Tiamat felt Harrod’s physical form.
Since he was invisible, his sense of touch took the place of sight, showing her in vivid detail the death of her younger brother.
His death was terrible.
Without any strength left to scream or weep, Tiamat faced his death.
Harold Crow.
The younger brother of Tiya Mal Clo, the proud warrior of Belus Alphen, and the captain of the Tail Warriors brigade.
He had died.
In a battle against a high-ranking priest known as the Tyrant, he had sacrificed himself to protect his elder brother.
And yet, it wasn’t a peaceful rest. Far from it.
Harold’s body had been exploited.
His memories faded, his soul defiled until it eventually vanished forever.
Not even embraced by the cyclical waves of sorrow and death, he cleanly disappeared from this world.
Even so, Harold remained Harold till the very end.
“Harold.”
Tiya Mal Clo rose her heavy body and sat before Harold.
Tiya Mal Clo, collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, and Harold, lying there with closed eyes.
In the silence between the two dragons, the scene seemed tranquil at first glance.
From afar came occasional bursts of thunder, but they seemed unrelated and flowed past.
It was almost enough to make one fantasize that if they stayed quiet, Harold might wake up from his sleep.
That wouldn’t happen, Tiamat thought as she lifted her head.
An habitual action followed by an unfamiliar sensation.
Tiamat saw Harold’s body through her sense of touch.
The waist she had supernaturally twisted and broken apart.
Inside were tangled innards.
Perhaps not entirely mechanical, these innards still twitched faintly with signs of life that had just ceased moments ago.
But what lay beside this sign of life was unmistakably steel.
Steel arms and legs. No tail.
Most of his body, except for his head, was made entirely of steel.
With such a body, Harold had attacked Tiamat.
Those attacks—simple, powerful, and heavy—each carried some form of martial artistry.
A type of martial artistry that didn’t quite fit his steel body but was optimized for a dragon’s physique.
Tiamat understood. Not with her eyes, but through her skin, she felt and realized.
Every attack Harold delivered was seamlessly infused with the traditional martial arts of dragons.
The level of mastery wasn’t particularly high.
If anything, it was average.
Yet within those movements were countless signs that only Tiamat and Harold could read.
After all, every single movement had been taught directly by Tiamat herself.
The advice given when throwing punches, the refinement during their sparring sessions—it was all present, densely embedded without exception.
And so, Tiamat wore an expression of anguish.
With the rising memories, she clenched her teeth as if her intestines were being torn apart from within.
Harold’s actions—furthermore, the axe embedded in his arm and his reaction upon seeing it—
Tiamat reached a conclusion and placed her hand on Harold’s chest.
Underneath the cold steel, there was no pulse.
There was no warmth characteristic of life, no rise and fall of breathing.
Just a cold, dead body.
At this chill, Tiamat felt as though she was frozen from her hands to the tips of her hair.
“It’s cold.”
No reply came to her murmured words.
Facing the corpse that hardly retained any trace of Harold, the towering dragon slowly moved her hand.
This body of Harold’s could arguably not even be called Harold’s anymore.
The parts that were truly Harold were minimal; it would be more fitting to call him a steel-made human.
However, what defines an individual is their will.
Harold wished to remain Harold.
Tiamat understood.
Pausing in reminiscence.
Moving according to memory.
Her ingrained movements continued, despite their lack of practicality now.
In the end, Harold died as Harold.
Tiamat felt his resolve.
So, placing her hand gently on his body, she softly brushed it before solemnly clenching her hand.
The tightly clenched fist trembled.
A sigh escaped her lips, and the wind howled past.
Tiamat understood how difficult and painful Harold’s fight—his fight against himself—had been.
The continuous screams were expressions of that pain.
Understanding this, she spoke with resignation.
Her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable as her own.
“I’ve caused you trouble again.”
No response came.
“I’m a terrible older brother.”
It felt unreal, as if the words weren’t even hers.
“Having let you die twice, I’ve only caused you suffering until the very end.”
It felt like Harold would answer at any moment, saying it wasn’t true—but Harold would not rise.
His soul had vanished; Harold’s soul no longer existed.
“Until the end, I failed to do a single thing worthy of an older brother for you.”
Gritted teeth. Regret flowed down her face like blood tears, and Tiamat wiped them away.
Tiamat regretted much.
She regretted not ending his suffering immediately in his agony.
She cursed her own dullness for failing to find a solution.
She condemned her weakness for not protecting him from the start.
Knowing all of this was meaningless, she couldn’t stop.
She merely regretted, cursed, and condemned.
What kept coming back to her were words.
For the deceased always leave behind words.
“Can I also become a great warrior like Brother?”
The polite question asked on the day he left Belus Alphen.
Recalling those words, Tiamat contorted her face.
“I am not the great warrior you think I am.”
Despite the boiling self-loathing, Tiamat only clenched her trembling fists.
“A coward who doesn’t do what needs to be done because of fear, and a halfwit who can’t even do that properly.”
