Translator: AnubisTL
After the bloody conflict in the Alva River Valley sent shockwaves through the borderlands, the dispute over core territorial interests escalated. The Duchy of Haltai and the Duchy of Abel issued fierce official statements almost simultaneously, launching scathing accusations against one another. The atmosphere grew thick with hostility.
Meanwhile, other duchies—some close to the two warring states, some distant, some with entangled interests, and some with lingering grievances—seemed to be manipulated by invisible hands behind the scenes. They were gradually divided and drawn together.
Ultimately, three distinct factions emerged: the neutral observers, those openly supporting Haltai, and those staunchly backing Abel.
The powerful kingdoms, the true pillars and core of the Lothurn Federation, reacted with unsettling calm.
They seemed utterly indifferent, almost apathetic.
It was as if they were blind to the escalating conflict unfolding right before their eyes, treating the duchies' squabbles as trivial matters. They continued to follow the Federation's ancient, centuries-old regulations to the letter, mechanically initiating mediation procedures and dispatching envoys to Haltai and Abel in a routine attempt to quell the unrest.
But this time, the two duchies adopted a stance utterly different from before.
They did not, as they had in the past, choose compromise and concession under the pressure of royal mediation.
Instead, like enraged hedgehogs, they each brought forth long-buried border treaties and historical documents dating back centuries, citing precedent and arguing their cases with fierce resolve.
At the negotiating table, they refused to yield a single inch of ground, displaying an unprecedentedly hardline posture.
They were determined to seize and hold the disputed territories—those with murky sovereignty that both sides claimed as their own.
Thus, amidst the complex maneuvering and influence of various powers, after an exhausting diplomatic stalemate and minor border skirmishes lasting more than five long years...
In the late summer of New Era 256, on a day of exceptionally brilliant sunshine, the Duchy of Haltai and the Duchy of Abel brazenly tore up the core treaty that the federation had relied upon to maintain its internal peace. They formally issued declarations of war against each other, filled with hostility and the promise of fire.
As things stand now...
The powerful kingdoms, with their formidable strength and deep-rooted legacies, remained seated upon their high platforms like immovable boulders, maintaining an inscrutable patience and silence.
They watched the escalation of conflict at the ducal level with cold detachment, as if silently awaiting the arrival of a crucial moment, or perhaps amassing strength for some deeper, more profound ambition.
But.
The numerous duchies within the federation had seen their positions shift violently during this six-month standoff of drawn swords and bared bows.
The neutral faction, which had once tried to remain uninvolved, had all but vanished.
They had either thrown their lot in with Haltai, flags flying high, or firmly chosen to support the Duchy of Abel.
Though the duchies standing on opposing sides had not yet engaged in direct military confrontation or erupted into full-scale war like Haltai and Abel, the animosity and tension between them—fueled by long-simmering territorial disputes, trade frictions, and ancient grudges—had grown as thick and volatile as dry kindling struck by a spark. Border skirmishes broke out frequently, and the very air seemed to freeze with tension.
The bloody border conflict that served as the fuse was known as—the Alva River Valley Incident.
Meanwhile.
Just as the Federation States of Lothurn were harboring ulterior motives, with undercurrents surging and the winds of change blowing.
On that forgotten, wild land located at the border between the Sierre Wilderness and the Permafrost Tundra, far from the clamor of the civilized world.
The Ironforged Tribe, this fierce beast, had expanded with the speed of a prairie fire over the past five years.
Its momentum was so ferocious it commanded attention.
Thanks to the monstrous races' astonishingly tenacious vitality and almost fanatical desire to reproduce, the population of the major clans within the tribe had swelled like a snowball, showing explosive growth.
Furthermore, thanks to the blood and fire of previous brutal wars.
Just as fine steel is forged to remove impurities and reveal its sharp edge, batches of powerful bosses and elite warriors, capable of holding their own on the battlefield, had continuously emerged from every corner of the tribe like mushrooms sprouting wildly in a forest after rain.
However, behind this gratifying expansion and growth in strength, there also existed a flaw that could not be ignored.
One of the core plans the tribe pinned its highest hopes on.
The Dragonforged Warrior Transformation Project was currently mired in an anxious state of stagnation.
Green Dragon Ludwig and Black Dragon Seraphina had both successfully advanced, taking the paths of nature dragon and Undead Dragon, respectively. They were also simplifying and dismantling the Dragon Bloodline Ritual as the tribe had requested, and providing a steady supply of living creatures for research. However, due to their low levels, their understanding of life, flesh, and souls was still lacking, and the Dragonforged Warrior Transformation Project had made no significant progress.
Blue Dragon Heliam and Red Dragon Cahill had also completed their advancements to Storm Dragon and Wild Dragon.
It had to be said that White Dragon Treacy had a real knack for motivating the other young dragons to grow stronger.
In the Black Iron Plains—the industrial heartland of the Ironforged Tribe—monumental changes were also underway.
By absorbing and digesting the alchemical legacy of the Gold Tooth Tribe, continuously refining its own technology, and benefiting from focused resources and policies, the Ironforged Tribe's alchemical industrial system had expanded several-fold in scale and complexity in just five short years.
Nevertheless, that wildly ambitious vision—allowing multiple intelligent creatures to jointly control a super-giant golem—remained stuck in the blueprint and small-scale testing phase, with a long road ahead before it could be deployed in actual combat.
But...
The battle golem, stationed like iron sentinels at every key Ironforged Tribe stronghold, ready to crush any invader, now far outnumbered the entire Gold Tooth Tribe at its absolute peak.
In short, the Ironforged Tribe's legions of servants had expanded to the very limit of what the Frontierlands' current resource output could sustain. The tribe's overall power had reached an unprecedented zenith.
Its army was strong and well-equipped! —A massive, battle-hardened legion of monsters filled the wilderness camps.
Its foundation was complete! —From basic industry to high-level bosses, from resource stockpiles to organizational structure, a solid and comprehensive system had been established.
Its loyalty was unwavering! —Faith and awe for the Ominous Star of Death, who sat upon the throne in Dragon Valley, had been seared into the souls of every tribe member.
Its morale had reached a fever pitch! —After five years of relentless training and explosive growth, a fervent lust for war permeated every level of the tribe.
Every warrior was itching for a fight, every golem engine was low-growling in warm-up, and every gaze was fixed eagerly upon Dragon Valley.
They stood ready.
At a single command from their supreme King, they would unleash a new tide of iron and fire, conquering vaster territories and seizing even more dazzling glory in his name.
At that moment...
Garos Ignis, the King of the Frontierlands, whose body was clad in dragon scales that shimmered with the metallic luster of black-red molten steel, had just finished his essential daily training.
(End of the Chapter)
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