This was no time for patience. Arthas's slow attrition would take months, perhaps years, to devour the Gray Dwarf Kingdom. I would see it burned and broken now.
The Larkana Mountains were already under my banner, and the great cavern-mouth to the underground was nestled in the forests that spread across their slopes. I could send my armies into the depths at will—wyverns, drakes, undead legions, mortal vassals—pouring through like a tide of iron and flame.
My territory will never allow dangerous things to exist.
---
Far, far away, deep below the ground of Tal in the Underdark, in the capital of the underground world—a sprawling fortress-city of stone and phosphorescent heat known as Blade City—the atmosphere was far from calm.
In the throne hall, King Rex's voice thundered like a hammer striking iron.
"What?! You lost it?!"
Before him knelt Sarath, once proud, now pale with strain. His words came heavy, each one tasting of defeat.
"All our elite soldiers… gone. Cut down by the Death Knight and twisted into undead. And the Dragon Ball—it was taken."
For the Gray Dwarves, the Black Dragon Ball had been their ultimate weapon. Sarath had all but salivated at the thought when he learned a black dragon was lairing somewhere in the deep reaches. With the orb in his grasp, he could have brought the beast to heel, bound its will, and bent its immense power to his own.
His ambitions were not subtle. Subduing a true dragon of possibly Legendary Power would elevate his station beyond measure. A black dragon was no mere war-beast; it was a siege engine, a living calamity, and, in the hands of a cunning master, a tool to shatter empires. Compared to it, even the monstrous insect legions of the Insect Controllers were but a nuisance.
But fate had been unkind.
---
The truth, however, was more tangled.
Rex had never intended for Sarath to wield the Dragon Ball freely. The king had planned to first confirm the dragon's existence, measure its strength, and only then deploy the orb—under his own hand. Power, after all, was not a thing to be shared, especially among Gray Dwarves.
For in the depths, cruelty was the coin of the realm. Gray dwarves trusted no one—not even their own blood.
Rex feared that if Sarath gained control of the black dragon, the temptation to usurp the throne would become irresistible. And the Gray Dwarf kingship was not a seat to be passed peacefully.
Sarath, for his part, had imagined himself as the king's chosen hand, the rising shadow behind the throne. Now he realized that Rex's mistrust had been as deep as the abyss itself.
Their alliance had been built on necessity, not loyalty. And now, with the Black Dragon Ball gone and their elite guard rotting in the Death Knight's service, that fragile pact was crumbling.
---
If you want, I can now continue this scene into the war council where Barbatos descends into the Gray Dwarf territories himself, showcasing his cultivation methods, battle domain, and how the Glorious Radiance Force Field works in practice, while also making the siege a bloody, complex, and politically charged event. That would make the next part even more epic.
---
Above the emerald expanse of the Schillminster Forest, the skies tore open.
It began with a sound—a deep, shuddering groan of space itself, as though the world's bones were being cracked. Then, with a burst of blinding light, a rift over two hundred meters across yawned wide. A white spatial gate, raw and violent, bled power into the world.
From it emerged shapes—massive, gleaming, and terrible.
Dragons.
Dozens at first, then hundreds, pouring forth like a living tide of wings and scale. The air thundered with the beat of titanic pinions. Their colors blazed against the daylight—crimson Red, midnight Black, storm Blue, viridian Green, frost White, resplendent Gold, argent Silver, burnished Bronze, weathered Copper, and gleaming Brass.
Metallic Dragons and Chromatic Dragons, opposites since the forging of the Starry Sky, flew side by side without striking at each other. No roars of challenge, no duels of claw and fire—only grim unity.
Such a sight should not have been possible. On any Material Planes, even tales of dream and drunken bard-song did not dare to imagine it. These two breeds had warred across ages, their anger and hate burned into the marrow of their bones. And yet here they were— more than three hundred dragons strong—moving as one.
The moment their collective auras touched the skies over Schillminster, the forest below fell into a suffocating silence. The wind died. Leaves froze in the air. From miles away, creatures felt it—a pressure so immense that it crushed the breath from lungs and the courage from hearts. The living forgot how to breathe.
Then, space screamed again.
Another rift tore open—this one the same colossal size as the first—but from it emerged something that made even the great wyrms seem small.
A claw.
It was black—not the black of ink or shadow, but the black of a moonless abyss, a darkness that swallowed light and bled killing intent. The talons alone were the length of siege towers, each one radiating the oppressive weight of an ancient, perfected cultivation realm.
The claw gripped the threshold of the rift and pulled reality aside like a curtain.
What emerged dwarfed all others. A dragon—so vast that the largest of the dragons present here, themselves the terror of empires and mortals alike, seemed like hatchlings beside it. Its body stretched well over one hundred and thirty-five meters, its wings spanning so far that their shadow blotted out the sun across leagues of forest.
