Overwhelm
Overwhelm.
Among all of Lakia's dragons, Alduin possessed the most classic form of a Western dragon.
A colossal body. Black scales. Golden eyes. Wings that could blot out the sky, claws capable of tearing down fortress walls, and jaws vast enough to swallow dozens of knights in a single bite.
It was the shape people would first picture when they spoke of dragons—the form that lived in ancient murals and legends.
He could not vanish into transparency the way Masor could. He could not summon a storm with a single beat of his wings the way Gargantua could. Cutting through space, twisting the earth, overturning a battlefield with some strange, arcane power—none of that belonged to Alduin.
If one had to say it plainly, Alduin was a dragon without special abilities.
And yet the way he had become the Dragon King was, in a sense, almost too simple.
Overwhelming force. A body even Masor could not cut. Strength that did not yield even to Gargantua. And an inscrutable firepower that poured forth pure flame like an endless catastrophe.
Alduin was not complicatedly strong. He was simply larger, harder, faster, and hotter. He bit harder, stepped heavier, and burned longer.
Among dragons, power itself becomes language—the oldest tongue, understood by all without anyone having to teach it. Alduin was the dragon who spoke that language the loudest.
Before a presence like that, the title of Sword Saint seemed almost laughably small.
The Empire's Best Sword. Master of the Lightless Sword. The sharpest blade the Empire could ever forge from human flesh.
Within the wars of men, Bec Chereson was something close to a disaster. Where his sword passed, shield walls opened, gates split, and even the seams of magical barriers tore apart.
But to Alduin, a Sword Saint was less than a portable nail clipper.
A nail clipper, at least, cuts nails. It does its job. Bec's blade could not even properly trim the tip of Alduin's claw. Driven into the gap between scales, it sank only a knuckle deep. When it tore flesh, it left only a shallow scratch. When it drew blood, it drew a single drop.
That single drop burned the earth and looked like a miracle to the soldiers. To Alduin, it was closer to a thorn stuck in the pad of his foot.
Bec raised the Lightless Sword. The blade returned none of the dawn light. Neither Alduin's golden eyes nor Lakia's crimson ones remained upon it. The Lightless Sword swallowed every ray and pointed toward the underside of the black dragon's throat.
Bec's first step was quiet. On the second, the ground split. On the third, the sword moved.
Kwagagagagak!
A black slash cut across the plain. It was not a glowing blade aura. No dazzling mana stretched forth. The Lightless Sword's cut was a line that quietly erased whatever it touched.
Waist-high grass fell in a single sweep. Broken spear shafts planted before the palisade split soundlessly in half. The slash continued straight toward Alduin's face.
Had it been aimed at a human battle line, the shield wall would have opened. Cavalry would have been bisected along with their horses. Even a city gate would have taken a deep wound.
Bec Chereson was strong. Everyone present knew that much. And Alduin knew it too.
The instant the black slash rose beneath his eyes, the dragon's golden pupils narrowed a fraction. The black dragon tilted his head. The cut skimmed past his cheek and cleaved the hill behind him.
Kwaaaaaak!
The hillside collapsed. Rock shattered; dust boiled up into the dawn sky. Silence held the field.
Alduin had dodged.
A monster that could erase an entire legion without even breathing fire had dodged a human's sword. That alone was proof enough of Bec's strength.
Yet Alduin did not grow angry.
Krrrrrrrng.
A low rumble spread. Pleasure thickened inside the sound—like a child who had found a fine new toy, or a predator discovering a stone with a sharper edge than expected.
Alduin did not see Bec as something to kill. He saw something worth playing with a little longer.
Bec immediately launched a second cut. A rising slash from below aimed at the place where the scales overlapped on Alduin's lower chest. Even a creature of that size had folds. Beneath the throat. Inside the foreleg. At the root of the wing. Bec had seen them.
Kwaaaaaang!
A black line surged upward. Alduin lifted one forefoot—truly just a little. With that trivial motion the wall-sized paw simply left the path of the cut. The slash passed beneath the claws and carved a long trench through the earth behind him.
