The dragon screamed.
Not in rage.
In pain.
It slammed its ruined wing against the stone, bone grinding, membrane hanging in scorched tatters. Fire leaked from its mouth in broken bursts instead of a clean breath.
Then it lowered its body.
Too low.
Too still.
Ichirou's grip tightened.
'Desperation phase.'
The dragon charged.
No warning. No theatrics. Just raw, animal violence.
The impact shattered the ground as it plowed forward, using its full mass like a living battering ram. Ichirou barely rolled aside as stone exploded where he had been standing.
The tail came next—low, fast, meant to break legs.
CLANG.
Ichirou parried it anyway.
The force threw him skidding across the ground, sparks screaming from his blade. His arms went numb, pain flaring white-hot—
—but he stayed on his feet.
Jeanne stared.
'He blocked that…?'
The dragon reared up and slammed both forelegs down, creating a shockwave that sent debris flying. Jeanne was thrown off balance—
—and Ichirou was already there, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind a fallen pillar just as fire erupted across the ground.
"Stay low!" he barked.
Jeanne obeyed without thinking.
The dragon circled now.
Slower.
Heavier.
Each step cracked stone. Each breath came out in burning gasps. It wasn't trying to win anymore.
It was trying to take them with it.
Ichirou stepped out from cover, sword raised.
"Eyes on me," he muttered.
The dragon lunged again.
Ichirou moved like he'd memorized every step.
Claw—parried.
Bite—sidestep.
Tail—duck, slash, retreat.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Jeanne watched, heart pounding.
Not once did he ask what to do.
Not once did he hesitate like someone facing a monster for the first time.
'This isn't bravery,' she realized.
'This is experience.'
The dragon roared and slammed Ichirou into the ground with its head, crushing stone inches from his skull.
Jeanne screamed. "Ichirou!"
He rolled, came up coughing—and laughed.
"You're predictable when you're hurt," he said, blood on his lips.
The dragon snapped at him again.
Ichirou dove forward instead of back, blade plunging into its lower jaw, twisting hard.
The beast reeled.
Jeanne's mind raced.
'No one learns this in minutes.'
'No one survives this by instinct alone.'
Her grip tightened on her spear.
Then it clicked.
Dragon Slayers.
Ancient ones.
The kind who fought the same beasts again and again until their bodies moved before thought.
She breathed out slowly.
'That explains everything.'
When Ichirou rolled back toward her, she spoke—calm, grounded, certain.
"You've fought dragons before," she said.
Ichirou blinked. "What?"
She met his eyes, unwavering. "Many times. Haven't you?"
He froze for half a second.
Just half.
She smiled faintly. "I've heard of warriors like you. Those whose lives are forged in battle against dragons. River corps, they're called. Always moving. Always returning."
She raised her spear again.
"It doesn't matter how," she continued. "What matters is that you know how to kill it."
The dragon staggered, blood pouring freely now.
Jeanne stepped beside him.
"Tell me what to do," she said simply.
Ichirou exhaled.
"…Alright."
He raised his sword one last time.
"Final phase," he said quietly. "It's going to rush. Don't blink."
The dragon lowered its head.
And charged.
'She got it wrong… but I'm not correcting her.'
Ichirou twisted his body just as the tail whistled through the air.
Stone shattered where he had been standing a heartbeat ago.
He moved in.
His blade flashed once—clean, precise.
SCHLK.
The dragon's tail hit the ground with a wet thud.
The beast screamed.
Not a roar.
A howl—raw, furious, full of pain.
It thrashed, smashing its claws into the ground, tearing stone apart as blood poured from the severed limb.
"Now!" Ichirou shouted.
Jeanne didn't hesitate.
Lightning crackled along her spear, blue-white arcs crawling up the shaft and wrapping around the blade. The air smelled sharp, metallic.
She ran straight at the monster.
The dragon turned too slowly.
Jeanne leapt.
"HYAH!"
She drove the spear forward—
—and plunged it into the dragon's left eye.
Lightning detonated inside its skull.
The dragon roared and reared back, flailing wildly. One massive claw slammed down where Jeanne had been—
—but she rolled, barely escaping as the stone exploded behind her.
She skidded across the ground, armor scraping, breath knocked from her lungs.
Ichirou was already moving.
He placed himself between Jeanne and the dragon, sword raised, stance low.
'Good,' he thought. 'Exactly like this.'
