"Hit him now—while his mana's drained!"
Madman's expression turned grim as he signaled everyone to make a move and save the lamb, which was inches from being torn apart.
"No offensive capabilities… that's one hell of a weakness,"
Orson muttered with a deep frown. The supremacy of upper-tier dragonkin wasn't just in their Dragon Curse magic—
It was their raw, overwhelming physical power.
Even without magic, they could crush most King-class beings in close combat alone.
"I'll cover you!"
Drunken Dream charged forward atop Denoka, using Holy Light Dragon Breath to harass Daloré, while the others leapt onto the massive dragon's back.
But before they could even begin their assault—
Daloré's eyes snapped toward them with eerie clarity.
Gone was the fury. In its place: calculation.
"Watch out!" Drunken Dream barked, instincts screaming.
"Hmph. Such a pathetic trick. You think this is enough to beat me?"
Daloré's voice oozed contempt as a sly glint sparked in his eyes.
The wounded lamb had been a trap.
Daloré's head whipped around.
In his mouth, a blazing vortex of energy ignited.
Madman's eyes bulged. "Shit! He baited us—he baited us!"
Stewart panicked. "Oh no! 'Devour the Heavens' got interrupted!"
A chill ran through them all.
They'd fallen for it. They'd underestimated his intelligence.
Drunken Dream reacted instantly. His spear flared with holy light.
"Dragon Rider Technique—Space Reversal!"
WHOOSH!
Just as the colossal Dragon Breath erupted from Daloré's maw, a shimmering rift opened in front of the team, redirecting the devastating blast miles away.
Everyone was drenched in sweat.
Even without mana, Daloré could still use Dragon Breath—powered by his own dragonheart.
"Traitorous whelp,"
Daloré spat coldly toward Denoka.
"Screw you, scales-for-brains! Come get some!"
Bradley snapped, slashing at Daloré's flank with both his Light and Dark blades.
"Yeah, how's that taste? Punk!"
Madman followed up with a flurry of stabs.
Crit - 35,000!
Holy Burn - 28,000!
Poison - 26,000!
True Bleed - 33,000!
Everyone except Drunken Dream had significant attribute boosts, and their damage output was no joke.
But for a beast with over a billion HP, it might as well have been mosquito bites.
"This is nuts... his HP is too damn thick!"
Madman's scalp tingled. This wasn't just tanky—it was unfair.
How the hell did someone like Soros, a dragon of similar tier, get soloed before?
Their entire combined DPS only chipped off 5 million in ten seconds.
Daloré's Forbidden-tier scale armor was nearly unbreakable.
Most of their weapons couldn't even inflict wound or bleed status reliably.
"DIE!"
Daloré growled, shifting into humanoid form and swinging his war axe.
CLANG!
The axe slammed into Bradley's dark blade, sending him flying backward and gouging a trench in the earth.
"You dare fight me just because you trained under Glacier? That worm is beneath me!"
Daloré sneered.
Bradley's face twisted in rage. He reactivated Fleeting Eternity.
Daloré's axe sliced through the air like lightning. Bradley could anticipate the strikes—
But reacting in time was another story.
CRACK!
One hit shattered Bradley's lightblade, mangling his fingers and dropping his HP to half.
Holy Light Mend!
Lilith's magic bathed him, regrowing his ruined arm.
"Z-Slash!"
Bradley roared, swinging again as the others focused fire.
"Too weak. Pathetic, really. Why even come to die?"
Daloré mocked, effortlessly parrying each blow.
Block Limit - 70,000!
Dodge!
Crit - 380,000!
"I'm supposed to be invincible in this state..."
Bradley gasped in disbelief as Daloré's axe crashed into his shoulder, nearly cleaving it off.
Daloré, battle-hardened beyond measure, immediately identified Bradley as the greatest threat—
His Dimensional Rift Slash could cleave 30% of the dragon king's health in a single blow.
Even Drunken Dream couldn't manage that.
Madman saw his chance, sneaking behind Daloré and drawing his blade—
Only for the world to blur.
SPLAT.
His lower half hit the ground first.
"SON OF A—!"
"Don't worry, I got you!" Stewart shouted, rushing to cast a revive.
But Daloré was already there.
With a blur of movement and a single sweep of his axe—
Double Kill.
Two players instantly downed. One maimed.
Everyone froze.
This was Daloré without magic.
In his prime, even an army of players would be little more than cannon fodder.
Could this monster even be killed?
The axe rose again—this time aimed at Blank.
"You think I'm like the rest of these idiots?"
Blank's voice was icy calm.
She leapt straight up, landing lightly atop Daloré's war axe, eyes locked onto the towering Purple-Gold Dragon King.
"Oh? You move well... Reflexes rivaling high-tier Spirit Tribe elites."
Daloré narrowed his eyes.
"Then die proud."
Awakening—Moonstep of the Spirit Tribe.
Blank's form shimmered and vanished.
CRASH!!
Daloré's axe shattered the ground—but Blank was gone.
He twisted his head—too late.
She was behind him.
Legs wrapped around his neck.
"Awakening—Shadowfang Assault!"
A cold smile spread across Blank's lips.
Twin daggers plunged deep into his spine.
Fatal Strike - 11,000,000!
The number rose like a firework.
Everyone stopped.
Bradley blinked. "Wait... when we were dying to the Dragon Riders, she had this... why didn't she use it!?"
Madman lay on the ground, slack-jawed. "What the hell, is her family in catering or something? 'Hold-the-sauce Roast Fish' specials??"
Orson's jaw dropped. He didn't remember Blank having a lethal scissor-lock dagger finisher!
Daloré growled, stunned.
"Spirit Tribe... Phantomblade Assassin...?!"
SS-Class legendary rogue job—Phantomblade Assassin.
The truth hit Orson like a truck.
Godslayer wasn't the only group keeping secrets.
Blank had one of her own.
Rumors spoke of someone unlocking the elusive SS-class rogue path—but the name and details were always suppressed.
Most signs pointed to US God-tier assassin Blank… but no confirmation ever surfaced.
"He wants to see my limits? Who the hell does he think he is? We're not friends."
Blank's expression was like frosted steel as she surveyed the group, her smirk smug and unrelenting.
With Stewart's buffs and the enhanced Spirit Tribe Moonstep, her agility soared into the stratosphere.
And with that came speed—unbelievable speed.
To her, Daloré's attacks moved in slow motion.
She danced around him, flowing like smoke, moving with liquid precision.
Her blades moved in blurs. Wherever they landed, dragon blood sprayed like fountains.
Crit x6 - 110,000!
True Bleed - 33,000!
True Bleed - 61,000!
The faster she moved, the more bleed stacks her divine Soul Seal applied.
Even the dragon king roared in pain.
Stewart revived with Rootless Water, tossing a resurrection cross to Madman.
As Madman sat up, he stared in disbelief at Blank's performance.
And finally—
"I SWEAR TO GOD, the two of you better be sharing a tent at night—don't tell me you're 'just friends'!!"