Translator: CinderTL
In an instant, the world changed.
The once-docile warhorses let out piercing, desperate cries, their legs buckling as they crashed to the ground.
The soldiers retreating in orderly formation ahead were struck down as if by invisible hammers, collapsing one after another without warning, instantly losing consciousness.
Even Sean, fully armored and with unwavering resolve, let out a muffled groan.
Thud!
His massive frame suddenly dropped to its knees, his head bowing deeply as if crushed by immense weight.
Veins bulged on his forehead, his jaw clenched tight, yet he couldn't utter a sound.
This sudden, catastrophic shift nearly stopped Roland's heart. A primal, soul-deep terror seized him.
His body tensed violently, and almost instinctively, he drew a deep breath of the scorching, heavy air.
Then, with excruciating stiffness, he turned around inch by inch.
Moments later, his vision was completely consumed by a shadow of unimaginable scale.
But it wasn't a mountain or a rock.
It was... a foot.
Covered in ancient, thick, bronze-colored scales that gleamed with metallic luster.
Even the part of the foot planted on the ground towered far above Roland's height.
Its monstrous silhouette blotted out all light, radiating a despair-inducing pressure.
He couldn't even crane his neck to glimpse the entirety of this colossal being.
For this terrifying foot already filled the limits of his vision.
"Scum..."
Just as Roland's mind reeled in shock, a deep, heavy, genderless voice boomed in his ear without warning.
Immediately afterward came a heart-stopping thud.
Bang!
A glance out of the corner of his eye revealed Knight Beckham, who had effortlessly slaughtered over three hundred demonic beasts with a single strike, now lying nearby like a broken puppet, his silver plate armor shattered into fragments, revealing his blood-soaked, muscular body beneath.
The once tightly gripped, ice-cold sword had vanished, leaving only a bare, solitary hilt in his hand.
Yet the knight's spine remained unbroken.
Even facing this mythical, world-destroying behemoth, even with his body shattered, he stubbornly braced himself against the blood-soaked earth with his crimson-stained hands, a low, defiant growl rumbling in his throat as he struggled to rise from the ground.
But...
"Kneel."
The heavy voice echoed once more.
Whisper-light yet heavier than ten thousand mountains, it crashed down on Beckham's shoulders with earth-shattering force.
Thud!
In the next instant, the knight, who possessed extraordinary strength, crumpled like a child crushed by an invisible giant's palm, his knees slamming into the ground.
An irresistible, terrifying force pinned him to the earth, rendering him utterly immobile and unconscious.
"Scum..."
The mountain-heavy whisper ground past Roland's ear.
But unlike before, Roland detected a hint of confusion in the voice's tone.
In an instant, an indescribable terror descended with each syllable, crashing down like a tangible tidal wave.
Roland's bones groaned audibly under the crushing pressure.
He was utterly helpless, as if struck by an invisible behemoth. He staggered backward dozens of steps, his leather boots carving deep furrows into the unyielding ground.
Clenching his jaw and straining every muscle, he forced himself to look up again.
The colossal entity that had blotted out the sky now loomed into full view, its monstrous form completely unmasked.
It was a living mountain of bronze.
Jagged spines pierced through the swirling clouds, while beneath the ancient bronze scales that armored its body, crimson magma pulsed like subterranean fire, each surge accompanied by a thunderous rumble.
Its folded membranous wings distorted the light, and its bone-spiked tail effortlessly plowed through the earth.
Supporting this apocalyptic behemoth were the very feet Roland had glimpsed moments before.
The massive, scale-covered claws, like hellish scythes, sank deep into the ground.
As an invisible force yanked Roland's gaze upward toward the towering head...
What he saw were eyes.
Two molten vortices burning in the darkness, like pools of lava.
The edges of the vertical pupils blazed with sulfurous golden flames, while within churned a primordial coldness and a rage that would incinerate all.
With a single glance, Roland's soul felt as if it had plunged into a furnace, searing and wailing under that gaze of pure annihilation.
"So it is you... Hmph. A mere mortal dares to steal my skeletal remains?"
After taking a deep breath, Roland forced himself to endure the pain searing through his body. He lowered his eyes and bowed slightly.
"My apologies, Your Excellency. I was unaware these bones belonged to you."
Before he could finish speaking, a faint gasp reached his ears.
A gust of wind swept past, and the dragon's ferocious head suddenly loomed into view.
But unlike the soul-freezing gaze from moments ago, the dragon's eyes now held a barely perceptible hint of surprise.
"You understand my words?"
As the words faded, the overwhelming pressure that had been crushing Roland instantly vanished.
Seizing the opportunity, Roland gasped for air, his mind, which had been frozen in terror, now racing with thoughts.
"It's the Animal Companion skill!"
In an instant, Roland grasped the key to the situation.
The Dragon Race, mythical creatures of legend, possessed a language unique to their kind—ancient, mysterious, and imbued with profound and formidable power.
By all logic, only beings with dragon blood could comprehend it. Yet, through the extraordinary ability granted by his Animal Companion trait, Roland had miraculously established a connection with the colossal dragon.
This sudden capacity for communication caused the once-arrogant dragon to abandon its aggressive posture. After all, while ancient texts often celebrated dragons for their immense strength, another lesser-known epithet for them was "loneliness."
Bound by some unknown rule, the Dragon Race suffered from an extremely low birth rate, fostering an innate and indescribable kinship among its members.
However, within moments, the initial surprise in the dragon's eyes faded, replaced by an unmistakable disappointment. It had clearly discerned that Roland was not one of its kind, but a pure-blooded human.
"A human who understands my tongue... You must be a descendant of Rudolph," the dragon rumbled, its voice tinged with an indelible nostalgia.
"Perhaps it is fate," the dragon murmured, lifting its massive head once more. Its mountain-like hand extended slightly forward.
In an instant, a drop of golden, shimmering liquid materialized before Roland.
"By the pact between myself and Rudolph, it shall belong to you," the dragon's deep voice rumbled.
Before the words had fully faded, the golden liquid shot toward Roland's forehead, silently permeating and fusing with his skin.
The entire process occurred in a split second. Before Roland could react, the golden liquid transformed into a destructive torrent, surging violently into his body.
A molten, searing pain tore through his limbs and bones, as if his veins and skeleton were ablaze.
Even more fatally, the searing heat reached his very soul.
He felt the core of his being—his memories, emotions, and will—ignited by an invisible inferno.
His soul twisted and shrieked within the golden sea of fire, on the verge of complete annihilation.
The dual agony of his body and soul being burned to ashes instantly crushed all of Roland's senses.
His vision shattered into golden light and darkness, his ears filled only with the roar of boiling blood and the wails of his soul.
The moment he tried to struggle, the boundless pain overwhelmed him completely.
His last flicker of consciousness, like a candle in the wind, flickered weakly in the scorching hellscape.
Then, cold, viscous, absolute darkness surged in from all sides, swallowing him whole and plunging him into the abyss of endless nothingness.
(End of the Chapter)
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