The dragon staggered, half-blind, bleeding, grounded.
Still alive.
Still deadly.
Ichirou tightened his grip.
"Stay behind me," he said, calm and absolute.
Jeanne pushed herself up, eyes wide—but steady.
"…You really have done this before," she murmured.
Ichirou didn't answer.
He stepped forward.
"One more push," he said quietly. "Then it's over."
The dragon lowered its head again.
And charged.
The dragon roared, trying to pull back.
Too late.
Ichirou drove his blade in first, carving deep into its exposed neck. Jeanne followed immediately, lightning surging as she struck the same wound.
Steel. Lightning. Flesh.
The dragon convulsed.
Then its body gave out.
With a thunderous crash, Drake Helkaiser collapsed, its massive form slamming into the ground.
Silence followed.
Ichirou landed on one knee, breathing hard.
Jeanne stumbled as she landed beside him, nearly pitching forward—but she caught herself at the last moment, spear biting into the earth to steady her.
They looked up together.
The dragon's body began to dissolve, turning to ash and drifting light.
Souls flowed outward.
All of them rushed toward Ichirou.
Eight hundred.
He felt the weight of them settle inside him—heavy, warm, real.
They moved forward cautiously.
Among the remains lay a Black Soul.
Jeanne picked it up, her expression solemn.
Nearby, an ore chunk rested in the dirt—dense, dark, valuable. The kind used to forge powerful weapons.
Then Ichirou saw it.
A sword.
Blackened, jagged, unmistakable.
His breath hitched.
'No way…'
He reached out and lifted it.
The familiar screen appeared before his eyes.
[Drake Sword
Weapon formed from the tail of Helkaiser.
Burn: 100% chance
Skills:
• Dragon Shockwave
• Helbreath Sword
ATK: +108
Type: Physical / Fire]
'…Fuck yes.'
For a moment—just a moment—
It felt like a victory.
A few minutes later, they were back in the cells.
The air was damp, heavy with old stone and rust.
From one of the open cages stepped a figure in worn armor—long ears poking out from beneath a battered helm.
A rabbit-man.
He raised his weapon halfway, then hesitated.
"Who… who are you?"
Ichirou met his gaze. "I'm Ichirou. This is Jeanne."
The rabbit-man relaxed, lowering his guard with a tired sigh.
"My apologies. I thought you were that bastard come back to finish the job."
He glanced down the corridor. "There aren't any locked doors left, are there?"
Ichirou and Jeanne shook their heads.
A smile spread across his face.
"…Then I can finally leave."
He gathered his belongings, moving stiffly as if every step hurt.
"My name is L-Mi'raj. I'm from Andor. I came here searching for the phantom treasure of this country."
His ears drooped slightly.
"I wasn't alone. I came with another knight."
Jeanne's eyes widened. "What happened?"
"He betrayed me," Mi'raj said flatly. "Left me here to rot."
Jeanne clenched her fist. "That's horrible."
Mi'raj nodded once. "If you hadn't come, I would've turned into a demon beast like the rest."
He looked at Ichirou, then Jeanne.
"You have my thanks."
Ichirou tilted his head. "Can you tell us about the one who betrayed you?"
Mi'raj's expression darkened.
"His name is Adamam. Be wary of him."
He tapped his chest. "Green armor. You'll know him when you see him."
Jeanne hesitated. "Why would he do something like that?"
Mi'raj didn't hesitate.
"That shithead enjoys killing."
Jeanne looked away.
It clearly wasn't the first time she'd heard those words spoken about someone.
Mi'raj started toward the exit.
"We all kill," he said over his shoulder. "But if you're going to do it, do it for the world."
He paused at the doorway.
"Don't let his silver tongue fool you."
Ichirou nodded. "We won't."
Mi'raj gave them one last look.
Then he left.
As Ichirou and Jeanne reached the outskirts of Ivern, the world blurred.
The ground tilted.
Colors smeared.
Sound faded.
Then—
They were standing in a village.
Lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see. Trees swayed gently, birds sang overhead, and warm sunlight bathed the stone paths.
It felt… peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Ichirou's eyes narrowed.
Nearby, a rabbit sat casually on a fence.
It turned toward them.
And spoke.
"Hey. You two came here too?"
Jeanne stiffened. "What… is this place?"
Ichirou stayed quiet.
'So the story reaches this point.'
The rabbit hopped down, brushing off imaginary dust.
