Elin bared her teeth.

Instinctually, she understood Rangville's soldiers lost the initiative. The enemy marched, without rest, into hostile territory, and then they clashed in a field, not of their choosing. While their organization and discipline continued to make them dangerous, the empire's stamina depleted.

Walter remained imperiled, despite Wilmand gradually regaining the battlefield. Rangville soldiers attacked from three of four sides: front, left, and right. At no point did Elin's furious sword rest. She wished to use 'Righteous Judgement,' and outright crush them to end the threat on Walter, but too many allies would be caught in the blast.

Worse, Rex, with the magical shield 'Last Stand,' rejoined the fight. Rangville soldiers followed in the wake of his protection. With Sir Eugene's 'Berserk' and 'Gungnir' abilities used up, he relied solely on his passive skill, 'Eye of Wisdom,' to maintain his desperate position. Ragnar gasped from exertion and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Neither man, the remainder of the Odinic honor guard, could land a decisive blow against Rex, and so Rangville soldiers moved dangerously close.

"It's a good day for a funeral pyre," Sir Eugene bellowed.

"Yes, let's share that gift," Ragnar grinned.

Rex answered them by beating his shield.

A flurry of rolling movement caught Elin's attention. Doge wiggled into range, tumbled, and leaped for Walter. She cursed herself for her carelessness.

Move!

Doge rose into the air, holding the daggers 'Asunder and Divide' above his head. Having felt their cutting nature, Elin realized magic enhanced their damage, because they previously cut her. Should they even scratch Walter, then he would die.

Move!

Her toes dug into the sloppy blood-stained mud and snow. Every muscle in her leg coiled. When she sprang forth, the ground underneath her carved out, an equal and opposite reaction to the extreme power in her dash.

Move, damn you, move!

Elin collided with Doge, and the two rolled aside. Despite the severe circumstances, he managed to strike at Elin's heart and cleave into her chest. The combination of magical damage and critical strike made her scream.

She kicked the skirmisher away and clawed at the pain. Bonus HP erased the wound, but the pain persisted.

"Walter!"

She scrambled to her feet and turned to regain her place. Too late.

Without her there to deflect them, an arrow penetrated Walter's sternum. The quilted gambeson didn't hold out, and his strength receded as he sunk to a knee.

"No!"

Rangville's horns blared and ordered the retreat.

Elin dropped her sword and grabbed Walter, "I'll get you to the healers, don't worry, I'll save you this time, I promise!"

"Wait," he grunted, "Mind control ended, don't know why, but can't leave yet."

"I don't care about that! Let the magic scatter! All that matters is you--"

Walter raised his finger to the sky.

Dragon.

----------------------------------------

"Now, lover," Faux hopped on her toes, "What will you do now?"

Envy, and nausea-induced pain, twisted in Lord Remont's stomach. When Faux used the word 'lover,' she stared at the battle, and presumably Sir Walter.

"Why him?"

Faux glanced behind her and tilted her head. "Hm? Isn't it obvious?"

"No, you harlot. He's not a worshipper of Ouroboros. In fact, he'll try to kill you! It doesn't make sense!"

"Since when did the goddess of chaos, or myself, for that matter, require their chosen to worship them? It's in the name: chaos, though, that's not the goddess's true nature. We do not care about the rules, in fact, we break them, as a matter of principle." She winked. "Woman's prerogative, you could call it. Our fighting is just a 'Player's' flirting. They experience the world differently. You call them qualms, they call them entertainment."

"So, you're just a whore."

Faux grinned, "You're upset because I'm not your whore anymore."

Lord Remont reached out and grasped her ankle.

,,¡ᴉɔo˥ ɟo poɥʇǝW,,

Faux sighed and kicked his hand away, "Don't beg."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

She rested her eyes on the battle and smiled. "Oh, he's getting serious!"

It's his fault! He has to die!

Once more, Lord Remont opened his mouth to incant his spell. He still clung to the remnant of the Scales of Love and Lust, and so maintained a long-range connection to Walter. While he couldn't exert his will over him, he could disrupt him, and the dragon would finish the job.

No words mustered, and he required an instant to realize Faux rammed the end of her healing staff into his mouth. His head pinned against the cold ground from the pressure on the back of his throat. He gagged, he kicked, and his flailing amounted to nothing against her strength. When she finally eased up, he rolled to his side, gagged, and spit out dislodged teeth. His tongue flopped, tore from its seat. Blood pooled under his cheek.

"Pathetic," Faux shrugged, "I'm leaving. Better crawl to safety. There's an assassin stalking for you. Maybe you'll make it?"

Lord Remont cried out, "Heal me, heal me," but his ruined mouth amounted to little more than jabbering nonsense.

Faux giggled into the back of her hand and strolled away.

