Black's mind went blank with a deafening buzz.
This sensual, intoxicating sight—with Alice half-naked, flushed, and trembling before him—was utterly lethal to his already burning desire.
A hot rush flooded his nose—warm liquid trickling down.
He wanted to cover his eyes.
Because if that happened,he didn't know how he'd ever face Alice again.
His plan had always been clear:once the prologue ended, he'd leave.
He wasn't supposed to form such a deep bond with this girl.
But it was too late.
Alice had lost all reason.
She lunged at him,her slick arms coiling around his wrists like vines—yanking his hands apart with surprising strength.
They tumbled onto the soft blanket,her lithe body clinging to him like an octopus,pinning him beneath her weight.
"Mmph…"
Black struggled, but his weakened state left him no match for her.
For the first time, he felt truly wretched—even more than when Red Dragon had stabbed him.
So this is how I lose my first time—
overpowered by a girl?
Alice's eyes were no longer clear—only raw, primal hunger remained.
She straddled him,gazing down with hazy dominance,then began peeling off his clothes piece by piece.
Next, she shed her last silken undergarment.
Skin met skin—no barriers, no pretense.
The instant their bare bodies touched,both shuddered violently.
"I… we… can't…"
She faltered—clarity flickering for a heartbeat—but before the words fully formed,the inferno in her veins roared back,drowning that last sliver of reason.
She lowered her head,her scorching red lips—confused, desperate—crashing onto Black's parted mouth.
"Mm…!"
My first kiss… my innocence… gone.
Something inside Black snapped.
Soft. Wet. Burning.
A strange, intoxicating sweetness.
The moment their lips met,electricity surged through both bodies.
Alice let out a tiny, choked whimper—like a startled kitten—then deepened the kiss herself,her tongue shyly slipping into his mouth,nipping and exploring with clumsy urgency.
Consumed by lust,the two of them—cursed by the Green-Ringed Sea Dragon's blood—surrendered to the most primal instinct in the cold, suffocating dark.
The crystal light dimmed further.
As their bodies finally joined,
Alice arched her neck,a broken, breathy moan escaping her throat.
That sound shattered Black's last restraint.
His eyes bloodshot,he gripped her waist fiercely and flipped her beneath him.
"But… you can't… disobey your superior…"
Her weak protest, laced with trembling submission,only fueled the beast within him.
Their naked forms moved together—urgent, desperate, colliding in the dimness.
Clothes lay forgotten in the corner.
Breath mingled with soft cries,a symphony of surrender and solace—as if, in this chaos and danger,they were clutching at the only warmth left in the world.
Above deck, twenty minutes had passedsince Alice and Black vanished into the safe room.
The battle raged on—cannon fire, clashing steel, draconic roars—a cacophony of slaughter.
Bodies littered the deck—human and dragon alike—blood pooling into indistinguishable crimson rivers.
This single ship's casualties already exceeded yesterday's total.
CLANG!
The captain barely managed to repel Black Dragon with a final, desperate strike.
Ever since his Iron Bastion shattered,he'd thrown his life into blocking both Black Dragon and Red Dragon.
His left arm gaped with a bone-deep wound,his tunic soaked in blood.
His greatsword trembled in his grip—yet he stood firm before the cabin door.
Black Dragon's face was blacker than soot.
His perfect plan had unraveled—the princess escaped,and now this damned captain,fueled by reckless potions with crippling side effects,had burned through his own future just to delay them.
A Level 65 Warrior with nothing left to lose was terrifying indeed.
"You imperial dogs are truly loyal to a fault,"
Black Dragon sneered.
"Then die for it!"
His dagger erupted with inky black light—coiling into a venomous serpent that hissed along the blade.
Top-Tier Assassin Divine Skill: Shadowfang Devourer!
One strike—pierces the heart!
Though near death, the captain recognized the skill's lethality.
He braced to activate a defensive warrior ability—but he had more than one enemy.
"Red Dragon—hold him!"
Red Dragon vanished into the shadows.
In a blink, she reappeared at the captain's flank,her dagger lancing toward his throat at a vicious angle.
Forced to abandon his defense,the captain twisted aside—but Red Dragon seized the opening,kicking him hard in the chest.
He staggered back,crashing against the cabin door,coughing blood—yet his eyes burned with resolve.
