The Curse Returned
By the time Arthur caught up in a rush, Arendt was already squared off against a man.
At the sight of the stark white mask, a name surfaced in his mind—Blake, the man whom Laios had never managed to catch.
"Arendt von Eckhart."
A mournful voice, thick with unconcealed murderous intent, reverberated through the underground.
"You die here today."
"Ah, do I?"
It was a declaration chilling enough to freeze the marrow, but Arendt only let out a scoffing laugh.
"You of all people should know best what happened to the last one who said that to me."
Behind Blake, a staircase swallowed in darkness stretched downward. The power source driving the dragon was probably waiting at the bottom of it.
There was no need for a long exchange of words.
The moment Arendt gripped his sword and activated the artifact, Blake moved as well.
BOOM!
The two blades charged at each other and collided with savage force.
Frost and compressed air slammed together, shaking the very space around them. Arendt's sword, sheathed in gleaming white ice, pushed back against Blake's mana, and the two men began to duel on even footing.
"Is this all you had? Or have you already spent your strength making that great reptile corpse move?"
"…."
A coarse breath hissed out from behind the mask.
Blake poured the artifact's mana into his blade with renewed force, and where sword met sword, the air itself detonated.
Slipping his body free at the perfect instant, Arendt spun on his heel and drove his sword straight down toward Blake's back. But Blake was no easy prey either.
Gripping his hilt one-handed, Blake whirled around and batted Arendt's blade aside.
Arendt, unable to fully absorb the impact, staggered back—and Blake, refusing to let the opening slip, reset his stance and slashed straight at him.
But.
CLANG!
The blade was stopped somewhere entirely unexpected.
Arthur had entered the fray, unnoticed until that moment.
Face to face with the young knight's impassive expression, Blake could not keep his features from twisting.
"Stay out of this!"
WHAM!
A violent blast swept the surroundings.
Stones rained down from the ceiling, and the ground shuddered. Even the thunder of the rampaging dragon pounding its feet directly above came through undiminished.
Arthur bounded backward to put distance between them and landed at Arendt's side.
"Next time you're planning to bolt, do me a favor and say something first."
"I do as I please. Why'd you even follow me? You could be upstairs smashing the lizard instead."
"Only came because the Commander ordered it. Far as I care, you can drop dead down here alone."
Arendt shot a glance at his grumbling senior, the corner of his mouth curling.
"Fair enough, I suppose the Commander and Senior Richt are better suited to dragon hunting anyway."
"Damn right they are."
Arthur flashed a grin as well.
The two of them lunged at Blake simultaneously.
He was a formidable opponent even when they'd taken him on alongside the werewolf—there was no way he would fall easily. Even with the odds at two to one, after several exchanges of blows it was Arendt and Arthur who wore the new wounds.
But Blake was far from unscathed himself. As the exchange of blades stretched on, cuts began to multiply across his body one by one.
Worse, the biting cold burrowing in from the scars left by the Frost-Tinged Touch was slowly deadening his limbs. Every sword that darted suddenly toward his throat still carried that frigid aura no one dared approach.
The young apprentice knight's golden eyes were every bit as icy. Even in the split-second exchanges where each sought the other's life, there wasn't the slightest tremor in the boy.
'So this is the body worthy of the Frost-Tinged Touch's master.'
It was impossible to believe this composure belonged to such a young whelp.
Beneath the mask, Blake's teeth ground together.
"You will never be forgiven, even in death. Rot and rot again until not a fistful of bloody pulp remains of you!"
With the curse laden with hatred, the flow of air suddenly shifted. A powerful surge swept the surroundings and crashed down upon the two knights.
Blake kicked off the ground and charged straight at Arendt.
"…!"
For an instant, it was as if his ears had gone deaf—nothing could be heard.
Then, a moment later, the two blades collided in midair, and an enormous explosion erupted.
KWAAAAANG!
Arendt took the full force of the released air pressure head-on, was hurled backward, and slammed into the rubble of the ruins.
Cutting through the thick dust that bloomed upward, Blake charged at him where he lay unable to rise.
But Arthur barred his path.
"Damn it!"
There was nothing to say but curses.
Blake, seen up close, was in a pitiful state.
Through his torn clothes, a massive fresh wound was spilling out blood. The mask that had hidden his face had cracked once again, rendering it nearly useless.
His hair hung in wild disarray, and the hand and arm that had absorbed the recent explosion were crushed almost beyond recognition.
A pallid face and eyes burning with seething hatred turned toward Arthur.
"You die here too."
* * *
Fighting had broken out below as well—ominous detonations rumbled up at intervals.
But Laios focused only on the monster before him.
Both of them were already a wreck.
Black blood, as if from infection, streamed from the leg the creature had gnawed and torn. Richt was forcing the bones of his broken arm back into alignment to keep fighting.
The dragon, by contrast, unable even to feel pain, showed no loss of ferocity despite being more mangled than when they'd started.
"Commander, are you all right?"
"I am."
Laios answered flatly and stepped back, gazing up at the dragon.
"Richt."
"Yes, Commander."
"The head and the heart. Ghoulified dragon or not, the weaknesses should be the same."
Shaking the congealed, sticky blood from his blade, Laios replied in a level voice.
"I need a moment. Hold down its head."
"I'm sorry—what?"
Before Richt could even protest the sudden order, Laios was already kicking off the ground toward the dragon once more.