The knights stared blankly at the mark. A single stroke of a sword had opened a ravine across the plain. And Alduin had avoided it by lifting one foot.
"Alduin."
Lakia called, low.
"Don't play with him."
Krrrng.
Alduin answered. But his eyes had already returned to Bec. Those eyes said: Just a little. Just a little more.
Bec moved a third time. This was not a slash. He closed the distance himself. Give Alduin range and every part of him became a weapon—forefeet falling from the sky, a tail sweeping the plain, wings birthing storms, a head driving forward like a battering ram. The only place one might live was close.
He shoved himself between the dragon's claws. The first claw passed over his head. The second scraped the pauldron of his shoulder.
Kagagak!
The metal plate embossed with the Imperial crest tore free. When the third claw drove toward his side, Bec raised the Lightless Sword.
Kaaaang!
Blade and claw met. No sparks flew. Only sound—a metal shriek that scraped the inside of the ear and tore the dawn air long and thin.
Bec's boots sank into the soil. His arms were driven back; his shoulders shook. Still he held. Ankle, knee, waist, back, shoulder, and wrist locked in the same direction for a single instant—the most precise resistance a human body could produce. That resistance was beautiful. Several knights swallowed without realizing it.
This was the swordsmanship of mankind. This was the blade the Empire had set at the very front.
Alduin felt that precision. His golden eyes brightened a fraction. Then he applied a little more force. Just a little. Truly just a little.
Bec's knees dropped. The heels of his boots tore furrows through the dirt as he was pushed back; two deep grooves opened behind the place where he stood. He twisted the blade. The Lightless Sword slid diagonally along the black claw.
Kagagagagak!
In that instant Bec drove himself inward—to the fold of scale, the boundary of foreleg and body, the joint that had to move to bear the weight. The Lightless Sword stabbed in.
Thuk.
The tip entered. One knuckle. Perhaps two. Then it stopped. Bec clenched his teeth and twisted. In a human or a magical beast the tendons would have parted. Even a great beast's joint would have shuddered.
Alduin lowered his head. Golden eyes looked down at Bec. There was pain—a little. And that made it worse. The pain did not stop Alduin. It only deepened his interest.
Ah. So you can go this far.
That was the look in those eyes.
When Alduin lifted his forefoot the Lightless Sword was wrenched free. A little dark-red blood clung to the tip. One drop fell onto the soil.
Sizzle.
The damp earth burned. A thin wisp of smoke rose. Dragon's blood. A human sword had drawn a dragon's blood—a thing worthy of being called a miracle.
Yet Alduin merely shook the injured foot lightly.
Thud.
The wound was already gone from sight. Alduin waited—until Bec reset his stance, until Bec caught his breath, until Bec thought of the next move. That waiting was not courtesy. It was the pause between games.
Bec raised his sword again. This time he did not lower the tip. He lifted it above his shoulder—the stroke that had once split a gate on the Empire's southern front, the slash said to have cut straight through the mercenary king's cavalry charge. A blow Bec Chereson rarely used against men, because it was too large and could sweep up his own allies.
The Lightless Sword fell from high to low.
Kwaaaaaaaa!
The slash tore the plain open. The earth between Alduin and Bec yawned like a black mouth. The line raced straight toward the fold beneath the dragon's throat.
For the first time Alduin moved in earnest. The black dragon's neck snapped back. One wing slammed into the ground. The massive body twisted sideways. The cut skimmed past the front of his throat and carved the hill behind him. Rock collapsed; dust shot into the sky.
Alduin had dodged. It had been a blow close to Bec's full power—and Alduin only grew happier.
Krrrrrrrng.
The rumble deepened. The eyes of a child who had been rolling a toy and had just discovered a sharper piece hidden inside it.
Alduin did not grow angry. He liked it more.
In the next breath Alduin moved. A forefoot pressed down on the sword.
Kaaaang!
Bec's arms shuddered. He held. Alduin put no real weight into it—pressed lightly, then took the force away at once. With the resistance gone, Bec's body pitched forward. In that instant the dragon's jaw shoved in from the side. He did not bite. He simply nudged with the tip of his snout.