"To kill the princess… you'll have to walk over my corpse!"
Black Dragon's patience snapped.
His dagger shot forward—the venomous serpent striking like death itself.
The captain raised his greatsword in a final parry!
CLANG!
The blade shattered—
a 4-star weapon no match for a 5-star assassin's blade.
The serpent plunged into his heart,its fangs sinking into his still-beating core.
"CAPTAIN!"
The Dragon-Slaying Guards roared in anguish—but Azure, Indigo, and the others held them back.
"Dying by the Draconic Parliament's blade is your honor,"
Black Dragon said coldly.
"Cough… So… it really is the Draconic Parliament…"
The captain looked down at the dagger in his chest,feeling his life ebb away—yet a grim, defiant smile curled his lips.
"For the princess!"
With his last strength,he seized Black Dragon's wrist with his left hand,while his right palm blazed with searing golden light!
If Black had been there,he'd have recognized it instantly—the sign of a warrior condensing all remaining spiritual energy into a final, suicidal explosion.
One detonation—would obliterate the enemy…and reduce himself to ash.
Black Dragon's eyes widened in horror.
"Shit! He's going to self-destruct! Move!"
Too late.
The captain detonated.
A miniature sun erupted on the deck—golden light swallowing the world.
BOOOOM!
The shockwave ripped through the ship,hurling furniture, bodies, and sea dragons alike into the air.
Red Dragon was blasted into the railing,spitting blood.
Several Hammerhead Sea Dragons disintegrated,their carcasses sinking into the depths.
The Dragon-Slaying Guards were thrown to the deck—but none cared about their wounds.
All stared, tear-filled,at the spot where their captain had stood.
The old veteran, who'd guarded this vanguard ship for decades,had given his life—to buy the Second Princess one last chance to survive.
"Dragon-Slaying Guards—you're all just well-fed lapdogs of the Empire!"
Black Dragon snarled,having used Shadow Step to escape the explosion unharmed.
But he wasn't calm in the slightest.
He whirled on the rest of the Draconic Parliament, voice sharp with urgency:
"Move! Stick to the plan!"
"Take the potion—jump into the sea!
Use the dragon blood to mask your scent!"
As he spoke, he yanked a vial of black liquid from his coat and downed it in one gulp.
The others immediately followed suit.
This was the Parliament's custom-made Concealment Elixir—once ingested, it temporarily nullified spiritual fluctuations,allowing the user to blend seamlessly into their surroundings.
Without hesitation, Black Dragon dove into the churning sea.
Red Dragon and White Dragon plunged in right after him.
They were desperate—because that explosion would have caught the Hodyr's attention.
Pascal and the others would notice the anomaly.
And right now,facing sea dragons was far safer than facing Pascal.
Just as Black Dragon feared,the golden blast from the captain's self-detonationlit up the night sky like a beacon over the waves.
On the distant Hodyr,Pascal—having just cleaved through several Augupugu Sea Dragonsand rescued a dozen crewmen—suddenly looked up, his eyes narrowing.
That sudden surge and collapse of spiritual energy—a clear sign of a high-tier warrior's suicidal explosion—and it came straight from the vanguard ship.
"Trouble on the vanguard?"
Pascal's expression darkened.
That ship's defenses were formidable—not something even a Dragon Tide could easily overrun.
And more importantly—
Princess Alice had boarded it for inspection today.
No hesitation.
He vanished in a blur,reappearing on the vanguard's deck in mere breaths.
The moment he landed,the carnage hit him like a physical blow.
Bodies of guards and sailors littered the deck.
Blood pooled in every crevice.
A charred crater marked where the captain had fallen.
Even Pascal, hardened by decades of battle, felt a pang of shock.
His gaze swept the scene—and instantly locked onto Azure Dragon and Indigo Dragon,just about to leap into the sea.
From their black uniforms,everything became horrifyingly clear.
"You kill my people—and think you can just run?"
Fury blazed in Pascal's eyes.
He flicked his hand.
An invisible force seized the two mid-air,pinning them like insects in glass.
"Pascal?!"
Azure and Indigo paled.
They hadn't expected reinforcements so fast—let alone Pascal himself, a Dragon-tier expert!
Their eyes met—a silent agreement passing between them.
