“Graaah!”
In the mountain range framing the slums where the orphanage was located, three small dragons were cleaved in two by a single strike.
“You’re in the way,” said a young female swordmaiden, her silver hair fluttering in the wind as she returned her sword to its sheath.
Aska, the Sword Saint, also known as the Silver Wolf, was a Black Class adventurer—the highest possible rank one could achieve.
Next to her was a girl with hair green as a grassland.
“This is all your fault, master!” said Roa, Aska’s apprentice. “You said we should take a shortcut, and all that did was get us lost!”
“This is strange. The area looks different from what I remember.”
“Of course it does! Seasons change, and nature changes with them!” Roa exclaimed before letting out an exasperated sigh.
Aska lifted her head toward the sky. “I just wanted to pay Zenos a visit. What’s all this?”
The sky was swarming with small dragons. Aska had been cutting down the ones that tried to get in her way, but no matter how many she killed, more kept appearing. Worse, far in the distance, there was a gigantic dragon looming over the royal palace.
Roa brought her hands to her shoulders and shivered. “Just standing here makes my knees weak,” she said. “Master, what is that?”
“I don’t know,” Aska admitted. “But it’s much stronger than the S Rank beast we defeated in Zagras.”
“Stronger than the dark griffin? Can you beat it?”
“I have a feeling this isn’t its final form. When it’s at full strength...I don’t think I can.”
“What?!”
The next moment, a dragon burst out of the underbrush behind them, roaring and lunging at the pair. Aska reached for her sword, but stopped as a sharp sound cut through the air. The creature’s body ignited and split in two, the flaming halves dropping to the ground.
From behind it emerged a woman with crimson hair, wielding a large and intricately engraved sword. At her side was another woman, this one with blue hair tied back in a ponytail.
“This is all your fault, Captain Melissa!” the ponytailed woman protested. “You’re the one who said we should go through the mountains, and now we’re lost and there are weird monsters everywhere!”
“What did you expect, Grace? We had to change course partway through. Of course we ended up on a strange path. You could’ve simply stayed behind, you know.”
“Well, I want to see him too!”
“Look, forget that. What in the world is with these monsters? What’s the Capital Defense Corps doing?”
Melissa Tarque, hero of the northern front, and Grace, military healer. Aska Follix, the Sword Saint, and her apprentice Roa. The four women, all of whom had crossed paths with Zenos, ran into each other deep in the mountains.
Aska narrowed her eyes slightly at Melissa. “You’re strong. Who are you?”
“Just a soldier,” Melissa replied. “You’re the one who’s incredibly powerful. Just your aura makes it obvious.”
“Well, that’s because my master is the Sword Saint,” Roa said, rubbing her nose smugly.
“Oh? So you’re the Silver Wolf I’ve heard so much about,” Melissa said, surprised. “What’s the kingdom’s greatest swordfighter doing in a place like this?”
“I came to see someone I owe much to, but I got lost.”
“What a coincidence. We also got lost on our way to see someone we owe much to.”
“Great! So we’re all lost,” Grace grumbled, shrugging. “Some help that is. Now what?”
Aska and Melissa exchanged glances.
“I think I know where we need to go now,” Aska said.
“Me too,” Melissa agreed.
“Huh? Where, master?” Roa asked.
“I want to know too, Captain!” Grace exclaimed.
Aska the Sword Saint and Melissa, hero of the north, both turned their gazes toward the eastern side of the palace—to the spire the massive dragon had attacked, where black smoke and flames swirled into the sky.
“The man I’m looking for is always, somehow, right in the middle of whatever insanity is happening,” Aska said.
“What a coincidence. The man I’m looking for is just like that too,” Melissa noted.
The two exchanged soft chuckles, then took off running through the mountains with Roa and Grace in tow, cutting down dragons as they went.
“To the spire!”
✦ ✦ ✦
The royal palace. The nobles’ special district. The city district. The slums. Fierce battles raged everywhere—and at the epicenter of it all was the Saintess’s Spire.
“St-Stay away,” Artemisia stammered as she shifted backward, staring at the monstrous figure looming before her.
The beast’s massive form towered over the young woman, its layers of jet-black scales seeming to blend into the darkness itself.
Everything above the altar room where Artemisia stood had been blown away by the dragon’s attack, so the altar was now the tower’s summit. Thankfully, no maids had been in the upper floors since it was prayer time; Artemisia could only hope that they had all escaped.
She shrunk back a bit more. With all the walls gone, she was completely exposed, and it felt as though the wind could just sweep her away.
Tucking her light-pink hair behind her ears, Artemisia looked around her. All across the capital, the smaller dragons were causing complete chaos: People ran in terror and flames rose from all directions, as though the city had been plunged into hell itself.
“Wh-What are you?! Why were you under the Sacred Garden?!” she demanded, trying to keep her wits about her.
The creature turned its bloodred eyes toward her. “I am Galhamut, the king of the fell dragons. I thank you, saintess—for keeping this land peaceful for my sake, and for healing my wounds.”
With a look of delight, the dragon king spoke of how everything, from the kingdom’s very founding, had been orchestrated to bring about his resurrection. His booming voice made the air itself tremble, echoing throughout the entire kingdom.
“No...” Artemisia mumbled hoarsely, eyes wide.
Her body felt heavy. Her legs wouldn’t move. It wasn’t just the effect of the wind or the oppressive presence of the beast—it was pure despair.
“Then, our kingdom...me and the other saintesses...it was all to resurrect you...?”
The fell dragon king’s eyes curled into crescent-moon shapes as he let out an earsplitting, dissonant cackle that rang out across the burning capital.
“I bestowed upon you that power, and I’ll be taking it back.”
Galhamut’s jaws snapped wide open, and a terrible stench of decay wafted from between his grotesquely crooked fangs.
The most severe rot. Her overwhelming sense of impending doom. All of her premonitions, Artemisia realized, had led to this singular moment. From the day she’d first awakened to her powers as the saintess, she had prayed and prayed for the kingdom’s peace from the prison that was this spire. Now, knowing that very act had led to this devastation, she felt as though her body were made of lead. Her life had been spent endlessly going through the motions, only to conclude with being devoured by a monstrous dragon.
What pained her most was the fact she didn’t even have fond memories worth looking back on.
“No, that’s not true,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. Some memories she could recall vividly.
Namely, the time she’d spent in the outskirts of the capital in a forgotten part of the ruined city, where she’d whiled her days away cooking, working hard, and sharing laughs around the dinner table.
Warm memories, glittering in her dark existence.
“That was fun...” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks.
The next moment, the dragon’s fangs bore down upon Artemisia, and she squeezed her eyes shut and braced for hell. But there were no sounds of bones breaking. No pain from flesh being torn apart.
After a brief moment of silence, she realized she was in someone’s arms and slowly opened her eyes. Holding her was a man with black hair and a serene gaze—the very one she’d just been thinking of.
“Glad I made it in time, Arty,” he said.