Chapter 202 — The Creator of Dragons
“The Master of Dragons?”
“Dragons? What do you mean?”
Sailor had only ever heard rumors that Batu had been intoxicated by dragon’s blood. So when he heard the term now, he tilted his head in confusion. Even Herman looked utterly bewildered.
To the people of this age, “dragon” was a word out of fairy tales — something only magicians whispered about.
Sailor explained briefly what he knew of the Borfur tribe’s legend: that they believed themselves the descendants of dragons and had guarded the dragon’s nest as their sacred sanctum for centuries.
At last, Herman grasped the context. “Then this ‘master of dragons’…?”
Sarnai nodded calmly. “Yes. That’s right.”
“So it’s like giving wings to a tiger that’s already running,” Herman muttered, letting out a dry laugh. It was obvious who this prophecy referred to.
Elric Melvinger.
“So that’s what ‘seize the power of the dragon’ meant,” Sailor said quietly.
Sarnai nodded again. “The God of Azure Heaven watches and guides.”
“Watches and guides?” Sailor echoed.
“Yes. Like the sky that blankets the world — vast and gentle, yet distant. He simply observes all things without interfering. That is His nature.”
Sailor nodded thoughtfully. A god’s divine name always mirrored its essence and domain; understanding that concept was the first step to true faith. The God of Azure Heaven could indeed be understood as the endless sky itself.
“But at times,” Sarnai continued, “even He shows whims — lending His eyes to those who yearn deeply enough, guiding them where they must go.”
“Hm.” Sailor leaned forward.
“Ha!” Herman exclaimed, half amused and half awed by the mythic scope of it all. To ordinary folk, these were stories beyond reach — but to Sailor and Herman, they carried a strange gravity.
“And so,” Sarnai said, “when the dragon longed for guidance, the god answered and the oracle was given.”
“Wait — are you saying the dragon is still alive?” Herman asked, eyes wide.
Sarnai nodded again, as if to ask whether that was really so surprising. “Yes. The guardian dragon still lives. Though its ancient power and majesty have faded, its desire for a new master — and its duty to pass something on — keep it bound here when it should have departed long ago.”
“So the God of Azure Heaven took pity and granted its wish?”
“I don’t know the whole story,” Sarnai admitted. “Only that some ancient pact was forged between my god and the Dragon King. The problem is Batu…”
“He interfered?”
“Batu received the guardian’s blood. The dragon, admiring his bravery, shared its essence and commanded him to seek the promised master.”
Sailor gave a wry smile. “But he didn’t listen.”
“…No.”
“Or worse — he intended to kill the master? Then his journey to the Empire was for that?”
Sarnai lowered her head. “Yes.”
Sailor clicked his tongue. Now it fit together. Batu had been blessed with the dragon’s power — a gift meant to honor the Borfur tribes who had guarded the nest for ages. But he twisted that blessing into ambition, seeking not to serve the dragon’s will but to steal its strength for himself.
Instead of bringing the chosen master to the dragon, he sought to kill him.
Yet Batu had missed Elric entirely. When their paths had crossed in the Crimson Lion Legion’s trap, they had been in the same space but never collided. Had Batu recognized him, he’d never have let Elric go alive — and if Sarnai had warned Elric then, Batu would never have overlooked him.
Because of that missed moment, Elric and the Star’s Legion had been cast adrift in enemy territory like a ship without a rudder — eventually drawn to the Sanctum where Sarnai awaited them.
It had all been arranged — guided by the eyes of Azure Heaven.
Everything seemed to be falling into place exactly as intended — until now.
“But then something went wrong,” Sarnai said softly.
“An unexpected guest interfered?” Sailor asked.
She nodded. Both Sailor and Herman understood at once who that meant.
The demons — Gregory’s forces — had targeted the Sanctum.
“First,” Herman said, “let’s make sure this ‘Master of Dragons’ title sticks to our young successor. We’ll sort the rest after.”
He still didn’t fully grasp what the oracle or the dragon’s guidance meant — but to him, the solution was simple:
If it benefits Elric, it benefits us all.
“We’ve arrived.”
At that moment, a sharp scent filled the air — tingling on their skin, heavy and suffocating. A foul energy that repelled all living things.
