"Deep in the woods ahead," Shadow reminded them. She'd already been here once.
The forest in front of them was lush and thick—probably because of the tree species. Even though it was already deep autumn, everything was still growing wildly. That was exactly why Alia had chosen this place for her retreat.
Boom.
Gauss faintly caught a few rumbles coming from deeper in the woods.
Something was happening in there.
He glanced back toward Longflute Fortress. Just a moment ago, he'd already fed mana into the golden bracelet on his wrist—the "Playaos-summoner."
If it really worked the way that tiefling paladin claimed, Playaos should've received the signal by now.
But that was only a last-resort safety net.
Gauss turned his attention back to the forest.
He couldn't just stand here and wait for help. If he did, everything would be too late.
Never pin your hopes on someone else. They could only rely on themselves.
He took a deep breath.
Gauss hopped off the chocobo. A mount couldn't move freely in terrain like this.
"Stay ready to fight at any moment!"
"Move!"
Everyone tightened their gear, tied the mounts to trees at the forest edge, and then strode into the woods.
…
BOOM!!!
A waterfall thundered down a hillside, cool mist hanging in the air.
The lake reflected the afternoon sun.
But the peaceful, beautiful scenery was shattered by a group of intruders.
"Kehehehe…"
"So it really is a drake. And it's a red dragon descendant, too."
A man standing in the distance adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his face glowing with delight.
His eyes flickered with obsession and admiration.
It was only a drake, not a true dragon—but its bearing still made them intoxicated.
And this one carried red dragon blood—the strongest lineage among the chromatics. Even stranger… for some reason, it radiated a presence that made their hearts race.
"Take it!"
The Dragon Cult worshiped Tiamat, the chromatic dragon goddess, and maintained friendly ties with many powerful dragons—but that didn't mean they would bow to a wild red drake.
If he captured it, his standing in the cult would soar. Maybe he could even glimpse the rank of Dragon Priest.
As for a Purple-Robed Dragon Priest… that was a level he didn't even dare to fantasize about.
"Everyone! On it!"
Scholar Nolan, burning with excitement, swung his staff and barked orders.
At his command, the cult's controlled monster thralls went berserk, hurling themselves at the trapped drake.
"Lady Cecilia is on her way. We need to secure the drake before she arrives."
Capturing the drake alone would be a huge merit—but if they finished before the priestess got here, the credit would be even greater. That was why Nolan kept urging the expendable thralls to press harder.
Auxiliaries. Regular members. Core cadres. Regional deacons. Local priests. Purple-robed priests…
The Dragon Cult's promotion ladder was brutally clear, and that made everyone desperate to climb.
Nolan had the strength, but not the accomplishments—so he'd been stuck as a core cadre, his promotion requests rejected again and again.
He believed this drake would finally push him over the line. Regional deacon—maybe more. Maybe he'd even receive the ritual "upgrades" reserved for Dragon Priests and step into a new realm.
The other cultists stared at the center with feverish eyes.
Spells. Bolts. Arrows—
"ROAR!!!"
The red drake, Hephaestus, threw its head back and roared.
A black ritual array beneath it had fully solidified. Dark smoke rose like countless tentacles, gripping its wings and pinning it to the ground so it couldn't take off.
It could only shield Alia behind it, using its body to block the spells and arrows coming from every direction.
At the same time, it ripped apart the onrushing monsters with fangs and claws.
The thralls were mad—one got crushed under its foot, another immediately took its place.
THUD!
A huge, toxin-coated siege bolt suddenly screamed in from behind.
SHK!
It caught Hephaestus right as it spread its wings to appear larger and intimidate the swarm—punching straight through the thinner inner membrane.
Pain exploded from the pierced wound.
Worse, deep purple poison was already racing outward along the injury.
"ROAR! ROAR!"
Hephaestus whipped its head around, screaming.
And behind it, Alia wasn't doing much better.
Several Dragon Cultists in black cloaks had slipped in. Taking advantage of Hephaestus writhing in agony, they surrounded Alia.
"Drop your weapon and surrender. We'll spare you."
"Moonlight Glow!"
Alia didn't answer. She raised her staff, face set.
Silver-white radiance burst from the tip, stretching into a brilliant band of light in front of her.
Snarling, Ulfen lunged at the same time, clamping down hard on a cultist who was busy dodging the beam.
"Entangle!"
Thick vines surged from the ground and the trees, twisting toward the cultists.
Alia knew the truth: maybe they really would spare her if she stopped fighting—but after that, they'd use her as leverage to force Gauss to submit.