Though she wanted to smash her own head, she refrained.
Because what was needed now wasn’t that.
He was Tiya Mal Clo.
A dragon, a warrior, and an older brother.
Sitting in despair and defeat was not what he needed to do.
Tiamat’s hand moved. She pulled out the axe embedded in Harold’s arm, placed it on his chest, clasped her hands, and straightened his body.
In the chilling wind, Tiamat looked at her younger brother with unseen eyes.
“Sorry. Until the end, I’ve only shown you ugly sights.”
Standing up, she picked up her bow.
Facing the gale blowing from deep within the sanctuary, she said,
“From now on, I’ll show you what it means to be the great warrior you hoped for.”
Empty quiver in hand, she felt around with one hand and pulled out an arrow lodged in the wall beside her.
“I’ll become a great dragon who protects what must be protected and acts decisively when necessary.”
Watch me. Though there was no one to answer her additional words, Tiamat spoke.
“This time, I’ll protect it.”
Turning her back to her younger brother, Tiamat headed towards the depths of the sanctuary.
*
A white light split the darkness.
Its trajectory was long and thick.
Thus, what could match this white light would either have to be equally thick and strong…
Or a darkness solid enough to block even such brilliance.
Aslan swung his purity horizontally, its greatsword cutting through the air with a radiant white glow. Tiyalmisof extended her arm to block it.
A sharp black blade.
Though its color had darkened, it was undoubtedly forged from white steel.
When this blade blocked the purity, sparks flew lightly as the blades locked together.
Clang! As the blades slid past each other, Aslan tilted his sword-holding arm and thrust forward.
Crack!
The thrust was blocked by a shield-shaped fist.
Immediately withdrawing, the fist struck the air, emitting a shockwave. Pushed back by the shockwave, the swords clashed once more.
Tatatang!
The noise sounded like gunshots.
Blocking a downward strike with the hilt, Aslan deflected a quick slash with the tip of his blade.
As the deflected blade surged forward again, scattering white light, Aslan’s purity curved sharply, blocking it as if stabbing.
One, two, three, four.
In less than a second, at close range, four exchanges had already passed.
Diagonal cuts, thrusts, upward slashes with the reverse edge, and cross blocks aimed at the eyes—all within the interlocking flashes of white light and darkness.
The moment the distance slightly widened after their clash, they collided again.
Clang!
What illuminated the gap between them was magic.
BOOOOM!
Countless fireballs falling to the ground, lightning arrows, and rock bullets raining down intermittently.
Amidst the scattered flames, lightning, and fragments of rock, the creatures launched aggressive attacks and got caught up in the chaos.
Occasionally, Aslan also extended his hand to cast spells among the flying flesh.
Practically, the only offensive magic he could use was fireballs, but their power was considerable.
Between the scattered flames and fires, only the wizard and the warrior remained.
Roarrrr!
A creature bellowed and swung its forepaws.
Claws faster than the sound barrier tore through Tiyalmisof’s lower body, but before a moment passed, it regenerated.
“You’re a clever beast! But are you not satisfied with just being an assistant?”
Tiyalmisof shouted while moving her horse-like lower body to deliver a rear kick, and the creature demonstrated its skill by twisting mid-air to evade.
Thus, the balance did not easily collapse.
Despite the fierce battle, Aslan showed no signs of fatigue, and Tiyalmisof seemed inexhaustible.
Tiyalmisof adapted to Aslan and avoided taking damage, while Aslan countered all of Tiyalmisof’s tricks with 12 years of accumulated experience.
Thus, the balance held, and the deadlock persisted.
Already injured, Aslan could not risk another hit to gamble on victory, and Tiyalmisof, knowing Aslan’s strength, was not easily provoked.
Here and now, both lacked that one decisive move to turn the tide.
“If only the Abyss were intact…”
Frustrated, Aslan clicked his tongue and swung his purity, deflecting Tiyalmisof’s sword strike aimed at his head and using the recoil to sever her arm.
Before the severed arm even hit the ground, Tiyalmisof had grown a new one.
“Sorry, Hyunwoo.”
Lewena’s illusion magic was also ineffective.
Whenever Lewena attempted to cast a spell, Tiyalmisof effortlessly disrupted it.
“Hmm? Another illusion? How about adding some variation next time?”
Her loud cry carried magic interference.
Thus, all Aslan could do was swing his sword.
When a creature kicked off a pillar, a rock hurtled toward it.
Twisting its body mid-air, the creature evaded the attack and accelerated by stepping on the ceiling.
Ka-a-a-ang!
The forceful sword strike was naturally blocked.
Even as the creature was bisected, the corpses on the ground lowered their posture to seize the opportunity the moment they landed.
As the creatures leaped again, the corpses filled the gaps, biting into empty air.
Blind beasts that neither flinched nor moved as fireballs scorched them.
The situation was stagnant.
Dangerous to halt, they merely prolonged the current state.
