The Lunar Princess lowered her head, an instinctive reaction despite the thousands of miles between them. Throne couldn't see her expression—she knew that. This time, she didn't scold him. A heartbeat later, she lifted her chin, the mantle of command settling back into place.
"Then bring me back victory."
"By your command!"
Throne's laughter ripped through the night as he spurred his horse forward.
Armor gleamed under the moonlight as they tore through the forest, hooves kicking up clods of dirt. The abandoned camp emerged from the darkness—crumbling remnants of the Redmane expeditionary force, left to rot after the Wyvern War a decade ago. Weathered timbers sagged. Only the outer palisade stood intact.
Two figures waited atop the wall. Melina and Lansseax hadn't moved, just as ordered. Their eyes locked with Throne's. No words. The Spirit Steed's gallop thundered closer. At a hundred meters, Throne raised his fist.
The signal.
Cloaks shredded as Lansseax's wings snapped open—bone and membrane catching the moonlight. She launched herself forward, no trace of her usual smirk. Shadows carved her face into something divine as she shot past Throne's head.
"I'm off. The rest is yours."
"Fine. I won't retreat unless you die."
Their exchange lasted less than a breath. She was already gone, a dark streak swallowed by the night. Won't retreat until I die? Couldn't you phrase that like a blessing instead of a curse?
Silence. Then—
Wings shrieked overhead.
Before Throne could voice his complaint, the roar hit. It wasn't sound. It was force, slamming through trees and shaking the earth. A shadow blotted out the stars, a mountain taking flight. Pressure rolled off it in waves. Throne didn't bother squinting at Greyoll.
Massive. That was the only word that mattered. Her wings swallowed the sky.
Torrent didn't falter. They charged straight through the camp gates as Melina dissolved into golden motes.
"You guessed right."
Her voice held no awe. Just fatigue.
"Of course. Hear the rage in her roar?"
Greyoll had every reason to be furious. Throne had mapped her moods like a hunter tracking prey—first drowsy disinterest, then predatory glee, now thwarted rage. A beast pretending to sleep, jaws ready to snap shut… only for the meal to vanish mid-bite.
"So you're her decoy."
"Nonsense. I'm here for me."
"Stubborn."
"Hmph. We'll see what's harder—my sword or my mouth."
Throne grinned, tilting his head back as the shadow loomed closer. Greyoll barely glanced at him, her focus locked on Lansseax's fleeing form.
This body looked heavy and massive, but a single flap of its wings covered hundreds of meters. The speed nearly matched the dragon girl's. Throne took a leisurely swig from his Flask of Wondrous Physick. Golden Erdtree incantations spiraled around him, layering buffs until he glowed like a stained-glass window.
"Millicent, off the horse. Hide. Don't play hero later."
"Yes, Master."
The girl didn't waste words; facing such a behemoth, she could only deal chip damage. She jumped off the Spirit Steed and rolled on the ground a few times while protecting her head. Having finally come to a stop, Millicent, crouching on the ground, saw the Spirit Steed had already charged dozens of meters ahead and was still accelerating.
The knight on its back drew a crystalline spear and charged toward the flying 'mountain.' Rise! The Spirit Steed leapt several meters, then kicked the air to jump even higher in a double jump, its front hooves rearing up. The knight, surrounded by a storm, took a deep breath—
Leaning forward, he threw the spear! Boom—
The massive sound of the air exploding reached Millicent's ears.
She saw rings of pale air bursting one after another in the sky. She subconsciously clenched her fists, her fingertips digging deep into the soil. Charging toward the peak with spear in hand, the air rings exploded in sequence. The spear flew a hundred meters into the sky and, in an instant, collided head-on with the massive wyvern. Bang!!
The largest ring of pale air exploded in the sky as they struck head-on. Their relative speed had reached its limit. A thunderous sound echoed, followed by a deafening roar. The mountain collapsed! The mountain a hundred meters in the sky fell like a giant meteorite. A dumbfounded Millicent scrambled up and ran back as fast as she could.
Before she had gone far, she felt something crash into the ground, and then she was sent flying by a wave of mud dozens of meters high. Boom—Rumble—
The camp was instantly flattened. The remaining tents were blown away, and the already leaning watchtowers were shredded. A pillar of smoke shot into the clouds. There was no need for a signal anymore.
As long as the wyverns weren't blind, they would see this mushroom cloud and rush over immediately, but they would encounter a 'salted fish' Ancient Dragon halfway. As for whether Lansseax could stop dozens of wyverns and subdue them, that was up to fate.
"As expected of the Mother of Dragons."
Throne shielded his face with his hand.
Beneath him, Torrent arched her back, her hooves sinking into the mud as she struggled against the shockwave. Fortunately, Throne, wearing his Carian Knight armor, was heavy enough to act as an anchor, preventing them from being blown away.
"Hang in there, Torrent. A small wound like that won't kill it."
Throne knew how massive this wyvern's health pool was; he was both familiar and unfamiliar with Greyoll. After all, by the time of the Tarnished, this dragon was already dying and immobile. What abilities or power it had were all unknowns. Against an enemy of this intensity, there was no chance for testing; the margin for error was clearly extremely low.
"Let's go!"
When the storm subsided slightly, Torrent broke into a gallop. The opponent was so large that even with dust everywhere, it didn't matter. As the moonlight shone down, the massive black shadow loomed through the dust. In just a few seconds, the Spirit Steed broke through the dust. Throne looked down from above and saw a giant crater ahead.