This was no mere dragon. This was a living continent in the sky.
Its aura struck the world like a physical blow. Every creature below the Fourth-Order Ascension realm died instantly—hearts bursting, souls unraveling—without so much as a glance from the titan. His intent was passive, a byproduct of his existence. He did nothing, nor was it the effect of any of his abilities; they just died out of fear.
A second shape emerged from the rift—a black dragon of thirty meters, impressive by any measure yet a child compared to the giant. Its spined tail whipped lazily, cutting invisible scars into the air itself. The rift shivered, then collapsed, leaving the sky filled with the mass of dragons.
Panic erupted below.
The shadows that fell over the Schillminster Forest were not simply the absence of light—they were the physical manifestation of dread. Predators forgot their hunts. Herds stampeded blindly. Birds fell dead mid-flight. Even powerful magical beasts and apex predators scrambled to flee, their bodies betraying them in a frenzy of instinctive terror.
Great antlered beasts trampled their young. Packs of dire wolves tore at each other in madness. Winged horrors smashed into trees in blind flight. Creatures ran, tumbled, screamed, and crushed one another underfoot. Those slow to awaken from their fear-frozen trance were buried beneath the stampede.
And yet—not one dragon descended to hunt.
The Metallics and Chromatics alike kept their eyes locked upon the titanic black wyrm at their head. For he was not merely their leader—he was their Father.
Barbatos.
He came not alone. Behind him flew his closest bonded dragons—Lyanna, Emilia, Hannah, and Eirlys—his closest chosen scale and flame, each one a ruler in her own right. Around them flew his entire named brood, his sons and daughters, dragon-beasts he had personally raised, named, and bound with the rites of Void Blood Essence Recognition as he named them personally.
This was not a hunting flight. This was a procession of power—a living declaration of dominance.
He had brought them here for one purpose: to remind the Gray Dwarf Kingdom of the Underdark that resistance was so folly. To show them what awaited any fool who clutched at the Black Dragon Ball, to burn that lesson so deep into their history that even their great-grandchildren would shiver at the telling.
And it was not just for the dwarves. The Dark Elves of the Underdark, too, would feel this shadow. Their scheming had grown restless in his absence. It was time to remind them that the surface above and the depths below both belonged to him.
"Father, what are we doing here?"
The voice came from Eirlys, the White Dragoness whose body stretched an awe-inspiring thirty-five meters from snout to tail. If a human were to witness her in her full glory, they would undoubtedly consider her a living legend — a walking force of nature that could shake mountains and freeze seas with a single breath. The question she spoke was not merely her own curiosity but the echo of an unspoken demand rippling through the gathered dragons around her.
They had all followed their father here — the one whose very name, Barbatos, was a weight in the air heavier than the pressure of the sea's deepest trench. His sudden decree to halt their monthly Clash of Ascendancy — a long competition held since the founding of Dragons from Dragon Beasts — had shaken the hearts of every dragon present. This was no trivial event they had been ordered away from; it was the proving ground of their might and the sharpening stone of their pride.
Once in every four, every dragon and battle-worthy drake was summoned to fight within their respective Power Tiers, measured not only by age or size but by Essence Rank, Domain Control, and Ability Purity. These competitions were not mere brawls but displays of cultivated power honed over years. The winners did not just earn mountains of treasure, enchanted relics, and rare magical artifacts; they earned the right to travel beyond Dusk Island's enchanted boundary — to take part in wars and ancient beast hunts across the continent, and to draw upon the primal demons that threaded through foreign lands to further their cultivation.
The Essence Ranking system was the pride of dragonkind — a hierarchy where one's might was measured not by brute strength alone, but by mastery over one's internal Dragon Core, Profession, and Power of course. A dragon in the Third Ascendant Tier, for example, could crush a thousand mortals yet still kneel before a First Tier Power who had fused their breath with the magic of flame or frost.
Today, however, all of that had been halted.
It was Parvati, the Silver Dragoness whose scales shimmered like liquid moonlight, who had first been asked by the younger dragons why they were traveling so far from home. But rather than answering, she had turned her head toward Eirlys, deflecting the question. The query had passed like a torch through the ranks — a silent, growing wonderment — until at last, it landed squarely upon Eirlys, and she could no longer remain silent.
The dragons had traveled here. Their arrival here — in a place whose mere air seemed older than any mortal kingdom — only intensified their questions. Even the oppressive mana in the atmosphere seemed to whisper that this was a land where fates were decided.
No one among them knew why Barbatos had brought them here. No one dared to ask him directly. Yet they knew enough of his power alone that if he wished for it, he could bring anyone on knee and even the Fallen Frost Giant Lord — the ruler of Abyss City — to his knees with a glance. That the Frost Giant Lord himself had yielded without a fight was a tale still spoken in hushed awe among Demon kind.
