These subdragons were completely different from the majestic, awe-inspiring creatures people imagined soaring across the sky.
Their bodies were grotesquely obese from overfeeding, with short wings pressed weakly to their sides, and their skin had an unhealthy, grayish-white hue.
Most unsettling of all, there were only two gaping holes where their eyes should have been—obviously stabbed blind at birth, to prevent them from becoming too frenzied and to make them easier to manage in captivity.
These were the meat subdragons raised underground by the Golden Iris Hotel to satisfy the decadent appetites of the highest nobility! There were hundreds of them!
Now, this massive horde, deprived of sight and imprisoned in darkness for their entire lives, seemed to sense a freedom they had never known.
They roared in chaos, their enormous heads thrashing wildly in search of direction, their heavy, powerful bodies jostling and colliding, trampling over the corpses of their kin as they charged blindly toward the only source of light—the streets of the royal capital.
—
Behind this stampede, a lean and agile figure flashed past.
It was [Shadowfang Breaker]!
A signature, cocky grin hung on his face, and in his hand was a long string of giant firecrackers— the kind only used for grand celebrations—already lit and blazing.
“Crack—BOOM!!”
A barrage of deafening explosions erupted behind him.
For these blind subdragons, whose hearing and smell were abnormally sensitive, the flying sparks and thunderous noise were the most terrifying harbingers of death in the world.
“Go! Big guys! Give these ugly bastards a little taste of royal capital shock!”
The firecrackers unleashed utter panic throughout the subdragon herd.
Their only instinct was to escape the dreadful sound and scorching heat behind them.
Hundreds of massive beasts, each weighing tens of tons, surged into an unstoppable torrent of flesh and blood, roaring as they rampaged up the smooth stone streets of the royal capital.
They didn’t need to attack—their sheer weight was the most terrifying weapon of all.
The summoned creatures conjured by Zeheriel on the streets instantly learned the true meaning of absolute power.
A Shadow Hound, which had just torn through a magical girl’s shield with its claws, didn’t even have time to screech in triumph before a giant, calloused dragon’s foot stamped it into the ground, flattening it into a squirming pool of shadow before it dissipated completely.
Several Horned Demons tried to resist the flood with their proud strength and armored shells, roaring furiously as they lowered their heads to charge.
But while a single subdragon might have been a fair match, against a wall of hundreds—each bursting with terror and raw power—their resistance was laughably futile.
The magical girls’ formation, which had been in disarray from the monsters’ assault, suddenly found their burden lightened by this unexpected ally.
Eileen stared in shock at the chaos, as a subdragon’s enormous tail swept over her head and smashed a three-story building’s wall to rubble—crushing several monsters inside who had been lying in wait for a sneak attack.
“This…what’s happening?”
A young magical girl stammered.
Eileen’s gaze swept past the rampaging dragons and caught sight of the player leaping excitedly across the rooftops.
She understood immediately.
Though she couldn’t fathom the other’s thought process, she issued orders without hesitation.
“All units, fall back! Avoid the subdragon charge! Evacuate civilians, reestablish the perimeter, and prioritize eliminating any monsters that slip through the gaps!”
—
On the rooftop, Zeheriel’s face had turned utterly grim.
His plan, his prideful army of Summoned Creatures, was being shattered by a surge of senseless, absurd violence.
He glared furiously at the culprit below— the player known as [Shadowfang Breaker].
The other seemed to feel his gaze, gave a mocking whistle, and drew a throat-slashing gesture in return.
Being toyed with in this way—by tactics he’d always considered beneath him—filled Zeheriel with unprecedented humiliation and rage.
“Damned insect!”
A suppressed roar escaped him, fury nearly clouding his mind.
Now!
Falusiel had been waiting for this moment.
Her eyes darted over Zeheriel, finally locking onto his right shoulder.
There, the fabric of his tuxedo was unnaturally twisted—the wound left earlier by Frost Snow Draw.
Though the surface had healed, Falusiel could sense the lingering Holy Power of the sword still burning deep within, like a poisonous thorn, constantly searing his magical core.
There would be only one chance.
She poured all her remaining magic into her legs and the longsword in her hand, her entire being becoming a streak of light that tore through the night.
Zeheriel was still glaring at [Shadowfang Breaker]when he sensed a murderous aura behind him.
In a panic, he hurled the shadow sphere he’d been preparing toward Falusiel.
But Falusiel was ready.
Arslan Palace Sword Art—Final Death Thrust!
Even Zhao Yingyue, strong as she was, could only defeat it by resorting to martial arts beyond the Six Harmonies Spear!
At the instant before impact, Falusiel twisted her body at an impossible angle, skimming past the searing edge of the shadow sphere.
The heat scorched the side of her armor and clothing, leaving a blistering burn, the pain blurring her vision—but her eyes shone brighter than ever.
Her target—was that old wound.
“Shhk!”
The steel longsword, infused with her last Holy Power, pierced directly and brutally into the unhealed injury on Zeheriel’s right shoulder.
“Ahhhhhhhh—!”
A scream, inhuman and piercing, tore through the night sky over Arslan.
It was like plunging a red-hot iron spike into a barrel of gunpowder.
The steel blade itself didn’t matter—what mattered was that it became a conductor, channeling Falusiel’s remaining Holy Power directly into the fragile node marked by Frost Snow Draw.
The fierce clash of Holy Power and Darkness Essence exploded Zeheriel’s right shoulder into a bloody crater, black blood and shredded flesh spraying everywhere.
The shadow sphere in his hand unraveled instantly, magic lost to chaos, spiraling into wild energy currents that ravaged the rooftop.
Falusiel was thrown back by the shockwave, crashing into the stone railing and sliding limply to the ground.
Her sword had shattered into pieces, leaving only half a hilt clutched in her hand.
“Cough… cough cough…”
She coughed violently, every movement sending fresh agony through her wounds.
A metallic taste filled her mouth as blood spilled onto the ground.
She felt several bones crack, vision flickering black, each breath a fiery torment.
Yet her gaze blazed with unyielding resolve.
Zeheriel fell to one knee, clutching his bleeding right shoulder with his left hand, his body shaking with agony.
He lifted his head, his once-handsome face twisted by pain and hatred.
“Seventh Apostle, Zeheriel,”
Falusiel declared, enunciating each word.
“You’ve lost.”
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