CHAPTER 76

Seeing a dragon atop the peak, exuding an ominous dark purple aura, was enough to make any warrior below the Warlord level flee in terror. However, the city's commander, a man who had spent years on the battlefield, refused to surrender his city to the forces of the Demon King without a fight.

"Dragon!!!""Three epic dragons?!""Witches! Witches!!!"

The soldiers were gripped with fear—even those who had survived decades of war dared not underestimate the power of the dragons and the witches who seemed to guide them. A wave of panic swept through the city's walls, and soon, nearly all had fled—only about ten thousand warriors remained alongside the Count. Among them were his wife, a fire mage of Warlord rank, renowned as one of the great masters of the Empire's central magic academy, and his son, the Count's heir, who had reached the Warlord level through the finest training and resources available. Alongside these three Warlords stood only the elite knights of the noble house's guard—exceptional warriors among the best, trained to fight with honor even in the face of death.

If one were to rank the Empire's noble house guards, Loth's would stand at the top due to its ruthless selection process and grueling training regimen, often referred to as hellish.

"Aim the ballistae!!! Load the dragon's fangs!!!"

The Count roared from the depths of his lungs. He knew no words could restore the fighting spirit of his terrified soldiers or the civilians who had already soiled themselves in fear. Turning to his wife—a beautiful middle-aged woman draped in a crimson mage's robe, still bearing the wound from the first day of battle—he gave his desperate command.

"Do whatever you can to keep the dragon's breath from reaching the city!!!"

She nodded, her incantations weaving crimson magic circles around her, while the Count's son, a 25-year-old man, mounted his armored horse just behind the city gate. Behind him, the noble house's knights stood ready, awaiting their lord's command.

"Fight! For Loth, for the Empire, and for honor!!!"

Yet, his words could do little to change the tide of battle. Even if the noble house's guard were fearsome warriors, the sheer number of enemies overwhelmed them after most soldiers and civilians had fled. Bandits seized control of large portions of the walls and towers, leaving only two ballistae under friendly control—one near the Count and the other in the city's central keep, where the strongest ballista was stationed.

The Count's eyes were filled with fear. He was losing this war, and the three dragons and their witches hadn't even attacked yet. Watching his handpicked elite warriors being slaughtered—men who had fought by his side since his youth—made his blood boil. His veins throbbed as his body radiated heat, his vision turning crimson.

With a sudden leap, he reached the ballista, adjusting its aim at the largest of the three dragons. Pouring his mana into the weapon, he roared:

"Fire!!!"

A knight beside him slammed a massive hammer onto the trigger mechanism, releasing the mechanical beast's stored energy. The bolt tore through the air with a deafening whistle, speeding toward the dragon's heart. It was powerful enough to pierce the scales of any epic dragon—but the opponent before them was no ordinary beast. This was a species that looked down on all other dragons, a bloodline so superior that even other dragons acknowledged its dominance.

The mighty dragon didn't even bother to dodge. The ballista bolt struck its scales, but instead of impaling its heart, it left only a shallow five-centimeter wound. The massive male dragon, larger than the two females accompanying it, let out an earth-shattering roar—furious at the insult. It prepared to unleash its breath, but before it could, a witch appeared before it, halting its attack.

"The King prefers them alive rather than dead! Remember your mission!!!"

Hegna spoke swiftly, knowing that even with the fire mage's protective barriers, the dragon's breath could incinerate more than half the city. The dragons, still young and lacking the wisdom of their elders, had been entrusted to Hegna by Hazard to avoid unnecessary losses in case an epic-rank warrior emerged among the defenders. But there was no guarantee they would listen to her—dragons only respected power. However, they also had another deep-rooted instinct: reverence for their ancestors.

To these three dragons, Hazard was both father and mother—a being whose commands were absolute. His orders compelled them to obey this witch, even if it went against their instincts. The dragons begrudgingly swallowed their breath attacks, though the two female dragons had already begun charging their flames, enraged that their alpha had been disrespected.

The defenders on the walls and within the city felt a brief moment of relief as the dragons withdrew their deadly breath. However, the Count's expression remained one of disbelief. His strongest ballista bolt—a weapon capable of slaying countless dragons and shattering walls—had barely left a scratch.

He had no hope left. Even the ballista in the keep would make no difference. With a defeated expression, he cast aside his sword and tore off his battle cloak, which bore the emblem of his noble house. His eyes met those of his wife and then his son, who, along with the noble knights, was still fighting among the swarm of bandits beyond the city gates.

"It's over…"

The aging knight beside him, a man as old as the Count himself, had weary eyes after days of siege. Seeing the Count cast away his war cloak—an unmistakable sign of surrender—he blew his horn. The long, solemn note echoed across the battlefield, signaling surrender.

The sounds of battle faded. One by one, the noble house's guards dropped their weapons, exhausted from fighting such an overwhelming enemy. The bandits, equally drained from clashing with elite warriors, erupted into victorious cheers.

But one person did not share in the surrender.

The Count's son, still mounted atop his horse, watched in horror as his father—his undefeated father—yielded to the Demon King's army.

"Father?!"

His eyes refused to believe it. Was this not the same man known as the Unyielding Warrior? The hero whose tales were sung in every tavern? The man who had shattered countless enemy armies and fought giants with his bare hands?

"No! This isn't real!!!"

He turned to his knights.

"Fight! Fight!!!"

Even if it meant death, he refused to bow his head to the enemy. But the noble knights had already lowered their weapons, ignoring his desperate command.

"By Loth, I swear! The day the Lords of Loth return, every traitor's head will decorate the gates!!!"

All eyes turned toward him. The battlefield was silent. His defiance, his unwavering loyalty, and his fearlessness captured everyone's attention—even Hegna, a warrior who had spent years in war, had never seen such devotion.

No one spoke.

And then, from deep within the forest, a voice rang out.

"Such an amusing young man!!! An honorable death is the finest death, and I shall grant it to you!"