"What... is this...?"

In the forest, Moen's voice, trembling uncontrollably, sounded as though it came from a wooden puppet.

That blazing golden eye made him recall the first time he laid eyes on the King of Wither on that patch of crimson soil—like an unyielding sun hanging high in the sky, coldly overlooking all below with tyrannical disdain.

And yet, the two were starkly different.

The King of Wither was indeed represented by a massive eye, but it was filled with savagery, aggression, despair, and an overwhelming aura of destruction, a heat capable of burning the world to nothingness.

The golden eye before him, by contrast, exuded purity—an utter and untainted purity. Emanating from the scattering golden light were purely noble and majestic airs, as if it were a golden throne standing tall atop a precipitous mountain peak.

The gaze radiating from the golden eye swept across the entire forest, as if the emperor himself were surveying his domain.

Then suddenly—the golden eye vanished.

What remained beyond the rupture in space was utter darkness.

Yet within that deep darkness, Moen could distinctly feel an enormous presence moving—the shadow of a mountain collapsing in an instant. The ghostly silhouette carried with it the chilling despair of twilight descending upon the world after sunset, sweeping mercilessly toward him.

The rift expanded at an alarming speed, as if intent on cleaving the entire firmament in two. Black mist oozed out from the crack and began to engulf the surroundings.

Soon, another sun rose.

Golden slit pupils appeared once more. This time... there were two.

A fierce shape emerged from the shadows.

The colossal head carried a sinister beauty, its arching neck like that of a mythical serpent capable of devouring the world. Its icy scales, interlocking like forged steel, shimmered ominously. With a mighty beat of its wings, it seemed to tear the sky and the earth asunder.

It was...

A dragon.

A majestic, terrifying, hideous, ferocious, black dragon!

Just by unfurling its immense wings, the dragon commanded a turbulent gale, as if the submissive winds offered themselves as lowly subjects to hoist it into the skies.

Without Moen even realizing, the clear sky had filled with ominous clouds. This was not like the localized weather manipulation enacted by the priest's divine power earlier; now, in every direction within Moen's field of view, the entire heavens had transformed into a frigid iron curtain.

Black mist blanketed the sinister woods, obscuring both Moen and Lea's diminutive figures. Even the towering ancient trees nearby faded into shadow. Yet no matter how dense the fog grew, it could not conceal the terrifying visage of the black dragon.

"This... this is... a dragon... the Deathbane Dragon."

Lea's trembling, disbelieving voice echoed next to Moen's ear. Through the small hand tightly held in his, Moen could clearly feel how shaken and terrified the girl was inside.

"This is... the Disaster."

"...Gulp."

In the inexplicable silence, even the sound of swallowing was frighteningly distinct. Without realizing it, Moen found his own voice trembling. Clinging to a shred of hope, he asked hesitantly:

"Are... are you sure? Is there any chance this is just a passing ordinary dragon?"

"How could an ordinary dragon be this terrifying?"

Lea shook her pale, blood-drained face.

"And besides, this forest is that Disaster's territory. No other dragon would dare come near—let alone pass through, right?"

Hope shattered.

No, to call it hope would be absurd—it had never existed.

It was just futile self-deception.

But...

"Why... why hasn’t the Disaster stirred in hundreds of years?" Moen murmured to himself, unable to make sense of it.

The forest prohibited the entry of *The Crowned* because it would be seen as provocation.

This was only natural—no predator would ever allow rivals to tread freely upon its hunting grounds.

But even the most violent predator wouldn’t care about ants accidentally crawling onto its turf, would it?

Of course not.

And to the invincible Disaster of this world, Moen's earlier battle with the priest amounted to nothing more than a squabble between ants.

Even if the god of love had shown up briefly during that skirmish, it hadn’t unleashed any power to speak of.

In a moment of faint hope, Moen thought perhaps there was no reason for *this* Disaster to intervene. Surely their trivial actions couldn’t rouse such a legendary beast.

"Could it be...?”

Moen's eyes lit up as he speculated aloud.

The Disaster might simply be passing through?

Maybe it had just woken up after a centuries-long slumber and decided to wander through its domain—without sparing even a moment’s thought on the tiny insects underfoot. If encountering them here was pure coincidence...

But soon, Moen’s naïve hope was completely dashed.

Because at that moment, above the endless black fog, the colossal head of the black dragon tilted upward ever so slightly, like a freshly-awakened being stretching after a long rest. Then, it slowly lowered itself.

The golden, radiant slit pupils—like ancient brass lanterns imbued with light from eons past—pierced through the dense fog and landed squarely upon Moen.

In an instant, all illusions were shattered. Moen felt his blood freeze, his body grow cold.

Caught beneath that cold, imperious gaze, Moen felt a trembling deep in his soul.

He had been stared down by many fearsome entities before.

The God of Love.

The King of Wither.

The Moon of Silence.

But none of those encounters had ever shaken him as much as this.

It wasn’t because the dark gods were less intimidating than the Disaster before him. It was simply because those gods, no matter how terrifying, were unable to fully descend in their true forms.

But now—

The one known as Disaster, whose mere presence altered the ecosystem of an entire forest, an existence that had once wiped out an ancient civilization ages ago—

The Deathbane Dragon, Hamline, had set its sights on him.

And it was close.

“Run.”

Moen released Lea’s hand.

“It seems… I’m its target.”

That majestic golden eye clearly didn’t care about the other small ant at his side. Its focus was solely on Moen.

“If I run… what about you, Moen?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“…Liar.”

Lea bit her lip. She didn’t dare directly face the Disaster, stealing only fleeting glances upward at its fearsome scales through the corners of her downcast eyes.

Even so, she could barely remain standing, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

After all, that was a Disaster…

How could Moen possibly have a plan?

“I really do have a plan,” Moen repeated, doing his best to exude confidence as he pushed Lea forward.

“Go!”

“…”

There was a pause behind him. Moen didn’t look back, but he could sense the girl’s presence retreating.

The dragon didn’t care.

Moen let out a breath of relief.

But then, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes. In this dire predicament, where his own strength wasn’t enough, he didn’t hesitate to activate his last-ditch option.

You’ve forced me to do this!

Take this!

—*Black Book, save me!*

Moen poured all his sincerity into the desperate plea that resounded in his mind, yearning for the ever-unreliable Black Book to step in once more and rescue him from despair at this critical juncture.

But…

This time, there was no response.

Why “again”? Because this wasn’t the first time such a scenario had occurred.

No matter how much Moen called out, the Black Book remained utterly silent.

Its faint glow had even diminished considerably, retreating deeper into Moen’s subconscious.

It appeared… to be feigning death.

Almost as if it was trying to avoid catching the attention of the Disaster standing before him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously?”

Seeing this, Moen’s heart sank, and a twitch formed at the corner of his lips.

The situation reminded him of how the Black Book had behaved when he previously encountered Teacher Mela.

But at that time, Teacher Mela's intent had only been benign curiosity, and nothing more.

As for this Disaster? What intentions did it hold?

“Wait a minute.”

Something clicked in Moen’s mind. His face suddenly turned pale.

Teacher Mela…

When she had engraved the magical curve onto his back, hadn’t one of the most critical materials required been something specific?

Something called—

Ancient… dragon… heart… blood…