Moen's face was deathly pale.

Under the horrifying external pressure, the mana circuits and alchemical matrices behind him had autonomously activated. Streaks of scorching heat continually stimulated his nerves, resembling the burning pain of being seared by hot coals.

Yet, he felt no warmth at all. Instead, it was as if he stood on an icy tundra amidst biting winds, cold to his very core.

Ancient dragon heart blood.

In his mind, the only thing that could possibly attract this Disaster's attention was the blood of his own kin, which had been processed by Teacher Mela’s hand, refined as one of the materials and then fully integrated into his body.

Damn it!

Mela set me up again!

Although it wasn’t the first or second time he'd been duped by that old lolicon, this time Moen genuinely wanted to return and grab her chubby, baby-fat cheeks, wringing out all his grievances.

But that’s only if he could survive.

"Wait—no! According to the records, aren’t dragons supposed to be cold and indifferent toward their own kind? How could they be drawn by the blood of their kin?"

"Moreover, Teacher Mela had refined the ancient dragon’s blood to such an extent back then—how could traces of its aura still remain?"

Questions bubbled up in Moen's mind, but he had no time to delve into them. The majestic golden eyes glaring at him were like the most dazzling searchlights, sweeping across him as though they intended to see through his very being.

—They were seeking something.

Stay calm.

Stay calm!

A Disaster was not the same as a Dark God. Though it was a magical beast, beings of this caliber should still be capable of communication.

If its sole aim was to kill him in retribution for his kin, it would have already acted the moment it appeared—he would have stood no chance of survival. There was no reason for it to delay this long.

Taking a deep breath, Moen forcibly suppressed the terror within. Avoiding direct eye contact with that imposing golden gaze, he lowered his head and pushed out a low and respectful voice from his lungs:

“…The awe-inspiring Disaster, Deathbane Dragon, esteemed Lord Hamline, I humbly ask—"

Before he could finish, Moen's greeting was abruptly cut off by the sound of wind.

It wasn’t an ordinary wind, nor was it like the storm summoned by the priest earlier.

It felt as if all the winds of the world had converged here, then violently torn apart. At the edges of this dispersal came a howl, mournful and sharp.

"What—?"

Amid the blaring alarm of death echoing in his mind, Moen raised his head in shock, only to see a trace of mockery flicker through the majestic golden eyes of the Disaster.

It was as if laughing at the audacity of an insignificant ant daring to address the name of a dragon.

The Disaster then lifted its menacing forelimb and curled it into a claw. From it extended a single finger—or rather, it would be more apt to call it a talon.

That talon, colossal beyond reason in Moen's view, slowly descended toward his head.

"Slowly" was the word because the talon's descent was exasperatingly lethargic. It was so slow that Moen felt he could count every individual scale on it.

But then, Moen coughed up a mouthful of blood, as though an invisible mountain weighed upon him, smothering every inch of his flesh and bone, even compressing down into each individual cell. It crushed him with horrifying slowness yet inescapable finality.

"Damn it!"

Moen’s expression twisted in rage as he gritted his teeth and forcibly swallowed back the blood welling in his throat.

Of course, he had no intention of sitting still, awaiting death.

Even if the disparity in power was vast enough to evoke despair, he still clutched the blade in his hand tightly.

Then, without hesitation—he struck!

Thunder roared!

Twentyfold!

The dazzling light of his blade, imbued with Moen’s full strength, surged toward the talon that was toying with him, descending like it held absolute control.

The alchemical matrix instantaneously pushed to its limits, but it wasn’t enough. Under Moen's forceful stimulus, the second alchemical core embedded into his body and temporarily sealed by Teacher Mela began to glow.

Like the luminous morning star before the break of dawn.

Sixtyfold.

Seventyfold.

Eightyfold…

A hundredfold!

Time deceleration increased a hundredfold, unleashed without reservation.

Under the enhancement of this profound slowdown, the blade's radiance shone like a brilliant galaxy crashing down, more dazzling than ever!

With fierce resolve, the blade's light bisected the invisible mountain pressing upon him. Moen, now like an arrow nocked to a bowstring, poised to launch. The instant he cleaved apart the terrifying pressure shrouding him, he would seize the opportunity to escape at his highest speed.

There was no way he would be foolish enough to engage in a life-and-death struggle with a Disaster-level being.

Yet…it wasn’t enough. Even with his mightiest strike, one that surpassed his previous limits, it was still incapable of budging that descending talon. Not by even a fraction.

It couldn’t even slow it down.

The golden eyes remained filled with ridicule.

A more oppressive force loomed over him, drenching Moen in blood.

"Holy Light, shield him—"

Suddenly, a warm current surged through his body. Enhanced by this sacred power, the faltering brilliance of his blade flared up, as if ignited by a splash of hot oil.

The invisible mountain pressing down upon him was finally cleaved apart. Moen felt the release in his body. Yet with no time to revel in regaining freedom of movement, his instincts kicked in. He rolled desperately across the ground, just barely evading the talon as it descended in that final, pivotal moment.

From the dragon’s perspective, it had only adjusted the trajectory of its talon by a small angle.

But before Moen, a cataclysmic crater was instantly formed. It was deep, hollow, and silent—as though the very earth had collapsed under the talon’s landing. Not even a speck of dust had been stirred.

Moen’s entire body went cold. He could only imagine that if he had been so much as an instant slower, he would’ve vanished completely—reduced to nothing, just like the missing soil and stones within that abyss.

