Ch.261Hall of the Gods (4)

The Dragon King, renowned as the master of dragon slaying and the strongest fighter.

Although their first meeting wasn’t pleasant, Llewellyn could already gauge the Dragon King’s capabilities from their brief clash.

Strong. Despite likely having inferior physical abilities compared to Llewellyn, the Dragon King was holding their ground evenly.

In fact, the Dragon King had turned Llewellyn’s strength against him. If Llewellyn had continued pressing forward, the Dragon King would have severed his waist with a knee strike.

A being skilled at reading moves and killing enemies without any hesitation.

In other words, a powerful fighter who had slain countless enemies with nothing but fists and combat skills. Llewellyn’s eyes sharpened, meeting the Dragon King’s gaze.

And for a moment, the Dragon King saw Llewellyn’s eyes appear to split vertically.

Movement. The instant the Dragon King’s pupils shifted toward Ortemilia—

Llewellyn’s fist moved, and simultaneously, the Dragon King swung their tail.

Magical energy surged. As his skin detected the magic through his anti-magic ability, the Dragon King’s scale-covered body seemed to shiver before lunging forward.

The tail was the means of acceleration.

An organ that maintained balance and center of gravity from behind.

For dragons, it served as both weapon and defense, essentially another limb.

Moreover, being behind the back, it remained outside the field of vision.

It was like a running start from a blind spot. The opponent wouldn’t even see the attack coming until the moment of impact. Llewellyn could easily imagine how many had lost their lives to that tricky move.

Fortunately, Llewellyn was different. He was a Mourner immune to surprise attacks and a divine vessel strengthened by holy power.

Additionally, his senses had been dramatically developing after encountering a transcendent being who encompassed the world’s space and time.

Naturally, with his expanded perception, he read the Dragon King’s movement, withdrew his aimed elbow, and stepped back. Simultaneously, he crossed his arms to block what was coming.

A red, scaled foot slammed down onto his crossed forearms.

Crack! The impact resonated deep in his bones with a thunderous sound. For an instant, Llewellyn’s world seemed to go dark as the shock pushed him back. His body was forced backward, his knees wobbling.

It was a kick that had transcended the limits of technique and mockingly surpassed human limitations. A skill reminiscent of the Sword Saint’s weighty sword strikes.

Clearly, their first meeting had been unremarkable. Llewellyn remembered the Dragon King nearly freezing to death, buried in snow.

It was fortunate he had considered them an unremarkable person. While that might be true regarding their character…

At least in terms of ability, the Dragon King was more than a match for Llewellyn. Just as Llewellyn forcibly steadied his retreating body—

“■■■.”

A strange voice that neither humans nor gods could understand filled the space.

That single word, crafted from such utterances, was imbued with unprecedented magical power.

It was something that made even Llewellyn, who had grown accustomed to all manner of black mages’ magic through his anti-magic ability, freeze in place.

If black magic was about twisting and screaming against the principles of the world, this was incredibly subtle.

Gaslighting, as it’s commonly called. Though it’s a misused term, there’s a tendency to refer to the twisting of another’s will and forcing them into a brainwashed state as gaslighting.

The power carried in this verbal command felt like that. Not screaming at the world to listen in anguish, but rather coaxing and deceiving the world that this was the right way.

Naturally, for a moment, the air solidified. It clung sticky and slimy, hardening bodies like some curtain or jelly that wouldn’t let go. It was obvious just by looking that the pressure exerted on Llewellyn was relatively light.

Llewellyn’s body stepped back. One step, and the Dragon King’s eyes flashed brightly as fierce magical energy boiled within the “air” that was turning solid.

FWOOOOSH!

Flames erupted from the Dragon King’s body. As a descendant of the red dragon, flame was their skin, their down.

The Dragon King twisted their body, burning the world with magical power. Their pupils blazed with hatred so vivid it was almost viscous.

“…You!”

The “air,” singed by the flames the Dragon King had spewed, disgorged a single human.

A well-built old man wrapped in a robe.

A necromancer with a long, thin tail, snow-white hair, and distinctive bright yellow pupils.

The leader and king of their kind—the Prophet.

“Prophet—!”

The Dragon King’s action upon seeing his face was simple. They lowered their stance, raised their tail high to balance, and leaped forward with both legs.

Like a missile, they charged forward wreathed in flames, appearing quite threatening.

But before Llewellyn could block the Prophet, others landed in front of him even faster.

CRASH!

A collision occurred. Not between Llewellyn and the Dragon King, but between the Dragon King and two others.

The Dragon King’s extended fist was blocked by something that had solidified into a massive membrane, and a well-maintained but plain longsword was pointed at their throat.

“How dare you.”

The Court Count who had drawn his sword frowned in displeasure.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The Empress smiled a distinctly fake smile from behind her veil.

Despite being blocked by these two, the Dragon King did not retreat.

