First crippled by a war spear, then finished off with lightning-charged arrows. Even a Flying Dragon renowned for its vitality couldn't possibly survive an onslaught like that.
Flying Dragons had vital points too. The moment its chest was torn open and its heart pierced, its massive body stiffened in midair.
Its once-ferocious face twisted with pain and disbelief. Lifting its enormous head, it let out a heart-rending wail.
That cry carried both an unwillingness to accept death and a deep confusion toward the figure in the distance.
It couldn't understand who this man was. Why would someone opposed to the Royal Capital know how to wield lightning like this?
And the Golden Needle Knight didn't look anything like an Ancient Dragon Knight either.
"Do you mourn the loss of life?"
Nolan stood where he was, expressionless as he watched the dragon's body fall. He shook his head lightly.
"When you breathed fire and listened to people scream, did it ever occur to you… that you would die too?"
As his words fell, the twin blades in his hands trembled faintly, the blood-stained steel letting out a low hum.
He flicked the blades downward, sending two long arcs of blood across the ground, then casually returned them to his ring.
Boom!!
With a heavy, muffled impact, the colossal body crashed into the forested slopes. The shockwave threw dust skyward, trees snapping and collapsing in all directions.
The Flying Dragon wasn't even given a chance to repent. Nolan had ended it without hesitation.
After the arrow pierced its body, a second eruption of golden lightning detonated inside, enough to pulverize its internal organs.
If it could still get back up after that, Nolan would have had nothing left to say.
He lowered his gaze to his armor. The once-gleaming silver of the Golden Needle Knight plate was now filthy, blood and dust interwoven across its surface.
Blood dripped steadily like beads from a snapped string, splashing onto the muddy path below. Each drop sent up a small ripple as it landed.
Nolan glanced silently toward the distance, then slowly lowered his head, staring at his now-empty palm. He paid no attention to the villagers cautiously peeking out from their hiding places.
As he sensed the changes within his body, his brow creased slightly.
His strength had increased. That much was clear.
The gain wasn't dramatic, but it was acceptable.
The dragon itself hadn't been particularly powerful, and as his "level" continued to rise, the "experience" required for further growth was only going to increase.
Lost in thought, Nolan swept his gaze around as if searching for something.
Soon, he noticed a dilapidated shack not far away.
Without hesitation, he walked straight toward it.
Reaching the door, Nolan lifted his right foot and kicked hard. With a loud bang, the rickety door burst open.
Inside the dim interior, he closed his eyes at once, clearly sensing a strange power moving through his body.
This wasn't just a simple "level up."
A flicker of surprise rose in Nolan's mind. He quickly removed one piece of arm armor and saw that his left hand had transformed into something like a claw.
Dragon transformation?
The thought flashed through his mind, but he forcibly suppressed the stir of excitement.
Focusing his will, he guided the change. The grotesque, fearsome claw gradually reverted to the shape of a normal human arm, and only then did he let out a breath.
He had no desire to become a dragon. Ancient Dragons might be acceptable, at least they could take human form.
Flying Dragons and Wyrms were far too ugly. More importantly, in his view, their bodies made many combat techniques cumbersome. Fighting in human form was far more practical.
"In the Lands Between, one can perform a 'Dragon Communion' ritual using a dragon's heart, transforming part of the body into a dragon to wield its power."
Was this some kind of innate Dragon Communion? No, there were still major differences.
The Dragon Communion ritual came with side effects. Use it too much, and the body would undergo irreversible mutation, eventually becoming a Wyrm.
But his current state was different. He had complete control over the transformation, and the form he took wasn't a Wyrm at all, but a Flying Dragon.
Did killing a certain kind of dragon let him turn into that same kind? If he killed an Ancient Dragon, would he become one?
Nolan didn't know the answer. Only practice would tell.
The last time he passed through Leyndell, he'd seen a few dragonfolk.
They weren't interested in the Golden Needle Knight. Instead, it was the sons and daughters of noble houses who kept extending invitations, hoping he would visit their estates.
Ancient Dragons favored powerful heroes. And with different races involved, even the most attractive human form held little real meaning for them.
Flying might be fun once in a while. But for combat, forget it.
Nolan focused on sensing the changes brought by his draconic power and quickly reached a conclusion. Aside from the ability to fly, which counted as a minor advantage, there wasn't much improvement elsewhere.
…
Outside the village.
A mountain wind swept through, setting the leaves beyond the settlement rustling softly.
From afar, the Limgrave army was in complete disarray, sharp shouts of reprimand ringing out without pause.
Atop a small hill littered with corpses, a slender figure stood in silence.
Her entire body was wrapped in a black cloak. Only a few strands of long, silver-like hair escaped, fluttering in the wind. In the darkness, her golden pupils gleamed like bright lanterns in the night.
The graceful curves outlined beneath the cloak made it clear she was a woman.
She stood there quietly, her gaze fixed on the Flying Dragon's corpse before her. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, forming a cold, faint smile.
Reaching out, she touched the still-wet blood. A small smear of crimson clung to her fingertip as she slowly rubbed it between her fingers.
"I never thought I'd stumble upon something this interesting just looking for a bit of fun," she murmured to herself, her voice filled with delight.
An interesting little thing.
She straightened up, casually flicked the blood away, and glanced down at the village below.
"It's somewhat like Dragon Lightning, but not the ordinary kind. There's power of time and space mixed into it. A follower of my god?"
"No… Placidusax couldn't reach this level. No one could be closer to that god than it."
She had no interest in the Flying Dragon's death. What she regretted was not being able to witness more of that radiant moment.
Just as she was about to leave, movement at the foot of the hill caught her eye. A squad of knights was approaching, and she frowned slightly.
"Who are you? Was Lord Agheel slain by you?"
The warhorses skidded to a halt, hooves rearing high as a knight stared warily at the suspicious figure hidden beneath the cloak.
Swish!!
A dark shape lashed out from beneath the cloak. It was a thick, long silver tail, and with a casual sweep, it smashed the men before it into bloody pulp.
The violent gust tore back the hood, revealing a striking face. It was both valiant and seductive, crowned with horn-like adornments resembling those of a dragon. Her eyes burned with an overbearing pride.
The woman looked off into the distance, slowly licked her lips, and her expression began to twist, edging toward madness.
"Child," she whispered, "let me see what you really are."