They began channeling spiritual energy,preparing to self-destruct.
But Pascal had already anticipated it.
With a thought, he shattered their cores,dispersing their energy before it could ignite.
"Pascal! A few others already jumped into the sea!"
At that, Pascal's senses flared outward over the water.
But underwater perception was severely limited—and the lingering dragon blood further distorted his readings.
All he sensed were swarms of sea dragons—not a single human trace.
He stared at the calm surface,knowing the assassins had slipped away—and his rage burned hotter.
His palm glowed with deep blue energy.
"If I can't have you…then rot with the sea dragons!"
He hurled the orb into the ocean.
BOOM!
A colossal explosion erupted beneath the waves—a ten-meter tidal wave crashing skyward.
Dozens of sea dragons were blown apart,their corpses bobbing to the surface.
Still—no sign of the assassins.
"This concealment method…must be the Draconic Parliament's work."
As Second Chair of the Dragon-Slaying Guard,
Pascal had clashed with them before.
Seeing those black-clad figures,the Parliament was the only group bold enough.
He glanced coldly at the captured Azure and Indigo,then tossed them aside like trash.
He'd interrogate them once the tide was handled.
Right now, something far more urgent demanded his attention.
"Where is Her Highness?" he demanded, voice low and sharp.
A surviving squad leader rushed forward, trembling:
"Before the explosion, Captain Hoern held off the assassins with his life—giving the princess time to escape into the safe room.
She should be secure there."
Relief washed over Pascal.
"Pascal! Captain Hoern was the one who self-detonated!
Please—make them pay!"
The other guards clenched their jaws, glaring at the prisoners.
"So it was Hoern…"
Pascal's chest tightened.
That old captain—loyal, skilled, utterly devoted to the Empire.
The crown gave him purpose;he gave it his life in return.
No time for grief.
He had to confirm Alice's safety himself.
"Tend to the wounded. Clear the deck," he ordered.
"I'll retrieve the princess."
With that, he strode toward the cabin,casually beheading a lingering sea dragon as he passed.
Inside the safe room.
Time had lost meaning.
The air hung thick with the musky scent of sweat, salt, and something unspoken.
Perhaps the toxin's effects were fading.
Perhaps their bodies had simply reached their limit.
In the suffocating dark,only their ragged breathing remained—loud, intimate… and deeply shameful.
Black stirred first,dragging himself upright through sheer exhaustion.
He looked up—and met Alice's gaze.
Cold. Calm. Terrifying.
"Alice…"
"Shut up."
Her voice was ice.
In one fluid motion, she seized his throat—her eyes blazing with murderous intent,the same cruel princess from the story's beginning.
She could crush his windpipe in an instant.
But then her eyes flickered to the fresh scar on his abdomen—the wound he'd taken for her.
Her hand trembled.
The fury melted into something fragile.
She let go and shrank back into the corner,curling in on herself like a wounded animal.
Black's eyes fell to the blanket—to the faint crimson stains.
The memory of their frantic, desperate coupling crashed over him.
By any measure, Alice was a vision—one of the Empire's most beautiful women,a princess of imperial blood.
He'd just claimed something no man ever had.
He should've felt triumphant.
Instead, only bitter regret filled him.
Everything's ruined. My plan… my escape… all gone.
Alice sat silently,dressing herself with stiff, mechanical movements.
Her skin—especially her neck and chest—was marred with bruises and bite marks,testaments to the violence of their joining.
Neither dared look at the other.
The silence pressed in,heavy with unsaid words and shattered boundaries.
Black opened his mouth—wanted to say something—but the words died in his throat.
What could he possibly say?
"Alice… I'll take responsibility for you?"
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Those words—"I'll take responsibility"—were laughable in front of an imperial princess.
What could a nameless guard with no noble title possibly offer to someone of her stature?
In birth, in status—they were worlds apart.
Even if Alice was the less-favored daughter,she was still a princess of the Dragonheart Empire.
She would never be "responsible" to the likes of him.
Historically, imperial princesses always marriedinto the Round Table knight lineages or prestigious noble houses—all to fortify the throne's power.
In the natural course of things,
Alice would likely be betrothed to someone like Cyril or Seth—men of legacy, influence, and bloodline.
Her marriage was never hers to decide.
