The Apex of All Races
Beck looked at the being before him.
A living sun. The crushing presence of a creature at the absolute summit of life slowly pressed down across the entire plain.
Alduin was simply there.
The wide northern sky, the wind, the wooden palisades, the humans gripping their swords—before that colossal black dragon, every one of them lost its place and shrank into insignificance.
Beck had seen countless monsters. He had seen beasts that fed on human flesh and bone, massive creatures that claimed whole mountains as their dens, and he had cut down mercenary kings of many nations. But Alduin was cut from a different cloth entirely.
Calling him a strong enemy was not enough. He was less an opponent than a force of nature. Storms do not gather out of spite. Mountains do not collapse because they hate men. The sun does not rise intending to kill. Simply by existing, Alduin set human lives in a lower place.
Beck did not tighten his grip on his sword. He had to loosen it. If his fingers stiffened even a fraction too soon, he would be late the moment he drew.
He looked at Alduin's feet. A single claw was longer than a knight's longsword. Wherever those black talons touched the earth, the ground did not dig out—it sank. Wet soil could not bear the weight and was shoved outward, and the grass around each claw withered to ash-gray without ever catching fire.
Then he looked at the legs. The forelegs were thick as fortress pillars. The muscle shifting inside them looked less like a beast's flesh than tectonic veins writhing beneath a vast mountain range. With a single flex and release, power greater than dozens of men charging at once flowed through them as if it were nothing.
The scales were the black of charcoal cooled only on the surface, still burning hot within. Between them a faint red glow seeped through, and every time Alduin drew breath those seams brightened for an instant like living embers.
That breath rolled out across the plain. It was hot. He had not yet loosed a breath attack, yet dry heat brushed Beck's cheek. The dawn chill was driven back. Dew at the tips of the grass vanished one drop after another. Tiny beads of water clinging to the palisade dried without a sound. The moment Alduin breathed, this place was no longer an early northern morning. It was the mouth of a great volcano.
Beck looked at Alduin's neck. Long and thick. The vast line connecting the dragon's head to its body looked too solid to even permit the fantasy of a blade cutting through. Scales overlapped in layer upon layer, each one like a shield, wrapping the neck in living armor.
There were gaps between the scales. Any creature that moves must have places that fold. Swords seek those places. Beck instinctively hunted for them—beneath the jaw, the side of the neck, where the foreleg met the chest, the roots of the wings, the eyes, the inside of the mouth, the path of breath itself.
No matter how immense a creature, nothing is absolute. If it moves, openings appear. If it breathes, there is an inside. If it lives, there is something that can be cut. That was the principle of the sword Beck Chereson had believed in all his life.
And yet Alduin looked down upon even that principle as if mocking it.
He was alive. Undeniably alive. There would be a heart. Blood would circulate. He breathed, blinked, moved muscle. And still every proof of life looked not like a weakness but like power.
Beck exhaled, very slowly.
"So this is what it was."
His voice was low—not loud enough for the surrounding kingdom soldiers to catch. But Lakia heard it. She did not look at him; she was gazing up at Alduin.
"What was?"
"Why the reports were so short."
Beck did not take his eyes away.
"It wasn't that the survivors were fools."
He chose his next words carefully.
"Language simply couldn't keep up."
Lakia did not answer. Because he was not wrong.
Krrrrrrngh.
Alduin rumbled low. The sound seemed to rise from under the earth. The air trembled. The inside of Beck's own breastbone vibrated with it. Feeling that tremor, he understood: Alduin was not threatening them yet. He was not angry. He had not even begun to fight. The great dragon had simply been told by Lakia to hold his breath, and was growling in displeasure. That petty dissatisfaction was shaking the plain.
Beck almost wanted to laugh. How small human war was. An emperor gave orders, generals spread maps, legions marched, soldiers died, walls fell, and banners changed. To humans, all of that was history. To Alduin, it weighed less than a single breath. Decades of the Empire's victories and defeats, its supply lines and training, its ranks and commands—before one of that dragon's rumbles, they fluttered like old paper.
Beck did not take the fact as an insult. Reality does not insult. Reality simply is. Alduin was merely the most terrible shape that reality could take.
"Alduin."
Lakia spoke again, her voice a little lower.
"Behave."
Alduin's golden eyes turned to her. The gaze that had been surveying the entire plain fixed on a small woman in a black robe. In that moment Beck saw something strange. The gaze of a sunlike living being lowered. A mountain-range of a neck dipped slightly. The forefoot that had been crushing earth stopped. The fire boiling deep in those golden eyes settled by the smallest degree.
Krr.
Alduin gave a short sound. To the kingdom soldiers it still rang like thunder. But Lakia heard it and narrowed her eyes.
"You just answered half-heartedly."
Krrrngh.
"Don't."
Krr.
"That was half-hearted too."
Krrrr.
Beck could not understand the exchange. He could grasp the meaning, though. The dragon was making excuses. The black calamity that had burned an entire imperial legion was, right now, sulking in front of Lakia like a child. The sight was more unreal than Alduin's crushing presence.
Beck looked at Lakia again. Standing in the dawn light, she was still small. Her black robe stirred in the wind, a few strands of silver hair brushed her cheek, and her red eyes shone a little sternly toward Alduin. She was beautiful. That beauty stood beside Alduin's immensity and was not erased.
Only then did Beck understand. If Alduin was the sun, Lakia was the hand that held it. A small, pale hand that looked ready to burn away at any moment. And because that hand had not let go, no one had burned yet.
"Is this one the strongest dragon?"
