The leisurely words. Soon after, a hand stretches out. It is so pale that it is almost invisible. It appears to have vanished.
Even with Aslan’s heightened senses, the trajectory is undetectable. Luck burns fiercely, warning Aslan. It moves at a speed that makes it impossible to evade if even a moment’s distraction occurs.
No, even without distraction, it cannot be avoided. Aslan draws both the hammer and shield and positions them in defense.
The moment he blocks, they vanish. The hammer is torn apart and becomes molten metal, while the shield is shattered like a bomb bursting. In the midst of this, a slowing claw can be seen.
Behind that claw, shockwaves emanate from the joints of the fingers. Acceleration occurs once again. It speeds up to a point where it is almost invisible. Aslan twists his body, seeing death so near, and blocks with the wings of Steamfalos.
“Thunder Call!”
At the same time, he enhances his legs and plants his feet down, leaning back.
―!
Shockwaves spread out broadly. The roar of thunder is drowned out by the following sound of explosion. As Aslan is propelled away by the Thunder Call, the wings of Steamfalos burst forth, scattering countless feathers.
Bang, bang, Kwagagagaga!
After three collisions with the ground, he finally comes to a stop. The scattered feathers, even while lifting his body and creating distance, demonstrated that he had sustained considerable damage.
Blood fills his mouth. Before he could spit it out, a tremendous heat assaults him. A heat powerful enough to burn and melt the very space around him.
As Aslan stands upright, he sees it.
A sphere forming and flying from the mouth of the Dragon King, who had his mouth wide open.
That was not a dragon’s breath.
It resembled a spear forged from solar flares.
The breath flies towards him in a straight line. If it hits, he will die. Luck ignites. He is consumed by that flame. It urges him that he too shall meet this fate.
Aslan grips the blood sword, murmuring as he mentally repeats the words.
“Purity.”
“Shadow Flip.”
At Aslan’s feet, the shadow that had begun to vanish due to the overwhelming heat completely disappears, tracing two impossible trajectories of a white-hot longsword.
A cross slash. He blocks the breath. In that moment, pain surged as if his wrist were vanishing.
The sword did not break. Purity does not break.
But that was all.
Aslan’s body is violently propelled away, crashing through the palace wall and flying outside.
Boom, boom, Ku gugu gugugu, Kwagagak!
He collides with the ground, crashes against the wall, crumbles the wall, and rolls across the floor once more. The violent spinning ceases just after reaching outside the palace.
Zjeong!
“Cough… Ugh…!”
Heaving breaths are obstructed by the blood in his throat. After spitting out the blood filling his mouth, Aslan gasps with his blood-soaked lips.
The damage from hitting the wall or the ground was softened by the scattering wings of Steamfalos, but the wrist that had blocked the breath could barely move.
Aslan staggeringly rises, glaring at the hole he had made in the palace with his body.
Luck was reacting to the being stepping out from within that hole.
So strongly that it could dwarf all the priests he had encountered until now.
Aslan understood the situation.
The heart-piercing stab that had previously been unobstructed was now blocked.
The breath was no dragon’s breath. It felt like a type of plasma that conveyed more advanced science and technology.
Accelerating through shockwaves, a method not found in other gods’ priests.
Aslan spoke as he saw the Dragon King appear before him.
“Are you… the high priest of the devourer?”
At those words, the Dragon King’s steps halted.
There could be no clearer affirmation.
“Since when… have you been pretending to be the Dragon King?”
As the dust began to settle, the face of the Dragon King, hearing Aslan’s question, emerged.
That face no longer bore the weary kindness it had moments ago.
The brightly glowing eyes of a warrior.
The eyes of a combatant, fully alert in anticipation of an adversary, filled that space.
“Pretending.”
Amidst the thick dust and the groans of the crumbling palace, the being resembling the Dragon King spoke, lifting its claw as if to conceal its wariness.
That claw bore a scratch. A mark made at the moment it clashed with the hammer and scales.
A mark that would soon vanish upon a breeze. The Dragon King flipped its hand over to check the vanished scar and spoke once more.
“Pretending….”
And then laughed.
As the Dragon King chuckled softly, Aslan shot him an angry glare and drew a spear from behind him. It was the weapon of a dragon hunter.
His remaining weaponry consisted of Boren’s Storm Sword, dual spears, Seobsaeng, the blood sword, and about a quarter of the wings of Steamfalos.
It was hardly favorable. Just from one clash, he had lost two weapons.
That offensive capability was extraordinary.
As Aslan raised his guard, the Dragon King tilted his head.
“Do you think I am simply a high priest, and not the Dragon King?”
