Death Guns In Another World - Chapter 1977 - 1758: War 36

The tranquil village of Meadowbrook offered a much-needed respite. Nestled in a quiet valley, untouched by the recent conflicts, its thatched roofs and peacefully grazing sheep were a balm to Artemia and Gracier’s battle-weary souls. They spent the first day tending to minor wounds, cleaning their gear, and simply breathing air not thick with the stench of smoke and death. The villagers, shy but grateful for the mere presence of such renowned warriors, offered them simple food and comfortable lodging in the local inn. It felt almost normal, a stolen moment of peace in a world rapidly descending into chaos.

The peace shattered on the second morning. A rider, his horse lathered and near collapse, galloped into the village square, bellowing for Artemia and the Crimson Dragon. He bore an urgent dispatch, sealed with the grim insignia of the Empire’s central command. Artemia took the scroll, her heart sinking even before she broke the wax. Gracier stood beside her, her usual fiery confidence momentarily replaced by a shared sense of foreboding.

Artemia read aloud, her voice low and steady, but laced with a growing tension. Reports were flooding in from multiple fronts – the Chaos Organization’s monstrous hordes were now being bolstered by new, terrifying additions. Salamanders, creatures of living magma and stone, were seen marching alongside the twisted beasts, their intense heat scorching the very earth they trod. Vicious Wyverns, their leathery wings blotting out the sun, rained down venom and snatched soldiers from formations. And perhaps most alarmingly, colossal Earth Wyrms, behemoths capable of burrowing through solid rock and causing localized earthquakes, were emerging, shattering defenses from below.

“Dragon-kin,” Gracier breathed, her knuckles white where she gripped the hilt of her sword. It wasn’t just more monsters; this was different. These creatures possessed a primal power, an ancient lineage tied, however distantly, to her own. Their inclusion wasn’t just adding numbers; it was adding a whole new dimension of terror and destructive capability. The Chaos Organization wasn’t just throwing bodies at the Empire; they were unleashing elemental fury.

The dispatch was clear: verify these reports in the hard-hit region of the Stonewatch Peaks and, if confirmed, neutralize the threat with extreme prejudice. Their brief respite was over. The enemy was indeed getting serious, forcing the Empire to deploy its most powerful, specialized assets – namely, them.

A grim silence settled over them as they prepared to depart. The villagers watched with worried eyes, the news spreading like wildfire through the small community. The fragile peace they had briefly shared felt like a distant dream.

Their journey to the Stonewatch Peaks was swift, fueled by grim determination. The landscape shifted dramatically as they neared the region, the lush greens giving way to rugged, broken terrain. Smoke stained the horizon, not just from burning villages, but from unnatural heat sources. The air grew thick with the acrid smell of sulfur and scorched rock. Distant, guttural roars echoed through the peaks, deeper and more resonant than those of the usual monstrous infantry.

Cresting a jagged ridge, they saw it. Confirmation, stark and terrifying. Below them stretched a valley, scarred and blackened. Pockets of intense heat shimmered, revealing clusters of Salamanders – creatures resembling hulking lizards, their hides a mosaic of cooling magma and dark, igneous rock, heat radiating off them in visible waves. Above, several Wyverns circled on leathery wings, their barbed tails whipping, their screeches piercing the air. And the ground… the ground occasionally trembled, sending cascades of loose rock tumbling down the slopes – the unmistakable sign of Earth Wyrms moving beneath the surface. Interspersed among these draconic nightmares were the familiar dark-cloaked figures of the Chaos Organization, directing the chaos, their forms almost insignificant beside the primal power they now commanded.

“They weren’t exaggerating,” Artemia murmured, her hand tightening on her spear shaft. The sheer scale of elemental power on display was staggering.

Gracier’s eyes burned with an intensity Artemia hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just anger; it was something deeper, an affront to her very nature. “These… mockeries,” she snarled, her voice tight. “They dare twist the forms of dragon-kind for their dark purpose.” She looked at Artemia, a silent question in her eyes.

Artemia nodded. Against such foes, holding back was not an option. This required Gracier’s true power.

The transformation began. Not with explosive force, but with a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very rock beneath their feet. Gracier’s form blurred, expanded, solidified. Crimson scales, deeper and richer than any ruby, rippled into existence, catching the harsh sunlight like facets of polished gemstone. Her wings unfurled, vast and magnificent, each beat displacing tons of air with effortless power. Her neck elongated, her head taking on the noble, terrifying visage of a true dragon, horns sweeping back, eyes like molten gold. When the transformation was complete, she stood – or rather, towered – a breathtaking spectacle of draconic majesty and barely contained fury.

The effect on the valley below was instantaneous and profound.

The circling Wyverns faltered in their flight paths, their aggressive screeches turning into uncertain hisses. They instinctively pulled back, their movements suddenly hesitant, their eyes fixed on the magnificent crimson form that now dominated the ridge. The Salamanders ceased their mindless basking, their glowing bodies dimming slightly as they shifted uneasily, sensing a presence that resonated with their own fiery nature but dwarfed it entirely. Even the ground tremors seemed to lessen momentarily, as if the Earth Wyrms below sensed a superior power shaking the world above.

This wasn’t just fear of a powerful enemy. This was instinct. Deep within their primal brains, they recognized true draconic authority, an apex predator whose very presence demanded deference. Gracier wasn’t just a dragon; she was the Dragon here, and her aura pressed down on them like a physical weight.

Then, Gracier opened her mighty jaws and roared.

It wasn’t just sound; it was a physical force, a wave of pure draconic power that slammed into the valley. It wasn’t a roar of simple aggression; it was a declaration of dominance, a challenge, and a sentence. The Wyverns scattered in panic, some colliding mid-air. The Salamanders visibly recoiled, pressing themselves lower to the scorched earth. The ground beneath trembled violently, not from the Wyrms, but from the sheer sonic impact of Gracier’s voice.

The Chaos Organization members, momentarily stunned by the display, frantically tried to regain control, shouting orders, waving symbols. But their commands were lost in the lingering echoes of the roar and the rising panic of their draconic allies.

This was the opening they needed.

“Now, Artemia!” Gracier’s voice echoed, no longer human speech, but a telepathic boom resonating directly in Artemia’s mind.

With a battle cry of her own, Artemia launched herself from the ridge, lightning crackling around her like a second skin. As Gracier descended into the valley, a terrifying crimson comet aimed at the largest concentration of enemies, Artemia targeted the Chaos Organization commanders trying desperately to rally the panicked dragon-kin.