----------------------------------------

The dragon's black scales reflected like oil on water. Elin couldn't be sure, but she felt this creature harassed them the first night Walter appeared in Eovamund. Ranger from Rangville's army baited it closer, and, once it smelled the blood, it changed course and flapped its leather wings to accelerate to the men.

"Help me to my feet," Walter said.

"Yes," she whispered. She assisted with a hug.

"You remember Laira's prophecy?"

"The dream? About stomping the turtle on the stairs?"

With the monster this close, its massive wings beat in the air. Its shadow passed overhead. 'Dragonfear Aura' gripped the hearts of the soldiers, on both sides, and they panicked.

Unlike before, as a powerless paladin, now she possessed one-hundred levels. She felt the aura but paid it no heed. The only worry she felt was for Walter, and how the fear would grip him, yet she felt no tension gather in his body as she clung to it.

General Tybalt decided on complete annihilation for both sides. Madman.

"It's a real thing. Or, rather, it's something that I've performed before. In a game, a bug called the '100 Man Trick.' A stack overflow turned numbers into symbols. I figured it out then, but it didn't click with me until now how it applied to me."

"Walter, you're not making sense."

The dragon circled ahead, wary of the floating orbs, and it locked its gaze on Walter and Elin.

Wait. Is the monster the one afraid? Why is it acting like Walter is the one emitting an aura of fear?

,,˙uɐɔS,,

"When did you obtain that spell?" Elin asked, before glancing at the character card above Walter's hand.

Walter Alvis Level: ∅

With a twitch of his hand, the levels corrected to a numerical value.

Walter Alvis Level: 256

"I... I thought I stole your levels accidentally..." she stammered.

"When I first arrived, I thought this world used a 'hard magic system.' That would mean the rules are concrete. The reality is, it's a 'soft magic system' masquerading as one, copying the games in my world. I learned that from Aratron's Grimoire. It gets things wrong, like how the programming handles--"

"Walter," Elin interrupted him, "You need to learn how to talk to girls."

Walter's eyes drifted down from the dragon.

She wanted to hide her face, to patiently wait for his explanation to end. Water to water, fire to fire. But, she propped up the man she loved while an arrow stabbed him, and a dragon, death, glided above them. Elin refused to understand why he tolerated this, and she masked her dismay with a joke. Otherwise, she might throttle him and make his injury worse. "I fought so hard. Tell me you're okay, you moron!"

She intended to only think the rebuke, but it spilled from her mouth. Once aired, she lacked regret.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away," Walter held his breath, "I'm about to make it worse, I think."

He held out a gold ring.

When Elin looked at what he held, tears flowed, and she stomped her foot over and over, "Oh, your timing is the absolute fucking worst! Yes, I will! You will make this up to me, I swear!"

----------------------------------------

Priestess Evelyn watched Elin and Walter in the center of the abandoned battlefield, in the hated open. The last stand, a bittersweet last embrace. Her duty as a celebrant to Camp Wolf demanded she joined the fray.

It was too much to hope.

The dragon, however, never descended. It circled, and waited, and looked, even, apprehensive. Priestess Evelyn didn't understand why, but the synesthesia plaguing her for her entire life, for once, provided a joyous insight.

Laira's words echoed in her mind.

He's a giant.

Never before did Priestess Evelyn detect a mana shadow. This one, she couldn't physically see, but she sensed it. His invisible aura towered over the battlefield. The impression influenced all around her. On a deep subconscious level, everyone backed away from the area, not because of the dragon, but to provide him room to move. Their panicking ceased after a safe distance.

The spells suspended in the air weren't his tools, they were an expression of himself. Thousands of orbs funneled, like a horizontal tornado. At their end, five funnels formed. When Walter reached, so too did the magic, and he grasped the dragon's snout.

Continuous explosions rocked the monster's face. Momentum accumulated. The funnel, no, the hand, changed the flying creature's trajectory into the ground. The magic spell itself didn't matter, what mattered is Walter controlled it, and is overwhelming might made it powerful. Small rocks rattled around Priestess Evelyn's feet, and the ground rumbled. She didn't panic. There was no other outcome, the dragon was too weak.

The monster, thrown to the ground, whipped its long neck around and opened its mouth to counterattack. Yellow fire gathered in its mouth.

Elin, a blur, slipped under the dragon's chin and struck it, throwing its entire head, twice her size, into the air. With another slash, its vulnerable neck is divided.

Thus, her foster daughter, and the man she stood by, killed a dragon. Her mind blanked.

Priestess Evelyn dropped to her knees.

All the prayers, the training, the lies, it finally meant something. The long days of emptying herself of hope and faith, so that others could keep theirs, were paid back. The cheating, the worry, the compromises, and the scars, now everything finally felt like a connection to this moment. For once, the walls beyond the cities were not unsafe, and the enlightened races earned a respite.

"The sun is so bright," she whispered.