Chapter 129: The Fall of the Demonblade
"Was Loki telling the truth?"
It was Poseidon who voiced the question aloud, his gaze sharp as he addressed the gathered gods. The supposed weakness of Jörmungandr—the World Serpent—had been revealed long ago by Loki to Odin. But now that Loki had betrayed the pantheon, the veracity of that information was under scrutiny.
"Of course it's true," snapped Adamas, his tone more defiant than reasoned. "Why else would Loki have ordered Fenrir to strike down Odin? He wanted to silence the one god who knew the truth."
Whether Adamas truly believed his own words or simply wished to contradict his brother was unclear. Poseidon didn't even glance at him, which only fueled Adamas's irritation. With a snarl, he smashed a falling boulder with a single punch, the stone shattering into dust.
The arena was crumbling. If not for the restraint of the stronger gods—who held back for the sake of weaker deities and mortal spectators—it would have collapsed already. Adamas, however, saw no reason to protect the weak.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"What's that human doing?"
The mortal warrior—known as the Dragon Slayer—had drawn his blade and sliced open his own palm, letting blood soak into the weapon. Adamas blinked in surprise. The wound healed instantly, just like Jörmungandr's regenerative flesh.
Then the warrior crouched.
BOOM!
The arena trembled as he launched himself skyward, landing before the serpent in a blur of motion. With both hands gripping his sword, he slashed downward, aiming for the creature's skull.
Jörmungandr dodged.
Adamas's eyes widened.
It had evaded the blow.
Earlier, Shiva had hurled a massive boulder at the serpent's head, smashing it without resistance. But now, Jörmungandr had recoiled from the Dragon Slayer's blade.
Though the head escaped, the throat did not. The sword carved a deep gash beneath the jaw, and blood erupted like a geyser, drenching the warrior.
Adamas winced.
Jörmungandr's blood was venomous. When its head was crushed earlier, the splattered blood had melted the ground like acid.
But—
"Wait… he's fine?"
The warrior stood, soaked in blood, yet untouched by its corrosive effects. The ground hissed and bubbled, but his flesh remained whole.
Was the blood not poisonous?
No—it was. The earth was still dissolving.
Then how…?
"He's immune?" Shiva murmured, stunned.
Adamas turned to see Shiva staring at Jörmungandr's wound.
Something was wrong.
The serpent's regeneration had slowed—by a factor of ten.
Chapter 130: Demonblade Ascension
The Dragon Slayer had changed ever since slaying the evil dragon Fafnir. Bathed in dragon blood and having consumed its heart, he had gained near-immortality—and resistance to all things draconic.
He had tested this resistance against lesser dragons—winged beasts resembling pterosaurs. Their venom had no effect. In fact, when one bit him, it died from his blood.
It wasn't poison.
It was a curse.
A dragon-specific death curse embedded in his blood.
"That's why Brother Siegfried isn't afraid of Jörmungandr's venom," Grettel exclaimed, eyes shining. "His blood suppresses the serpent's regeneration!"
"Because Jörmungandr is a dragon too," added her sister Gerndal, practically swooning.
Brunnhilde shot her a glare sharp enough to slice steel.
"Don't celebrate yet," she warned. "Even with anti-dragon powers, Jörmungandr is too massive. Without destroying its core, it won't die."
Indeed, the sword was now dry. The blood had been absorbed—or consumed. And Jörmungandr's own blood had stopped flowing, as if swallowed by the blade.
He couldn't do this alone.
Then—
Shakyamuni approached.
The two exchanged quiet words.
"Hey, Heimdall!" someone shouted. "Stop spacing out and broadcast their conversation!"
"OK," Heimdall muttered, activating the feed.
"Then let the Eight Dragon Tribes donate their blood," Shakyamuni said calmly. "Feed the blade."
The summoned dragons appeared without hesitation, slicing their palms and letting their blood flow into the sword.
"Mine too, if it helps," said a new voice.
It was Quetzalcoatl—the Feathered Serpent God—who had been watching silently until now.
He added his blood to the mix.
The blade pulsed.
A dreadful aura radiated from it, sending shivers through every dragon-related deity present.
The sword was evolving—becoming the bane of dragons.
Jörmungandr sensed the threat and unleashed a torrent of venom toward the arena.
Other gods intercepted it.
Shakyamuni narrowed his eyes.
The sword twitched, as if trying to stab the gods feeding it.
Then—
It lunged at Quetzalcoatl.
The Dragon Slayer caught it just in time.
"It's ready," he said.
"Then go," Quetzalcoatl replied. "Slay the evil dragon. Become a hero not just of mankind—but of the gods."
Shakyamuni smiled faintly. He saw what Quetzalcoatl was doing—recruiting the warrior into his divine pantheon.
The Dragon Slayer nodded respectfully, then raised the sword skyward.
Shakyamuni activated his full Future Sight.
"Old man," he called into the void, "launch that beast into the sky."
"Gladly!" came the booming reply.
Zeus laughed heartily, then roared with power.
Jörmungandr began to loosen its coils.
No—Heimdall's new feed revealed the truth.
A figure, ant-sized compared to the serpent, had grabbed its tail and was sprinting around the arena, unraveling its grip.
In a flash, Jörmungandr was airborne.
The gods stared, slack-jawed.
Zeus had hurled it skyward.
At the same time, the Dragon Slayer ignited.
Heat radiated from his body, steam rising like fire.
But it wasn't flame.
It was his blood—boiling, vaporizing, cloaking him in crimson mist.
His eyes glowed. Horns sprouted from his brow. Scales shimmered across his skin. His armor no longer looked worn—it looked grown.
His cape morphed into wings.
With a mighty flap and a leap, he soared upward.
"Demonblade Ascension—Unleashed!"
Chapter 131: The Fall of the Serpent, The Shattering of the Sky
The greatsword in his hands blazed with twilight light.
A cross-shaped burst split the sky, carving a glowing wound into the heavens.
It wasn't just light—it was sword energy, slashed in intersecting arcs, cleaving Jörmungandr's coiled body.
Before the first cross faded, more followed—dozens of them.
In an instant, the serpent's body shattered into hundreds of pieces.
Blood sprayed like geysers, forming a crimson mist that blocked the sunlight.
Sharp-eyed gods noticed something disturbing.
The severed chunks were trying to reassemble.
Blood strands stretched between them, weaving like sinew.
Then—
A god followed close behind the Dragon Slayer.
His eyes had transformed into lotus blossoms.
It was Shakyamuni.
Using his ability—True Cognition of Alaya Consciousness—he searched for the serpent's core.
He had sensed it before, but it moved too fast.
It didn't just shift—it teleported randomly within the body.
Now, with the serpent fragmented, the core was trapped in a smaller space.
Where was it?
Where?
His eyes darted, scanning every piece.
He had to find it—
Before the serpent reformed.
Before the sky darkened again.
Before the world was swallowed whole.