Better to die fighting, with dignity, than become a bargaining chip.
Her eyes flicked toward the tide of thralls in the distance, and the cultists standing behind them.
Despair tugged at her.
She couldn't beat this many enemies.
Today might be her last day.
And it hurt—because—
It hurt that Hephaestus had followed her into this.
She drew a breath and unleashed every drop of nature power she had.
It flooded the earth, poured into roots, trunks, leaves.
The forest seemed to boil—shashashasha—a roar of living things.
Vines thick as giant serpents snapped toward the enemy.
Some cultists, unprepared, got caught by the ankle—then swallowed by more vines that wrapped their bodies.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK—
The vines tightened.
And then the victims burst like towels being wrung dry—blood spraying everywhere.
CLANG!
A nimble figure appeared behind Alia, stabbing for her back.
But Alia reacted in time—she cast her staff to block the dagger.
BAM!
She knocked the attacker away and followed with a brutal counterstrike.
The enemy collapsed after taking a hit to the head, completely unable to rise again.
She might look ordinary in Gauss's absurdly overpowered party—just a "support"—but that was only by comparison.
On a long road like this, she'd changed beyond recognition.
She'd simply never needed to carry the frontline before. Now, backed into the corner, she found strength even she didn't know she had.
"Powderwing Butterfly!"
High above, an invisible butterfly scattered dust.
Cultists hit by it started itching violently.
Ulfen got dusted too—and vanished into invisibility.
He became a hunter, tearing into tangled cultists and monsters wherever he could.
For a moment, the battle actually looked… balanced.
"I'm not that easy to kill!"
Alia swung her staff again, smashing a monster aside, panting.
But when she turned toward the next wave—
the air behind her rippled.
A thin, black figure faded into view.
Her whole body went cold.
When did he—?!
THUNK.
A short blade like a dragon fang slid into her abdomen—clean as sinking into tofu.
"Show's over, kid."
The black-clad assassin pulled the blade out.
He didn't even look at her. His eyes locked on the invisible wolf tearing into his people.
Invisibility didn't erase scent or movement. Any experienced killer could track that.
He hooked a spear off the ground with his boot, weighed it in his hand, then snapped his arm—
FWOOSH!
The spear tore the air.
THUD!
Metal pierced flesh.
A bloom of blood in midair.
Ulfen dropped, invisibility breaking as he hit the ground.
The spear had punched straight through his waist.
Agony hammered his brain. Lying on his side, he looked toward Alia.
And saw her collapsed in her own blood.
He let out a painfully human wail.
"Awooo—"
"Good dog," a cultist laughed, stepping on Ulfen as he weakened. "Doesn't even know if it'll live, still worrying about its owner."
"Enough," the assassin said, pointing toward a reinforced prisoner wagon etched with sealing runes. "Cage them. Don't kill them. They're useful."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and you."
The assassin looked up.
An invisible butterfly had drifted above him, trying to strike.
SHK.
His dragon-fang knife flashed red—
Blue fluid sprayed.
The Powderwing Butterfly was cut in two.
"Much quieter now."
In the distance, Hephaestus—barely awake after shaking off the lingering drug haze—saw its "companions" down.
Rage flooded its chest like a volcano.
It would kill them all.
Fighting through the creeping numbness, it forced itself upright.
THUMP.
Several goblins became paste under its foot.
Heat swelled in its throat, then erupted.
Fire rained down. Monsters caught in it died instantly, reduced to charred skeletons.
"It's angry," the big brute said to the scholar beside him.
"Let it vent," Nolan replied coolly. "When it runs out of steam, we go in."
They worshiped dragons—but they also studied them.
When a red drake was raging, you didn't meet it head-on.
And they had prepared everything: monster thralls, binding arrays, dragon-hunting ballistae—methods designed for drakes and dragonkin.
The battlefield was under control.
Meanwhile, cultists moved to drag Alia's unconscious body toward the prison wagon.
But before they could touch her—
a powerful force shoved them away.
A gentle silver orb rose from within her, expanding like a protective shell that enclosed her completely.
"Boss!"
The assassin dodged a shockwave from Hephaestus's rampage and looked over.
His pupils tightened.
Alia, floating, was starting to glow with holy moonlight.
He took a slow breath.
He'd thought the drake was the real prize.
Alia was supposed to be "extra"—leverage to bait Gauss.
But this druid… wasn't ordinary.
And the Dragon Cult loved collecting anomalies: human, monster—alive or dead, it didn't matter.
This druid might be worth more than the drake.
He blinked into place in front of the silver shell.