Kept going by determination and the creatures, but lacking that one decisive move to turn things around.
What was needed was an opportunity.
Even a single arrow could change the game.
Tiamat stood in the corridor, observing the fight.
The creature corpses, too busy seeking opportunities—or perhaps already dead—didn’t notice Tiamat.
Or maybe it was due to her overwhelming presence.
Tiamat watched the two exchanging blows and raised her bow.
A single well-aimed arrow was enough to alter the situation.
Thus, holding the arrow plucked from the wall, Tiamat strung it to her bow.
What followed was the perfect stance she had mastered the moment she first picked up a bow.
Like drawing a mountain with her raised arm, pulling down with her shoulder and back to wear the mountain.
Drawing the string taut until the bow’s potential energy was fully loaded.
Her hands no longer trembled.
Only the arrow groaned under the strain of the stored power.
Tiamat drew the arrow fully, gripping the bending bow firmly as she aimed.
Her target: the battlefield where the unknown steel humanoid fought Aslan.
Tiamat aimed at the center amidst silence.
It wasn’t silent.
But Tiamat’s extraordinary focus and senses transported her to a realm of silence.
Once the sounds disappeared, many things became perceptible.
Her transcendent sense of touch stretched out, analyzing the space.
Tiyalmisof’s movement trajectory, the unnatural pulsations of two centers within it.
Aslan and the creatures opposing her.
The heated air rising from Aslan’s bleeding wounds.
Perceiving the precursors of motion through the approaching winds, Tiamat calculated the events about to unfold.
At the peak of her heightened tactile senses, Tiamat was momentarily transported to the future.
Aiming at that future, Tiamat inhaled.
‘Mountain Breaker.’
The moment thunder descended upon the earth, the arrow left the string.
Krrrrrrr!
The echoing thunder.
The creatures turned their heads en masse, but the arrow flew faster than the thunder.
Passing by the creatures unable to react, dodge, or counter.
Approaching Tiyalmisof.
Just as Tiyalmisof exchanged blows with Aslan and engaged in their fifth exchange.
The Aslan in front hesitated in his sword strike.
If he counterattacked, he’d be pierced first.
He should retreat instead.
But suddenly, a shiver ran down Aslan’s spine.
A keen instinct for victory.
Abandoning his planned retreat, Aslan immediately swung his sword.
Tiyalmisof predictably thrust her sword forward, and Aslan’s purity followed half a beat later.
This side will connect first. Confident in victory, Tiyalmisof thought.
But an unwelcome guest intervened in Tiyalmisof’s anticipated victory.
An arrow piercing precisely between Aslan and Tiyalmisof.
A single arrow shot with resolve by a hunter at the opportune moment.
The delayed thunder roared, and Tiyalmisof reflexively cast a spell.
A shield.
A specialized spell to block arrows.
Ziiing, zzheek!
As the spell materialized, shielding Tiyalmisof, the arrow shattered it.
“What…!”
As Tiyalmisof’s eyes widened in panic, the arrow pierced her body.
Kraaakkkk!
The metallic groan as the mechanical body cracked, splitting Tiyalmisof into upper and lower halves.
Realizing the arrow striking her body had crushed her core, Tiyalmisof laughed in both confusion and awe.
Magic stopped. Without magic, recovery was impossible.
It was too late to think of a countermeasure. Tiyalmisof saw the approaching blade intersecting the arrow’s path.
A weapon that pure steel couldn’t handle.
Tiyalmisof’s beast.
The deep blue greatsword approached, embedding itself in Tiyalmisof’s neck.
Zzheek, kraaaakkk!
The displayed technique was an executioner’s technique: decapitation.
Twisting her waist atop the beast, Aslan swung her sword, halting halfway after slicing through half of Tiyalmisof’s sturdy neck.
Blocked by a sudden spike in hardness. Unperturbed, Aslan gripped her sword tighter.
“Not yet…”
“Purity.”
Simultaneously as Tiyalmisof grabbed the sword blade, Aslan muttered.
What emerged was human tenacity.
Zzheek!
A pure white sword blade that sliced through the hand grabbing the sword and completed the cut across the remaining half of the neck.
The sword blade withdrew in a crescent arc as Tiyalmisof’s head floated up.
And Tiyalmisof’s head, falling from her shoulders, triggered a clever last move with her beast-like lower body.
Passing by Aslan’s side, an arrow exited.
A perfectly accurate point-blank shot.
The older brother’s anger over losing his younger brother brushed past Aslan’s chest and then…
Accurately pierced the core.
Ding!
The arrow pierced the core and exited.
Almost simultaneously, two more arrows fired and embedded themselves in the wall as Tiyalmisof’s body rolled on the ground.
True hunters never miss their prey.
“Excellen—”
Just as Tiyalmisof began praising the thoroughness with a smile.
Aslan’s sword plunged down.
“Shut up.”
Tiyalmisof’s head split in two.
