Ch.49And the Dragon (2)

I reflexively raised my sword.

A defensive motion that had become second nature. A defensive move I had acquired when I gained the proficiency bonus.

But as soon as I executed the movement, I realized my mistake. The massive forelimb filling my vision was enormous and heavy.

This wasn’t an attack I could block. Thanks to the rules that Grim Darker was based on, there was a different way to calculate such attacks.

Not something to defend against, but an attack to dodge, turn away from, and flee.

Like explosive fireballs, dragon’s breath, rolling boulders, or attacks too massive to block.

Attacks calculated by whether you’re in their area of effect, not by whether they hit. Area attacks.

Attacks where your dexterity modifier determines if you’ve barely managed to throw yourself out of the way, and even if you succeed, you still take half damage.

In that moment, I knew this was that kind of attack.

I should have thrown myself aside to dodge. Having failed to do so, only one outcome awaited me.

Being crushed. I might withstand it with the formidable vitality from my 22 health points, but if my neck was injured even slightly, it would be dangerous.

I could die. As I considered this possibility, a solution spontaneously emerged in my mind.

Even before the ripping sound could be heard.

The forelimb that touched my body was pushed back forcefully, and the armor covering part of my body exploded, scattering countless fragments.

It was the Iron Man effect. At the moment of impact, I used my reflexes to their fullest to activate Iron Man.

The scattered fragments tore into the forelimb and pushed it away, allowing me to ride the recoil and avoid the attack.

The forelimb swept through where I had been. I rolled backward several times before finally stopping.

My body ached. The parts that had been torn to release the fragments felt like pain drilling into my marrow.

It hurts. It hurts so much I could die. But I didn’t die. If I wanted to go in that direction, I had to endure now.

I immediately threw myself aside to avoid the death plummeting toward my head.

The ground shook and stone fragments flew in all directions. The already cratered floor cracked and sank further.

I barely stood up, but there was no time to steady myself. Countless undead surged toward me.

A wave of death rushing mindlessly forward, as if embodying their mistress’s rage.

Only then did I feel a hint of respect. I was amazed at the soldiers of the Three Clans who were holding against this wave.

Even seemingly easy tasks often prove otherwise when you actually attempt them. It was the same now. I desperately raised my sword.

Clang, clank, slash!

My eyes narrowed instinctively. The attacks aimed at me came more than three at once.

I deflected two but allowed one through. As I barely stopped myself from falling to my knees, countless skeletons surged forward.

Ah, I can’t block this. Just as I was raising my sword to at least protect my neck—

The head of a skeleton that was charging at me shattered, and someone rammed their shoulder into the gap, sending the skeletons flying.

“Are you alright?!”

It was Isla and the Mourner. But I had no time to say I was fine.

A chill ran down my spine and an overwhelming pressure descended.

There was no need to turn my head. I gritted my teeth and prepared for the helplessness that would soon follow.

[Mourning]

The second Mourning today. Thanks to my wariness of the extreme fatigue that would come, I didn’t fall to my knees.

Instead, I kicked off the ground while practically lying down and ran.

KWAAAAAAANG!

A thunderous sound erupted behind me. The mark of a forelimb striking down. But I couldn’t stay still just because I’d dodged.

All the undead were rushing to catch and kill me, and the dragon was dripping saliva and death while watching me.

The dragon let out a monstrous cry. A voice filled with hatred that anyone could hear. Hostility enough to make one dizzy.

But if I considered it payment for my deception thus far, it wasn’t incomprehensible. The problem was that a breath attack accompanied that roar.

So in the end, I had no choice but to kick off the ground and jump.

Fortunately, my reflexes were faster than the already dead dragon’s.

Death seethed like flames where I had jumped from.

Undead caught in it turned to ashes. Though it wasn’t actually fire, its effect was no different.

Get caught in it and you burn. The only difference is that life burns when caught in death.

What if I got hit?

No matter how tough my Blood of the Ancients and Crimson Shadow were, I’d be reduced to dust, leaving only my armor behind.

But avoiding the breath alone wasn’t enough. Something was flying straight at me.

A gust of wind blowing in from outside my field of vision. Moving my body in mid-air, I reached out toward the direction the attack was coming from.

And activated the Iron Man effect. The effect would work on my entire vambrace.

With a thunderous sound, my arm was reduced to tatters as my body was flung away. A gust of wind followed the sweeping forelimb, and my body hit the ground in an unstable trajectory.

“Kuk, huu…”

It was painful and I lost a lot of blood, but it was bearable. Isn’t this what regeneration was for? Just as I was barely managing to control my tattered arm—

A hissing sound suddenly rang in my ear. Reflexively raising my arm, my already barely attached arm was severed at the bone and fell off.

A burning pain rushed through me. I was getting used to being cut and stabbed, but amputation was still unfamiliar.

Even knowing I would regenerate, a sense of loss came over me. With my chest tightening, I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

I quickly rolled my body as a beheading sword fell, aiming for my other arm. As I got up, I saw a girl.

A girl wearing a loose surcoat, with her entire left arm covered in a reddish-glowing vambrace.

No, was it a prosthetic arm? It would be if the severed arm hadn’t regenerated.

I aimed the Star Blade, and the girl also aimed her sword with perfect posture.

There was no imbalance like before. Her stance was already perfect in itself.

She was even wearing a faint smile.

The situation was far from imbalanced as well.

An opponent who had been difficult to face with the dragon’s interference was now in crisis due to the dragon’s betrayal.

Even I could see she should be satisfied. Her expression was somewhat uneasy, but I could overlook that since she hadn’t been a girl for long.

Anyone could see I was at a disadvantage. I felt a sense of crisis.

I thought I might die here, and for a moment, random thoughts like “what happens if I die?” crossed my mind.