Gradually extinguishing the flames, the Dragon King stood straight.

Though their tail still touched the ground, indicating danger.

The situation quickly stabilized.

Because people were landing one by one, led by the three heads of the three clans.

The creaking sound of a bowstring being drawn and an arrow of light nocked upon it.

A marksman who could hit even the Dragon King if they fired—Isla.

Lorian, appearing in armor made of blood, standing beside Llewellyn, and Melody, preparing to cast magic by creating harmony with the sound of her feet tapping the floor—tap, tap.

Lucilla, who had descended to protect the already retreated Ortemilia, lightly gripping a long-bladed spear.

The Mourner stepping forward with a limping leg, Valterok looking down from above, Rie Hejedia yawning tiredly while covering her mouth and drawing her sword, and others.

Countless people had appeared, surrounding the Dragon King.

“Hmm?”

The last to arrive was the Sword Saint, who appeared trudging along.

Though still bandaged, suggesting slow recovery, his aura remained as sharp as ever, the giant of a man.

He looked at the Dragon King and blinked.

“Auntie, why are you here?”

The Dragon King was about to glare at the being who dared call them “auntie,” but upon recognizing the familiar voice and face, they stiffened.

“…Sword Saint?”

“Are you also here to take this guy as your successor?”

The Sword Saint nodded toward Llewellyn, and the Dragon King followed his gaze to look at Llewellyn.

In those two gazes, Llewellyn vaguely understood.

The reason the Dragon King had come, why Valterok had appeared, why the entire Sword Saint Order had seemingly defected.

All of it stemmed from Llewellyn obtaining divine power.

He thought the Dragon King’s visit must somehow be related to the divine power.

‘I know they don’t get along with necromancers, but to react like this just upon seeing Ortemilia.’

Though feeling there must be some reason, Llewellyn calmly did what he needed to do.

He created a hilt by slicing his hand twice. Gripping and twisting it, he drew a sword forged from stars and the night sky out of thin air.

The Sword of the Night Sky, Starcluster. Likely to become the symbol of the dynasty that would reside in this pantheon.

Llewellyn gripped that sword and extended it forward.

“Surrender.”

“You heard him, Auntie.”

The Sword Saint grinned, lowering the greatsword from his shoulder to grip it with both hands.

As bowstrings were drawn, swords pointed, and magical energy boiled—

The Dragon King glared at the Prophet, whose mouth was moving ceaselessly in preparation for “necromancy,” then sighed.

Suddenly, the magical energy swirling around her body disappeared, and the Dragon King muttered dejectedly:

“I made one mistake.”

Slowly raising both hands, she glared at the pantheon’s people surrounding her with cold eyes.

“I came to tell you not to serve them… but that wasn’t it.”

Llewellyn couldn’t miss the loathing in those eyes.

“They serve you.”

The eyes of the pantheon’s inquisitors had looked the same when facing the three clans.

Since it was a fair assessment, Llewellyn didn’t refute it.

He simply watched as they led the Dragon King away.

*

“What happened between you and the Dragon King?”

Immediately after the Dragon King was taken away.

Llewellyn asked the being the Dragon King had despised the most.

And that being, despite his solemn appearance, took an ambiguous stance:

“She probably hates us. As a descendant of dragons, she likely finds the fallen state of dragons displeasing.”

That can’t be right. Llewellyn’s expression spoke for him, and the Prophet, instead of answering directly, shifted his gaze to the person standing beside Llewellyn.

There stood the reason for the Dragon King’s “sudden outburst.”

Ortemilia.

A young dragon, a created dragon. Though she defined herself as a necromancer, she couldn’t actually be considered one.

While her ability to endure death and her aversion to death were similar to necromancers, she was fundamentally different from them.

She was closer to a shapeshifter. Nevertheless, Ortemilia defined herself as a dragon.

The Prophet carefully concealed his complicated expression.

Ortemilia was trying to read the situation while also trying not to show that she was doing so.

Whether it was because this was her first time facing the Prophet, or because Llewellyn was right beside her, was unclear.

But the Prophet wasn’t the only one who found Ortemilia’s behavior unfamiliar and strange.

The Ortemilia that Llewellyn knew wasn’t like this.

It wasn’t like the always confident Ortemilia who approached situations rationally.

“Orte.”

“…Hmm.”

“What do you think? Can you deduce anything?”

“Well, I’m not sure…”

Not only that. Llewellyn had the vague impression that Ortemilia somehow knew the Dragon King.

The feeling that she knew why the Dragon King was acting this way.

Llewellyn carefully observed the difference between Ortemilia’s attitude and the Prophet’s, and in the end—

“Go out for a walk for a while.”

To speak privately, he drove the Prophet out of his own room.

“…What?”

As the door slammed shut, the Prophet blinked blankly in front of his workshop.