A grey-white wyvern was sprawled on the ground, looking up with its head raised. She wasn't much different from an ordinary wyvern, just nearly ten times larger. She looked a bit dazed from the fall, and blood was gushing like a spring from her lower jaw. The relative speed earlier had been too great; the crystalline spear had not only pierced the scales but had also driven deep into her body.
Her massive eyes were full of ferocity, and she couldn't understand what this human who had suddenly appeared wanted to do. Not killing him was already a great mercy, yet he dared to knock her out of the sky! But soon, Greyoll understood as a greatsword appeared in her sight. He dares to try and kill me!? The Dark Moon Greatsword looked like a tiny toothpick in her eyes.
Mana surged into the blade, stretching it meters long. Throne raised both hands high, gripping the hilt as the Spirit Steed beneath him lunged forward. All four hooves left the ground, carrying the knight straight for the wyvern's skull. His eyes burned gold as he roared words Greyoll couldn't comprehend.
"Next time you go fishing, wear a damn helmet!"
The storm tore through the dust like a drill. Horse mid-leap, greatsword overhead—Throne brought it down in a brutal arc toward the dragon's head. A blink, and it was done. As the Spirit Steed flashed past, a geyser of blood soaked Throne's back. Heat prickled through his armor. Almost there.
He glanced back. A sword scar ran meters long across the cabin-sized skull, from eye corner to jaw. Greyoll's earth-shaking roar split the air as she wrenched her head sideways, maw gaping. That mouth could swallow an Avatar of the Erdtree whole. Throne yanked the reins. Torrent kicked off empty air.
CRACK! The dragon's jaws snapped shut on nothing. The steed had already vaulted forward, boots skidding down the scaled neck before whirling for another charge.
"Faster, Torrent—move!"
Throne leveled his sword. Azure light trailed the blade, lengthening with every stride.
It carved from jaw to neck to wing root, flesh and blood spraying in its wake. Fighting something this size demanded speed—like chiseling stone. Shallow cuts, but countless. Yet Greyoll was no hatchling. Her pillar-legs shoved off, and suddenly she was rolling.
The ground liquefied under her bulk. Wooden walls exploded like kindling. A few revolutions flattened everything for hundreds of meters. That colossal body moved with terrifying agility.
The Spirit Steed couldn't outrun it. Then again, Throne had expected this. He materialized midair as Greyoll heaved upright, blade already raised.
"Falling Slash!"
A seamless arc—appear, drop, strike. The wind's scream made Greyoll tuck her head, wings folding over like a shield.
CLANG! The recoil flushed Throne's face crimson. His blow had hit wing bone—hard as steel. A handful of scales clattered away. Teeth gritted, he watched the rolling dust vanish. Then—
A tail. No, a battering ram. It came too fast, too heavy for Storm Stomp to parry. He ducked, rolling down the wing edge in a whirlwind of slashes. Clang-clang-clang! Sparks showered. Blood welled where scales split, but it wasn't enough.
Too damn hard. Then again, physics hadn't fully abandoned The Lands Between. Greater mass meant denser flesh—otherwise, Greyoll's own weight would crush her. Science aside, it still didn't add up.
ROAR—
The world shook. Throne's spinning body jerked to a stop. An unseen force wrenched at his limbs. He scanned the chaos.
Greyoll stood at the epicenter, a living storm. Within a hundred meters, dust, rubble, and shattered wood plummeted as if gravity itself had multiplied. The air thickened, heavy enough to bow knees. Not gravity—pressure. A force of will bending reality. His pupils sharpened. Wyverns didn't chant spells or weave magic; their power was raw, primal, instinct carved into flesh.
The wind roared above. Greyoll's massive wings unfurled, lifting her skyward. The oppressive weight pressed deeper, rooting him in place. Her tail, a weapon of crushing force, loomed. One strike, and even a demigod would fall. Throne's muscles coiled, but he didn't struggle against the pressure. Instead, his voice cut through the din, low and commanding.
"Melina, knock it down!"
The shadows shifted. Melina moved. The roar's zone was fixed, a boundary Greyoll couldn't breach. Melina appeared just beyond its reach—above the wyvern's head, suspended midair. Below her, Greyoll's mountainous form climbed higher.
The wyvern's gaze snapped to her. No time to hesitate. Melina drew her blade, plain but pulsing with red-black light. Throne's prize from the depths of Ainsel River. Greyoll's head tilted, eyes locking onto the girl as she twisted midair, her strike falling like judgment.
No war cry. No wasted motion. Just speed and precision. Second Stage Falling Slash. The blade met Greyoll's skull with a resounding clang.
Melina's strength paled next to Throne's. The blade broke the dragon's scales, leaving only a shallow wound. Yet it struck deeper than any physical cut. Pain flared through Greyoll's mind, sharp as a needle. Her consciousness flickered. The wyvern's ascent faltered, her massive body plummeting twenty meters.
The pressure lifted. Throne's body surged with freedom. His blade angled toward the ground. His heel slammed down, cracking the earth in a ten-meter web of fissures. Power surged from his feet, through his waist, into his arms. Moonrise.
The crescent arc erupted from the ground, a ten-meter blade of light. His strongest strike yet. It collided with Greyoll's falling underbelly. Pain jolted the Mother of Dragons awake. The crescent dissolved into a red cascade. Greyoll twisted wildly, her body a tangle of scales and fury.
Throne's old breath was spent and his new breath had yet to come. He growled, voice raw.
"Melina, come back!"
Before the echoes faded, the storm swallowed him. Greyoll's crimson eyes burned through the chaos. Her roar shook the air.
"DIE!!"
The ground quaked, each impact a thunderclap.