Chapter 42

Lubald was awoken by a young girl kicking him in the side. His eyes snapped open and he glared at her, but she was not afraid. He glanced away from her glare; this was the girl whom he had shamed himself flirting with.

The village may not speak of that anymore, but nobody had forgotten.

“Master Harvold calls for you, Lord,” she said mockingly. “A great warrior does battle with the dragon on the surface.”

Lubald’s eyes went wide. He pushed aside the blankets covering him. Since entering the dungeon, he had taken to sleeping in his armor, for he never knew when the monsters would respawn and challenge their temporary settlement on the second floor. While the militiamen were constantly keeping guard, he remained the strongest combatant in the valley. His vigilance was good for morale.

He grabbed his bow, stringing it and slinging it over one shoulder and his quiver over the other. He Dashed towards the entrance of the dungeon, meeting Harvold en route.

What is happening? Lubald demanded in sign language.

“I have no idea,” Harvold admitted. “The watchers at the entrance reported sounds of battle. One stuck their heads out of the entrance and reported that a man was fighting the dragon. That’s all I’ve had time to piece together so far.”

Since the militiaman had no other useful information, Lubald Dashed past him, using all of his speed to clear the stairs that brought him to the first floor of the dungeon, then the short distance to the entrance, which was surrounded by charred and blackened stone from the dragon’s repeated attempts at getting inside.

It had been making progress, which is why the camp was on the second floor and not the first. Once the dragon broke through onto the first floor of the dungeon, the villagers would be forced to delve deeper yet to avoid its wrath.

That is, unless he could help this mystery warrior put an end to it now.

He did not expect to slay the dragon, stranger or no stranger, but perhaps together they could drive it off.

The sight that greeted him upon reaching the surface challenged his expectations completely.

It was unlikely that they would drive the dragon to fly away, given that the mystery warrior had severed both of its wings. One of them completely, while the other was still attached but badly mangled.

It was covered in cuts deep and shallow. One of its forelegs was missing. The color of the violet dragon’s hide hid just how much it had been bleeding. There was enough blood on the ground to drown a mule.

The man fighting the dragon on his own was not without his own wounds. His armor had been pierced in three separate locations, and each wound was bleeding profusely.

Lubald didn’t have time to contemplate the man’s identity. Drawing an arrow – one of the new ones, found within the dungeon and made of a strange material, Lubald took aim and infused the arrow with Stamina. Since the previous battle with the dragon, his Enhance Arrow skill had literally reached a new level, and the recoil would have been enough to stagger him had he not properly braced himself.

The arrow caught the dragon in the side, piercing through the dragon’s hide with a “Thwump!”

Resh turned to this new challenger, recalling the insect which had evaded it. Just as quickly Lubald was disregarded for the true threat. The Archer’s arrows were annoying, but the Anti-Mage’s ability to shatter Resh’s internal magic was the true threat.

While the dragon’s natural regeneration had repaired most of the damage from the first Vanquish, the attack had left scars behind. The second attack had reopened the wounds and worsened them. Resh remained uncertain whether or not she could survive a third such attack, so she had no choice but to slay the knight before he could--

“Thwump!” Another arrow embedded itself deep in her thigh. “Thwump! Thwump!”

Roaring, Resh turned at the outrageous little archer and reared back to engulf the man with flame. Her instincts worked against her, however. Antoine allowed her to use her fire breath once more, dashing in front of the stranger to protect him with his absorption Skill while the Archer Dashed out of range.

Recognizing her error, Resh tried to employ a magical shield to catch the retaliatory Void Blade. Her magic was weak, but Antoine couldn’t lock it down and employ his own magic at the same time. The magics clashed against each other, causing flashes of light to cover the dragon’s skin.

As soon as he’d vented the mana he’d absorbed, the dragon tried a different tactic. Raising its stump of a foreleg, Antoine tasted ozone. Cursing, he watched helplessly as a bolt of lightning connected the dragon and the Archer for a fraction of a second.

Lubald was knocked off his feet by the thunder. He lie in the dirt helplessly for a moment, his vision blackening for a second before he recovered. Had he not reached level sixty in the past few days, he might have died from that attack. He sat up to see that the stranger was once more engaging the dragon in melee.

Picking up his bow from where it had fallen, he knocked another arrow and aimed.

“Thwump! Thwump!”

The arrows embedded themselves in the dragon’s neck and chest. It turned once more to Lubald and reared back to breath fire, but this time the mana field was locked down and only hot air emerged from its throat.

“Vanquish!” Antoine called, activating his signature skill once more at point blank range. Twenty yards away Lubald recoiled as he felt something passing through him, but all of his mana was lifebound as stamina and unaffected by the skill.

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The dragon had no such luck. The mana within its veins rebelled against containment, shattering blood vessels and ripping the dragon apart from the inside. A million micro-injuries compounded the millions that were already in place from previous attacks.

“Thwump!”

An arrow pierced Resh’s right eye, engulfing half of its world in darkness.