Hearing those words, Aslan frowned and sensed approaching presences around him.
They were dragonkin. They were gathering towards the palace. Is the enemy increasing? Aslan clicked his tongue in discontent, causing the Dragon King’s benevolent smile to twist slightly.
“It hasn’t been long since the palace was repaired… It’s disappointing. To think it has to be destroyed once more.”
That twisted smile was one of self-mockery.
Even while feeling the sorrow of the situation, it was a smile mocking himself.
Hearing his words and actions, Aslan did not think of them as the behavior of a masked high priest.
It felt as though it belonged to one who mourned having to break and leave behind what he had built.
Could it be? Aslan wondered, and the Dragon King spoke.
“Pretending to be the Dragon King. Your words, which you just stated… seem quite amusing to me.”
“You…”
“A thousand years.”
With the heavy words ringing out, as the dust settled, the Dragon King’s form became visible. The black scales of his exposed torso were not the usual color of scales.
They were a dark hue, as if they absorbed light.
The dark-colored Dragon King laughed.
“For a thousand years, there has been no other Dragon King aside from me. Therefore, would it not be I who is the true Dragon King?”
A reality worse than the worst Aslan had imagined. As he glared and readied himself, the Dragon King smiled.
Seeing that sorrow, Aslan spoke.
“Have you forsaken the position you have held for a thousand years, just because I found you out?”
It was a reasonable question. At least for Aslan, it was.
But it seemed it was not reasonable for the Dragon King, as he made an inquisitive sound and scoffed.
“Just ‘because of you’?”
And laughed. His laughter carried clarity amidst the deep timbre.
“Such foolishness. Does that not underestimate you too much?”
As the Dragon King said this and raised the arms he had let hang, he clenched his fist as if grasping something.
A sound like kaga kach, kaga gack rang out from his fist, which felt abnormal. Scales wrapping his whole body, a testament that everything was made of metal.
Aslan sweated cold at the sight. This was his first encounter with a proper high priest, not just any high priest like the three evil gods.
Nonetheless, Aslan understood.
The Dragon King was wary of him.
He took a moment to catch his breath and asked.
“Does the devourer… ask you to do such a thing?”
“No, it is my own judgment.”
A clear laugh. The Dragon King’s expressions were as vivid as Harrod’s.
“By this age, one can gain a talent. The ability to distinguish who is dangerous, who is not, and how dangerous if they are. I have seen many through that ability. While many have appeared, I can categorize them into five types.”
The Dragon King closed his eyes and began counting on his fingers.
“Formidable opponent, dangerous individual, pathetic rival, madman.”
As four of his fingers folded, only the index finger remained pointing at Aslan.
“And the great hero who could change the world.”
When the Dragon King opened his eyes, a deep wariness resided within them.
“Is it strange that I am wary of you?”
As he lowered his outstretched hand, the Dragon King clenched and then opened his fist.
“12 years ago, suddenly appearing in this continent, surviving ever since, slaughtering hundreds of priests, tearing apart thousands of beasts, a true monster who has survived through all those battles.”
As wariness ignited wildly, the golden eyes contained Aslan as they burned fiercely.
“Is it so strange to be wary of such a monster?”
He concealed his wariness, appearing kind. Beneath that smile lay a deep wariness, like a longsword waiting for the moment to strike back.
Sharp and lethal.
As Aslan, amidst deep despair, readied himself, the Dragon King wiped the smile from his face, saying.
“I do not underestimate nor take you lightly.”
Kararak, as he clenched his fist, a metallic sound followed.
“You.”
As he clenched both fists, his forearms hummed ominously.
“Aslan.”
When that fist was raised, a horrifying metallic sound clashed, sending shivers down Aslan’s spine. As he heaved rough breaths, the Dragon King stated expressionlessly.
“You are the greatest threat to my rule that has lasted for a thousand years.”
A high priest is different from a priest.
A high priest is the right hand of the deity. A true demigod who can twist the world alone.
“Thus, I declare here and now.”
Raising both fists against Aslan, turning his body squarely towards him while laying his tail down on the ground.
It was a tradition of the dragonkin martial arts that Harrod had demonstrated once before.
A martial art without a name, taking on a traditional stance passed down for over a thousand years, the Dragon King declared.
“I will kill you. With all my power.”
And with that single stance, an overwhelming pressure surged forth.
Wuuuuuuuuuuu!
Accompanying that pressure was a sound like a turbine whirring to life.
As Aslan swallowed his saliva at the sound emanating from the Dragon King, he gripped his sword tightly.
Cold sweat dripped down his hands, making the hilt sticky.
