Translator: CinderTL
Celeste's voice flowed through the air like honey, carrying an irresistible, almost magical allure.
As her final syllable faded, invisible ripples spread outward from her center.
The allied forces soldiers nearest to her were the first to be affected.
Their tense battle stances suddenly relaxed, and their weapons drooped unconsciously.
A young soldier gazed at Celeste with rapturous devotion, his eyes burning with fanatical fervor.
An experienced veteran wore a dazed smile, as if he had finally glimpsed the lifelong dream he had pursued.
Slightly farther away, Galvis shook his head violently, plucking a series of discordant notes from his harp in a desperate attempt to dispel the bewitching whispers.
Theresa's sword strike faltered momentarily, her silver eyes flickering with inner conflict as she bit down on her lower lip.
Even Avril's arrow veered off course. The elf girl frowned in frustration, quickly retreating to create more distance.
Celeste casually surveyed the mortals she had ensnared, her amber, vertical pupils gleaming with undisguised contempt.
How pathetic.
To her, it was only natural that these fragile creatures would succumb to her enchantment.
Just as water inevitably flows downward and flames are destined to burn.
Their pitiful willpower was utterly defenseless against her.
The burning obsession in the young soldier's eyes and the dazed intoxication on the veteran's face were merely further proof of the weakness of mortals.
If they couldn't even control their most basic desires, how could they resist carefully crafted temptations?
Her gaze swept indifferently over Galvis and Theresa, who were struggling against her enchantment.
Slightly more interesting, but nothing more.
Like drowning men flailing in vain, they would inevitably sink into the abyss.
These mortals could never understand that what they called "unwavering will" was, in her eyes, merely the appearance of resistance before being sufficiently tempted.
Everyone had a price, every soul had a weakness, and her specialty was finding that weakness and giving it a gentle push.
With these thoughts, Celeste's gaze finally returned to Roland, the smile on her lips deepening.
"Look," she murmured, her voice soft as a lover's whisper yet clear enough to cut through the battlefield's din.
"This is the true nature of humanity. Will you still stand with them, Roland?"
Her words lingered in the air, and Celeste gracefully crossed her arms, waiting with practiced patience for the expected surrender.
A triumphant glint already shone in her amber eyes—until she saw Roland's movement.
Not a dazed approach, not a hesitant step.
But a sword's blade tearing through the air.
The Mithril Longsword carved a frigid arc through the dim battlefield, its blade poised to sever all resistance as it aimed straight for her throat.
The smile froze on Celeste's face, replaced by incredulous shock.
This can't be happening!
For centuries, no mortal had ever remained lucid under the full force of her enchantment. Heroes and saints alike had all eventually groveled at her feet.
But this young man...
In the split second her thoughts twisted, the sword's edge was already upon her.
Caught off guard, Celeste retreated hastily, her sharp nails slashing through the air to conjure a series of pink magical screens.
Yet these shields, which could easily deflect arrows, shattered like layers of paper under Roland's blade.
"Who are you?" she shrieked, her voice losing its composure for the first time.
Roland didn't answer.
His gaze was as cold as polar ice, but his sword strikes burned with the fury of a volcanic eruption.
The second and third strikes followed in rapid succession, each sealing off her escape routes with deadly precision.
Celeste barely dodged a thrust aimed at her heart, but the blade sheared off a strand of her hair, leaving a bloody gash on her pale cheek.
"Stop him!" she shrieked, tearing a crimson rift in the air with both hands.
A dozen small demons swarmed from the fissure.
Barely half a man's height, their bat-like wings beat frantically, claws and fangs gleaming with venomous, phosphorescent light.
Against ordinary soldiers, these demons would have torn them to shreds in an instant.
But before Roland, they weren't even worthy opponents.
The sword flashed again.
This time, a dazzling golden light erupted from the blade.
No incantation, no charging—the holy energy flowed into his strike as naturally as breathing.
