Can you imagine the shock? When Ursa the Drake attacked, when the servants lay groaning on the ground, when Kaeya was gravely wounded, when Diluc was about to sacrifice himself, when everyone had fallen into despair—their father, the one everyone called a swordsmanship failure, the one with no elemental power, stepped forward.
With a single strike, he had blocked the dragon's attack.
But Diluc and Kaeya quickly noticed something was wrong. Their father, still in the prime of his life, should have been full of vitality. In this moment, he seemed to have aged ten or even twenty years. His face was etched with countless lines of weariness.
As Kaeya and Diluc stood frozen in shock, the enraged dragon launched another ferocious assault at Crepus. Even watching from a distance, Kaeya and Diluc were shaken.
Yet, to their amazement, their father used the simplest, most unadorned sword techniques to parry every one of the dragon's attacks and even counterattacked.
"Hereby, I pronounce judgment—"
"Slaughter. Sanction."
As Crepus spoke these words in a deep, resonant voice, his body underwent yet another change. More and more life force gushed from him like a spring, ceaselessly drained by the Delusion embedded in his glove.
In an instant, his once-black hair, robbed of its life force, turned a ghastly white. The Delusion continued to draw elemental power toward him, relentlessly strengthening his body even as it consumed him.
As he swung his sword, elemental energy coalesced into crimson chains that shot toward the dragon, binding its body.
At the same time, his blade was already before the dragon.
"In the name of the great Anemo Archon—"
"I pronounce you—"
"Sentenced to death."
Crepus thrust his sword with blinding speed. One strike pierced the dragon's arm. Another pierced its body.
But compared to the dragon's massive frame, his blows, however swift, were not enough to kill it.
And indeed, the next moment, the wounded dragon let out another furious roar. With sheer brute force, it tore free of the crimson chains binding it and lunged at Crepus, claws and fangs bared, determined to crush this detestable ant of a man.
With a thunderous crash, the dragon's claws met Crepus's blade. To everyone's astonishment, Crepus did not retreat an inch. He even managed to push the dragon back.
Looking at the monstrous dragon before him, Crepus knew his life force was running out. His limit was near. He could not afford to delay. He had to defeat the dragon in the shortest possible time and protect his sons.
With gritted teeth, he once again pushed the Delusion to its absolute limit, offering every last shred of his life force as fuel.
Then, with a sudden sputter, he coughed up a mouthful of crimson blood. His consciousness was growing dim, on the verge of being completely consumed by the Delusion's power.
In that moment, with the Delusion at full power, the elemental energy within him surged to its peak once more. Gritting his teeth, he fixed his gaze on the dragon, fighting to stay lucid. Gripping his sword with both hands, he raised it high above his head, pouring every ounce of elemental energy, every last reserve of his life force, into that single, terrible strike.
As the dragon roared and charged again, Crepus swung down with all his might.
The moment the blade fell, the elemental energy coalesced into the form of a crimson phoenix. It let out a piercing cry and shot toward the dragon, engulfing it in an instant. Countless sword lights ravaged the dragon's body, leaving a trail of wounds. Blazing flames seared its injuries, and blood gushed forth.
The agony was too much even for the dragon to bear. It let out a heart‑rending scream.
In that moment, the dragon's gaze toward Crepus changed. In its eyes, this human was no longer an ant to be crushed, but a being more terrifying than itself. The searing pain awakened an ancient fear, recalling a millennium ago when a fearsome swordswoman named Vanessa had grievously wounded it with her blade.
That pain had returned. That fear had returned.
Overwhelmed by agony and terror, the dragon let out a desperate shriek. Flapping its wings with all its might, it forced itself into the air and fled.
Under everyone's stunned gaze, the fearsome Ursa the Drake had been driven off by a man they had all dismissed as a swordsmanship failure.
No one could believe it. But they had seen it with their own eyes. The dragon had fled.
They had survived.
The wounded servants, forgetting their own pain, began to cheer.
"We're saved! Lord Crepus is incredible!"
"I always said, with sons like Diluc and Kaeya, how could their father be a swordsmanship failure?"
"Lord Crepus wasn't unable to become a knight—he simply chose not to!"
"Lord Crepus... something's wrong."
"Lord Crepus, are you alright?"
As the wounded dragon fled, the man once called a swordsmanship failure had become a hero in everyone's eyes. But when they all turned to look at him, they were shocked.
His once-black hair had turned completely white. In the prime of his life, he had lost nearly all his life force. His body was hunched like an old man's.
Like a walking corpse. Red‑eyed, snarling, he advanced toward the survivors like a mindless monster.