Beck asked. Lakia did not answer at once. She looked up at Alduin. Alduin was looking at Beck. In those golden eyes, interest came before hostility—the pleasure of a great predator finding prey that looked reasonably solid, the excitement of a child about to begin a game long awaited. The two were strangely mixed.
Seeing those eyes, Lakia sighed softly.
"Probably… yes."
"Probably?"
"The measure of strength is a little fuzzy."
She spoke with a troubled look.
"Alduin was the first one born, he's burned the most things, he listens the least, and he's the most convinced he's the strongest."
Krrrngh.
Alduin rumbled low, a sound laced with grievance. Lakia lifted her head.
"Unconditionally the strongest, you say?"
Krr.
"Then listen properly."
Krrrr.
"You were about to use your breath just now."
Alduin did not answer. Instead he turned his head, very slowly, to look at Beck. The golden pupils narrowed. Fire moved inside that gaze. Beck took the stare head-on. It was hot. Saying a look is hot is usually a figure of speech. Alduin's gaze actually carried heat. The instant those eyes touched him, Beck felt the skin of his face dry. His lips tightened a little. An old scar on the back of his hand drew taut in a strange way. But he did not yield. Not a step. Not his head. Not his eyes. He even lifted his chin, just slightly.
When the human before him did not flinch, Alduin's mouth slowly opened. Red light spilled from within. The kingdom soldiers fell back as one. Lakia spoke at once.
"Alduin."
The light inside the mouth stopped.
Krrrrrngh.
"Close it."
Alduin shut his jaws with deliberate slowness. The sound of those teeth meeting alone rang like an iron gate slamming shut. Beck looked at the teeth. Each one was longer than a spear. If he were to cut with a sword, where would he cut? The gums. The tongue. The deep interior of the mouth. If there was an organ that gathered breath, deep in the throat. The moment the thought rose, Beck confirmed again how reckless his own judgment was. If he could get inside that mouth, he could cut. If he could stay alive after getting in, he could cut. If he could move faster than the breath, he could cut. Too many ifs. Too many ifs meant, on a battlefield, almost impossible.
Even so, Beck did not discard those ifs. Near-impossible and impossible are not the same. A swordsman lives in that narrow gap. The name Imperial First Sword had stuck because he had always cut that gap open in practice.
He set his right hand on the hilt. Lakia did not raise a hand. Masor's presence stirred again near the shadows, then stilled at a single look from her. Alduin's eyes brightened. They were eyes that were enjoying this.
Looking into that light, Beck was certain. This dragon loved a fight. He would love killing. He would love burning. Facing something strong made him love it more. There was no need to be angry about that. Beasts do not feel shame for their claws. Dragons do not feel shame for their fire. The question was who could restrain it, where, and how far.
Beck looked at Lakia.
"Is there a reason you forbade the breath?"
"You asked for it."
She said it quietly.
"You asked me to call the strongest dragon."
"I did."
"If he uses breath, it isn't a duel. It's a cremation."
Beck was silent a moment. Then he laughed, low. Another short laugh.
"How kind."
"It isn't kindness. It's management."
Lakia spoke with a tired face.
"If I leave this one alone, he burns everything."
Krrrngh.
"Don't act wronged."
Krr.
"You did it last time too."
Alduin turned his head away, as if pretending not to hear. When that vast skull swung aside, the motion alone shoved a wind across the plain. Kingdom soldiers' hair and cloaks swept to one side. The hem of Beck's coat stirred. In that wind he felt the hand closed on his sword hilt. Solid. Not shaking. Still all right.
There was fear. Of course there was. To look at what stood before him and feel no fear would not be courage; it would be broken machinery. Beck was not a broken man. He was a living one. Because he was alive, he knew death. Because he knew death, he gripped a sword properly.
He gathered the feel of the Lightless Sword into his palm. The hilt was cold. Even in Alduin's heat, that blade stayed cold. A sword that returned no light. A sword that reflected neither kings nor emperors, neither victory nor defeat. A sword that held meaning only in Beck's hand.
He drew a slow breath. Then he spoke toward Alduin.
"Beck Chereson."
Alduin's eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Commander-in-Chief of the Empire."
He paused a beat.
"Imperial First Sword."
Lakia looked at him. As if understanding every word, Alduin rumbled low in his throat.
Krrrrrrngh.
There was anticipation in that sound more than mockery. Facing that rumble, Beck drew his sword with deliberate slowness.
Shhhrring.
The Lightless Sword slid free of its sheath. Dawn light touched the blade—and did not come back. Neither Alduin's gold, nor Lakia's red, nor the blue of the sky reflected on that steel. The sword quietly swallowed every light.
Beck stood with the blade lowered. His stance was neither too low nor too high. No tension locked his shoulders; his feet rooted firm in the earth; his eyes moved between Alduin's neck, eyes, and forelegs.
Alduin slowly lowered his body. That alone shook the plain. A vast forefoot scraped the soil. Stone shattered under a claw tip. Golden eyes drew closer toward Beck. The black dragon's breath poured down over him. Hot wind stirred his hair. Beck did not close his eyes. He looked into those eyes.
A living, breathing sun. The apex of colossal life. A black flame descended from the sky. And the highest place his sword, raised all his life, must finally reach.
Before it, Beck said, very softly:
"I will give this everything I have."
He did not look away. Alduin rumbled as if laughing low.
Krrrrrrngh.
The plain trembled again. Beck raised his sword. As if answering, Alduin spread his wings a little. Dawn light was cut away beneath those black wings. Within that shadow, only his blade returned no light at all, and quietly pointed at Alduin.
And in the next instant—
Whoooom!
—the living sun moved its body toward a single human.