The golden sword light swept across the battlefield like a tidal wave. The demons shrieked in agony as the sacred energy consumed them, their bodies dissolving into wisps of black smoke.
Celeste stared in disbelief.
Holy Strike!
This divine combat technique, requiring unwavering faith and immense mental power, was wielded by this young man as casually as a common slash.
"How... how is this possible?"
But Roland's advance never faltered.
He stepped over the dissipating remains of the demons, his sword tip relentlessly locked onto Celeste's heart.
Another Holy Strike surged forth, this time aimed directly at her face.
Celeste screamed and retreated frantically, her wings flapping wildly as she narrowly evaded the lethal strike.
Yet the holy energy still scorched her arm, the pain nearly forcing her to drop her magic.
"Damn it!"
She gritted her teeth, finally realizing the terrifying being she had provoked.
This young man was no easily manipulated prey.
He was a hunter.
Roland ignored the hatred etched on her face, his gaze sharpening.
The moment she spoke her name, combined with the familiar abyssal aura radiating from her, the truth struck him like lightning.
The succubus before him, named Celeste, was the very demon who had possessed Arno and cursed him.
So it was you...
This realization ignited the curse in Roland's chest, searing him with pain, yet it also solidified his killing intent.
The agony of being tormented by the curse for over a hundred days and nights now coalesced into the icy glint on his sword's edge.
"It seems today isn't the right time," Celeste said, her voice retaining its unpleasant languor.
Seeing her seduction fail and Roland's strength far exceeding her expectations, a primal sense of danger drove her to retreat.
Forcing a calm demeanor, she took a step back, attempting to create distance. "We'll meet again, little one."
Before the last word left her lips, a faint magical glow began to surge around her.
"Why wait for another day?" Roland's voice was as cold as the abyss.
But his actions were even faster than his words.
The instant the final syllable fell, an ancient and majestic power awakened within Roland's body.
His pupils contracted abruptly, transforming into cold, reptilian slits.
Fine scales spread from his neck, covering his arms and the backs of his hands, shimmering with a metallic sheen in the dim battlefield.
The bones of his fingers elongated slightly, and his nails sharpened into claws.
This was the rudimentary form of his dragon transformation.
"A... dragonborn?"
Celeste's composure shattered instantly, replaced by a primal terror that clawed at her soul.
Memories buried deep within her bloodline surged to the surface.
The cataclysmic war millennia ago that had claimed the lives of countless demons and devils—the colossal wings that blotted out the sky, the dragon breath that incinerated the abyss...
The dragon race.
Their eternal nightmare!
Even as her terror gripped her, Roland moved.
His speed blurred into a mere afterimage.
A deafening sonic boom erupted as he shattered the air, the ground beneath his feet cracking and collapsing.
Celeste screamed, unleashing every defensive spell she possessed. Layer upon layer of pink barriers materialized instantly, but it was too late.
The dragon bloodline, now fully awakened, surged through his veins like a raging river.
Harnessing this overwhelming power, the Mithril Longsword tore through her defenses as easily as a hot knife through butter.
The first strike shattered her shield. The second severed her spellcasting arm. The third...
Time seemed to freeze in that instant.
Celeste looked down in shock, watching her body separate from her head.
Her final gaze passed over Roland's shoulder, desperately seeking Malcolm, who was still locked in fierce combat with Monen in the distance. Her eyes burned with resentment and silent accusation.
But the words of accusation would never be spoken.
Thud!
With a heavy, muffled sound, her head rolled to the ground, the light in her eyes fading rapidly.
The headless body swayed momentarily before being pulverized into dust by the lingering Dragon's Might on Roland's blade.
Just then, an anomaly occurred.
The succubus's head, which should have been lifeless, suddenly lit up.
Not with the amber glow it had possessed before, but with a pure, icy, moonlit-pale radiance devoid of warmth.
Then, an absurd scene unfolded.
The beautiful head snapped its eyes open.
The amber pupils swirled blankly for a moment before focusing on Roland.
(End of the Chapter)
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