After witnessing the silver stardust showering from the sky, Oren saw Dysaia’s draconic claws clamped firmly around Havil’s head. While Havil still struggled, Dysaia beat her wings violently, soaring upward—and Havil was hoisted into the sky with her.
Dust and debris slowly rained down to the earth. Oren sprang to his feet. At that moment, Dysaia twisted her body with force, hurling Havil from the sky straight to the ground. The moment the fleshy mass crashed down, another pile of rubble shattered beneath it. Havil let out an inhuman roar from the wreckage.
"Dysaia!"
Oren used his longsword as a crutch, limping toward her. Yamwen rushed over, steadying him before he could collapse.
Meanwhile, Dysaia slowly opened her jaws. A torrent of frosty breath poured down onto Havil’s head. Crystal ice swept wildly across the pockmarked earth—a wasteland already scarred by craters a meter wide. Ice pillars exploded like whirlwinds into the air. Havil writhed and rolled on the ground, scrambling out of craters like splashing water. But soon, his puff-like flesh froze solid, then shattered into fragments.
White shards from the exploding ice swept tighter across the land. Slanted ice spears flew wildly. Havil’s ear-splitting shrieks grew denser, flooding the space. Then Dysaia seemed to pause her assault. She gently beat her wings, landing on the ground like a living wall shielding Oren.
"Is it over…?"
Oren gripped his sword tightly, watching Havil thrash in the freezing mist. Then he heard Dysaia’s voice, deep as a temple bell:
"That thing cannot die."
The instant she finished speaking, Oren saw the grotesque flesh slowly stretch outward. It dragged corpses from the ground—horse legs, human arms—fusing them with its remaining mass. From this jumble of bodies, a new fleshy lump reformed. Havil let out a strange, low sob, slowly tightening his grip on the Stone Hammer.
"Hu…man… Hu…man…"
A bizarre, muffled sound, as if his throat choked with phlegm, grated on the ears. As Havil’s half-face spoke, the human heads, horse skulls, and rat carcasses swallowed within him wailed in chorus. Oren covered his ears, revolted.
"As long as the blood-providing Demon lives, its kin will endlessly regenerate, devouring nearby creatures," Dysaia murmured. She lowered her head close to Oren, whispering:
"Now I will use spatial magic to sever this creature entirely from our plane—not mere imprisonment. I will make it vanish from my sight forever."
*So that’s why she took draconic form? To cast large-scale magic.*
Oren gave a slight nod. He tightened his grip on the longsword, swung it sideways—and a silvery moonlit torrent of mana coiled around the blade. Yamwen nocked an arrow onto her longbow.
Seeing their stance, Dysaia smiled faintly. She lifted her head and whispered:
"Cover me while I chant."
Her words barely faded when a massive rune-carved magic circle flared beneath her feet. Chunks of mana atoms surged from the ground, then plummeted back down. Silver chains of magic cascaded like waterfalls, glittering brighter under the moonlight. Their grandeur dwarfed any ornament; their scale surpassed any invisible barrier.
Amidst the surging mana, Oren raised his longsword and charged toward Havil. At the same moment, Havil roared his muffled words:
"Hu…man…s… long… live!"
He slammed the Stone Hammer into the earth.
*BOOM!*
A blinding explosion blocked Oren’s view. The sky filled with the chaotic clatter of shrapnel. The ground shattered—huge iron fragments burst apart and rained down.
Oren looked up. The sky turned as black as a storm’s approach. Rock shards and fireball remnants cast crimson-gray glows in all directions. From horizon to horizon, the visible world shook, sank, melted. Boundless space trembled like the sea. It felt like standing atop a bottomless volcano.
Darkness swallowed the endless earth. Clouds from the sky and smoke from the explosion merged into a thick haze.
Amidst the chaos, Oren saw Havil screeching as he crawled toward Dysaia. Oren raised his longsword high—a blinding arc of mana cleaved the darkness, severing Havil’s arm cleanly.
As Havil shrieked at his severed limb, Oren roared:
"Yamwen!"
Yamwen instantly raised her longbow and loosed an arrow straight into Havil’s eye.
*THWACK!*
The wet crunch of pierced flesh was unmistakable. Havil howled, shaking his head wildly. Acidic breath sprayed from his mouth as he thrashed.
The ground sizzled under the corrosive spray. Havil forced his eye open again, ignoring the arrow still embedded in it. But as he lifted his head to roar, a crisp sound rang out from Dysaia’s direction.
Oren looked up slowly. Above and below Havil, Dysaia’s magic circles had appeared. The next second, a torrent of mana surged downward like a collapsing dam.
Ice blossoms tumbled faster, fiercer. At first, they flowed like smooth waterfalls; lower down, they became snow-white ribbons. Then—*CRASH*—they transformed into exploding icebergs, collapsing snow peaks crashing onto Havil’s grotesque flesh. The roar of the impact thundered like ten thousand galloping horses, majestic and overwhelming.
Under the mana’s baptism, Havil swung the Stone Hammer desperately. But when it struck the magic circle’s edge, a sharp *CLANG* echoed—as if hitting steel plate.
The mana torrent surged like an army of thousands, jostling, colliding, rushing toward its target. Rows of mana shattered instantly into heaps of white snow. Suddenly, a forty-meter-wide chasm opened below. The flood plunged in, surging tighter, faster, fiercer. Havil tumbled with the waterfall of magic, vanishing into the abyss.
Oren slowly lowered his sword. He’d never seen anyone escape such magic. Just as he thought, Havil swung his hammer frantically but sank deeper into the endless chasm. Then a muffled voice drifted up from the depths:
"I…li…th—"
*BOOM!*
The sound was swallowed by the chasm’s closing roar. When the mana flood subsided, only Havil’s hammer remained on the barren ground—a lone white landmark on the smooth earth.
"It’s finally over," Oren murmured, sheathing his longsword. A cool breeze brushed his back. He turned to see Dysaia leaning close, whispering:
"Climb onto my back, Oren."
She glanced at Yamwen. "This isn’t finished. Hilwen has tested my patience to its limit. I won’t let that Elvenfolk slip away so easily."
Oren gave a wry smile. "I feel the same."
He swiftly mounted Dysaia’s back. Yamwen sighed heavily but followed, helping Lontan up behind her. Once everyone was secure, Dysaia beat her wings.
A gale erupted. Like a silver meteor, Dysaia shot into the sky. As she vanished into the black horizon, a trail of silver stardust scattered across the heavens.
But beneath that silver glow, on a hill west of the villa, a robed figure lowered his telescope. In the pale moonlight, Aston’s eyes—dulled from prolonged exposure to magic—gleamed from beneath his dark hood.
"The legend…"
Aston whispered, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
"Princess Silver Dragon… truly resides in the Duchy of Sidius."
