In both of his showdowns against the White Dwarf, Burn found himself in quite the pickle. Relying on his original Force Magic style? Forget it.

The White Dwarf’s long-range weapon had an accuracy that could make a sharpshooter weep, powered by an impressive ensemble of people, spaceships, and AI. Quite the party, wasn't it?

Burn’s magic thrived on the intimacy of close and mid-range combat. Precision, timing, and countering techniques were his life’s blood. But against this ridiculous long-range threat, you could say the whole dynamic of battle took a dramatic turn—like a bad plot twist.

His ability to dominate at close quarters, controlling proximity, fast reaction and battlefield space management? Well, the thing was, the White Dwarf wasn’t just powerful; it was also intelligent, having the ability to anticipate his every move and shutting down his typical tactics like a bouncer at a club.

Simply overpowering the opponents like he used to with his physical or magical force was a bit out of reach at the time.

But Burn adapted. Absorbing energy from the attacks became his new favorite pastime. As the war dragged on, he figured he’d better expand his range to cover the expanding war.

Enter the evolution of his style: aerial long-range swordsmanship. This twist gave his magic the reach and versatility he needed to combat an opponent that was basically playing a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole.

Of course, that constant targeting and the requisite dance moves disrupted the rhythm of his original style. How charming. Burn’s once-reliable strategies of closing gaps and controlling space now felt like trying to take a nap in a rock concert—utterly pointless in the face of those precise long-range attacks.

Every brave attempt to close in for the kill was met with the kind of accuracy that would leave even the most optimistic swordsman in despair.

But his evolution allowed him to flip the script, cleverly overcoming the limitations of his original style.

Well, it certainly wasn’t a limitation in the first place, was it? If he’d only possessed the strength he has now, any opponent—no matter how precise, far-flung, or elusive—would have been nothing more than a fleeting annoyance.

After all, being faster, stronger, and utterly unpredictable has its perks. He was still a whirlwind of chaos—only, you know, a very well-aimed chaos.

Precise, ruthless, and undeniably dominating, he had found the sweet spot where he didn’t have to compromise his style. Adaptation? Pssh, that’s for the weak. That’s the past now.

Why dilute a masterpiece when you could simply overpower everything in your path?

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

CLASH!!!

Thus, returning to a one-on-one battle like this was the best way to test it. The moment he clashed weapons with Isaiah, a thrill coursed through him; this was going to be great.

“Hah!” Isaiah snorted. “How art thou but a mere mortal?!”

“It seems my expectations for dragons are too high,” Burn replied, a sneer playing on his lips.

Isaiah, though accustomed to dominance, faltered, narrowing his reptilian eyes. This man—this human—bore a strength that posed a genuine challenge. How could he acquire a body comparable in strength to a dragon like him? His grip tightened around the spear, its tip gleaming in the dim light.

Burn lunged first, like a storm, his longsword slashing through the air. Isaiah pivoted, sidestepping and delivering a swift thrust of his spear. The blade met the spear’s shaft with a resounding CLANG, the shock reverberating up his arms.

“Kgh!” Isaiah gritted his teeth, but also grinned.

“A little more effort, perhaps?” Burn teased, pushing back with surprising force—a mere flick of the wrist sent Isaiah stumbling.

With a growl, Isaiah regained his footing. He pivoted and unleashed a series of swift thrusts, spear darting like a striking serpent toward Burn’s exposed side. Burn was quick, parrying each thrust with calculated grace, letting the spear slide off his blade, the metal singing defiantly as they danced.

The effect of their fight might not have been visible, as even a contained spar like this also required greater strength.

“Is this your idea of finesse?” Burn quipped as he countered, swinging his sword horizontally. It sliced through the air, aiming for Isaiah's midsection. An agile roll saved him, but it was a futile move; Burn followed swiftly, the long blade curving like water’s flow.

“Too predictable dost thou render thyself!” Isaiah retorted, thrusting upward as he regained balance, testing the waters with another rapid-fire series of jabs, faking high and then targeting low.

Burn blocked each blow, wit matching weapon. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that,” he said, feet shuffling as he worked to counter the onslaught, his longsword dancing in a deadly arc. “But brains don’t win battles alone.”

Isaiah smirked, sweeping his spear low to trip Burn, but the man leaped gracefully, spinning to deliver a backhand strike.

CLASH!!!

“Art thou out of breath yet?” Isaiah taunted, knowing full well how this was going to end.

“Too bad,” Burn chuckled. “It seems we met too late. Just a couple of weeks ago, we could’ve had an equal opportunity to win.”

CLANG!!!

Suddenly, their clash no longer sounded as crisp. Isaiah’s spear was knocked back—

“Thou growest ever more audacious, Son of Arthur!”

It was a split second, but suddenly, black scales erupted across Isaiah's skin. Those scales were not mere decorations; they were the heralds of his transformation, glistening darkly under the pallid light, as if the shadows themselves were peeling away to reveal a creature of nightmares.

Matching his burgeoning stature, which was almost 8 feet now—frankly, just enough to make the average doorway feel like an obstacle course—his spear seemed to have taken some performance-enhancing steroids.

It elongated and thickened, transforming from a mere weapon into an absurdly large extension of his very will.

Isaiah’s eyes glowed amber, burning with a smoldering intensity that could rival a campfire on a chilly night. They emitted trails of smoke-like mana, swirling and curling in lazy patterns.

At that moment, he looked less like a man and more like an ancient myth come to life. But, as the scales settled and the spark in his gaze turned from chaotic to commanding, it was clear that this was more than just a show.

“Thou canst not claim to have battled a dragon without indeed contending with one,” Isaiah smirked.

Burn shook his head. “Transform or shapeshift all you want. It won’t change a thing.”