Lilith walked toward the Broken Sword. Pain gnawed at her calf like a bite of frost, but she didn’t care. The Little White Dragon staggered to the ruined stone dais, limping like a wounded fawn.
She reached the shattered altar, heedless of rubble scattered like bleached bones. The Little White Dragon knelt at the edge and, by instinct, closed her fingers around the Broken Sword’s hilt, cold as winter iron.
Lilith lifted the Broken Sword. As if sensing the warmth in her blood, the dull blade flared to life. Over a pearly pink base, a prismatic edge shimmered; tiny letters drifted like fireflies.
Her eyes widened; her voice dropped to a hush, soft as falling ash. “A broken, rusty sword once fought this world’s evil. Now it’s ready to serve again.”
Is this the sword Nidhogg wants? Doesn’t really suit her. The thought fluttered through her like a passing breeze. The sword looked good. If she didn’t already have the Holy Blade, she’d pocket it, and Nidhogg would probably agree.
Forget it. First, get out. Survival first; treasure later.
“System, got any ideas?” Lilith scanned the cavern, heart tight as a drawn bowstring. The chamber was vast and sealed, a hollow mountain with only the hole they’d fallen through. Empty as a tomb; only the dais stood, built like a shrine to house the Broken Sword.
With no exit, Lilith sat on the cold stone, breathing steady as snowfall, and started chatting with the system that had been slacking forever.
“I got nothing. Wait for that Black Dragon traveling with you to dig you out,” the little blue figure floated in front of her, arms crossed like a sulking child. “I’m not omnipotent. If you can’t find a door, what do you want from me?”
“What kind of talk is that? You’re supposed to help me. If I can do everything you can, why keep you?” Lilith tapped his head, exasperation sparking like flint. Since the Demon King fell, he’d gotten worse. Back in those years of the crusade, he’d still mess up—especially when sent to investigate; he’d flood her with data till her skull felt scrubbed raw—but overall, he was useful. Lately, less and less.
Could the mission be over, and Icarus preparing to reclaim her power?
The thought chilled her like night wind. Hero and Saint power aside, she liked the little blue guy. Even without functions, she wanted him to stay, to chatter and keep her company.
“Don’t tell me that because I took down the Demon King, Lord Icarus is recalling you? It feels like you’ve been training me to live on my own,” Lilith grabbed him, worry tightening her grip like a vice. “You’ve been real suspicious lately.”
“Quit overthinking. Your head’s stuffed with—wait, careful! Something’s coming.” The system’s complaint snapped into alarm, his gaze sharpening like a drawn blade.
Lilith sprang up. Years on the road had braided trust between them like tough rope. The Little White Dragon trusted the system on instinct. A beat later, she felt it too—the ground thumping beneath her boots, like a drumskin hammered by charging feet.
“Heads up. Something big,” she said, lifting the Holy Blade, old steel steady as a heartbeat. Better the companion she knew than a strange Broken Sword whose tricks she didn’t.
Suddenly, the heavy stone wall before her exploded with a bang. A dark red mass, all meat and malice, burst through like a cannonball and hurled itself at her.
Lilith rolled to the side, cloth whispering past the impact, and the meat projectile smashed into the floor with a wet thud. She came up fluidly, Holy Blade ready, eyes locked on the writhing lump, watching for its next move.
Before she could make out what it was, another shadow tore through the wall—pitch‑black and vast.
A Black Dragon ripped the century‑sleeping stone like paper. Her talons fell hard on the scarlet knot, edges keen as knives. The hide split, and foul black blood sprayed, misting the air like a toxic fog.
She pressed the attack, relentless as a storm. No room to resist. Her thick tail whipped high, then crashed down, smashing the scarlet mass into the floor. It screamed—a piercing cry that could silence a crying child—then was drowned by the Black Dragon’s furious roar.
The dragon’s maw yawned wide. Black dragon breath blasted out, a high‑pressure jet that hosed the mass’s head with night‑fire.
Scorched flesh thrashed, the thing shaking its head like a rabid dog. The Black Dragon beat her wings and hopped back, evading a raking claw by a hair. That step gave the creature time. The scarlet lump writhed, then unspooled its tangled form, revealing its true face.
A dragon. One unlike those Lilith had seen lately. A dragon of the East.
Its body, long as a river serpent, bore gouges from the Black Dragon’s talons. Four pairs of clawed limbs hung half‑broken, pitiful as snapped spears. Even its whipping tail was chewed away by half, the whole form swaying, ready to topple like a felled tree.
Yet Lilith felt no contempt rise. Its black head still wore a full mane and whiskers, imperial as stormcloud banners. Dark red horns gleamed in the dim cavern, shedding a sinister glow. A pair of lightless eyes looked down, weighing her like fresh prey. And most of all, within its vast jaws hung a giant sword, wreathed in black flame.
“That’s the sword. We’re going in. Little White Dragon, guard yourself!” The dragon at Lilith’s side spoke, voice rolling like thunder, and she realized—Nidhogg. The Black Dragon girl, fully draconic now, radiated a fierce excitement, ready to pounce and tear meat free.
Lilith lifted the Holy Blade, heartbeat steady, breath sharp as winter air. This would be a hard fight. After all—
“Dragon‑slaying? First time for me!”
