Chapter 442: The Created Warrior
Time moved forward again.
George crossed the Northwind Mountains, but the moment he stepped beneath the dark clouds and was touched by the rain, he abruptly stopped.
“This is———a shock of will?”
George raised his hand to catch some of the raindrops.
They appeared no different from ordinary rain.
Yet anyone with a strong enough will could sense the shock of will contained within.
It wasn’t particularly intense—at least to George, it felt like raindrops striking solid rock, incapable of shaking him.
But this was merely the outer edge, where the rainfall was little more than a drizzle.
His gaze shifted toward the heart of the battle. From there, it was clear: the closer to the center, the heavier the rain.
Rain alone couldn't shake a mountain rock—so long as it was just a single drop. But once the quantity increased, even a single drop could become part of a flood that would drown everything.
Then what about Olivia, at the very center?
George closed his eyes and activated a Prayer Technique.
Soon, he opened them again, his gaze piercing the clouds above.
There, two newly-born dragons were roaring out their song of ice and fire. The rain, filled with their draconic might, was their resonant melody.
“This is———the power of dragons, huh———” George murmured.
To feel the might of a dragon firsthand—and this was only the pressure of their will. They still possessed greater powers: biting jaws, claws, and their symbol of destruction———dragon breath.
Perhaps it was Aen controlling them, or perhaps these two newly-born dragons knew their power could not overcome Olivia. So they sang, attempting to wear down Olivia’s manifested will.
“If it’s the former, it’s still manageable. But if it’s the latter———then this strength has already become part of their instincts———”
George felt a chill.
This was still the Northland, and more so, the East, where few people lived.
If this had been in the populous regions of Greenwood, even without the aid of the Will of the Northland, they could easily annihilate a viscounty.
“These dragons———are far too dangerous.” George’s gaze grew resolute.
Even though he was also Tier Six, even though the word “dragon” was in his name———
As Bishop Jeven had said, Dragon-Eagle Crulud was no comparison to real dragons.
A golden membrane rose from George’s body, shielding him from the rain. His figure turned into a stream of golden light and shot toward the battlefield.
“Boom!” A thunderous explosion.
“Clang———Slash———” Olivia swung her longsword, the blade fully coated in crimson, slashing at Aen, who had fully transformed into a Dragonkin. The sharp blade struck the dark golden dragon scales, leaving only a pale mark and a few scattered sparks.
“Hahahaha! Yes! Yes! That’s it! That’s it!” Olivia cackled wildly. Her expression was twisted, her face covered in blood—some hers, some Aen’s.
“Roar!” Aen, now fully dragon-like, let out a hoarse dragon roar. His golden vertical pupils were filled with savagery, as though some long-restrained emotion had finally been unleashed.
“Roar!” Olivia showed no weakness. She opened her mouth and roared back like a wild beast.
Then Aen’s fist slammed into her face, sending her hurtling like a red streak of light. The pressure of his speed even carved a mark into the ground.
Aen’s flesh wings flared behind him as his entire dragonkin body shot toward Olivia like a flying dragon.
Olivia, sent flying, clenched her right eye shut and bared her teeth in pain.
You must flee now, Olivia! He’s already beginning his transformation into a Demigod! And the two dragons in the sky—while they bring down this rain—are also gathering the power of the Dragon’s Dance. When that power peaks, its eruption will be enough to bring down a Demigod! The voice of the Lake Fairy echoed anxiously in Olivia’s mind.
“Roaaar———” The Golden Lion’s roar carried a subtle tremor.
It was not fear.
As a Fantasy Species, the Golden Lion—even now only Tier Six and gravely wounded—did not fear these two dragons, born from true dragon remains.
It was helping Olivia resist the impact of the will within the rain.
But it was, in the end, a Holy Relic made from its corpse. Even though Aivas had granted it power not inferior to when it lived, after Aivas’ death and the subsequent purge, its strength reverted to that of a typical relic. And the erasure of Aivas’ mark had left it in a perpetual state of severe damage.
It could only rely on the Spring Water of Olivia’s mother—the Lake Fairy—to barely maintain a trace of self-awareness.
The moment it emerged was the moment it would become a mere tool.
Yet now, by continuously resisting the shock of will from these two newborn dragons, its sense of self was steadily fading.
It begged Olivia to flee—it did not want to die like this.
“I’m not running!” Olivia roared. “This is when I feel I truly exist! Only now can I feel the reality of this world!”
“That old bastard went through so much trouble to create me. Wasn’t it just so I could inherit his will and continue the fight against the gods?!”
“But now that Father has fulfilled his task—what about me, who was born from that purpose?”
“Do I still deserve to exist? Do I still have a reason to live? What meaning does my life still hold?”
“But I am the warrior created by that old bastard, and a warrior must never be lost.”
“Then fight. Fight. Fight—fight until death!”
Olivia’s eyes flew open. Her pale skin suddenly turned crimson. Then—Biu!—a burst of blood mist erupted, her body covered in countless tiny wounds.
Bloodburst!
The magic within her—already dyed ruby-red by her will—grew even darker, as if soaked in blood.
Her backward-moving body abruptly halted. Olivia surged forward toward Aen.
Boom! The crimson blade collided with Aen’s arm. The explosive force of their clashing mana tore through the air, the collision painting the battlefield in stark crimson and dark gold.
Their violent mana clashed, and the earth seemed to groan. A fissure tore open between them like something being forcibly ripped apart.
This time, the crimson longsword finally sliced through the dragon scales, cutting into Aen’s arm.
But the barely penetrating strike caused as much pain to Aen as an ordinary ant biting a mighty Snowfield Berserk Bear—utterly negligible.
Crimson red eyes met dark golden vertical pupils—one full of madness and battle intent, the other of rage and fury.
Clearly, both had forgotten that this duel was only meant for a dragon’s pact. It had now escalated into a life-or-death battle.
The responsibilities of kingship? Both had cast those aside long ago.
They only wanted to fight—either to kill or be killed.
“Roar!” “Haaah!” Two roars erupted at the same time. Their mana exploded again. The center of their clash distorted, collapsing inward, instantly absorbing their raging power and the surrounding rain.
Then—Boom!—at the point where the crimson longsword and the dark golden dragon arm met, the gathered power detonated in full.