And Empress Elizabeth?
She would never tolerate her daughter being tainted by a mere guard.
If this incident ever reached the Empress's ears—given the imperial family's obsession with dignity and appearance—
Black knew he wouldn't even get a chance to explain.
He'd simply vanish—silently, permanently.
But even setting aside those external dangers…the deeper issue gnawed at him more.
He couldn't untangle his own feelings for Alice—nor could he decipher hers for him.
The more he thought, the heavier his heart grew.
Yes, he did care for her.
He'd witnessed her change, her growth—been charmed by her tsundere quirks, moved by her hidden kindness.
That fondness had quietly taken root.
But it wasn't love.
Not yet.
"Love" was too heavy a word—too final.
And Alice?
She'd grown gentler toward him—gave him a protective charm, panicked when he was hurt.
But was that a superior's concern for a loyal subordinate?
A friend's worry for a comrade?
Or… something deeper?
He couldn't tell.
He stole a glance at her.
Alice seemed to have reached some internal resolution—her expression calmer now.
Her crimson hair spilled loosely over her shoulders,her cheeks still faintly flushed,her lips pressed thin in quiet turmoil.
Then, suddenly, she spoke—so softly he almost missed it:
"You… royal knight…"
Black blinked, utterly baffled.
"Your Highness… what do you mean?"
At the sound of his voice, Alice flinched—her eyes darting away, shaking her head.
Her lips parted, then closed again—words trapped in her throat.
She stared down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap,knuckles white from tension.
After a long silence, she drew a deep breath—as if steeling herself to speak once more—
BANG!
A sharp knock on the iron door shattered the moment.
Both of them snapped taut—all awkwardness and heartache forgotten.
Black's hand flew to the Overlord Spear at his side.
Alice's fingers closed around Crimson Soul,her gaze sharpening into blades.
Had the Draconic Parliament found them?
Or was it reinforcements from the Hodyr?
If it was the former, they were doomed.
Black's heart hammered against his ribs.
The safe room's concealment spell should've hidden them completely.
For it to fail now, and for someone to knock so precisely—that meant the intruder had broken the sealand knew exactly where they were.
Black's mind raced, searching for a way out.
If it was Purple Dragon—the weakest—they might survive.
But if it was Black Dragon?
Then only one word applied: death.
Just then, a calm, authoritative voice echoed through the door:
"Your Highness, it's Pascal.
The threat has been neutralized. Please open the door."
Relief flooded through them like cool water.
Alice quickly smoothed her disheveled clothes,then pulled the heavy iron door open.
There stood Pascal—
his presence solid, reassuring.
Seeing Black beside her in the cramped chamber,
Pascal's eyes flickered with mild surprise—but, ever the professional, he asked nothing.
Black stepped out silently.
This time, he didn't fall into his usual place behind Alice.
Instead, he stood apart—on the other side.
To Pascal, it looked as though a chasm had opened between them.
As they walked toward the deck, Alice asked, voice low:
"What happened to the assassins?"
"I failed to capture them all," Pascal replied grimly.
"Only two were secured. The other four escaped into the sea."
"It's fine. Anyone bold enough to strike like thiswould've planned their retreat meticulously."
She paused, then asked, her tone darkening:
"In your judgment… which organization do they belong to?"
"The Draconic Parliament."
"So it was them."
Black had already told her as much—but hearing Pascal confirm it left no doubt.
"They chose the perfect moment… clever bastards."
Her eyes flashed with cold fury.
By the time they reached the deck, the Dragon Tide had largely receded—only a few stragglers remained, thrashing weakly.
But the vanguard ship's condition was far worse than yesterday's.
Over fifty lives lost—on this ship alone.
Alice's gaze swept the carnage behind Pascal—her expression hardening like forged steel.
Then she noticed the absence of a familiar figure.
A dread coiled in her chest.
"Where is Captain Hoern?"
Pascal's face darkened. He sighed.
"Hoern… gave his life holding them off.
He self-detonated to buy you time."
Alice froze mid-step.
Her slender frame swayed slightly—then she turned sharply toward the ship's railing,her steps heavy as lead.
Facing the sea, her fingers dug into the splintered wood of the broken guardrail,splinters biting into her skin.
She kept her back to them—refusing to let anyone see her face.
