze fell upon Gerson Grayrock, pausing briefly on the heavy plate armor befitting a dwarven warrior and his ashen face. His chest, covered in mithril lion-headed shoulder armor, heaved slightly, like a furnace suppressing an impending explosion.

“So,” his voice was deep and direct, like a hammer striking an anvil, “what are you doing barging into this fake graveyard and waking up an old man who’s been dead for ten thousand years? Surely you’re not here to admire the elven’s inferior illusionary masterpieces?” Beneath that cold rationality lay the pride of an offended dwarf and impatience with the wasted time.

Su Li met those eyes that seemed to see right through her, and without any embellishment or sentimentality, stated the facts in the most direct language:

“We’ve tracked down an old Jasper, a legendary death mage.” He raised his hand, pointing to Mhawa, who was bound in chains and whose soulfire flickered weakly. “He, Mhawa, a fallen undead knight, was one of the old Jasper’s servants. Together they desecrated this place.”

"Old Jasper's conspiracy is to use the special power of the Valley of Memories to awaken and distort the remains and wills of the fallen dwarf heroes in the War of the Longbeard, and turn them into controlled war machines—the Nightwalkers."

The moment the words "night-walking corpse" were uttered, the inextinguishable flame of destruction in Gorenson's cold eyes suddenly surged, as if ignited by a catalyst. He clenched his massive iron gauntlet tightly, and the amplification crystals at his knuckles glowed dangerously.

Su Li didn't pause, his gaze sweeping over the several writhing corpses—formed from the twisted remains of the dwarven ancestors—that had been tossed about by the aftershocks of the explosion and were still struggling futilely on the edge of the scorched earth. "These are his 'masterpieces.'" His voice held no anger, only the coldness of stating a fact, but it was more powerful than any accusation.

“Old Jasper has been killed,” Su Li continued, “but his conspiracy has already begun. This illusion constructed by elven magic is like a cage, binding all the heroic spirits who have fallen here, including you, Master Gorenson. It uses your fury and resentment at the moment of your death to trap you in an eternal cycle of killing, while also providing blasphemers like Mhava with the opportunity to distort your remains.”

He looked directly into Gorenson's eyes, which burned with the flames of destruction and wisdom: "We are trapped here. The only way out is to break the cycle at the core of this illusion, freeing all the bound remains of heroic spirits and allowing them to return to eternal rest." Su Li's tone was resolute, like issuing a military order. "And we came here to help you break free."

He paused, his voice still steady, yet carrying an undeniable promise: "When you are freed, when this illusion dissipates, I, Su Li, swear in the name of the Lord of Blackforest, that I will retrieve your remains and bring them back to the foot of the mountains, to place them in the eternal resting place of our dwarven ancestors. Let Gorenson Anvil, the Rockbreaker, return to the embrace of the earth, instead of being twisted and exploited by the blasphemers in this elven illusionary prison."

These words were clear, cold, and to the point, without any superfluous embellishment. They revealed the truth of the blasphemy, pointed out the predicament of being trapped, and offered the only solution and a promise most valued by the dwarves—to return the remains of their ancestors to the earth to rest in peace.

Gorenson Anvil's silence was like a forge gathering power under overpressure. His eyes, burning with the flames of destruction and wisdom, swept over the Nightwalker Corpse, over Mhava, and finally fixed on Su Li's face. The amplifying crystal red light from his knuckles was so intense it almost melted adamantite, and a cold, pure killing intent, like the low pressure before a storm, weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.

Eliria subconsciously began to chant a spell, and Orstein's Chosen Warhammer rose slightly. Gerson Grayrock's Adam's apple bobbed, almost letting out a roar—he was all too familiar with the prelude to this dwarven rage, a rage powerful enough to tear mountains apart.

However, the suffocating pressure, at its peak, vanished as if the bellows of a furnace had been abruptly shut. The red light faded from Gorenson's knuckles, replaced by a deeper, cooler, metallic calm. Beneath the lion-headed helmet, all the anger on his deeply furrowed face had vanished, leaving only a cold, almost cruel understanding. "I understand." His voice remained deep, but no longer held the boiling lava of his earlier work; it was more like the friction of cooled steel ingots. "The elves' inferior tricks, coupled with the necromancer's blasphemy... trapping us here as fuel and spare parts." He nodded slowly, his movements mechanically precise. "Liberation. Return to the mountains. This is the dwarves' rightful place, not to become these... pathetic puppets."

He looked at Su Li, his gaze sharp as a probe: "You, Su Li of the Black Forest Territory. I heard your oath. Remember it. My remains must return to the foot of the mountains."

"I swear by my flag." Su Li's answer was resolute.

“Very good.” Gorenson shifted his gaze to the chaotic energy churning above the illusory battlefield, a mixture of smoke and blood. “Then, it’s time to end this shoddy performance.” His massive frame straightened, like the last remaining fortress.

“However, before I return to dust completely,” he turned back, his gaze locking onto Su Li once more, the cold flame of his wisdom flickering, “I’ve decided to lend you a hand. Consider it… a gift to clean house.”

Before the words were even finished, Gorenson Anvil, the legendary dwarven runemaster and war engineer, suddenly raised his arms. Without a roar, without a struggle, the unyielding, adamantine-like willpower within him, bound by death for millennia, erupted like a lit fuse!
It's not pointing at the enemy, but inward!

His plate-armored chest heaved violently, and then, his heroic spirit body, sustained by obsession and elven illusion, emitted a blinding, ominous purplish-black light from within. The light twisted and expanded like a living thing, instantly tearing apart the illusion of the adamantine armor. The deathly wind energy that constituted his body began to spiral out of control, violently boiling and dissipating.

"Master!" Gerson Grayrock roared in pain, instinctively trying to rush forward, but Su Li raised his hand to stop him.

"He's doing what he has to do." Su Li's voice was cold and hard, his eyes fixed on the burst of purplish-black light.

Gorenson's figure rapidly blurred and became transparent in the light. The outline of his lion-headed helmet remained clear for a final, silent roar before utterly disintegrating. A vast and pure will—Grenson Anvil's final, indomitable will—slammed down like an invisible hammer upon the omnipresent winds of death within this illusion!
boom!
An invisible shock swept across the entire Valley of Memory. The scorched earth trembled violently, and the illusory sounds of battle instantly twisted and stretched, turning into piercing screams. The death energy permeating the air was forcibly guided and compressed by this powerful will, no longer a chaotic disorder, but endowed with some kind of cold, efficient command.

The surging, purplish-black mist converged wildly towards the center where Gorensen had dissipated, swirling and forming a massive vortex. At the center of the vortex, the energy density was suffocatingly high, and space itself seemed to be collapsing.

Within the thick fog, the outline of a massive skeleton began to emerge, formed from pure death wind energy, shimmering with a dark, amethysty luster. Then, scales, as if alive, grew and spread across the skeleton, covering its entire body. The scales were initially a pale red, like freshly congealed blood, but in an instant, under the infusion of the dense death wind, their color rapidly deepened, transforming into a profound, noble, and dangerous deep purple.

A pair of enormous dragon eyes, burning with cold purple soul fire, suddenly opened in the center of the vortex!

A long, deep dragon roar, with a metallic tremor and an echo of death, tore through the clamor of the illusion!

The vortex dissipated.

A colossal creature hovered where Gorenson had vanished. More ethereal than any naturally born dragon, it exuded a purer, more palpable pressure of death. Deep purple scales covered its sleek, powerful body, each scale seemingly sculpted from the finest amethyst, appearing smooth and soft yet subtly revealing the hardness of refined gold. Its massive bony wings unfurled, their membranes composed of condensed purplish-black mist, their edges shimmering with tiny, shimmering runes. Its cold, purple dragon eyes swept over the tiny creatures below, carrying a scrutinizing yet reborn majesty.

"What is this?!" Everyone gasped in shock!
“Crimson Dragon. Or more accurately, Crimson Dragon—an entity formed by the winds of death guided by a powerful will.” Ariria looked up at the enormous dragon and immediately introduced it: “It is a rare and powerful dragon. Legend has it that when a lair is soaked by the winds of death, magic will gather into a powerful dragon, and the Crimson Dragon was created.”

"Few can gain the approval of the Crimson Dragon, and even fewer can turn it into a mount. The Crimson Dragon's glossy scales appear soft but are as hard as steel—when the Crimson Dragon is young, its appearance is light red, and as it grows older, its appearance turns into a deep purple."

"They love battlefields, swamps, and destroyed cities—anywhere mass death has occurred, where the souls of the dead can communicate with the Crimson Dragon. The Crimson Dragon's breath is an outburst of amethyst magic that can turn life to dust and wither metal, offering no protection even to the thickest armor. Some ancient Crimson Dragons are also powerful mages who can use death magic."

"It is said that the mount of Elector Elector of the Empire, Cemetery Rose Elsbeth von Drakens, was a powerful crimson dragon."

As her words fell, the enormous, deep purple creature let out a deafening roar. The sound was like the terrifying scraping of metal, carrying a pure pressure of death that violently assaulted everyone's soul. Its icy purple soul fire swept over the tiny creatures below, its overwhelming aura pressing down as if it were a tangible force, causing even the scorched earth to tremble slightly.

Just then, a familiar yet chilling voice suddenly rang out, seemingly coming from all directions, or as if striking directly into everyone's minds—it was the final echo of Gorenson Anvil's lingering will, carrying the metallic quality unique to dwarves and an undeniable air of authority:
“Junior. This ‘beast’ was created by me after I sensed the illusion of this place. I used the dense, deathly wind that had never dissipated for ten thousand years, as well as the scattered soul fire of the dragon that the elves died here, to gather and nurture it little by little. It absorbed all the despair and power of this battlefield, and can be considered an unexpected creation.”

The voice paused, seemingly carrying a hint of almost cruel satisfaction.

"Now, it's yours, Su Li of the Black Forest Territory. Consider it an extra gift to clean house, a reward for letting me see the truth and promising to take me home. But don't be too happy—" His voice suddenly turned cold, "It's not as easy to talk to as we dwarves. Whether you can tame it and make it work for you depends on how strong your fists are! Don't die at its hands, that would only prove you're nothing special, unworthy of my inheritance, and even less worthy of fulfilling your vows!"

The sound stopped abruptly, like a furnace going out of flame.

Almost simultaneously, the crimson dragon moved. Without needing any command or announcement, its massive wings flapped violently, the death energy condensed into its wing membranes erupting with a sharp whistle. Its enormous body rose abruptly at a terrifying speed disproportionate to its size, then, with a crushing force, it swooped down towards the area where Su Li and the others were!

"Scatter! Prepare for battle!" Su Li's roar drowned out the dragon's roar.

"Hilde! Orstein! Durmst!" Su Li's command was short and forceful, clearly audible amidst the deafening dragon roar and wind pressure.

Without hesitation, the three chosen knights stepped forward simultaneously. Their divine power responded to the call, erupting with a deafening roar. In a blinding light, their forms rapidly expanded, their heavy armor emitting a metallic rumble as it stretched, transforming in an instant into three metal giants exceeding thirty meters in height—divine generals! Their massive bodies nearly blocked the Crimson Dragon's most direct path as it swooped down.

"For the Lord!" The god-general in the form of Orstein roared, his massive enchanted warhammer tearing through the air as it charged towards the descending dragon. Pure flames of order burned on the warhammer, attempting to dispel the suffocating aura of death.

boom!
Dragon claws and warhammer clashed violently!
A visible shockwave exploded in a ring, ploughing down the hard, scorched earth by another three feet. Orstein's massive body lurched, his feet sinking into the ground up to his ankles, his hammer-wielding arms emitting a sickening metallic twisting sound. The crimson dragon's diving momentum was abruptly halted, but its other massive claw followed closely, tearing at Orstein's head with devastating force.

Clang! Sizzle—

Hilder's general slashed from the side, his massive shield precisely parrying the dragon's claws with a piercing scraping sound, accompanied by sparks and shattered purplish-black energy. The shield's enchanted glow quickly dimmed, corroded by the power of death, leaving deep grooves. Demst's general, meanwhile, swung his flaming greatsword from the other side, aiming a vicious blow at the crimson dragon's neck scales.

The sword blade clashed with the scales, erupting in a blinding purple-gold light. Several hard dragon scales were split open, revealing the surging death energy beneath, but the greatsword was also deflected by the impact, and the flames on its blade were instantly extinguished by more than half.

The crimson dragon let out a painful and furious roar, its huge wings flapping violently, creating a death wind that swept towards the three divine generals like billions of cold, sharp blades.

Demst immediately commanded a large number of ravens, his death energy surging, and stood in front of everyone.

(End of this chapter)