Dragon Tribulation of All Realms

Chapter 187 The Demon God's Gaze
The army is assembling.

The army is advancing.

Perched atop the high walls, protected by a protective barrier, Hera Morley watched as the Stormcloak army, numbering in the thousands, approached Windhelm. Normally, she could have silently annihilated this entire army in a mere minute.

Because none of them have powerful spellcasters.

Because their strongest high-ranking warrior, Stonefist Gadama, was Ulfric's confidant. Even with the support of the army, he could only last thirty seconds against her at most.

Even if he wore precious enchanted armor and carried powerful treasures from Windhelm, it was still the same.

Even if he carried Ulfric's token, which could easily tear a gap in the protective barrier, allowing the army to break into the city and forcing Hera to multitask, it would still be the same.

even if...

Even if there are many, many categories, many specifications, they all basically represent the resources and leverage that ordinary people can possess. As Hera Morley, who has essentially reached the pinnacle of the mortal realm, she has absolute confidence and certainty that she can easily overcome any obstacle provided by the other party's resources, as long as those resources remain within the mortal realm.

but……

The power of the demons converged within that army—it was strife, it was brutality. Morag Bal abandoned his demonic reserve, forcefully imbuing this army with terrifying demonic power. Even though the faith of Talos was prevalent among this Stormcloak army, when they acted against the ways of the Holy Spirit, deciding to inflict violence upon their own kin, they no longer possessed the protection of the Holy Spirit.

It was Ulfric who positioned this army near Windhelm.

It was Ulfric who was determined to immediately suppress the stronghold in the rear after assassinating the High Queen.

The killing intent stemmed from the people themselves; these soldiers, who called themselves the Stormcloaks, knew where their blades were headed before they set out—they were to storm Windhelm and wipe out all the rebels who dared to defy Ulfric. They knew that many of those killed would be innocent, but this was the price they had to pay.

What coup d'état is ever bloodless?

Ulfric had the right to pity and show mercy. They, however, knew they were only qualified to wield their blades. Moreover, these blades were not without their own thoughts—every soldier chosen for the Stormcloaks was a pure human, a follower of Great Nordism. The fellow humans—the Cyrodiil, the Redguard, or the Bretons—were one thing. But since the Platinum Pact, which pure Nord hadn't been consumed by rage against the elves?

Windhelm is a large city with a population of over 100,000.

Among these hundreds of thousands of people, the high elves, dark elves, and wood elves numbered at least tens of thousands.

Disaster is about to begin.

Catastrophe is about to strike.

Across the dry, cold earth before the city walls, Hera's gaze met that of the Stormcloaked leader. In that instant of eye contact, they both knew there was no room for negotiation. And the next moment, a vast power erupted.

Lightning bolts appeared out of thin air and struck the leader's head—this enhanced lightning, powerful enough to instantly kill a high-ranking warrior, couldn't delay Stonefist Gadama for even a moment. He leaped forward, crashing into the middle of Windhelm's outer barrier with a sonic boom. And with his impact, thousands of bolts of lightning immediately rained down.

Lightning storm.

Dense lightning struck the army formation, yet caused few casualties. The divine protection from the Demon God of Strife directly reduced the vast majority of the damage from high-level magic. Those Stormcloak soldiers who had thought they were doomed instead roared with excitement.

The barrier was torn open, creating a wide rift. It was then repaired in the next instant. However, the encouraged Stormcloak warriors rushed forward, their faces flushed with excitement and their expressions feverish and impulsive.

"Kill!" "Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" "Long live Ulfric! Long live the King of the Nords!"

It's too late to change anything.

They brandished their swords and blades, crashing wave after wave against the barrier outside Windhelm, creating surges of energy. In each person's eyes blazed a sense of duty, a responsibility that would soon be tested, and a feverish urge to unleash their bloodlust.

The slaughter is imminent. This layer of protection won't hold them off for long.

Hera wasn't without means; she could have forcibly broken through the conflicting forces within them, thus inflicting real damage on these Stormcloak warriors. However…

The shadow hung high in the sky.

If Morag Bal is willing to pay the price, then its actions will be difficult to thwart. This world is ultimately an arena for demons and holy spirits, and the rise and fall of civilizations and nations, which serve as a backdrop, are merely appearances that seem real.

Just like what Boyesia and Valmina did thirty years ago.

Just as Dagon Menelus did two hundred years ago.

Just as Molagbal did more than a thousand years ago, and as he is about to do now.

Unless enough blood is truly poured down, enough cries of despair transform into devout prayers, and enough sacrifices awaken the way of the Holy Spirit, the will of the Demon God will ultimately be fulfilled. The only difference is whether it is resolved in one go or whether it leads to one overtime battle after another.

no solution anymore.

“Wunfis.” She initiated the communication. “Arrange for the citizens to take refuge and hide as much as possible. The army outside will soon be able to storm the city, and they will have a legitimate reason to do so. If Joreford and Brunwuff want to do anything, do not stop them. This war cannot be ended from the outside.”

Some commands were issued.

Wu Enfis responded to her words.

"What are your plans, Hera?"

“The problem must be addressed at its root.” Hera withdrew her gaze and continued to mobilize the magical power accumulated within Windhelm. “I really want to know if a pure-blooded Highlord who is about to be resurrected is worth a Demon God so lavishly squandering his power.”

Or does it have another purpose?
The 'dragon' that existed in her calculations entered Hera's mind. But based on current intelligence, that 'dragon' should have been in Ramaya's hands from the beginning—reclaiming a trophy from a familiar wouldn't require such a complicated process. Unless…

“Wuenfis.” She connected with the court wizard's communication channel once again. “You said, at the end of the Dragon War, in an era when many dragons were either sealed away or departed…”

"Under what conditions would those ancient and powerful heroes allow a dragon that is not of monarchical rank to roam freely in Skyrim, a land recently ravaged by the Dragon Cult, instead of going to subdue it?"

........................

do not know.

The blood rain in his dream continued to fall, and Wu Chen could not obtain a definite answer. The only thing he could guess was that the city outside was in chaos, and a war might be brewing.

time is limited.

The banquet was scheduled to begin in two hours, and half the preparation time had already been used up. He reached out and caught a smear of crimson blood from outside the window—the pale red blood did indeed have a slight tactile sensation when it landed on his hand. But when he withdrew his hand, he saw only a handful of clear water droplets.

Outside the window, the city scenery looked more and more like the wind helmet he remembered. With just a glance, he could see many familiar landmarks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dead dog lying on the side of the road, and almost instinctively, he waved at it.

With a whimper, the dead dog struggled to revive. Its fur fell away, but its skin emitted a ghostly glow. With a single movement, the dead dog transformed into an undead creature almost like a hellhound!

Wu Chen's fingers trembled slightly.

—When did I become so talented in necromancy?
(End of this chapter)