The dragon moved like an old man straining against youth—raw power still present, but recovery and stamina long faded. Its earlier wounds bled freely, unhealed after the prolonged battle. Then, abruptly, it ceased breathing fire.
Its hind legs, thick as pillars, stomped down. The tail lashed. Every ounce of strength surged into its feet, pushing against the magic binding it. The earth trembled violently, as if struck by a magnitude seven earthquake. Throne staggered, watching as the dragon lunged forward—a single step covering tens of meters. But this time, Greyoll stopped short of reaching him.
Instead, as Throne's knees buckled in preparation to retreat, the dragon roared. The sound shattered the air.
"ROAR!!!"
"I won't let you run!!!"
Pressure descended like a mountain, crushing Throne's shoulders. Staying upright was all he could manage; kneeling would have been surrender.
This pressure was denser, sharper than before. Greyoll had concentrated its power, narrowing the attack's range for greater force. When Throne saw flames gather in its throat, he didn't falter. He grinned.
"Yo, you've learned to be smart this time."
Finally, an opponent with a brain.
Last time, Greyoll had suffered at Melina's hands. Those earlier attacks were probes, testing the spirit-form girl's limits. Now, with Throne pinned at the edge of her range, even if Melina appeared, she'd be crushed and burned alongside him.
"Clever," Throne muttered. "But do you think I'm stupid enough to charge in?" He roared silently, his voice carrying no sound.
"Blaidd!!"
Behind Greyoll, a small werewolf sprinted forward, matching Throne's speed stride for stride.
Blaidd's face was emotionless, his focus singular. He raced beneath the dragon's massive form, unsheathed the greatsword from his back, and leaped upward with ferocious precision. The blade flashed cold and unadorned, driving straight into Greyoll's lower jaw.
Flames loomed large in Throne's vision, death itself approaching. He ignored Melina's distant scream. Then, a greatsword appeared, cutting through the air like a right hook. The force lifted Greyoll's head, disrupting the inferno.
Whoosh—
The fire swept overhead, painting the night sky in a brilliant arc of light. Yet the crushing pressure remained. Greyoll refused to relent, ignoring the werewolf at its feet, desperate to lower its head and incinerate its prey.
"Such will is admirable," Throne thought.
"But do you really think you can hold me down?"
His pupils burned gold. Blood from his wounds ignited. Dragon Heart Blood Burn! Inch by inch, he straightened his knees, as though lifting a mountain. He took a step forward. Slow, deliberate, each stride leaving deep impressions in the earth. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Greyoll's eyes shifted downward, surprise flickering as it saw the human advancing. With a violent shake of its neck, it hurled Blaidd away. The werewolf tumbled across the ground, struggling to rise. When he looked up, his eyes narrowed. Throne had reached the dragon.
His small figure seemed like a giant, and as particles emerged, Melina appeared atop Greyoll's head. Naturally, there was no pressure in this area, otherwise Greyoll would have been unable to move, and Melina's arrival point was precise to the millimeter.
The girl stared down at the massive dragon head. Greyoll hesitated, its neck twitching as if unsure whether to raise or lower its skull. Melina's advantage became clear: wood doesn't hesitate.
"Mother of Dragons, bow your head to me!"
The Black Knife, crackling with Destined Death, plunged into Greyoll's crown.
The scales there were already shattered from the magical onslaught. Destined Death pierced deep, tearing through flesh and bone. Greyoll let out a soul-rending roar, its head finally slumping downward. The weight of its presence vanished, and Throne's knees buckled.
He reappeared as a swirling mist of blood, the Dark Moon Greatsword in his hand blazing with a blade ten meters long. This was his full power, unleashed at the perfect moment.
"Blood Moon!"
The ground shook. A pale ring of energy bloomed beneath him, red and blue light reflecting in Blaidd and Millicent's eyes.
A crimson moon. A cerulean ring. The blade's edge hung in the air, slicing toward Greyoll's neck—only to meet dragon bone harder than steel. Greyoll thrashed its head wildly, but Throne had already let go.
"I don't need you."
He stomped on the hilt like a pedal, launching himself onto the dragon's skull.
He strode past Melina, who crouched low, her blade still embedded. Throne's steps were unsteady as he crossed his arms and drew the twin katanas at his waist. The blades sang as they left their sheaths, and the force threw him backward.
Gravity pulled him downward. Greyoll's gaping maw loomed before him. Throne let out a sharp whistle. Torrent appeared mid-air, calm as ever. The Spirit Steed kicked hard with its hind leg, slamming into Throne's back. Greyoll's jaws snapped shut on empty air. Man and steed flew in opposite directions, Torrent vanishing into the ether while Throne soared toward the dragon's head.
He stabbed at the eye mere inches away. No time to see Greyoll's expression. The twin katanas drove deep. Instead of pulling them out, he pressed down on the hilts, flipping backward onto the dragon's crown. He raised his right hand.
"Sword!"
A plain greatsword flew through the air, landing perfectly in his grip. Throne spun the blade in a dazzling arc, his blood burning hotter than ever. He brought it down in a brutal backhand swing. The blade sank into Greyoll's forehead like a nail.