"I guess being carried here is better than wandering in blind."
Jeanne stepped forward. "Who are you? And where are we?"
The rabbit smiled.
"Name's Player Master. Don't worry—this isn't the netherworld."
He spread his arms slightly.
"Think of this place as a stop along the way. A place for wanderers to take their first steps."
Jeanne frowned. "That still doesn't answer anything."
Player Master chuckled.
"Imagine a board game," he said. "This is the center of the board."
Then his gaze shifted.
Straight to Ichirou.
Sharp. Knowing.
"I see you've got something you want to do," he said lightly. "Maybe save the world. Maybe rule it."
He shrugged.
"Doesn't matter to me."
Jeanne turned immediately. "Ichirou wouldn't do that."
Ichirou blinked.
He looked at her.
'That's… a lot of trust,' he thought.
'Even if she's right.'
Player Master's smile widened just a little.
Player Master tilted his head.
"But if you've got souls to spend," he continued casually, "I can help with that."
He gestured toward the forest behind the village.
"Or you can stay here for a while. Rest. Spend time in the woods. That's fine too."
Ichirou watched him closely.
'Say it.'
Player Master smiled.
"Oh, and I should warn you," he added lightly. "Demon beasts are lurking outside."
Jeanne stiffened, taking a step back.
Instinctively, Ichirou reached out and pulled her closer.
"So try not to get yourselves killed."
Player Master's gaze flicked to Ichirou.
Then he chuckled.
"Though I suppose… for one of you, that doesn't really matter."
Before Jeanne could respond, the rabbit turned and hopped away, disappearing between the trees.
"Oh," his voice drifted back, almost as an afterthought.
"Make sure you find Leaf before you leave."
He paused.
"She's not like the other fairies."
His eyes met Ichirou's—sharp, knowing.
"She'll be useful to you."
Then he was gone.
Silence settled over the village once Player Master was gone.
Birds continued to sing.
The wind moved through the trees.
Jeanne didn't relax.
She turned toward Ichirou, her expression tight.
"…He said you were undead."
Ichirou didn't answer right away.
Jeanne stepped closer. "Is that true?"
He nodded once.
"Yes."
She inhaled sharply, then steadied herself.
"You don't look like one," she said quietly. "You speak clearly. You think clearly."
Ichirou glanced down at his armored hands.
"I didn't always," he replied. "I died. Then I woke up here."
Jeanne studied him—really looked this time.
"…Does it hurt?" she asked.
He paused.
"Sometimes," he admitted.
She clenched her fists. "Then why keep moving forward?"
Ichirou met her eyes.
"Because if I stop," he said, "then everything you're fighting for ends here."
Jeanne was silent.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
Ichirou looked around the village—the peaceful paths, the green fields, the calm that felt almost unreal.
"Even so," he said, voice steady, "we can use this place to rest, recover, get stronger, and learn more about the mist."
Jeanne exhaled.
"…Alright."
They turned toward the forest together.
Jeanne and Ichirou walked side by side through the forest.
Leaves rustled underfoot. Light filtered through the trees in soft, broken rays.
Ichirou glanced at her. "I don't get it. You knew I was undead when you found me."
Jeanne slowed. "I didn't find you," she said. "I saw you take down the two guards. Then I met you."
Ichirou stiffened for half a step.
'Right… Loop eleven. I changed it.'
He exhaled quietly. "I just assumed."
Jeanne stopped walking.
"Then…" she said hesitantly, "…can I see under your helmet?"
Ichirou tilted his head. "Really?"
She nodded, serious. "I want to see how far the decay was before you came back."
'…I don't even know myself.'
He reached up.
"Very well."
The helmet came off with a soft scrape of metal.
Cool air touched his face.
Jeanne looked at him.
And froze.
Her eyes widened.
Then she gasped.
A faint red crept up her cheeks.
Ichirou blinked. "…Is it that bad?"
She shook her head quickly and lifted her shield, turning it around so the polished surface faced him.
"No," she said, flustered. "Just—check your reflection."
Ichirou looked.
Silver-white hair, untouched by rot.
Skin unmarked. No cracks. No signs of decay.
Only his eyes—
Deep crimson, glowing faintly in the shade.
Very much alive.
He stared for a moment.
"…Huh."
Jeanne lowered the shield, still a little embarrassed. "You don't look like an undead at all."
Ichirou put the helmet back on, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's the problem."
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy