Chapter 185: The Fall
Born in glory! Perish with honor! My heart, like my sword, will never yield!
The journey of Osbaya had come to an end. A magnificent ten-meter-long dragon lance stood slanted in the ground, its tattered tassels fluttering lightly in the wind. A faint divine glow lingered upon its surface.
"Aaargh!" The furious silver dragon reared up, sending the Ten Thousand Dragons Chant flying with a single swipe of its claws.
What use was a dragon lance when its knight had already fallen?
As the pain and emptiness echoed deep within his soul, the dragon suddenly realized—the Dragon Rider bond that had once tethered them together had vanished…
"Aaargh—Aaargh!" Silver Dragon Aster let out a grief-stricken roar toward the heavens.
How could the allied human forces ever comprehend what had happened in this desolate northern land?
A Dragon Knight Marshal, born of the North, had given his life to stop five Balrogs from breaking through to the allied forces…
"From this day forward, I am but a lone dragon… No more bonds of a knight… No more battles to fight…" Large, crystalline tears rolled down Aster's scales.
These were the words of a heartbroken dragon, a steed whose soul had been shattered.
He had witnessed the birth of gods, had felt the overwhelming might of divine wars—only to now stand here, powerless, as that so-called 'god' fell before him, unable to be saved…
A low, rumbling battle cry rumbled through the thick smoke.
"Boom!" The silver dragon, claws digging into the earth, abruptly ceased his mourning. His raised dragon head radiated a murderous aura that made the very air tremble.
"Huff!" A stream of dragon breath, imbued with space elements, erupted from his maw, its dense power pushing back the lingering dust clouds.
"Aargh!" As the silver dragon's breath vanished into the smoke, Aster listened carefully—until finally, a harrowing, agonized scream rang out.
"Aaargh!" Like a triumphant child, the silver dragon threw his head back and roared wildly. He had transformed into a rampaging, land-crawling beast, driven by a murderous thirst for the shadowed figure within the dust.
"Roar!" A massive, fire-wreathed figure burst through the haze like an erupting volcano. With a brutal headbutt, it slammed straight into the silver dragon's chest.
"Bang!" Raising his massive claws, the silver dragon slashed forward with the innate spatial blades embedded in them—teaching the Balrog what it truly meant to be overwhelmed by superior force!
"Shing!" The flaming battle axe buried deep into his chest, sending scalding dragon blood splashing wildly. The noble silver-red blood pooled beneath him, only to be instantly evaporated by the Balrog's searing heat.
The two colossal beasts tore into each other, locked in a vicious death match. One was a silver dragon, its flight hindered by the rage of its reversed scale.
The other, a Balrog, fighting like a cornered beast.
Both were cataclysmic creatures, and now they rolled, slashed, and clawed at each other in primal combat upon the raw earth by the Long Lake.
A claw for a blow, a bite for a strike—every part of their bodies became weapons in this relentless brawl. Like two savage beasts from the dawn of time, they fought purely on brute strength and raw instincts.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the silver dragon finally tore out the throat of his enemy, letting it fall lifeless from his maw.
But in doing so, he vomited a great mouthful of dragon blood. Only then did the gathered warriors realize—there was not a single uninjured patch of flesh left on the silver dragon's body!
A creature ill-suited for melee combat had, through sheer unyielding brutality, torn apart the last surviving Balrog.
He had avenged his knight! He had avenged himself! He had defended the undefeated honor of the Dragon Knights!
"Crack—" A faint sound echoed through the void—the shattering of the spatial imprisonment. The death of the final Balrog signified the ultimate victory of Osbaya and his silver dragon.
"The space… is mine once more…" The silver dragon staggered forward, his wounded body gushing dragon blood like a fountain. He gathered the last vestiges of his familiar space magic.
The dragon blood flowing over the earth slowly reversed course, droplets of it rising and spiraling back into his body.
He was nearing the end of his life.
The injuries from his melee with the Balrog were too severe. His only thought now was to reclaim his lost blood and the Balrog's heart—to prevent their terrifying power from being plundered by future scavengers.
"All things return to dust… My knight… I will follow in your footsteps to serve the Dragon God…" Aster murmured, curling up as silver light flickered around him—the precursor to a space jump.
With the vanishing silver glow, the dragon teleported himself deep beneath the earth, a hundred meters below.
And with him, Osbaya's artifact—the Ten Thousand Dragons Chant—disappeared as well…
—
"Damn it! Damn those Balrogs! Damn Sauron!" The Star Dragon's eyes burned like twin constellations. This was the wrath of a dragon!
"Balrogs? Good! Very good! I hear there's another one lurking in Moria? I'll be paying it a visit soon!" Wind Dragon Kaldor bared his razor-sharp fangs. Unlike spellcasting silver dragons, wind dragons relied on raw melee strength and devastating wind-element dragon magic. Their close-combat prowess could match even black dragons and flame dragons! A mere Balrog?
"I curse them in the name of the Dragonkin! I curse this wretched race! Dragon God above, hear my voice, witness my grief, end my suffering!"
Though the Elf Dragon's body was small, at that moment, she stood as if a mountain.
If the other dragons were merely making bold claims, the blue elf dragon was utterly serious. To invoke a dragon's curse was no trivial matter—such curses carried the force of universal laws.
If the Balrog race lacked a mighty protector or an extraordinary destiny, even this single curse from the blue elf dragon would spell their doom.
However, the drawback was that a dragon's curse could only target one being at a time, and a new curse could not be cast until the previous one was resolved.
The immense life force required to cast such a curse made it a privilege that only the long-lived elf dragons could afford.
"Brutal…" The gathered humans and elves shuddered. What kind of madness was this? A dragon's curse? That was as good as signing your own death warrant!
"Apologies… But this dragon corpse… you cannot touch it!" As one, the three dragons moved to shield the silver dragon's remains.
No dragon would ever allow the desecration of a fallen kin.
Even Rynar, who possessed Smaug's remains, dared not display them carelessly—out of respect for Wind Dragon Kaldor, for even Smaug, a mutated giant fire drake, was still of true dragon blood. Were Rynar to desecrate Smaug's bones, Kaldor would undoubtedly turn against him.
"Fine…" Rynar sighed in regret.
How valuable was a silver dragon's corpse? Only the heavens knew.
Few silver dragon remains had ever been left to the outside world. Still, after witnessing the final battle through the dragon's soul, he could only sigh once more.
Born in glory. Perished with honor. Such a noble Dragon Knight Marshal…
"This should serve as compensation! King Rynar! I believe this is a fair trade for leaving the corpse untouched." The Star Dragon stepped forward, bearing gifts.
"The Ten Thousand Dragons Chant! The Balrog's Heart!" Rynar's pupils constricted. Truly, the generosity of dragons was boundless—offering up a divine weapon simply for a promise.
"And what do you plan to do now…" Rynar swallowed hard.
After all, the dragon had perished on his lands. Leaving it here was not an option. Mishandling the situation could anger the dragons—and potentially spawn lesser dragons from its remains.
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