Demonic mana.
“Formation!” Herman shouted.
Clatter — clatter — clack!
The knights raised their lances in unison — each one engraved personally by Elric before departure, etched with runes that would ignite on impact and detonate like a one-use artifact.
The blades flashed, catching the sunlight like a row of razor teeth.
BOOM! KRA-BOOM! Rumble—
Far ahead, inside the Sanctum, the demon Winona clicked her tongue at the tremendous energy radiating from within.
“As expected … Bishop Leda is remarkable.”
Within Gregory’s hierarchy, there were once five bishop seats — now only four remained. Each was a “vessel” prepared to receive Azazel himself and thus possessed terrifying power. Even the High Priests of the organization dared not command them lightly.
Leda was proving that truth now, her power shaking the massive canyon that formed the dragon’s nest. Even from miles away, the shockwaves were strong enough to make the ground tremble as if it might collapse.
The winds that blew out from the chasm carried dense miasma. Several lesser demons were already pale and shaking, nearly fainting from the pressure.
But even Winona — herself a high-ranking officer — could do nothing to help them. Her own concerns were piling up too high.
May this hunt end soon…
“The guardians of this so-called sanctuary will notice soon,” she muttered. “They must have already.”
After all, Gregory’s forces had been scouting this place for years. Moving such a large army without drawing attention was impossible — especially since the Borfur tribe had a priestess with the Eyes of Azure Heaven.
Not that Winona feared the tribes. Still, Gregory and Batu had recently signed a non-interference pact after uniting the twelve mountain clans. If Batu learned that Gregory had violated it before the ink even dried… it could jeopardize their entire campaign against the Empire.
Well, if it comes to that, I’ll just clean up afterward, she thought coldly. Dead men tell no tales, after all.
With their current strength, they could easily wipe out a village or two — and she still had to track down that missing Melvinger.
Their orders were clear: slay the dragon to harvest its mana for Azazel’s descent, and find Elric Melvinger to eradicate his line once and for all. Everyone knew the last Melvinger had killed Bishop Judas — and the High Priest’s rage at losing a “vessel” still echoed through the organization.
No wonder both hunts — the dragon and the man — were now Gregory’s top priority. And as the one in charge of both, Winona could feel the pressure mounting.
She squinted toward the distance. It’s taking too long…
The scouts had reported that the dragon was long past its prime — its divine power all but gone — and that a bishop’s strike should finish it quickly. Yet the battle had dragged on far beyond schedule.
Under normal circumstances, she’d have sent support into the nest — but Bishop Leda was not the type to tolerate interference.
“What now…?” Winona murmured, thinking hard.
“Lady Winona.”
She turned to the officer who had called her — a pale, tense-faced aide responsible for mana logistics.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you feel it? Something’s off.”
“What do you mean?”
“The air… it’s too quiet.”
Winona’s eyes narrowed. Now that he mentioned it — yes. Even in this cursed place, there was usually some sound — wind, insects, distant cracks of rock. But now, nothing. Only an oppressive silence — the kind that comes just before a storm.
Thud… Thud… Thud…
A faint rumble rose from beyond the ridge. For a moment, Winona thought it was an aftershock from the battle below — but no, the direction was wrong.
It sounded like … hoofbeats. Hundreds of them.
“Ambush! Defensive formation!” Winona shouted.
Her forces scrambled to move — but then came the whistle of something cutting through the air.
Shhh-shhh-shhh-shhh!
A storm of spears rained from the sky — hundreds of them, their trajectory impossible to track.
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And then—
WHOOOSH!
As the first wave of lances struck, they exploded midair—each one splitting into a dozen razor-sharp shards.
BOOM! POP! CRACK—!
In an instant, the sky turned into a storm of metal. Thousands upon thousands of glittering fragments rained down like a silver tempest.
The shrieks of demons filled the canyon as the blast waves ripped through their ranks. Each spear had been enchanted—its explosion fracturing into ten or more spinning blades that tore through flesh and armor alike.
Within seconds, the front lines were chaos—blood, dust, and broken bodies scattering beneath the sudden, merciless assault.
The ambush had begun.
The Talent-Swallowing Magician.