Throne felt the resistance of the dragon's skull. He raised his left hand, glowing with purple energy.
"Die!"
His fist hammered down, driving the greatsword deeper until the hilt disappeared. Greyoll's thrashing stopped. The ground beneath Throne's feet began to drop.
He slid away, turning as a thunderous crash echoed behind him. The heat in his eyes faded as he watched the blood-soaked dragon head settle into the dirt. The Dragon Bows Its Head.
The massive skull, like a small house, slammed into the earth. Blood pooled around it, spreading into a crimson lake.
"We won?"
Millicent's eyes widened as she took in the sight. Throne stood quietly before the dragon, the beast's posture one of submission. Her teacher looked like a king. Her heart swelled with longing.
Encountering a powerful enemy, slaying it, and leaving it to eat the dust of defeat—this was the ultimate dream of every swordsman. The heavy, metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils. She leaped to her feet and sprinted toward Throne. He wasn't trying to impress her. He was just too tired to move.
His pupils returned to normal, the blood fading from his vision. Exhaustion crashed over him like a tidal wave. Was this the combined toll of Blood Burn and Dragon Power? His thoughts slogged through molasses, sluggish and disjointed, like the hazy aftermath of indulgence. All he wanted was a bath and a bed, but sleep wasn't an option—not yet. His gaze lingered on the motionless dragon.
Greyoll lay before him like a fallen mountain, its once-piercing eyes now a mangled ruin of flesh and blood. No breath stirred its massive form.
"Melina."
Throne's voice halted the girl as she hurried toward him. He lifted his head slowly, each movement a struggle.
"Stab it ten more times. Not a single slash less."
Melina glanced back, questioning. The dragon was already riddled with hundreds of wounds—surely it was dead. But she obeyed, stepping beneath the beast's bulk and driving her blade in. Pfft, pfft, pfft… The wet, muffled sounds of steel piercing flesh filled the air. Even Millicent joined in, her strikes shallow but precise. Against a living Greyoll, she'd have been useless, but a corpse? No challenge at all.
"You're overly cautious."
Blaidd approached, his tone light with mockery. Throne managed a weak smile, too drained to spar with the tsundere werewolf.
"Those who aren't cautious are dead. Greyoll isn't an ordinary dragon."
He was certain now—Greyoll was gone. Surviving Destined Death and launching a counterattack? Pure fantasy.
"That should be enough, right?"
Melina returned, sweat glistening on her skin. She'd over-delivered, retrieving all of Throne's blades.
He sheathed them one by one, the greatsword slung back over his shoulder, the Golden Halberd and other gear stowed away. The Crystal Spear, cracked beyond repair, was tossed aside.
"Alright, 'Mother of Dragons' Greyoll has fallen here, dying by my hand."
No applause followed, but Blaidd, Millicent, and the others clenched their fists. This was an epic worthy of legend, a tale to echo through generations.
"It's a pity it's so desolate here…" Millicent murmured.
"Remember, Millicent," Throne cut in, "killing enemies is for yourself, not for praise. Tangible benefits matter more than applause."
Fame had its place, but rewards were paramount. For now, glory could wait. He pulled the greatsword from the mud and turned to Blaidd.
"This is a good sword."
Blaidd nodded.
"You didn't disgrace it. That last strike was beautiful."
He reached out to reclaim the weapon.
Throne's final blow had been a gamble—a desperate, all-or-nothing play. Blaidd could see it in the man's stance, in the way he'd teetered on the edge of collapse.
"You always love to gamble. That's not wise."
"I win every gamble."
"And if you lose once?"
Throne stayed silent. He didn't know why Blaidd was suddenly so concerned.
His gaze flicked to Melina. Rest could wait.
"Speak. You arrived late—what trouble did you run into?"
Blaidd was never late, not with Ranni guiding him. The werewolf hesitated, his expression darkening.
"I encountered someone with a familiar aura. I had to investigate."
"Who?"
Throne's gut twisted. This trip to Caelid had been one surprise after another.
"A priest. He didn't seem human."
A priest. Not human. Caelid. Throne's scalp prickled. There was no time to rest, no time to gather materials. He summoned Torrent immediately.
"Melina, come back. Millicent, get on the horse. We're retreating south."
His voice carried an edge that put them all on alert. Blaidd frowned, suspicion knotting his gut. They'd only been discussing the Ancient Dragon moments ago—what had gotten into Throne? Was this some kind of ploy? Before he could press further, Melina, usually the last to move, was already gone. Millicent swung onto the Spirit Steed, her movements swift and decisive.
Throne clenched his teeth, sharpening his focus. He turned to Blaidd, who stood frozen, still processing the sudden shift.
"Head east," Throne commanded, his words clipped. "Leave enough tracks. I can't face him now, not like this."
"Face who?" Blaidd snapped, his voice sharp with confusion.
"The one I've been watching since we reached Caelid—'Black Blade' Maliketh."
"The Black Blade?"
Blaidd watched the Spirit Steed vanish into the distance. His thoughts churned, then stilled. Recognition dawned, cold and certain. His wolf eyes widened. Now he knew why that name had stirred something deep within him.