At this moment, the world truly seemed divided into two halves.
The heavens above were stained by the dragon's magic into a deep abyssal firmament, while the land below was completely illuminated by the radiance of mind.
The dragon-bodied Vortigern spread his colossal wings ever wider between them. His pair of golden dragon eyes, like coronas falling through the darkness, gazed upon the tall, handsome figure of the youth standing below. His previous wrath toward Merlin was now gone.
Instead, amid the torrent of his violent breath, he once more spoke in human words:
"Do you truly mean to stand against me, foreigner—Subutai?"
"I know your identity. I know your origins. Your existence does not conflict with my purpose."
The negative will that loathed the life of the isle, the will that sought annihilation, targeted only the native Celtic lifeforms.
On that foundation, the foreign Huns had no conflict with Vortigern.
In these past years, he had never marched southward. Beyond his genuine wariness of Lucan, Morgan, and Merlin, and the alliance with King Uther, he had also considered this point.
He had always attempted to win over the foreign Huns.
Compared to the groveling Anglo-Saxons beneath his feet, the powerful Huns were far more worthy of his regard.
Yet no matter how many envoys he dispatched, no matter how many words he wrote, Lucan never responded. Every message was left on read and ignored.
Vortigern's heart was filled with confusion, with incomprehension.
Although he had once raged at Lucan and his companions for venturing into his domain and destroying his beasts, although he had resolved to make them pay the price—yet when meeting again, seeing once more this youth's strength, a respect for talent still inevitably rose within him, restraining his anger.
But Lucan had already answered this question.
It was only that Vortigern did not believe.
So he asked again.
And Lucan, this time, could not even be bothered to reply.
In silence, he merely increased the outpouring of True Ether. In silence, he magnified the scale—unleashing his sorcery of the soul.
He answered Vortigern's question with action.
Thus, receiving his answer, Vortigern no longer pressed. No matter the doubts, if they could not be resolved, they were meaningless.
Only one matter remained.
"Then I shall destroy you here—KING of the Huns!"
Boom!
At the roar of the dragon, the density of mana in the world surged. The once-still earth cracked apart, and from beneath the surface no longer flowed soil and stone, but the god-age mana carrying an ancient breath.
'卑王' Vortigern, though born with a dragon's body, was in essence not merely dragon, but a manifestation of the isle's will. Standing upon this land named Britain, he wielded a dominion no less than that of Morgan, the island's mistress.
Indeed, with his mighty draconic body granting higher capacity, in scope of authority Vortigern far surpassed Morgan.
Combined, these formed the authority-level Mystery known as the "Body of Britain."
"The sovereignty of True Ether is not yours alone, Subutai Ugir!"
Vortigern roared, spitting out Lucan's name.
Morgan, the maiden who was the 'Mistress of the Isle,' looked grave. Her staff tapped against the ground, erecting a protective barrier:
"He's transforming the battlefield environment… this mana density…"
Her slender frame trembled. Her cloak whipped backward in the storm. Fabric clinging to her curves outlined her elegant form, while the radiance of her magic shimmered continuously about her body—yet it could not fully spread outward.
The unripe Mistress of the Isle could not contest the Dragon of the Isle for dominion!
On the other side, Merlin wiped away nonexistent tears and, for once, spoke seriously:
"The Dragon of Britain is itself the manifestation of the isle's will. It can synchronize the surrounding environment into the Age of Gods state—in that era, the mana density alone would suffocate all present-day life."
Lucan, standing at the foremost front, remained unshaken. His eyes closed, and within him the Threefold Circulation fully activated.
God-Body, God-Soul, and God-Mind moved in unison.
Around him shimmered a ring of radiance brighter still, isolating the encroaching environment.
"Analyzing draconic traits… Confirming attack patterns… Predicting trajectory…"
Lucan murmured to himself, his eyes flashing with the light of sorcery.
"I see. So this is Britain's 'White Dragon'?"
Vortigern seemed to sense Lucan's calculations, a cold fury flickering in his draconic eyes.
His jaws yawned wide, deep in his throat glowing with a ghostly blue light—
This was the dragon's method of condensing vast mana within the throat, compressing it to extreme density before unleashing it: the breath known as Dragon's Breath.
Yet unlike ordinary dragons whose breath burned, Vortigern's dragonfire devoured instead.
Blue flames gushed forth, swallowing all things—life, matter, even mana itself.
"Be careful!" Morgan raised her staff, but Lucan was already a step ahead.
Without chant, without motion, before him a mirror-like barrier formed, woven from the concept of Fairy Tale.
It was the fusion of the First Magic's fragment, "Fairy Tale," which he had taken from Aozaki Aoko's lineage, and Morgan's water-mirror magecraft.
Even Morgan was stunned at the sight, while Merlin marveled anew at Lucan's learning speed, his feigned panic from moments ago gone without trace.
When Vortigern's azure fire surged against it, the mirror did not burn or shatter—instead, it reflected back the devouring effect.
Vortigern howled in pain, caught off guard by such easy reversal.
Enraged, the white dragon dove, claws and fangs aiming straight at Lucan.
Lucan thrust forward his right hand. Compressed True Ether in the air formed an invisible slash, cleaving toward Vortigern.
This was not merely the divine hand wrought of True Ether.
Within it was layered Lorelei's vacuum blade magecraft—
A dual destruction of Mystery and the physical.
The White Dragon did not retreat but advanced, hurling forth with the overwhelming force of his draconic body, unleashing the Hammer of the Lowly King—a blow even stronger than the siege-breaking power of his humanoid fist—colliding headlong against the slash.