He slashed.
BANG!
He flew backward, blasted away by the shield's rebound.
After a few cultists cushioned his landing with their bodies, he rose, licking his lips.
"Interesting."
For an instant, it felt like he'd attacked the whole forest.
"No… maybe that wasn't an illusion."
He glanced at the surrounding trees.
There was hostility there.
Assassins were good at sensing danger.
"Leave the druid for now. Focus on the drake. And stay away from the trees."
Even if he didn't understand the force protecting her, he knew the situation still favored them.
If they couldn't crack the shield, the incoming Dragon Priest would.
He laughed, unable to contain it.
The haul tonight was enormous.
He could already see it: promotion, regional deacon, Dragon Priest, a dracolich mount, the purple robe, cities crushed underfoot—
"Move! All of you!"
…
Time crawled.
Hephaestus stood over a carpet of corpses.
Blood soaked the ground a deep, dark red. Even the pond nearby had turned pink.
"Hh… hh…"
Hephaestus lowered its head, panting.
Its throat felt like it was burning from the inside.
Several stubborn purple wounds still seeped dark blood—proof of the poison chewing through it.
If it weren't a drake with a dragon's stubborn vitality—if it weren't red-blooded—it might already be down.
Its eyes, dull with exhaustion, scanned the enemies.
The humans who'd once stayed behind their thralls were now closing in.
"ROAR!!!"
Hephaestus roared with hatred—wanting to rip them apart, devour them—
but the weight of poison and fatigue stole its strength.
"Lost red drake," Scholar Nolan said, voice low and hypnotic, as though lulling it to sleep. "Why struggle?"
"Join the Dragon Cult."
"We will raise you."
"Tiamat's breath will temper your bones."
"Abyssal scales will armor your flesh."
"And you will become eternal."
He painted a dream: Hephaestus reborn, no longer a "stupid drake," but transformed into something immortal.
"PFF!"
Hephaestus spat a tiny, weak flame in contempt.
These ants really thought it couldn't understand who was hurting it and who wasn't?
A feeble lick of fire landed where Nolan had stood, melting a shallow crater into the ground.
Pathetic damage. Maximum insult.
Nolan dodged, face twisting with humiliation.
"Fine."
"Increase the pressure!"
"Yes!"
Around them, cultists raised their staves. Black-red mana streamed like ribbons, binding Hephaestus's body.
With murmured chanting, the restraints tightened.
Hephaestus's face contorted in pain.
Then, struggling to lift its eyelids—
Hephaestus sensed a familiar presence in the air.
Up in the blazing afternoon sun, a small figure was hurtling closer.
Its heart surged.
BOOM!!!
Before anyone could react—
Gauss slammed into the crowd like a falling meteor.
"Vampiric Touch!"
Even as he crushed several cultists underfoot, he moved—fast.
His water-sword, wrapped in blood-red energy, began stripping life away without mercy.
"Enemy attack!!!"
The cult finally snapped into motion.
Weapons and staves swung toward him.
Gauss's eyes swept the battlefield in a single cold pass.
He saw Hephaestus barely hanging on.
Ulfen pinned in a pool of blood by a spear.
And Alia—floating unconscious—an awful hole punched through her abdomen.
His gaze turned glacial.
A storm of guilt and rage ignited in his chest.
If not for him, Alia wouldn't be here. If not for his "good idea" of having her take Hephaestus—
Dragons were born furious.
His draconic traits had been "safely adapted" by the Adventurer's Manual—but they could still tug at him.
Normally he refused to let instinct drown reason.
He still held a thread of empathy for humans, unlike monsters.
That was why he helped civilians and weaker adventurers. Even in Herb Village, he hadn't executed the elders himself—he'd handed them to the guild.
But now—
he didn't want to think.
Not about whether some cultists were coerced.
Not about families.
Not about anything.
He wanted them dead.
"ROAR!!!"
A terrifying roar exploded from his throat.
Energy scales raced over his body.
His pupils narrowed into cold draconic slits.
He stared at the monsters and cultists with a dragon's killing gaze.
"You're… Dragonkin Gauss!"
Some recognized him instantly.
Fear flickered in a few eyes.
But others grinned, seeing "merit" and "promotion" right in front of them.
Gauss's lips curled—barely.
THUD!
His clawed fist smashed straight into a cultist's face, exploding the skull like a watermelon.
Die.
In front of Gauss at full force, monsters and cultists were paper dolls.
Blood and brain matter sprayed with every brutal strike.
"Hold Person!"
"Ray of Enfeeblement!"
