The resilient scales and robust body of the dragon were of no use—before the dazzling silver light, they crumbled like tofu under a hot blade.
Molten blood, as scorching as magma, sprayed into the air. The massive red dragon let out a wailing roar as its enormous body weakened, plummeting toward the earth.
Fortunately, the area was sparsely populated. Otherwise, the sheer size of the thousand-meter-long dragon would have wreaked unimaginable havoc on human civilization.
To the east, within the radiant silver sun, a figure slowly emerged.
He was a tall man with rugged features, his black hair almost as long as his beard. Dressed in a mix of animal pelts and haphazardly donned armor, his presence was wild and commanding.
Most striking of all was his right arm—not of flesh and blood, but entirely silver, as if forged from gleaming metal.
The overwhelming aura of divinity emanating from him, coupled with that silver arm, left no doubt about his identity.
Nuada, the king of the Tuatha Dé Danann from Celtic mythology.
Merely standing there, his very presence caused the surrounding space to groan under the strain.
"Hahaha! Foul dragon, flee like the coward you are! Tremble before the invincible radiance of my silver light!"
Laughter boomed across the land, brimming with mockery aimed at the red dragon.
Indeed, Nuada was simply toying with it.
Even a red dragon born from the ley lines of Britain was not worth Nuada's full attention.
What kind of god-king would he be if he lacked this degree of arrogance?
His disdainful words enraged the red dragon further. The stinging wounds on its body awakened its feral instincts, and its blood-red eyes burned with fury as it decided to retaliate. With a roar, it raised its head and unleashed a scorching breath of dragonfire upon Nuada.
Feeling the searing heat rushing toward him, Nuada's excitement only grew.
"Yes! That's the spirit! If you didn't resist this much, how could you prove my valor?"
"Come now, entertain me to your last breath! Let yourself be utterly crushed by me!"
Amidst his maniacal laughter, Nuada gripped his longsword and swung it against the approaching dragonfire.
Light streaked forth.
The fire, capable of scorching the earth and evaporating seas, was effortlessly sliced apart by the flash of silver light.
The mindless red dragon could not comprehend what had just happened. Before it could react, the blazing silver light pierced through its massive body.
The light did not stop there. It tore through the dragon, striking the earth and ocean beyond. A deep gash extended beyond the horizon, leaving behind a sharp aura that prevented the surrounding seawater from filling the void.
"Roar—!"
With a despairing cry, the red dragon finally collapsed, too weak to support its massive frame. It lay motionless on the ground, defeated.
Nuada's silver longsword rested against the dragon's neck. A single swing would end the dragon's life.
Yet, the consequences would be dire—the death of the dragon would bring about the "death" of Britain's land, turning it into a lifeless wasteland more hostile than a desert.
As the original deity of this land, Nuada understood this better than anyone.
But he didn't care.
For Nuada had descended into this world as a god of rebellion, driven mad and freed of all taboos. His only desire was to fulfill his lust for battle; everything else was discarded.
Such is the nature of a god of rebellion—a calamity that walks the earth.
The horrifying scars left on the land were a testament to this truth.
Just as Nuada was about to swing his sword and claim the dragon's head as his trophy, a powerful aura abruptly entered his senses.
Under the starry night sky, a golden-red meteor tore through the heavens, hurtling straight toward him.
Boom—!
The collision unleashed a massive shockwave of energy, further devastating the already ruined land.
Standing proudly amidst the destruction, Nuada's eyes widened with fury, and his beard bristled as he roared.
"Who dares to steal my prey? To challenge the authority of a god-king? You shall pay the price!"
As Nuada's voice echoed, the very heavens and earth trembled in response.
This was the wrath of a god. The skies and land quaked beneath his fury, cowering in fear of his divine might.
However, the figure standing opposite him remained unfazed.
"Your prey?"
Golden hair swayed lightly in the wind. The newcomer wore a magnificent yet regal suit of orange-red armor, emblazoned with a large cross at its center—a clear emblem of his faith.
"Slaying dragons and serpents is my divine mission, a duty bestowed upon me by the Lord. I am the protector of these skies, this land, and these seas. I am the hero who slays the wicked dragons and is their equal. I am the embodiment of justice, the defender of Christendom!"
Golden-red eyes burned with divine light, and the red knight flashed a proud, unrestrained smile.
"I—am Britain itself!"
This red knight was none other than Saint George, incarnate through humanity.
Saint George's words only made the smile on Nuada's face more twisted.
"In my presence, before the god-king, you dare proclaim yourself as Britain? Such arrogance!"
"I am the true god of this land! The true king of this land! When Britain calls for its protector in times of crisis, it is I who answers!"
"I am the rightful king of Britain! The master of its land and seas!"
Recognizing Nuada's iconic silver arm, Saint George chuckled.
"King Nuada, clinging to the past does you no good. While you indeed once ruled this land, the people now place their faith in me. That is the reality."
"Hmph!"
Nuada snorted coldly, his piercing gaze fixed on Saint George. The sheer force of his divine presence sent the seas into a frenzy beneath him.
"That deceitful grin of yours disgusts me. Let me decorate it with blood!"
With that, Nuada discarded his longsword and raised his silver arm.
This arm was his greatest weapon, the silver hand crafted by the god of medicine to replace the arm he lost in his conquest of Ireland. It possessed the terrifying power to sever all things.
"So, this is the [Silver Hand (Agateram)]," Saint George remarked with a faint smile, raising his own greatsword.
To speak of Saint George is to recall the legend of his dragon-slaying exploits and the blade he wielded for that purpose—[Ascalon], the sword of the dragonslayer.
Although some versions of the tale depicted him wielding a spear, here, it was this sacred sword.
"My duty may be to slay dragons, but a barbaric god-king of a fallen pantheon is no exception. I will cut you down with ease!"
"Then let me see if your strength matches your boastful words!"
In an instant, silver light and crimson radiance clashed. The collision of their opposing yet equally formidable powers distorted the heavens, throwing light and shadow into chaotic disarray. Everything plunged into chaos.
Both warriors forgot about the dying red dragon, consumed only by the thought of annihilating the arrogant adversary before them.
Energy rippled outward, devastating the land and raising massive waves.
Even in the shockwaves of the clash, Saint George's power to slay dragons mingled with Nuada's silver light.
As a result, the already fragile red dragon succumbed entirely, its life snuffed out amidst the cataclysmic aftermath.
And at the moment of the dragon's death, an unfathomable power surged, sweeping across every corner of this world.
---
T/N: ooga booga i wonder which servant... would it be lily?
...
Huh. You really stuck it out all the way to the end.
Didn't think you had the patience. Guess I was wrong.
WiseTL's the one who actually made all this come together. I'm just here putting a bow on it... or, well, shoving it in a backpack and calling it a day. Same thing.
If you had fun, you know what to do:
👉 [patreon.com/WiseTL]
And if you're the social type, there's a Discord too. Pretty decent spot to hang out—no battles required.
👉 [discord.gg/wisetl]
Alright. That's enough standing around. Go on—before you make it weird.
—Leaf