Thud!
Bec's body was driven back. When he planted his feet and held, Alduin pushed again.
Thud!
Harder this time. Bec tried to thrust the Lightless Sword up into the bridge of the snout. Alduin lifted his head a fraction. The tip scraped across scale.
Kagak.
A shallow sound. Alduin's eyes smiled. The enormous head twisted and shoved Bec's body aside. Bec flew. Before he could travel far, a forefoot blocked the path. His body struck the paw and rebounded again—like a ball.
The blood drained from the soldiers' faces. A man was being bounced about at the foot of a colossal beast. And yet every time he was thrown he landed. Every time he rolled he kept hold of his sword. Every time he was driven back he drew another line.
Alduin was not toying with him because Bec was weak. Bec was strong—and that was why Alduin could play with him longer.
"Alduin."
Lakia's voice dropped lower.
"Stop."
Krrrng.
"The playing. Stop it."
Alduin looked at Bec. Then he gave a short sound.
Krrr.
It sounded like agreement. Like a promise not to kill. Like an end to the game. Yet inside the golden eyes a heat still had not cooled.
Bec saw those eyes and understood. This would end—without killing him. In Alduin's way.
The moment he gripped the Lightless Sword more tightly, Alduin moved first. This time it was not a large, heavy attack. It was short, sharp, and precise. Two black claws drove toward Bec's arms.
Bec raised the Lightless Sword and caught the first claw.
Kaaaang!
His entire arm went numb. Still he blocked. In that same instant the second claw came from the opposite side. Bec twisted his body and turned the sword—a motion practiced a lifetime. But a little of the first shock still remained. His right arm needed a heartbeat to recover its strength. His left was already numb.
That single heartbeat. In a fight between humans it might have been a gap one could close. Before a dragon it was the end.
Seogeok.
The sound was too clean. Bec's left arm fell—from below the shoulder. Armor, flesh, and bone parted in one stroke. Blood drew a red line across the dawn air.
Lakia's eyes flew wide.
Bec did not scream. His body knew the empty space first. The left side was gone. Balance collapsed. But the Lightless Sword was still in his right hand.
Alduin did not wait. A swordsman with one arm remaining is still a swordsman. As long as a hand remains to grip the blade, he is still Bec Chereson. Therefore the remaining arm had to go as well.
Bec moved his right arm. To the last he tried to block with the sword. The Lightless Sword rose. The line of the blade still lived. That fact may have pleased Alduin even more.
Krrr.
A low sound spilled out. And the claw arrived before the sword.
Seogeok.
The right arm fell. The Lightless Sword flew with it. The blade that returned no light spun once through the dawn air. Nothing reflected on that edge—not Alduin's golden eyes, not Lakia's crimson ones, not Bec's blood. The Lightless Sword swallowed every ray and buried itself far off in the mud.
Thuk.
Only after that sound did Bec's body sway. With both arms gone, his center failed. One knee buckled. Yet he did not fall at once. Both arms lost. Sword lost. Blood pouring. Still he stood upon the northern plain without bowing his head.
No arms. No sword. And still he did not fall.
Alduin watched it with a kind of wonder—like a child looking at a toy that remains standing after the play is finished.
Bec turned his wavering gaze toward Lakia. A black robe. Silver hair. Unsteady crimson eyes. Behind her stood the dragon of black scales and golden eyes—a living sun.
Bec smiled, very slowly. It was less a smile than a faint movement at the corner of his mouth.
"Precise."
His voice was low and cracked.
Lakia looked at him.
"Don't speak."
"You have made it..."
Bec tried to steady his breath. The breath would not steady.
"...so that I can no longer hold a sword."
Lakia's face hardened. Bec looked toward Alduin.
"Without killing me."
Alduin gave a low sound.
Krr.
Satisfaction mixed into the rumble.
"The Imperial army will withdraw."
Bec looked at Lakia.
"Therefore—with that sword at your waist... that invisible sword—"
Strike my neck.