But he couldn’t afford to linger on that thought. Instead, he turned his eyes toward another direction and raspingly shouted:

"Why?"

There, a young girl in a flowing white dress, her hand radiating Holy Light, stood trembling. Her gaze was filled with fear but also unwavering determination:

"I… I don’t want to run away.”

“You staying here won’t change anything! Go, now!"

“I know—"

The girl's pale, delicate face was devoid of color. But before the Disaster dragon, she didn’t take a single step back.

“Maybe I’m useless. Maybe I’m weak too. But…but…I don’t want to run away again. I am Lea Angel. I'm the future saintess!”

“And…and…”

Lea’s trembling yet luminous eyes turned toward Moen, her voice lowering:

"I…"

【Hmph.】

At that moment, a cold snort resonated, causing the dark mist enveloping the area to churn violently.

“Ah—”

The sacred radiance around Lea flared brightly, but it quickly dimmed and dissipated. With a single muffled cry, she was struck as though by an immense hammer to the chest, sent flying backward.

"Lea!"

Moen's eyes burned with rage.

Stupid woman.

His face twisted into fury as unrestrained crimson flames burst forth from within him. Without waiting for his body to fully recover, his figure flickered as he appeared in midair before the colossal dragon.

Anger blazed in his defiant gaze as he locked eyes with those imposing golden pupils. The blade in his hand coiled with fire from the Dark God, flames capable of incinerating worlds. He swung it down with all his might toward the Disaster before him!

The dragon's powerful figure loomed over Moen, its mocking gaze slightly narrowing, as though it had finally recognized the origin of those flames. Its demeanor turned a fraction more serious.

And so, where once there had been one talon, there appeared…three.

Three talons closed in on Moen like a cage, their motion slow but inevitable. Drawing nearer and nearer, threatening to enclose him entirely.

The searing flames continued to burn, but they couldn’t halt the talons’ advance. From his body came a concert of muffled cracks, like the splitting pop of burning bamboo.

In that instant, countless bones in Moen's body fractured.

Excruciating pain tore through every nerve. Regardless of his fiery defiance, he could distinctly feel his strength seeping away.

There was no room for resistance.

So this…this is what a Disaster truly is?

Despair clouded Moen’s eyes.

Yet, the dragon didn’t completely enclose him in its grasp. Instead, it let him slip helplessly through the gap between its claws, allowing him to fall.

In the fleeting moment before his consciousness dissipated, Moen turned his head with great difficulty to look at the girl not far away.

Blood had drenched her white dress; her tightly shut eyes and trembling lashes resembled the fragile flutter of a broken-winged butterfly.

It seems…I’ve dragged her down after all.

With a bitter smile, Moen’s world sank into darkness.

...

...

The forest fell deathly silent. Even the wind dared not stir, as if fearing it might intrude.

The dragon stood loftily above, overseeing everything.

But its noble golden eyes paid no mind to the detestable girl saturated in Holy Light. Instead, they remained fixed on Moen’s broken form.

It was waiting for something.

Moen, blood-soaked and battered, had his internal organs and bones shattered into countless fragments. Were it not for those equally loathsome flames sustaining the final slivers of his vitality, he would long since have perished.

For Moen, this was the ultimate despair.

And that was precisely the reason the dragon kept waiting.

Only under such dire circumstances could it extract what it sought.

As for the faint trace of ancient dragon blood still emanating from him, the black-scaled behemoth hadn't cared for it at all.

Kinship?

It had slaughtered plenty of its own.

Nothing worth pausing over.

Yet as time passed and evening turned to dusk, soon the last light faded from the sky.

By now, Moen’s body appeared to have bled dry…

Still, nothing happened.

A flicker of doubt finally passed through the dragon’s golden eyes.

Could it have…been mistaken?

Caw—

In the distance came an awkward crow’s cry.

“…”

The dragon coldly averted its gaze.

It was preparing to leave, to end this meaningless farce.

But at that moment, something caught its attention. Its icy stare swept back toward Moen.

There on Moen’s chest, as his ragged clothes tore away, a letter came into view. Pressed against his body under the ruined garments, it remained utterly untouched—unwrinkled, unblemished, pristine—even after enduring such an intense battle.

It was an envelope.

A seemingly ordinary one.

The commanding golden eyes flickered briefly, and then the boundless black mist churned and contracted, encasing the massive dragon's form within a black cocoon.

As clarity returned to the world, the dimming skies gave way to vividly bright stars.

And then, from that cocoon came the sound of footsteps.

A tall figure emerged.

Her black gown trailed on the ground, adorned with intricate thorn-like patterns. Her long crimson hair cascaded freely, resembling a forest of crimson maple leaves blazing in the deep autumn.

Bare shoulders and neck gleamed under the starlight, faintly adorned with exquisitely small scales that made her pale skin appear even fairer. Her slender hands and bare feet, extending from the trailing black gown, glimmered faintly with an enchanting, jade-like hue.

The face was indistinct, with only a pair of eyes that, though no longer blazing like the great sun, still shone as if forged from molten gold, commanding the boundless night to bow in submission.

It was a woman.

A "woman" who bore the name of Disaster.

The woman walked to Moen's side, her majestic gaze not lingering on him for even a moment. She merely bent slightly, reached out her hand, and moved toward the letter.

"That letter isn't for you, you know."

A playful, childlike voice suddenly echoed through the forest.

The woman raised her head, her cold golden eyes meeting a pair of clear amber ones.