Chapter 86 — The Blade Stained by the Blood of Traitors
(Meanwhile in the normal world): Dragonil Palace
The tension in the room had become almost suffocating. The air felt heavier, charged with a palpable hostility that made the cracked walls of the ruined palace vibrate. Damian and Lancelot stood facing each other, motionless, like two predators ready to pounce. Their gazes met with murderous intensity, neither willing to yield even an inch of ground.
Lancelot suddenly flashed a sly, almost sadistic smile. His icy blue eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. He slowly adjusted his grip on his lance, which subtly transformed the tip lengthening and sharpening like a living blade. Then, in one fluid, professional motion, he assumed a boxer's stance: legs slightly bent, body in profile, one hand gripping the lance like an extension of his arm, the other fist raised near his face to protect his center.
Damian tightened his hold on the hilt of his sword, the veins in his forearm bulging with the effort.
"Kana," he said in a low but firm voice, never taking his eyes off Lancelot. "Take Alma and get her as far away as possible. I have a feeling her energy is fading. She won't last much longer in this state."
Kana, who was already supporting the unconscious Alma, nodded gravely. She slipped one arm under the girl's legs and carefully lifted her onto her back. Alma let out a weak moan, still unconscious, the draconic collar glowing faintly around her neck.
"Damian… Are you really going to fight this guy alone?" Kana asked, her voice filled with worry.
Damian didn't turn his head, but a hard, determined smile appeared on his lips.
"Yes. I fully intend to get Alma's collar back…"
Kana hesitated for a moment, then clenched her teeth.
"You'd better not die, Damian. I swear, if you kick the bucket here, I'll come kill you a second time."
Damian let out a rough little laugh.
"Don't worry. I plan on beating this guy and coming back in one piece. Now go."
Kana cast one last worried glance at Lancelot, then turned on her heels and dashed out of the room with Alma on her back. Her footsteps echoed through the devastated corridor as she disappeared into the shadows of the palace.
Lancelot followed them with his gaze, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"There is no way that human is escaping…"
He suddenly leapt into the air with blinding speed, his lance aimed at Kana and Alma. The tip of the weapon shone with a sharp white light.
But Damian was faster.
CLANG!
His sword intercepted the lance just in time. The two weapons collided with tremendous force, sending a shockwave that cracked the floor even further around them. The two young men found themselves face to face, weapons locked, their faces mere inches apart.
"You won't touch them," Damian growled.
Lancelot smiled coldly.
"I won't let them escape."
"Go fuck yourself," Damian replied with rage.
The battle began in earnest.
Damian attacked first, his sword tracing a powerful and swift arc. Lancelot parried with his lance, then countered with a series of fast and precise strikes, using the lance as an extension of his arm. The two weapons danced in a deadly ballet, producing sparks with every clash.
Lancelot was incredibly fast. He spun on himself and launched a whirling attack, his lance creating multiple white, razor-sharp wind blades that shot toward Damian at incredible speed. The invisible blades sliced through everything in their path: walls, columns, even the air itself seemed to split.
Damian barely dodged, but several blades still struck him. A deep gash appeared on his left arm, another on his thigh, and a third opened his cheek. Blood immediately flowed down his face.
"The truth is… I am a dragon hunter…" Lancelot said.
"What? You're the White Blade Dragon… and a dragon hunter?" Damian growled, wiping the blood from his cheek.
Lancelot smiled coldly.
"Exactly…"
Damian frowned.
"How can a dragon kill other dragons? I don't understand."
Lancelot let out a bitter laugh.
"Hmm… The truth is, I wasn't always a dragon."
Flashback — More than 100 years ago**
A memory of Lancelot surfaced:
The village of Valenwood was nothing more than a pile of ashes and smoking ruins. The young Lancelot, then only nine years old, wandered among the debris, his bare feet burned by the still-hot embers. His tattered clothes were stained with blood his mother's blood, who had died protecting him from a collapsing building. His blue eyes were empty, shocked, filled with a terror no child should ever know.
"Mom… Dad…"
There was no one left. The houses had been razed, bodies lay everywhere, burned or torn apart. The villagers had spoken of masked attackers, terrorists from the mountains. No one had seen dragons that night. At least, that's what everyone had believed.
Lancelot walked for days. Hungry, thirsty, terrified. He slept in trees, drank from streams, ate berries that sometimes gave him diarrhea. The forest seemed endless, hostile, filled with eerie sounds at night.
Then, on the fifth day, he met him.
**Bladerion.**
A massive dragon with silvery-white scales that were almost luminescent, and eyes of glacial blue. He stood in the middle of a clearing, majestic and terrifying, radiating an aura of pure power. Lancelot froze, thinking his end had come.
Yet the dragon did not attack him.
Bladerion slowly lowered his massive head, his smoking nostrils sniffing the dirty, trembling child.
"A human in this area… he's small…" he murmured in a deep voice that rumbled like distant thunder.
Lancelot fell to his knees, crying.
"A monster… Please… don't eat me…"
A long silence followed. Bladerion, who hated humans more than anything those weak, lying, destructive creatures who had massacred his kind for centuries should have killed him on the spot.
But something stopped him. Perhaps the purity of the fear in the child's eyes. Perhaps a weakness he refused to admit.
