"But you feel no different from a Flying Dragon. If you're not a Flying Dragon, then are you some kind of mutt born from humans stealing a Flying Dragon's bloodline..."
The Flying Dragon was still growling. Just as the final sound was about to leave its throat, Nolan reached out and seized a spear of light that sang with thunder.
With a casual swing, the light spear shot forward so quickly it almost blurred into illusion, hurtling toward the head of the great Flying Dragon still beating its wings. A sharp whistle of wind tore through the air.
Hiss!
Blood did not spray everywhere as expected.
Not because the Flying Dragon's skull was hard enough, but because the instant its body touched the Lightning Spear, its entire massive form had already been burned into a blackened lump of charcoal.
Before the other Flying Dragons in the sky could react, the remains of the lead Flying Dragon plummeted down.
Their pupils contracted sharply at the sight, terror flooding their faces with an almost human vividness.
The Flying Dragons beat their wings frantically like flies, whipping up violent gusts as they retreated at full speed.
"Couldn't you keep your mouth clean?"
Nolan held a Claymore that shone with dazzling light, as if forged from radiance itself. He frowned slightly and spoke in a quiet voice.
The Claymore danced through the air, its light coiling like threads around the body of another Flying Dragon that had just been baring its teeth. Pure white pierced the shadow, and blood sprayed with it like a gentle red rain.
...I told you this guy was the real boss. Why haven't all the idiots among the Flying Dragons died out yet?
Standing nearby, Moonrithyll was drenched in the splashing blood, but she did not care in the slightest.
There was a fine show to watch. She opened her wine flask, took a small sip of the fragrant wine, and felt thoroughly pleased.
Above her, the Flying Dragons gathered around the mangled giant corpse had only one thought: flee this terrifying place as fast as possible.
They beat their wings desperately as they tried to escape, opening their jaws wide to spew raging flames at Nolan.
But a powerful sense of danger was closing in on them from behind at terrifying speed.
The Lightning Spear he had thrown earlier had not vanished. Instead, it had split into dozens of streaks of light and was now curving back toward them.
Their glossy black Scale Armor could not hold for even an instant. The Flying Dragons' bodies were torn apart on the spot.
"...Oh my, picking a fight the moment you show up. Wild beasts really are hard to tame. You scared me half to death!"
After the light of the Lightning Spears faded, Nolan slowly lowered his hands. Wearing an innocent look, he turned to Moonrithyll beside him and said softly,
"I'm sorry, Moonrithyll. They were the ones who refused to speak properly. That Demigod commander won't blame me, will he?"
Moonrithyll watched the scene before her and could not help rubbing the space between her brows.
If you're really worried, maybe don't kill them so cleanly...
This was also the first time she had personally seen Nolan reveal his true strength. Now she had a rough idea of where his arrogant confidence as a self-proclaimed Lord came from... Hm. Not bad at all.
Moonrithyll shook her head lightly, then stood. Casually dusting off her clothes, she sighed and called out helplessly,
"What, were we supposed to wait for them to kill us instead? Just be careful. Flying Dragons hate dragon slayers most, and now you've got their blood on you."
"It's not like that'll summon Bayle, right?" Hearing Moonrithyll's words, Nolan suddenly remembered Adula rampaging outside Ranni Mage Tower.
That fellow had clearly never even known Agheel, yet had still charged in ready to avenge its own kind.
For Flying Dragons, dragon slayers were an unforgettable pain and humiliation carved deep into their blood.
The matter of the Flying Dragons did not weigh heavily on anyone's mind, because they discovered a prison to the south, and Nolan, already familiar with the routine, once again became the savior of the Numen.
Having done another great deed, Nolan and Moonrithyll were in especially good spirits, so they led the group onto the road back.
"It really is easier going down than coming back up. And you actually changed the terrain too. That power is terrifying."
Moonrithyll grumbled as she leaped lightly up onto the cliff.
Standing above, she quietly waited while the soldiers behind her struggled to climb the cliff face. As for the Numen, Nolan carried them up one by one.
Taking advantage of the pause, she could not help turning back for one last look at Bonny Village below, still feeling a trace of lingering fear.
What entered her eyes looked like a vast sinkhole. Such destructive power was far beyond what any ordinary champion could reach.
Even a battle-hardened warrior like Moonrithyll could not help clicking her tongue at the sight.
...
As the view shifted, a mysterious and majestic city in Scadu Altus gradually came into sight.
It nestled tightly against the thick roots of The Scadutree, like a brilliant pearl embedded in this vast, boundless land.
Not far from the city was a broad terrace.
In the desolate, unvisited wasteland behind that terrace, Miquella's Great Rune lay quietly buried.
Unfortunately, the city's master knew nothing of it.
As the stronghold of the Kindling Demigod, this place was remote and sparsely populated.
Yet the city still displayed, through its own grandeur and immense scale, a splendor worthy of supporting Queen Marika's dignity and glory.
The gray-white walls seemed to bear the weight of age and history, solemn and imposing.
The city's architecture had a style all its own, and every corner gave off an ancient, mysterious air.
The goddess statues found throughout the city were even more striking. Some stood in the middle of plazas, while others kept silent watch along the streets, so lifelike they seemed like deities guarding the city.
From every brick and stone to every carved texture, Shadow Keep felt more like Marika's city than Leyndell did.
As long as the Demigod named Messmer remained here, Marika would always have one final place to return to in the land of her birth.
A fierce wind howled past, whipping the banners atop the walls until they snapped and thudded in the gale.
Messmer had rarely left that dim little room, but now he stood atop the high city wall, eyes closed as he listened to the wind rising around him.
Even when he had once swept across the battlefield, spear in hand, piercing the Hornsents one after another, Messmer had never felt this light and unrestrained.
Today, he wore no heavy armor, only a simple robe.
His face was as handsome as an ancient Greek statue, with clean, sharply defined lines, yet there was nothing frail about it.
He gripped the letter sent from the front lines tightly in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as a faint smile of relief appeared on his face without his realizing it.
Melina had truly come, and she was with the Graceless One.
His mother was merciful after all. She had relieved Melina of her burden, granted forgiveness to the Graceless One, and sent a champion of redemption to their suffering kin.
Even the resentment of being abandoned had finally eased.