Big isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

That was Caro’s thought after nearly suffocating.

This so-called “face-washing” service wasn’t for just anyone. You needed solid prerequisites—enough strength to avoid drowning—to even attempt it. Caro now deeply felt how her lack of power caused constant inconvenience. If only she were stronger… she could’ve actually enjoyed it.

But Karin was already dragging her backward at full speed.

Just as Caro had warned: *The big one is here.*

Roots and branches of the Ancient Spirit Tree erupted from the earth, weaving a colossal cage trapping everyone inside Dermal City. Golden leaves drifted through the air, yet shielded the people and buildings below. The city had transformed into a massive arena—a stage for the False Hero and his former comrades to settle their score.

Yet this battle was far from pure.

“Ronatia!” Arnold’s expression turned grave. Among adventurers, Ronatia qualified as a Heroic Rank Adventurer—but with a critical difference: her core skill was Lv. 10. Reaching Lv. 10 in a core skill was exceptionally rare; most Heroic Rank adventurers maxed out a non-core skill. That made her distinctly stronger.

Add Cassipero, whose Archery had also hit Lv. 10… Helen continuously applying buffs… Karin protecting Caro (Melissa would struggle against her, so that was manageable)… The real concern remained the Ancient Spirit Tree.

Arnold wasn’t foolish. Past the initial rage, he’d wondered: *Why would Cassipero target Caro? She shouldn’t even know her.*

The answer: Nastia.

The Adventurers’ Guild president—the woman always wearing that inscrutable smile.

He thought he grasped Nastia’s scheme… but that didn’t mean he accepted it. Had he not been with Caro just then, Cassipero would’ve killed her without hesitation. One fleeting thought—and he could’ve lost the person he loved forever. *That* was unbearable. His fury swelled, volcanic and absolute. He would make the world feel his wrath. He would make Nastia understand: *Caro is untouchable.*

Then—the dragon appeared.

Legends spoke of those who bathed in dragon’s blood: strengthened flesh, corrupted will, gradual transformation into dragonkind… or that dragons were merely raw material for the Chosen Hero’s weapon.

But Arnold had seen the truth.

Those who drank dragon’s blood unwillingly became grotesque hybrids—monstrous, beast-like things. Their bodies couldn’t withstand the dragon’s will within the blood.

He was different.

*He* had slain the dragon. If living dragons couldn’t defeat him, how could a dead one’s will taint his spirit? Its blood couldn’t poison his flesh. It became *his* nourishment.

And so—

A crimson dragon materialized above Dermal City.

Even Cassipero paled, frantically putting distance between them. She knew this was Arnold’s full power—the very form he’d worn fighting the Demon King. The crimson dragon wasn’t a power-up; it was a badge. A declaration of unleashed might.

Yet Ronatia surged forward.

The nation’s Sword Saint, her slender blade dwarfed by Arnold’s greatsword. Her frame tiny against the spectral dragon looming behind him. Yet she advanced—seemingly reckless, yet deliberate—and activated her skill.

Arnold didn’t underestimate her. Even at his peak, this violence was beyond Ronatia’s capacity. Her swordsmanship was Lv. 10… *only* her swordsmanship.

Muscles coiled like twisted rope along his arm. Beneath them, faint scales shimmered. He gripped his sword—and swung.

Steel met steel.

A silence so absolute Caro heard nothing. Saw nothing. As a Bard, she had resistance to concussive force… yet this overwhelmed her.

Her mind went blank. Then—

“Holy crap… that was reckless!” she blurted.

“When gods clash, mortals suffer! Is Dermal City gonna collapse?!”

“Arnold knows his limits,” Karin’s voice murmured behind her. Caro finally understood the assassin’s intuition—Karin had yanked her back *before* the crimson dragon appeared.

Caro focused on the battlefield.

A crater hung midair. Countless branches had fused into a floating platform—and shattered at its center. Ronatia struggled upright, blood slick on her hands, sword trembling in her grip. Yet her eyes remained locked fiercely on Arnold.

Caro noticed the Ancient Spirit Tree had stopped spawning treants. *Creating that platform must’ve drained it,* she realized. *It was protecting the city… Maybe I judged it too harshly.*

Then—an arrow storm rained from the sky.

“CASSIPERO!!!” Arnold’s roar shook the city like a dragon’s bellow. “Is this—*insulting* me?!”

He slashed upward. A colossal blade of light vaporized the arrows. “Where’s your Meteor Fall?! Your Death-Defying Arrow?! Is *this* all you’ve got?! Is this the strength of your will?!”

He raged like a berserker, craving fiercer blows—only worthy strikes could satisfy him.

Suddenly, pitch-black shadows coiled around the Ancient Spirit Tree. In an instant, they consumed every branch.

Leaves swirled, forming a humanoid figure. The Ancient Spirit Tree spoke: “I’ve made my stance clear. Will you still oppose me?”

Caro finally saw Melissa—the Harmony Weaver.

Long purple hair (probably dyed, Caro guessed), staff in hand. Her voice echoed, ethereal and distant: “This isn’t about your stance. It’s about balance. Your existence disrupts the natural order.”

“And the dragon-slayer doesn’t?”

“I act only where balance *can* be restored,” Melissa replied plainly.

Caro blinked. She turned to Karin. “I thought Melissa’d be rigid as stone… but she’s kinda pragmatic?”

“…I didn’t expect that either,” Karin murmured, oddly embarrassed. She’d imagined Melissa as the self-sacrificing balance-zealot.

The Ancient Spirit Tree’s leafy form swayed speechlessly.

Arnold’s gaze shifted to Melissa.

She raised her hands, staff lowered, offering a gentle smile. “No misunderstanding, Arnold. I’m here for the tree. Nothing else.”

He held her stare.

She held her smile.

Finally, he looked away.

His eyes found Cassipero in the distance—bow drawn to its absolute limit.

“The crimson dragon circled restlessly. A faint trace of blood stained Cassipero’s lip. She *could* unleash Meteor Fall… only thanks to Helen’s buffs. Without them, her body would shatter.”

*Arrow to the heavens. Then—plummet like a meteor.*

The name wasn’t metaphor. This arrow carried a meteor’s devastation.

But Arnold saw the blood.

He halted midair.

The crimson dragon vanished. He sheathed his greatsword. A cold laugh escaped him. A glance of disappointment at Cassipero.

“I see… pointless.”

To challenge him, she had to go all out—and in doing so, reveal her fragility. Cassipero knew this better than anyone.

Her composure shattered.

She’d brought Helen *specifically* to restore her former strength… yet it still disappointed him. Resentment, insecurity, jealousy—long-suppressed tides surged within her.

She released the arrow.

Target: Caro.

After all… Caro had been Nastia’s target from the very beginning.