But watching that trembling silhouette,
Black knew—
She's crying.
Even someone as strong as Alicecouldn't bear the weight of another's sacrifice for her sake.
He and Pascal stood in respectful silence.
After a while, Alice turned around—her face an icy mask, betraying no grief.
Her eyes locked onto the bound Azure and Indigo Dragons,murderous intent radiating from her like heat haze.
If not for the need to interrogate them,she would've drawn her sword and ended them on the spot.
"Don't worry, Your Highness," Pascal said quietly.
"The Dragon-Slaying Guard will extract every secret from them—and avenge Captain Hoern."
But Black remained skeptical.
In the game, the Draconic Parliament was the ultimate antagonist—masters of evasion, deception, and suicide protocols.
The Empire had never fully eradicated them.
His own interference had only workedbecause of his foreknowledge—without that, he'd have been dead long ago.
"Mm."
Alice stood before the scorched crater left by the captain's final act,giving a faint nod.
"Let's return to the Hodyr.
I must report this to Her Majesty."
As she spoke, she didn't look at Black once—deliberately avoiding his gaze.
Black remained silent in his heart.
Ever since the incident, Alice had been subtly—yet unmistakably—ignoring him.
What happened in the safe room had undeniably cast a shadow between them.
And that's for the best.
Black wasn't a greedy man.
He still had far more important things to accomplish.
If Alice kept her distance from him,so be it—it might even be a blessing in disguise.
Whatever the cost, as long as she was safe, that was enough.
Even if she never spoke to him again…he could accept that.
That was his resolve.
The Draconic Parliament's assassination had failed.
Therefore, Alice's death outcome must have changed.
To confirm it, Black activated the All-Knowing Glasses once more.
[Name: Alice]
[Identity: Second Princess of the Dragonheart Empire]
[Class Level: LV.45 Mid-Tier • Diamond Swordmaster]
[Favorite Foods: All desserts, especially strawberry cake]
[Hobbies: Sword practice, combat, painting]
[Key Trait: Never insult the Empire in her presence]
Beneath this, the "Predicted Outcome" field—was now empty.
The death sentence had been erased.
A long-held breath finally escaped him.
He watched her retreating figure—walking beside Pascal—then turned his gaze toward the vast, endless sea.
The battle had ceased. The sea dragons had retreated.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds,glinting off the bloodstains and wreckage littering the deck.
Only one day remained until they reached the Caribbean Sea.
Though this skirmish had ended,the true trial for the fleet would come tomorrow.
Black's expression remained cold.
Even though what happened in the safe room had shattered his original plan,one thing would never change:
Tomorrow, he would use the Golden Fishing Rod to summon Jörmungandr, the Sea Dragon King.
The ending was inevitable.
The ending was inevitable.
Late that night, the sea lay still—no wind,the air noticeably colder than before.
The moon, usually bright, was hidden behind thick clouds.
Black stood by his cabin window,his eyes fixed on a distant part of the Hodyr—the command chamber, still blazing with lamplight.
Inside would be Empress Elizabeth, Pascal, and other high-ranking figures.
What could possibly require discussion this late?
Logically, the morning's assassination attempt—an audacious strike on the Second Princess—should have triggered emergency meetings and internal purges.
And indeed, rumors claimed Elizabeth was furious,ordering a full investigation.
But as Black had anticipated,no infiltrators had been uncovered.
Moreover, the Dragon Tide had struck again—twice in a single day.
Though neither wave was massive,the relentless assaults had exhausted the fleet.
The Dragon-Slaying Guards had no time to investigate.
Even if they did, in this chaotic state,evidence was impossible to gather—bodies devoured by dragons, others lost to the deep sea.
Besides… Black suspected Elizabeth hadn't taken the assassins seriously at all.
To her, they were mere gnats—irritating, but ultimately insignificant.
The real threat was Jörmungandr.
Fail to handle that, and the entire fleet would be annihilated.
Black believed Elizabeth cared for Alice—but as Empress, in matters of state,as long as her daughter was unharmed,she wouldn't waste precious resources on vengeance.
So the command chamber was likely discussing Jörmungandr.
Inside the Hodyr's command chamber—the walls gleamed with cold gray luminescence.
Crystal lights refracted light into shimmering fragments,dancing across the robes of those seated within.
