Chapter 97: The Impoverished Viscount’s Second Son Searches for Eyes 19
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Blackening, Berserk, Jackpot.
That’s what we adventurers (us) call the phenomenon the Jewelhead Dragon just underwent.
The name I learned at the academy was, I think, much more complex, descriptive, and yet ultimately a lengthy term that didn’t capture the essence.
A monster thought defeated revives, its skin or hide turning black regardless of its original state, and then the monster becomes insanely strong.
So, in short, Blackening and Berserk. That’s what we call it.
Eh? What about the Jackpot part?
Isn’t it obvious?
It means it’s rare enough to be called that ironically.
If you’ve been an adventurer long enough, they say you might witness it once. That should tell you just how lucky I was, right?
Furthermore, the Blackening of powerful monsters like Dragonkin is the kind of situation where even the Knights Order in Faltar would be dispatched.
And that just happened right before my eyes. Hey, someone laugh at this, please.
I complained too much. Setting that aside.
Surprisingly, and yet naturally, the blow from the Blackened Jewelhead Dragon was heavier than the Ogre Knight’s.
Of course it was. The Ogre Knight’s attack that I bent and deflected was, for that king of monsters, merely something like a jab prioritizing speed.
The Jewelhead Dragon’s strike was no speed-focused jab.
The weight felt by the sword as it struck down towards the converging Magicka Thread was incomparably heavier than the Ogre Knight’s jab, and the sword tip sensed the killing intent imbued within it.
Since I could bend the Ogre Knight’s fist, and the magic moving that fist, I’ll bend the Dragon’s too.
I think, what an idiot I was for thinking that.
And I ignore the part of me that still thinks I can dodge.
A yell like a war cry, driven by guts, escapes between my clenched teeth.
My Ideal (Erica) is far away, but surely she wouldn’t abandon the unknown adventurer behind me.
She would trample the iniquity before her head-on, with a look of utter normalcy.
I am going to stand beside someone like her.
I couldn’t even tell if what escaped between my clenched teeth was a war cry or if I had screamed Erica’s name.
But my single-minded focus won out.
With the sensation of Magicka being forcefully bent, my sword strikes the Dragon’s snout down from diagonally above.
The Dragon, clad in black jewels, scatters most of its charging force onto the ground as its physique slides diagonally backward to the left.
It’s so heavy my arm goes numb.
The presence of the adventurer behind me fades into the distance.
I knew who did what from their voices.
“Hurry up and run! You’re an adventurer, aren’t ya!”
I can tell the gaunt man, Digris, is pulling them away as he says that.
The bald man, Houran, shouts orders to the other adventurers, and in the corner of my eye, Maricia calls out to Drim while dragging the unconscious Drim away.
Thank you!
Sorry for calling you idiots and muscle-brains!
I lift the ban on the double application of Physical Enhancement, something I’d hesitated to use, afraid of having so many people around.
At the same time, the Dragon, having rolled about three times on the ground, leaps at me.
I won’t take it this time. Or rather, this thing is slow. Slower than the Ogre Knight.
I take a step forward with extreme caution.
Move delicately down to a single finger, waste none of your strength—I broke all those teachings from my master, because I couldn’t uphold them.
My movements became crude, and most of the power I transmitted to the ground was wasted uselessly.
But even so, I was fast.
Even so, I was overwhelmingly fast.
The Dragon’s Magicka (gaze) follows me with a significant delay.
By the time the Dragon’s gaze caught up to me, I had already finished my preparations.
I can’t do things like “Kind Barbara,” who is like iniquity and violence given human form.
Nor can I do things like “Elza the Impaler,” unique in her singularity and talent.
And there’s absolutely no way I could ever be like Erica.
All I can do is simply swing my sword with all my might.
Putting all my strength into it, a single horizontal slash tears open the Dragon’s belly.
The Jewelhead Dragon lets out a cry of resentment, scattering blood from its abdomen, yet it twists its body and swings its claws.
There’s enough leeway for about three blinks. Compared to the Demon Realm Forest, it’s almost too much time.
The Dragon’s claws tear through empty air; I had already dashed behind the Dragon.
I control my clearly uncontrollable speed by stabbing my sword into the ground.
Having run past the Dragon’s back, I kick off the ground again and reverse direction.
I’ll reflect on the ugliness of the scattered clods of earth later.
Faster than the Dragon’s gaze can catch up, I slash again while running past its physique.
Scales like black jewels shatter, and flesh tears.
While thinking that Erica might have been able to sever its torso in a single blow, I lament what I don’t have and settle for just the tail.
While grieving my lack of strength to sever it in one blow, I don’t stop moving.
If once isn’t enough, I just have to repeat it a hundred times.
I’ll shave it all down. The corners of my mouth lift, probably because things are finally going according to the original plan of winning through repeated hit-and-run attacks.
What, did I just return to the beginning?
It’s definitely not because I’m happy I can fight a Blackened Dragon one-on-one.
I’m not part of the muscle-brain tribe.
Because I’m of the Theory (Erica) faction.
I put more power into my legs and increase my speed.
Slash, slash, slash. That’s all I can do.
It was when I attacked for what felt like just under the hundredth time that I noticed something strange.
The Jewelhead Dragon retracted its neck, tucked its limbs in tightly, thickened the scales all over its body, and curled up like a turtle.
That’s a bad move, you know?
I slam my sword into its defenseless flank without hesitation.
Through the shattering scales, I can feel the Dragon’s innards being crushed.
The Dragon, leaking a voice of agony, directs its gaze at me.
A counterattack? I thought, but as I leaped back in a single step, the Dragon showed no reaction.
The gaze sent my way was truly just a gaze, devoid of any killing intent.
If I had to put it into words—Don’t interfere?
No, that’s wrong.
I realized the healing of the Jewelhead Dragon’s wounds was slowing down, and I shuddered.
Is it storing Magicka?