Devouring Dragon Heir

In the Riverdale kingdom the fortress had fallen without resistance.

By dawn, the proud Riverdale border stronghold was reduced to little more than a smoking husk.

Its gates hung open, the soldiers inside had already evacuated, so the soldiers still lived to see another day.

The duke's army was frustrated; they were literally slaughterers wherever they went to kill. They loved to fight and kill anyone for their duke; now the enemy had already retreated.

"Did they get scared now? not even a sign of any breathing creature, as if this kingdom has already abandoned the only strategic advantage they had."

a commander said as he looked towards the narrow path in front of him, his eyes shining with magic.

"My lord, there are no ambushes ahead." The commander knelt on one knee in front of the duke as he delivered the information.

Duke Albrecht nodded while thinking of something, then he declared to the army that was preparing to camp inside the fort for the day.

"We won't be stopping now; get ready, we will march towards the capital."

Duke Albrecht did not slow his march.

The news of their takeover of the northern fort had barely been delivered across various spectators of the impending invasion before the army of twenty-five thousand men moved once again.

Their momentum was akin to a living beast, their discipline ironclad.

Where most commanders would pause to fortify and consolidate, the Duke pressed onward with great speed, not giving the enemy the time to recover.

The march was relentless.

Villages along the road saw the tide of steel and banners rush past them like an unstoppable river.

Boots hammered the earth with a rhythm that shook the ground, and the crests of the Falcon Empire caught the sun with a blinding gleam.

In little more than half a day, the army advanced with a speed that most generals would have deemed impossible.

Soldiers murmured among themselves, marveling at the urgency of their own march.

Whispers spread: Was the Duke rushing to crush Riverdale before it could even breathe? Or was he driven by something urgent and unknown?

The Capital of Riverdale

Within the walls of Riverdale's capital, tension hung like a suffocating fog.

The city's streets, usually filled with merchants and laughter, now echoed with hurried footsteps and the cries of soldiers.

Shops closed their shutters, and mothers pulled their children inside. Every able-bodied man was being conscripted to man the walls, while smithies rang with the frantic clang of hammers on steel.

Fear gripped the citizens' hearts. They had heard the rumors that the fortress had fallen in mere hours, that the Duke's army was moving at an inhuman pace.

And now, word spread that within just a few hours, the Falcon banners would appear on the horizon.

The leftover nobility, which either had been spared or was somewhat loyal to the kingdom, gathered in their chambers, arguing endlessly, some proposing surrender while others swore oaths of resistance.

But under it all, an unspoken truth festered: Riverdale was unprepared, leaderless since their king's fall, and no one believed the city could hold.

The commotion had not gone unnoticed.

Neighboring kingdoms, their spies spread like shadows, already received word of the Falcon Empire's sudden offensive.

In the golden halls of the Eastern Theocracy, bishops debated whether this was divine punishment or an opportunity to strike the weakened Riverdale from behind.

In the merchant councils of the Western Coalition, maps were rolled out, and coins clinked nervously as trade routes were redrawn in anticipation of the Falcon Empire's expansion.

Every throne, every court, every general in Star Land felt the tremor. Riverdale's fall was assumed to be inevitable.

The only question among every faction was how to profit from the inevitable fall of Riverdale?

----

Far away, in the imperial capital of the Falcon Empire, the emperor sat within his gilded throne room.

The Falcon Emperor, a man whose presence alone commanded fear, leaned forward as one of his trusted subordinates read aloud the fresh reports.

"Your Majesty, the fortress of Riverdale has fallen. Duke Albrecht's forces encountered no significant resistance.

They advance now with impossible speed toward the capital. At this rate, they will arrive before dusk."

The Emperor's lips curved faintly, his eyes gleaming like a predator savoring the scent of blood.

"Good, keep me updated," he said.

His voice was deep.

"The dear friend of mine has finally decided to go on a trip after so many years. While he is out spreading that thing in his territory, when he comes back, he must get such a pleasant surprise that his heart fails on the spot."