Every face here was familiar to Black:
Empress Elizabeth, Lucy, Alice, Pascal, Duke Lambert,Kristine, Cyril…
All eyes were fixed on the Sword in the Stone before Elizabeth.
It was a bronze blade embedded in rock—broad, ancient, weathered with age.
Its crossguard was simple,its hilt wrapped in decayed linen,and at its pommel sat a dull obsidian stone.
At first glance, it looked like a blacksmith's forgotten scrap.
But its presence here proved it was anything but ordinary.
"The legend of this Sword in the Stone," Pascal said meaningfully,"should best be told by the Church's Holy Maiden."
He turned to Kristine.
She glanced at the Empress, who gave a faint, approving nod.
With permission granted, Kristine opened an ancient tome,and began to recount the sword's tale:
"In the age of the Twelve Sages,when the Twelve Dragon Kings were sealed away—that was many epochs ago.
Back then, dragon roars shook the heavens.
Their claws razed human cities; their breath froze entire lakes.
The Twelve Sages, born of divine mandate,subdued the Dragon Kings and buried them across the world—allowing humanity to rebuild from the ashes.
But the Sages' power would not last forever.
A thousand years ago, when the last Sage's tomb was swallowed by sand,the elite dragons—lieutenants of the Dragon Kings—formed the Break-Seal Legion.
With a million dragons at their backs,they launched the Second Dragon Calamity,seeking to shatter the seals and free their masters.
Though they lacked the kings' divine might,they inherited the dragons' ferocity and strength.
Their breath spewed lava for three days straight.
Their scales deflected cannonfire.
Even the weakest elite dragon could summon hurricanes to capsize warships.
The eastern plains burned into ash.
Coastal villages were dragged into the deep.
Humanity's population halved in months.
Though the Calamity was eventually quelled by the union of mankind's greatest heroes,the survivors were left broken—wandering, starving, haunted.
Victory brought no joy—only dread.
For they knew: dragons could never be fully eradicated.
As long as the Dragon Kings lived—even in slumber—their kin would endlessly regenerate.
Amid this apocalypse, there was a s*ave named Kaelen.
Once the Church of Creation's most devout follower,he prayed at dawn each day before the sacred icon—never complaining, even in hunger and hardship.
But when dragons destroyed his village,he watched helplessly as his wife shielded their daughter—both torn apart by talons,their blood staining the very stones where he once knelt in prayer.
In the ruined chapel, bodies of believers lay scattered—while the holy icon remained untouched,as if the gods themselves watched in cold silence.
That day, the faithful s*ave lost his faith."
Kristine's fingers brushed an illustration in the tome.
It showed a ragged man kneeling in ruins,two shrouded corpses before him,black dragons circling in a storm-filled sky.
Kaelen cradled his wife and daughter's corpsesand knelt in the ruins for three days and nights.
He asked fellow believers,he questioned the village priest:
"If the Creator God made kind humanity…why did He also create the savage dragon race?"
"Why watch as living beings are slaughtered…and remain silent?"
The priest fell quiet—speechless for a long time.
The villagers called him mad.
Some clapped his shoulder and said,
"There is no god. It's just a lie the Church invented."
"If gods truly existed,how could they watch and do nothing?"
But Kaelen refused to give up.
He still believed the divine was real.
He sold his few possessions for scraps of grain,took a branch as a walking stick,and set off toward the Sacred Mountain—the legendary place where one could see the Creator God.
The Sacred Mountain lay ten thousand miles away—a journey through deserts, glaciers,and lands teeming with beasts and dragons.
And the mountain itself?
Ten thousand meters high—a chasm even birds could not cross.
Kaelen walked for years.
When his shoes wore through, he walked barefoot on ice.
When his food ran out, he chewed bark and wild berries.
When wolves came, he plunged into freezing rivers,shivering until they left.
By the time he reached the mountain's foot,his legs were blackened with frostbite and rot.
He could only crawl forward on his hands—his fingertips raw, bloody, peeled to the bone.
He looked up—but couldn't even see the mountain's base, let alone its sky-piercing peak.
This was the closest place in all of Cagil Continent to the heavens.
Legend said only those who reached the summitearned the right to question the gods.
For the first time, despair flickered in Kaelen's eyes.