"Commander! Hrk—!"
Richt had cried out without thinking, but he had little room to spare either. The dragon had split its jaws wide open toward Laios.
In the end, Richt had no choice but to raise his sword qi and press against the dragon's head.
Truly worthy of the name of strongest creature, it seemed—even the sword qi of a knight of Richt's caliber left little more than scratches on its bones.
By carving his blade deep across the exposed jawbone, Richt drew the dragon's attention to himself. Seizing the opening without delay, Laios leapt up toward its torso.
His target was the flank where the ribs lay bare.
Unlike the bone, the half-rotted flesh split with a long wet tear the moment his sword qi touched it.
Laios tightened his grip on his sword and plunged into the dragon's body.
A stench and reek of decay so overwhelming it nearly made him black out assailed him, along with an ominous mana. Whether he'd suffered internal injury merely from drawing near, blood suddenly surged up and out of his mouth.
But Laios drove his sword into the rotten flesh and pulled himself upright.
In the thick darkness, a faintly glowing mass of mana came into view.
It was the mana encasing the heart—already stopped.
He took a step toward it. The clammy blood clung to his legs like mud.
Forcing his feet free one at a time, Laios at last reached the place where the heart lay—and swung his sword with everything he had.
But.
CLANG!
The mana wrapped protectively around the heart flung his blade away.
Staggering back a step, Laios quickly bit his lip.
"Receive this wretched body that has strayed from the flow."
A small prayer escaped his lips.
A brilliant sword qi settled onto the blade, already filthy beyond saving, and as the Shadow of the Strong activated, the artifact's power layered over it once more.
"May Lord Luce in his mercy receive it."
Sword raised high, Laios carved into the heart a second time.
Shrrrk.
The horizontal slash cleaved through the heart and the surrounding flesh all at once.
And then, a moment later—
Dazzling light flooded a vision that had been filled with nothing but darkness.
"Commander!"
Richt shouted, having sensed the dangerous surge of power and hastily put distance between them.
The instant Laios, snapping back to his senses, scrambled out through the split—
"KREEEEAGH!"
The thing that had once been a dragon shrieked through its withered throat, and the mana packed densely around its heart burst forth all at once.
KWAAAAANG!
As the black-and-red mana of the dead poured out, the dragon's colossal body began to come apart.
Flailing in one last desperate struggle, the dragon lunged at Richt and Laios as if to take its vengeance.
But—
As if by a lie, its movements stopped in a single instant… and then it collapsed where it stood, crumpling like something discarded.
As the massive body crashed down, a ponderous impact shook the earth. Flesh and hide that had already lost their purpose melted away, releasing a thick stench.
Before long, nothing remained at the site but the dragon's bones, lying sprawled atop a pool of rotted black fluid.
"…."
Richt and Laios, staring blankly at the sight, felt their legs give out and sank to the ground where they stood.
* * *
What Blake had done was closer to self-destruction.
If the caster was reduced to this state, then it was safe to assume that Arendt, the target, was dead.
His blood ran cold.
The hand receiving Blake's blade began to tremble violently. Reckless shouts burst from his mouth as if struggling against something.
"Arendt. Arendt, hey! Are you actually dead?"
"…Argh, damn it."
Then, from behind him, came the sound of raw, unfiltered profanity.
As he moved, the debris clinging to his body clattered down around him.
There didn't seem to be a single unbroken spot left on him. Merely drawing a deep breath brought pain so intense his vision threatened to go white.
Nearly died there.
Even so, he had to move now.
His role wasn't finished yet.
Roughly sweeping the blood-matted hair from his face, Arendt—still gripping the sword he had never once let go—slowly pushed himself upright.
"Cough, cough. Honestly, what a rare breed of lunatic you are."
Blood spattered from between his lips with every rasping cough.
"You alive?"
"What, you wanted me dead?"
Only at the irritated reply was Arthur finally able to release a short breath of relief.
For the first time since the fight with Blake had begun, irritation and fury carved themselves into those golden eyes that had remained nothing but cold.
His faltering steps soon found their center again.
With every movement he made, the drops of blood that fell turned to scarlet frost the moment they touched the floor.
"Persistent, aren't you."
Having repelled Arthur in one blow, Blake whirled straight toward Arendt. But in the next instant, he staggered as a hand seized him and yanked him brutally around.
Arthur had slammed into him like a wild dog. Having even thrown his sword away, Arthur locked his forearm around Blake's throat.
"Where do you think you're going."
"…!"
Blake immediately tried to tear Arthur's arm away. But even as he was stabbed and slashed, Arthur did not budge an inch.
"You—!"
All the while, Arendt came on slowly, sword dangling, closing the distance to Blake step by step.
Shunk.
At last Blake's blade sank deep into Arthur's side, but Arthur only clenched his teeth, his grip never loosening.
At last within arm's reach, Arendt raised his sword.
Those frigid eyes gazed up at Blake, calm and unhurried.
"You're the one who'll never be forgiven, even in death. Rot and rot again until not even bloody pulp remains."
Having returned the curse word for word, Arendt added the rest with the faintest curl of his lips.
"Give my regards to Vincent down below—tell him to enjoy my after-dinner gossip."
And that was the end of it.
Shffk!
The sword, frost blossoming across it white as flowers, cleaved through Blake.