Translator: CinderTL
On the smoke-filled battlefield, Malcolm reached out to restrain the restless Balot.
His narrow eyes narrowed to slits as he stared intently at the longsword plunged deep into the ground.
The intense positive energy radiating from the blade made him uneasy, but what truly disturbed him was the faint trace of...
...a scent he never wanted to recall.
"Dragonborn?"
As the smoke gradually cleared, revealing the silver scales covering Roland's arm, the smug certainty on Malcolm's face froze.
He instinctively reached for his waist, where a gruesome scar remained. Though long healed, the twisted mark still testified to the horror of the blow that had inflicted it.
In an instant, the memory of a dragon's roar seemed to thunder in his ears, causing him to involuntarily step back half a pace and bump into Balot's massive frame.
Just as the devil from the nine hells was considering retreat, the lingering mist completely dissipated.
When Malcolm finally saw Roland's full appearance, he let out a long breath, a mocking smile returning to his face.
"Incomplete dragon transformation... so you're just a whelp after all."
Meanwhile, Roland stood tense, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield.
When his eyes landed on Monen, he froze in shock.
Where was the King's former majestic presence?
His back was hunched, his hair sparse, and his once-robust frame now withered and gaunt.
If not for the faintly recognizable features, Roland would scarcely have recognized this frail old man as Monen.
"Your Majesty Monen, are you alright?"
At the sound of the question, Monen's unfocused gaze slowly sharpened.
He straightened up with the aid of his longsword, his eyes flicking over the fine silver scales on Roland's arm. A fleeting, unreadable memory flashed in his eyes before he shook his head with a self-deprecating smile.
"Roland? So it's you, lad."
His voice was raspy, yet carried a hint of relief.
"It seems old age makes one dwell on the past. I never imagined you were hiding such a secret—a dragonborn, eh?"
Seeing that Monen, though weakened, was not seriously injured, Roland's tense nerves eased slightly.
"Now isn't the time for this discussion, Your Majesty."
He drew the mithril longsword from the ground, leaned forward slightly, and fixed his sharp gaze on Malcolm, who stood not far away.
While Monen's sudden decline in strength was concerning, the two otherworldly visitors were also in far worse condition than before.
After their fierce battle with Monen, both Malcolm and the toad-like demon radiated a significantly weaker aura than when they first appeared.
"I believe what we should do now is properly 'welcome' these guests who have traveled so far. What do you say?"
"Do you really need to remind me of that?"
Roland glanced sideways at Monen, who stood beside him. He suddenly felt as if the King had regained his vitality.
This wasn't a restoration of physical strength, but rather a shift in his state of mind.
Monen paid no attention to Roland's probing gaze. He straightened his stooped back with effort, casually slinging his longsword over his shoulder.
The posture was less like that of a dignified king and more like that of a seasoned mercenary.
"That bastard used some kind of dark magic to drain most of the strength from my bloodline," he spat. "As I am now, I probably can't handle that agile bastard. So..."
He jerked his chin toward Balot.
"You take that demon named Balot. I'll deal with the tougher one. Just like..."
Monen's voice gradually lowered, as if whispering into the void.
"...just like old times."
"Like old times?"
Before Roland could ponder the deeper meaning of those words, Monen had already charged forward, sword in hand.
"Hey! You fat pig! I'm right here! Come and get me if you dare!"
Before Monen's taunt could even fade, Balot roared skyward with a deafening roar.
Though its limited intelligence prevented it from fully understanding human language, the King's undisguised mockery was enough to ignite the demon's primal rage.
Rumble!
Accompanied by heavy footsteps and the earth trembling, the figures of the man and demon gradually receded, soon disappearing beyond Roland's sight.
Hearing Monen's almost street-thug-like taunts, Roland's lips twitched slightly.
But he immediately composed himself, turning his gaze to Malcolm, who seemed poised to intervene.
"Damn you, Balot! You fool, don't—"
Malcolm's rebuke was cut short as his "companion's" massive form vanished into the dust cloud.
Realizing the situation was beyond saving, the envoy from the nine hells shook his head in resignation. He turned to face Roland, his face resuming its practiced smile.