He'd endured every trial—but this mountain offered no hope.
Yet… he did not stop.
Even if I die… I will die climbing this mountain.
I will die… knowing the gods are watching.
So he crawled—
hand over hand—
ascending over a thousand meters,his willpower inhuman in its resolve.
But…
he still fell.
Human flesh has limits.
No matter how unwilling,his body succumbed—slowly buried under snow and ice,consciousness fading into darkness.
Just as he was about to freeze to death,the Sacred Mountain's guardian appeared—a snow-white bear, vast as a hill.
It nudged his cheek with its nose,sensing the unbroken flame of his conviction.
Then it lowered its body,let Kaelen cling to its back,and carried him through blizzards and bottomless chasms,nourishing him with its own warmth and blood.
At last—they reached the summit.
But there was no golden palace, no throne of light.
Only infinite void.
Stars hung within reach.
Time lost all meaning.
And there—in the emptiness—Kaelen saw the Creator God.
The divine form was never fixed:sometimes an ancient elder,sometimes a crying infant,sometimes a serene woman,sometimes a radiant youth—or simply a blazing column of pure light.
Kaelen, clinging to the sacred beast,gathered all the rage, doubt, and last flicker of hopehe'd carried through his journey—and let out a blood-choked cry:
"O God…
if You created kind humanity…
why did You also create the cruel dragon race?"
No one knows exactly how the Creator answered.
The Church's ancient texts only record the final words:
"I pity your struggle.
So I grant you the power to sever the root."
That "power to sever the root"was the Sword in the Stone—bestowed upon Kaelen by the Creator.
Legend says:any Dragon King slain by this bladewill be utterly annihilated—body and soul erased from existence, forever.
"This… is the legend of the Sword in the Stone."
Kristine gently closed the tome—but her voice did not falter.
"Though this tale is known across Cassel Continent,even the Church has long doubted its truth—dismissing it as the fevered dream of a dying man."
"Until…"
She paused—then pointed to the bronze sword before Empress Elizabeth.
"A few years ago, the Church found it."
The room stilled.
Every breath slowed.
All eyes locked onto the unassuming blade.
"On a certain night, Pope Sareth performed the Heavenly Oracle Art,seeking a glimpse of fate—when he suddenly sensed a call from the Empire's northern wastes."
"After a long search, the faithful discovereda ruined chapel deep in the mountains.
In its basement… they found a bronze sword—embedded in stone."
"Beside it lay a memoir."
"The author called himself Kaelen—detailing his life, his pilgrimage…and the true nature of this sword."
"Matching the text to the legend,the Church confirmed:this was indeed the Sword in the Stone."
"The blade matched the description exactly—so perfectly that even the Pope could not fathomwhat power it truly held."
"He only said: 'This is not a power of man… nor of dragon.'"
"The memoir explains further," Kristine continued.
"Kaelen wrote:'This is a Law Weapon—the only means to kill a Dragon King.'
'The Eleven Dragon Kings cannot be slain—only sealed—because they have fused with the World's Laws themselves.
Like water—you may stir it, boil it, freeze it—but you cannot truly destroy water.
As long as a single drop remains, the Dragon King can regenerate.
But the Law Weapon… severs that bond.
It cuts the King from the Law—and erases them from existence.'
'Yet the power granted by the Creator… is not for ordinary hands.
Even I, who stood before God… could not draw this sword.'
'Only the one chosen by the divine may wield it.'
'And so far… only Her Majesty has lifted it.'"
At this, Kristine turned to Empress Elizabeth.
All gazes followed.
They all knew:when the Church revealed the sword to the Empire,the entire realm trembled with excitement.
Elites from every walk of life came to try—all failed.
Only Empress Elizabeth succeeded—the sole person in the Empire who could even lift the blade.
That was why she had taken personal command of this expedition—to slay Jörmungandr herself.
If she succeeded…humanity would never fear dragons again—not even a Dragon King who broke its seal!
Duke Lambert's eyelid twitched.
His snowy brows knotted tightly.
He turned to the Empress and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty…while this legend is certainly… colorful…and the sword undeniably unique…legends are not proof."
"Everything we know about this bladecomes solely from myth and that self-penned memoir.
There is no evidence this sword can truly slay Jörmungandr."