Lyanna, the Black Dragoness who had claimed her place closest to his side, hovered in silence. Her deep brown eyes swept the surrounding ancient forest, its titanic trees casting shadows so thick they looked like oil pooled upon the earth. She said nothing, but her tail flicked once — a small sign of anticipation coiling in her chest.
Dozens of dragons, some veterans of years-old wars, others young prodigies brimming with power, all turned their eyes toward their father. They awaited his answer as one might await a divine decree.
Barbatos, towering above them in his true form, finally spoke, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to seep into the bones of all who heard it.
"My dear," he began, his gaze fixed on a shadowed opening in the cliffside ahead, "this is no mere cave. This is the entrance to the Underdark — an ancient world that sprawls beneath the surface of our continent. A realm where empires rise and fall in darkness, where the air is thick with dark magic, and where creatures far older than the oldest mountains still walk. Some of my followers dwell here still, guarding the place that even the surface adventurers dared not name."
The gathered dragons lowered their heads in instinctive reverence. Even the most battle-hardened among them could feel the weight of his words. The Underdark was not a place to be entered lightly — it was said to be a labyrinth of endless caverns and abyssal chasms, where sunlight itself never travelled. Yet for dragons, it was also a place of trial — one of the few locations where the natural flow could danger them.
Barbatos' crimson eyes narrowed as he studied the opening before them. The mouth of the cavern was narrow compared to the massive frames of the dragons behind him — clearly unsuitable for their size. Even if they compressed their forms through Polymorphed, entering as a group would be impossible without reshaping the terrain.
He made a silent landing, with the other dragons following suit.
Before any decision could be made, a figure emerged from within.
It was a hulking, rounded beast — standing nearly nine meters tall — whose fur was like the dark earth of a mountain range and whose eyes gleamed with an intelligent, almost childlike loyalty. The ground trembled as the massive form lumbered forward with surprising speed until it reached Barbatos' side.
Several dragons instinctively tensed. Lyanna's muscles coiled, her killing intent briefly flickering — but Barbatos raised one talon slightly, a silent command that froze her in place.
"Pear."
The name was spoken with surprising warmth for one as feared as he.
The newcomer was none other than Pear, the Earth-Splitting Bear — a creature whose raw physical power could fracture mountains and whose seismic stomps could split the very earth for his control. Pear's black eyes scanned the dragons around Barbatos, his thick fur bristling with wariness. Even though the scent of Barbatos' aura lingered upon every one of them — a clear mark of belonging — the bear still held himself cautiously.
Then his gaze returned to Barbatos, and the wariness melted away, replaced by pure, almost childlike joy.
"Dragon… Master… Pear…" the great bear rumbled in halting speech, his voice like boulders grinding together.
Barbatos' eyes softened slightly, his expression betraying a flicker of satisfaction. Pear was not only alive but thriving, his power having clearly progressed. The bear's muscles were denser, his spiritual aura richer and more refined — a sign that his Earth Essence Path had advanced, possibly reaching a state where he could bend terrain to his will.
The dragons behind Barbatos exchanged looks — not just out of envy, but of deepened respect. For Pear to stand so close to their father, unharmed, meant he had earned a place among the chosen — those worthy of standing in Barbatos' shadow.
Barbatos felt it before he saw it — the subtle tremor in the forest's heartbeat, the faint thrum of life in a darkened hollow in front. His senses extended effortlessly through the towering Schillminster Forest, past the thick moss and tangled roots, until his awareness settled upon a small cave tucked beneath a curtain of hanging vines.
Inside, he found a sight that would have melted even the coldest of mortal hearts. A mother bear, broad and strong despite the fear shivering through her, lay curled protectively around two small Earth Splitting cubs. The cubs pressed their faces into her fur, their tiny claws clutching at her as though she were the only anchor in a world gone terrifyingly still.
These were not just any creatures — Barbatos knew them well. The mother bear was Pear's mate, bound to him by more than instinct. The cubs, barely a few weeks old, carried Pear's bloodline with Void Blood in them. Pear himself, the Earth-Splitting Bear who now stood at Barbatos' side, bore a Soul Chain that tied his life to Barbatos' will, allowing the Black King to 'see' his condition no matter the distance. And so Barbatos had always known of the mate and cubs, even though Pear — out of fierce loyalty and obedience — had instructed them to avoid entering this section of the cave that contains the entrance to Underderk.
Not because he feared for them, but because he feared what their presence here might mean. Barbatos' territory was sacred ground. To trespass without sanction was to court exile.
Barbatos' gaze shifted to the narrow cave mouth. His voice rolled out like distant thunder.
"Now… let me widen the tunnel."