"I trust our brief encounter has left a lasting impression, Lord Roland. Your soul is truly... exquisitely beautiful."
The devil bowed gracefully.
"I am Malcolm, and I sincerely invite you—"
Before he could finish, a longsword wreathed in golden light slashed through the air.
"Damn it! You ill-mannered brat!" Malcolm cursed inwardly, his wrist snapping into a swift countermove.
The Chainblade seemed to come alive in an instant, coiling and hissing like a venomous serpent as its links scraped against each other with an unsettling rasp.
In the blink of an eye—
Swoosh!
The Chainblade transformed into a blur of black, tearing through the air with terrifying speed as it lunged toward Roland's vital points.
Faced with this instantaneous, lethal strike, Roland's pupils narrowed. He twisted his torso sharply, relying on his dragon-enhanced reflexes to dodge with lightning speed.
Yet even with his dragon-transformed speed far surpassing his previous limits, he couldn't completely evade the cunning attack.
Scrape!
With a sharp, metallic screech against scales, the Chainblade narrowly grazed his side.
"Such speed..."
Roland retreated half a step, his gaze locked on the retracting, deadly chain. His left hand instinctively brushed over the struck area.
Thanks to his innate talent, Dragon Scale Tough Skin, and the dense scales from partial dragon transformation, the strike failed to breach his defenses, leaving only a clear white mark on the silvery scales.
However, the impact still penetrated his body, leaving a dull, lingering ache.
Still just a whelp...
Seeing his initial strike succeed, Malcolm's last shred of hesitation vanished completely.
With a flick of his wrist, the Chainblade moved like a shadow, lunging at Roland once more.
"Since you refuse to submit willingly, then..."
His cold, clear whisper cut through the wind's piercing howl as the Chainblade tore through the air.
"After you die, I'll extract your soul anyway. The result... will be the same."
In the next instant, the Chainblade transformed into streaks of black lightning wreathed in Nine Hells Flames, searing trails through the air.
At times, the bladed chain struck like a venomous serpent, aiming directly for Roland's vital points.
At others, it lashed like a thorny whip, sweeping across his dodging paths, pulverizing the ground and leaving scorched craters in its wake.
Roland's figure darted through the relentless onslaught, parrying and evading with apparent desperation.
The hellfire-infused blade repeatedly grazed his neck and chest by mere millimeters, the searing heat even burning strands of his hair to ashes.
Yet no matter how Malcolm channeled his strength or accelerated the assault, the deadly Chainblade never truly pierced Roland's flesh.
The Chainblade could only leave shallow marks on Roland's dragon scale armor, which was as tough as refined steel, or be deflected by his skillful parries, sending sparks flying in blinding bursts.
"Is all you can do is dodge like a frightened rat, Lord Roland?"
Growing impatient after his relentless assault failed to break through Roland's defenses, Malcolm sneered, a flicker of irritation and contempt flashing in his crimson eyes.
"It seems your bloodline only granted you tough skin, but none of the courage to match it!"
Before the words had fully left his lips, an even deeper darkness erupted from Malcolm's body. The Nine Hells Flames on the Chainblade surged violently, shifting from dark red to an almost pale white.
That was the ultimate heat, capable of melting souls.
"The games end here!"
Malcolm declared, victory seemingly within reach, and the Chainblade shot forward with unprecedented speed and force.
The tip of the Chainblade tore through space itself, carrying a murderous intent as it pierced straight toward Roland's heart.
Yet, in the next instant—
Sizzle!
The Chainblade, a blur of destructive energy moving faster than the eye could track, was suddenly halted a mere palm's width from Roland's chest.
A hand covered in silver scales had seized it in a death grip.
The pale hellfire licked frantically at the dragon scale, yet failed to melt it even slightly. Instead, the overwhelming force caused the flames to emit a pained wail, as if buckling under the strain.
The violent impact made Roland's robes billow wildly behind him, but his upright figure remained as immovable as a mountain.
He slowly raised his gaze, his icy stare piercing through the lingering flames to land on Malcolm's face, twisted in shock.
His calm voice carried an unmistakable edge of frigid contempt.
"Is that all?"
(End of the Chapter)
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