"…Follow me, human."
He then took human form so as not to frighten Lancelot any further. And that was how it all began.
Bladerion took him to a hidden cave deep in the mountains, an ancient sanctuary filled with treasures, weapons, and runes. He fed him, healed him, and against all expectations, began to educate him.
The years passed.
Lancelot grew up under the strict and demanding tutelage of the dragon. Bladerion taught him swordsmanship, ancient magic, and the discipline of body and mind. He taught him the hidden history of the world, spoke to him of the wars between humans and dragons, and showed him how to survive in a cruel world.
"Humans are weak and hypocritical," Bladerion often repeated. "But you… you are different. You are not like the others."
Lance admired him. He saw in Bladerion a father, a master, a protector. He called him "Master Blade." He trained until exhaustion, barely sleeping, wanting to become strong so he would never be a victim again.
One evening, when he was seventeen, Lancelot returned from a hunt with a deer over his shoulder. He entered the cave and saw something he should never have seen.
Bladerion, bent over the bloody body of an adult human, was slowly devouring his flesh. The dragon, who had always claimed to have given up eating humans and become a "pacifist dragon," had been lying for years.
Lancelot dropped the deer. The noise alerted Bladerion, who raised his head, blood dripping from his fangs.
"Lancelot… This isn't what you think…"
Horror. Betrayal. Nausea. Lancelot stepped back, eyes wide.
"You… you killed them? All those people from the village… it was you?"
Bladerion didn't answer immediately. His silence was the worst response. Lance fled that night, running through the forest for days, terrified that his "father" would hunt him down to kill him.
After days of exhausting wandering through dense, hostile forests, Lancelot finally spotted lights in the distance.
It was a fortified village, nestled in a valley surrounded by high cliffs. Wooden palisades reinforced with metal and enchanted runes surrounded the dwellings. Watchtowers rose at regular intervals, topped with banners depicting a sword piercing a dragon. The air smelled of iron, smoke, and burning oil. Armed men patrolled, their gazes hard and vigilant.
It was **Valdris**, the village of the most renowned Dragon Hunters in the region. It was said that the best trackers lived here those who had slain the greatest wyrms of the Eastern Mountains.
Lancelot, dirty, gaunt, his clothes in tatters and feet bleeding, staggered toward the main gates. Two guards immediately intercepted him, lances pointed at him.
"Who are you, kid? What are you doing here?"
Lancelot fell to his knees, his voice broken by exhaustion and emotion.
"I… My name is Lancelot. There's a dragon… His name is Bladerion. He took me in… he raised me… but he… he eats humans. I saw it. I know where he hides… You have to stop him."
The guards exchanged a look. One of them ran off. A few minutes later, a group of experienced hunters arrived. Among them was Garok, a massive man with a gray beard, covered in scars, the respected leader of the village.
They brought Lancelot inside, gave him water, bread, and a blanket. Around a large fire in the common hall, the boy told them everything. His voice trembled, but he spoke without stopping the destruction of his village, the years spent with Bladerion, the teachings, the horrible discovery in the cave.
Garok listened attentively, his expression dark.
"Are you sure of the location?"
Lancelot nodded.
The hunters used poisoned arrows, anti-dragon enchanted lances, and runic traps. As soon as Bladerion emerged from his cave, alerted by the noise, the battle exploded.
Bladerion fought like a demon.
His roar shook the mountains. He swept away the first ranks with a flick of his tail, crushing several men. His claws shredded armor like paper, his jaws tore off heads, and his magic-charged white breath decimated entire groups. Dozens of hunters died within minutes, their screams echoing through the valley.
But there were too many of them, and they were too well prepared. Enchanted nets slowed him down, poisoned arrows sank into his scales, and paralysis spells weakened his movements. Bladerion roared in pain and rage, continuing to fight to the end, killing again and again.
Lancelot watched everything from afar, hidden behind the rocks, silent tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. His heart was torn. He watched the being who had raised him, fed him, and protected him being slaughtered before his eyes.
Bladerion finally fell, pierced by a dozen enchanted lances and poisoned arrows. His massive body collapsed with a dull thud, shaking the ground.
Before drawing his final breath, the dragon slowly turned his head in the exact direction where Lancelot was hiding. Their eyes met one last time across the distance.
In Bladerion's eyes, there was neither hatred nor regret… only a profound, infinite sadness. As if he wanted to say: "I'm sorry. I loved you as best I could."
Then the dragon died.
Lancelot never learned the full truth. Bladerion had indeed destroyed his original village, but he had saved him out of pity that night. He had lied about his nature to protect the child from his own monstrosity, hoping to give him a better life despite everything.
Lancelot never knew.
After Bladerion's death, consumed by guilt, anger, betrayal, and a growing hatred for all dragons, the young man swore to destroy them all. He literally bathed in their blood for decades, absorbing their essence through an ancient forbidden curse and devouring Bladerion's remains, inheriting his powers. He became a dragon himself the White Blade Dragon while keeping a human appearance.
Since then, his life had become a waking nightmare. He passed himself off as one of them in the dragon kingdom, all while hating them with his entire being. His goal had become to find the Dragon Blade, the legendary weapon capable of breaking the curse and exterminating all dragons forever.
To be continued...