Around him, ministers and generals bowed their heads in reverence.

"Your majesty, we have been contacted by many factions discussing new trades and treaties; they believe that the duke acted under your command."

The Emperor's gaze turned to the high windows of his throne room, where sunlight poured through colored glass, casting crimson hues across his features.

"Let them think Riverdale is finished," he murmured. "Let them forget that fate has a taste for irony. Should they underestimate what lies hidden in that kingdom, they will find themselves drowned in their own arrogance."

His words, cryptic and dangerous, sent shivers down the spines of his courtiers.

------------------

By late afternoon, the earth trembled under the weight of the Duke's approaching army.

From the capital's high walls, Riverdale's soldiers saw them; the army appeared like an ocean of steel glinting in the fading sun, banners snapping in the wind.

The disciplined march of twenty thousand men echoed like thunder rolling across the plains.

The air itself grew heavy with the oppressive presence of the Falcon Empire's might.

At the forefront, astride his warhorse clad in silver and crimson armor, rode Duke Albrecht.

His very presence silenced fear, his aura inspiring confidence in his men. To them, he was invincible, an iron pillar who would carve their path to glory.

Yet, as the Duke's army halted before the capital's gates, the air shifted.

There, standing alone in the open plain, was a solitary figure.

A man.

His posture was calm, his black robe adorned with golden dragons (Klaus bought a new dress to show off) unmoving despite the restless wind.

His presence radiated dominance, as if he alone owned the very ground upon which he stood.

The Duke raised his hand, halting his army. His steely eyes narrowed as he studied the lone figure.

"Who are you?" he called out, his voice carrying over the silence of twenty-five thousand soldiers.

The man lifted his head slowly. His gaze, sharp and unfathomable, met the Duke's without flinching. His lips moved, and a single word rolled across the battlefield like a whisper from the abyss.

"God."

For a moment, silence ruled.

Then

Laughter erupted.

Commanders sneered, soldiers guffawed, and mocking fingers pointed at the lone man before the gates.

"God," he says! Hahaha!!!!"

"What a madman! dares to call himself divine!"

"Slaughter him and open the gates!"

The army roared with laughter, the sound swelling like a wave crashing against the walls of the capital.

But then

Shhh…

The laughter died. One by one, voices faltered, replaced by gasps and the clattering of weapons dropped in sudden fear.

From behind the lone man, the ground itself seemed to ripple, darkness spilling forth like ink across parchment. Figures rose from the void—massive, hulking shapes with forms twisted by death.

One became ten. Ten became a hundred. A hundred became a thousand.

Until the field before the capital was filled.

Twenty-five thousand death monsters stood in silence, their bodies towering, their forms grotesque and brutal, each radiating the aura of inevitable slaughter. Their eyes glowed faintly, hollow yet filled with malice, their weapons forged from the darkness of the void itself.

The soldiers of the Falcon Empire, so confident moments ago, now trembled.

Some dropped their swords with clattering hands. Others staggered back in horror. Knees buckled, and entire lines faltered under the sheer, suffocating weight of the death army's presence.

The very confidence that had carried them this far now shattered like brittle glass.

Duke Albrecht himself sat frozen for a moment, his iron will tested as the monstrous horde loomed before him.

On a high ridge overlooking the capital's outskirts, a lone figure sat beneath a pale parasol. His white robes flowed like water, and a divine aura clung to him like a second skin.

A crane mask rested upon the side of his head, hiding half his face as he worked.

In his delicate hands, a brush moved gracefully across parchment. Each stroke captured the scene below.

'The great army of the Falcon Empire brought to its knees, the monstrous tide of the void rising in defiance, and at the center of it all, the lone figure who had declared himself "God."'

The painter's eyes gleamed with curiosity, as though he were not merely recording history but unveiling the future.

His brush did not hesitate, for he knew that this was no ordinary clash. This was a moment that would ripple across Star Land for centuries.