Diogo let out a brutal roar, spewing dragon breath as he shot almost vertically into the sky. His wings beat apart a thick bank of white cloud, and he soared straight to an altitude of several thousand meters before plunging down at a ninety-degree angle, hurtling toward a luxurious manor within New Dunkirk.
He truly was smashing toward the ground, for he had folded both wings away. His enormous body fell like a meteor, dragon breath streaming across his surface as smooth dragon scales tore through black-red flames. Thick fire wrapped around him, making him look even more like a falling star.
Arthur stood firmly atop Diogo's head, his arms folded across his chest as he coldly watched the manor rapidly drawing nearer below.
After the disturbance on the Cedar Legion's payday, Arthur had moved his daily office to New Dunkirk. At the same time, the two heavy infantry legions he had newly formed—the Cedar Legion and the Snow Cedar Legion—had both been stationed near New Dunkirk.
Arthur was now, without question, the king of New Dunkirk. He was also the Prince of the North Sea acknowledged by Holy Light I, the foremost figure in the Gallic Empire's North Sea territories. Especially now that he was expanding his forces on a massive scale, his power was surging day by day.
When Diogo was still over a thousand meters from the ground, Arthur instinctively looked beyond the harbor. He froze slightly, then fiercely stomped on Diogo's head, signaling him to fly toward the port.
Several dozen nautical miles from New Dunkirk Port, a line of strange ships hung with gray-white sails was advancing toward New Dunkirk.
The ships raced across the sea in a single file. Their hulls were slender and light, like sea swallows skimming the waves, trailing fine streaks