Resh was centuries old. A lesser dragon would have succumbed to its injuries, but she refused. With sheer force of will, she forced her body to regenerate the damage it had just suffered.

“Stop,” she called. The warriors paused.

“I submit,” she said. “I will leave this valley and--”

“No,” Antoine said. “You die.”

Lubald was of the same mind, and he fired another arrow, aiming for the dragon’s other eye. He missed, hitting it in the forehead instead.

Resh reared back and roared. She staggered forward, intending to trample one warrior or the other, but finally collapsed. Her limitless strength had found a limit after all. She tried to will her body to mend itself further, but the damage caused by the repeated Vanquishes were too much.

She looked up at the humans, the pitiful, small beings which had slain her.

“You will die when the purge comes,” she informed them. “When the World Dungeon opens its depths to the surface and turns out dragons and behemoths, what will you do then?”

“Fight,” Antoine answered.

Lubald frowned at him, wondering what this nonsense about the World Dungeon was.

“Do you have any other last words, Resh?” Antoine asked.

“I hope your offspring are born crippled, your fields grow barren, and your strength fades to dust!” she declared.

Antoine nodded. “Goodbye, Resh.”

He extended a hand once more, and activated his ultimate skill.

The mana field shattered once more, and together with the cumulative damage of the previous three activations, the damage to Resh’s body was too much for even her prodigious regeneration to handle this time.

She coughed up blood, and the light behind her eye slowly faded. Antoine carefully regarded the corpse before carefully walking over to it and stabbing the dragon in the brain.

Nearby, the core stone flashed blue and white as it worked to channel the massive amounts of energy generated by the dragon’s death into the warriors that had slain it. Lubald was driven to his knees as the rampant Experience engulfed him, strengthening him and causing his level to increase by six, the most that he’d ever gained at once.

Antoine was barely affected. He stepped back, leaving the sword buried in the dragon’s skull, and turned to Lubald.

“Thank you for the assistance, Archer,” Antoine said. “I did not realize there was anyone of your skill in the village or I would have attempted to coordinate with you sooner. While I would have slain the dragon with or without your assistance, you provided excellent support, and you deserve credit. I pronounce you Dragonslayer.”

Lubald staggered under the pronouncement as the system agreed with the man. Together with the experience which was already streaming into his body and the granting of a new title, he could barely withstand it. He opened his mouth to shout, but all that escaped was wordless breath.

It was at that moment that Antoine realized that the man was mute. He chuckled as the pieces clicked into place and he realized the Archer’s identity. “Well Lubald, it seems that the rumors of your death have been exaggerated.”

That was enough to get Lubald’s attention. Who thought he was dead? He mentally cursed, because such matters could have serious legal implications. If the king assigned a new Lord, or gave away his other holdings to other nobles, then he would be forced to contest the claims in court. He would win, but it would be a frustrating ordeal.

He’d rather face another dragon than a magistrate.

Harvold emerged from the dungeon a moment later. Seeing the dead dragon and the two men standing over its corpse, the militiaman bowed deeply.

“Thank you, my lords, for saving Tilluth Valley.”

“How many dead?” Antoine asked.

“Believe it or not, we only lost one man in the initial attack thanks to the heroism of Lord Lubald,” Harvold explained. “We’ve been holed up in the dungeon since the dragon’s initial attack. We feared that we would be trapped underground indefinitely. Thank you, Vanquisher, for your assistance.”

Antoine shrugged, then staggered. He realized he’d lost more blood than he’d thought. “Help me bind my wounds, and send a messenger over that hill to my companions. There’s a healer among them. I’m afraid I need her attention.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Harvold agreed.

Thirty minutes later, Aisha had healed his injuries and the lads were working on dismantling the dragon’s corpse.

Sir Tirns sent out word that Resh had been slain, and the villagers emerged from the depths of the dungeon to survey the ruins of their village.

Antoine, for his part, began going through his kit, surveying the damage that his armor had suffered and the wear to his weapon. He’d need to replace it all, he realized. He sighed, wearing the clothes he’d borrowed from Lord Worth as he waited for Sir Tirns.

A child walked up to him. She must have been five or six years old. Antoine chewed on his herb as he looked down at the girl, wondering what she wanted.

“Did you kill the dragon?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he answered. “Lord Worth helped.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to live in the dungeon anymore?”

“That’s right.”

The little girl contemplated this information for a moment, then gave the knight a hug. Antoine froze for a moment, then accepted the child’s embrace.

The girl’s mother emerged a moment later and ushered her away, but Antoine didn’t mind. It was a good reminder of why he had picked up his sword in the first place. Sometimes he forgot who it was he’d sworn to protect when he’d accepted the mantle of knighthood.

Because it certainly wasn’t King Ferdy.

He walked over to the corpse of the dragon, which the boys were working on skinning. He hefted a chunk of undamaged leather and considered. He’d skimped on his armor before, preferring to sell the corpses of the dragons he’d slain for the maximum profit. Considering the wounds that he’d taken in combat, he decided to revise that policy in the future.

His next set of armor would be made from dragon hide.