This despite the fact that I rarely have such thoughts.

It was true that thoughts multiply as death approaches.

Was it telling me to reflect on and organize my life as I face death, or to devise ways to avoid death?

I couldn’t tell which, but chaotic thoughts swirled in my head.

Though not much time had passed since I landed, to make matters worse, the crazed dragon neither attacked me nor tried to melt the Blood Knight.

It seemed more like it was observing.

Rather, it gave the impression that it would melt me if I tried to escape.

Escape was impossible.

I wished Isla or the old man Mourner would escape, but from the sounds I heard, that didn’t seem to be the case.

A sense of guilt I couldn’t afford crept in. It wasn’t something I should taste in a life-or-death crisis.

Despite not having the luxury, I felt it. Or perhaps I had such thoughts precisely because I had no luxury.

I watched the girl charging toward me.

A girl lightly wielding a massive beheading sword as big as herself, rushing in and slashing.

Her movements were perfect despite her new body being different from what she had used before, and the connection between movements was completed with experience beyond my reach.

With each block, my flesh tore, my armor crumpled, and my ancient blood scattered.

She was aiming for my death. Though judging by her reputation, her goal seemed to be capturing me alive.

Was there information she could extract even after my death, or did she have other intentions?

Her fierce attacks made me doubt I could completely block them even with parrying and high defense.

An attack that came down after taking a step forward. Just as I barely blocked it, it flowed along the blade to the side, tearing my shoulder.

As my regenerating arm was torn off again, another sword strike greeted me with a full-body rotation.

Continuous, smooth, yet fundamentally sound swordsmanship.

Unlike my crude, strength-only sword strikes.

Watching such swordsmanship, I found myself thinking:

Beautiful.

So I tried to imitate it. I made the same movements, but the shortcomings were glaringly obvious.

Yet the results were similar. The girl frowned intensely as she engaged with me, and we exchanged sword strikes.

It wasn’t a long time. We exchanged many rounds, but that was entirely by my standards.

Gazes meeting, knees moving.

Feeling intentions. Targets of attacks changing dozens of times.

All those intertwined intentions finally colliding.

All of it felt like rounds to me. Whether I felt this way because death was near, I didn’t know.

For the first time, I found swordsmanship fun. I found fighting enjoyable.

As an orphan with no parents, knowing that fighting would trouble my sister, I had always avoided fights and never even visited a decent taekwondo gym.

But right now, I was truly enjoying the fight.

And it seemed I wasn’t the only one.

The girl was smiling. Our eyes met, and I realized similar sentiments were reflected in each other’s pupils.

She enjoyed this fight.

No, she had from the beginning. That’s why she regretted ending it.

She wanted to hold on longer, but knew she couldn’t.

Her movements changed. The girl’s body, which had been lingering at the edge of sword strikes, suddenly accelerated past me.

A mist of blood followed her, and as she stopped, her left foot traced a circle.

What remained was her left hand’s beheading sword tracing a similar circle and the bloody trail it left behind.

I could tell where I had been cut. I couldn’t feel my body.

My vision tilted dramatically. Different from my body tilting, it fell vertically.

The world turned upside down. The ground approached. When I hit the ground, my vision spun.

Then it stopped.

Suddenly, my eyes saw my own body, headless and staggering.

My hands fumbled clumsily, dropping the sword, and my body, spurting blood from the neck, tangled its legs and collapsed.

The surreal sight of my collapsed body twitching.

Nevertheless, the bubbling fear, resignation, and guilt quickly dissipated.

Only faces lingered in my memory.

The faces of people dying, bleeding.

Faces I had killed and mourned.

My eyes slowly closed.

Thump.

And I heard a heartbeat that shouldn’t have been audible.

*

Blood Knight Lorian caught her breath.

She had to deflect the arrows of the shapeshifter who was roaring in rage right behind her, but now she had a moment’s respite.

The dragon was obsessed with that blood bag. That’s why it attacked Lorian.

Now that the blood bag was dead, things should be different. Or so she thought.

“You’re next.”

The madman’s rage was unpredictable. Rationality doesn’t exist for the insane.

Blood Knight Lorian had to retreat immediately to avoid the tail swinging toward her.

The ground caved in as a heavy impact raced across the surface, and undead rushed to kill what remained of her subordinates and the Blood Knight.

It was a miscalculation. If she had known it would be like this, it would have been better to keep the blood bag alive and cooperate.

But she couldn’t undo what had already happened. She resigned herself and gripped her beheading sword firmly.

Nerilmaeus had to die. What cooled the heat of the conflict about to resume was neither Isla’s cold anger, nor the blind loyalty of the undead, nor Dragon Nerilmaeus’s madness.

Something, something entirely different, made everyone stop.

The dragon, preparing its breath, froze. Its lungs trembled and leaked the death it had gathered.

Isla, who was about to charge in with rage, also froze. Her expression was blank.

The undead obeyed their master and stopped, and Blood Knight Lorian and her subordinates stared blankly at something.

In the complete silence, where everyone’s gaze was directed, there was a corpse.

HISSSSSSSS!

Rising steam and heat. Wounds rapidly healed, and the corpse that had been soaked in fatigue and pain slowly moved.

“…Lu, Wellin?”

Hearing Isla’s bewildered voice, it rose.

They remembered.

Mourners were beings who wielded unidentified power.

Even the Three Clans didn’t fully understand Mourners.

Even high-level Mourners didn’t know in detail, so no one knew.

Where exactly their power originated from.

How power could emerge from the mere act of a person mourning another person.

No one knew. All attempts to find out came to nothing, and no archmage could provide an answer.

However.

Nevertheless.

One thing was certain.

Whatever entity bestowed that power, it lamented death.

[Level up!]

Enough to offer power without cost, just for the fact that a person mourns another person.