From behind the throng, Scholar Nolan seized the opening and fired two spells.
Gauss felt his body lock for a heartbeat—
then he tore free.
A sickly green decay energy slammed into his chest.
His force-field scales shuddered; the Moonlit Robe flared, swallowing most of the damage.
"A master-tier warlock."
Gauss snapped his head, target locked.
Scales cracked—then regenerated.
He carved through a few monsters with the water-sword, and Vampiric Touch drank their life, sealing the rot-wound as he moved.
He was about to reach Nolan—
when the air behind him condensed into a black silhouette.
CLANG!
Gauss raised an arm and blocked the dragon-fang dagger.
Scale and blade sparked.
Gauss's raw strength threw the assassin back.
Before Gauss could finish him, the assassin melted into invisibility again.
"Another master-tier."
And there's a third.
Gauss's peripheral vision caught the last one: a hulking brute standing ready.
Three master-tier enemies—plus thralls and cultists.
This was power that could raze a small town.
If an ordinary adventuring party met this, even with a young drake, they'd be wiped out.
"That invisible assassin is mine."
Three shadows rose from the ground, forming Shadow's body.
"Good," Gauss said, no hesitation.
In his judgment, the scholar—Nolan—was the true core. Likely the local leader.
"That big idiot is mine," Albena growled as she emerged late from the woods.
She'd already picked her opponent: the one built like her.
Meanwhile, Serandur slipped toward Alia and Ulfen to begin rescue while everyone's attention was pulled away.
Targets assigned in an instant.
Gauss blurred forward, straight for Nolan.
Nolan responded quickly—thralls surged to block Gauss's path with flesh and bone.
BOOM!
Some detonated themselves as living bombs.
Gauss dodged and moved through it anyway.
He didn't slow. If anything, the slaughter fed his fury.
"Magic Missile!"
Blue bolts roared from his mouth like cannon fire.
Anything in his way died.
"This is Dragonkin Gauss…"
Nolan—retreating—wiped cold sweat from his head.
The sight was horrifying and beautiful to him.
This—this was evolution. Not weak human flesh.
He tried to speak to Gauss like they were allies.
"You should join us! Join glorious evolution!"
But Gauss gave no answer.
He only wanted them dead.
Nolan raised his staff.
"True Illusion!"
Gauss sprinting through blood saw Nolan's body split apart—something green crawling out, stretching into a massive form.
A full-grown green dragon descended, blotting out the sky.
Its body was mountain-sized, plated in emerald scales like metal armor. Its gaze was pure contempt.
Wings fanned, trees bowed. Poison and acid dripped from its maw, hissing into the earth.
Compared to it, Hephaestus looked like a child.
"An adult green dragon?"
Gauss felt his defensive scales burning under the poison fog.
Pain lanced through him.
He inhaled—
"No. Not right!"
If this were real, he'd already be drowning.
The moment he recognized it, the damage began to fade.
It was a trick.
He charged anyway, a moth flying into a furnace.
SHRIP!
His holy water-sword pierced the dragon's head.
"ROAR—!!!"
The dragon screamed—
and the illusion shattered.
The "dragon" vanished.
Nolan, sweating, stared in disbelief.
True Illusion was his signature. Because he'd once served a green dragon queen at close range, his illusion was more real than anyone else's.
True Illusion dealt real harm through belief: the more the victim believed, the more "real" the damage became, until terror killed them.
Yet Gauss broke it before it could deepen.
Because Gauss understood dragons too well—and his mind was too sharp.
Gauss shot forward like a cannonball.
Nolan had just burned a huge amount of mana. He was at his weakest.
A flash.
Gauss appeared in front of him—no time to dodge.
Vampiric Touch-wrapped water-sword plunged into Nolan's body.
"Cough—!"
Blood spilled from Nolan's mouth.
"Lady Cecilia won't—"
Gauss didn't listen.
He wrenched the blade up, splitting Nolan from torso to skull.
Nolan's corpse fell apart.
Gauss kicked it aside and turned—still not satisfied.
He moved like lightning, killing anyone who tried to interfere with Serandur's rescue.
Just as the battle was tipping into collapse—
High in the clouds, a figure rode a blue-white skeletal wyvern through the sky.
White vapor trailed its wings and froze into frost behind it.
"Almost there," a woman murmured, smiling as she breathed in the air like she could smell her prey.
"Faster, my darling."
Her heartbeat sped up uncontrollably.
"Dragonkin Gauss… the one who caught the Green Dragon Queen's attention."
"What are you, really…?"
~~~
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