When the two forces struck, the shockwave rippled outward, tearing the earth for kilometers around into a web of cracks.
The ground shook, mountains in the distance quaked.
Merlin, standing aside, breathed in awe:
"What terrifying powers clashing… I've never seen anyone contend with Vortigern head-on."
"Duke Subutai… was he truly trained as a magus?"
"Even the greatest masters of body-enhancement sorcery could never refine the flesh to such heights!"
——This was already strength on par with ordinary dragon-kind.
A miraculous feat achievable only through Lucan's authority-class sorcery of the soul.
Morgan, however, cast him a cold glance, sneering:
"If it weren't you who angered it, we wouldn't be in this mess."
For all save Lucan, she remained the proud, prickly British princess.
Merlin only grinned awkwardly again.
After the clash, Vortigern beat his wings, soaring back to gain distance.
He loomed in the abyssal heavens above, True Ether coiling with draconic mana about him, towering like a beast gazing down on ants from a mountain peak.
Haa… Haa…
Vortigern spoke again.
"Good."
His voice was deeper, colder.
"As expected of 'king.' You are stronger than I imagined."
He had thought his dragon-body meant certain victory.
He had thought showing his strongest form would mean effortless triumph.
But he had underestimated Lucan.
His voice cut sharp:
"You are worth my full strength!"
At his words, the scales upon his chest and belly glowed crimson—not ghostly blue, but blood-deep red.
This was—
"Not good! Vortigern is about to go all out!"
Merlin nearly leapt in alarm:
"This is the same strongest dragonflame he used at the Tsvolde Hills—melting over a thousand of Camelot's elite knights in an instant!"
"Back!" Lucan too sensed the danger.
The next instant, dragon's breath poured like apocalyptic flame across the battlefield, devouring light, burning all things.
It was not mere destruction of matter—it was negation of existence itself.
Measured by later ages, its core temperature surpassed a million, equal to the heart of a nuclear blast.
Lucan accelerated his own time locally with the Fifth Magic's derivative embedded in his mind-sorcery, narrowly avoiding the direct torrent, though the blast still scorched him. His right arm's garments burned to ash, revealing beneath skin veiled in silver radiance of mind's protection.
"Su, you…" Morgan's full lips parted, her face stricken with worry.
Lucan did not answer. Instead, he launched his next move.
——Yasleft of the Wraiths!
Space warped. An inner-world barrier formed from Vortigern's own malice and Britain's grudges closed about the dragon.
This was a psychic interference, seeking to sap the dragon's might by turning his negative emotions against him.
But Vortigern's dragon-eyes gleamed coldly. He inverted the emotions, converting them into yet more mana, pouring them back into himself.
"Not good!" Merlin paled. "He's using your sorcery to empower himself!"
Lucan, however, smiled.
"My arts aren't so easily consumed."
He slowly raised his hand.
And for the first time in this battle, he began to chant—invoking Mysteries beyond his sorcery of mind.
He spoke aloud, chanting:
"By mantra return to fate, O universal spirits of evil…"
It was an Onmyōdō curse from the Far East's Yamato, descended from the Taoist arts of the Celestial Empire.
A spell of chanting to bridge 'gods' and 'spirits.'
And a spell to bridge—those very wraiths being devoured by Vortigern within Yasleft!
As a great Onmyōji, Lucan's mastery was supreme. This communion was unimpeded.
Boom!
In an instant, dozens of chains of wraiths burst forth from Vortigern's own body, binding his limbs and wings.
The White Dragon thrashed and roared, breaking link after link—yet each time the chains regenerated. Horrific wraiths rooted themselves within his flesh, reproducing endlessly from his very body.
Merlin shuddered at the sight, terror coursing through him.
Morgan, on the other hand, her eyes glowed bright—strangely thinking it rather handsome.
Bound, unable to free himself swiftly, Vortigern roared and dove—seeking to crush Lucan bodily.
After all, he still held the dragon's form.
And the dragon's body was greater than human form.
But Lucan had already foreseen this. Using the martial records stored within his Armory, he predicted Vortigern's movements and readied a counter.
As he retreated with borrowed force, True Ether's radiance flared over him, layering upon him dozens of high-grade body-enhancement spells in an instant.
If his body's stats were once merely E or D, now they soared to average B. With the barrier of True Ether besides, he was equal to battling a Phantasmal Beast in close quarters.
——He could even ascend higher. With his God-Body's base limit, he could safely strengthen himself to A-rank flesh. But with his current Armory, only this level of power could he fully control.
In the same moment, he drew the tricolored spiral blade, the Sword of the War God.
It clashed against the dragon's claw.
The impact resounded thunderously across the battlefield.
Vortigern's vast frame carried overwhelming might. Every blow was earth-shattering. His sweeping tail sent waves that pulverized rock.
Yet in that instant of landing, Vortigern realized something was wrong.
Standing upon Britain, the Isle's Dragon should have felt support unceasing from the land.
But now, he felt nothing—no aid at all. Instead, the ground beneath him was devouring his mana.
This was—
His massive dragon-eyes widened in shock.
In their reflection shone the youth before him, Lucan, sword of the War God in hand, smiling.
Lucan spoke:
"Did you not say it yourself?"
"I am 'king'!"
Even for but a single day, an king yet held imperial authority.
In the ancient ages, imperial power itself was a form of dominion. Weak, faint, yes—but sustained by True Ether, it sufficed for Lucan to briefly claim the land upon which he stood as his own domain.
Since it was his domain, it no longer belonged to Britain.
If not Britain, then Vortigern held no sway here.
This was one of the Mysteries Lucan had engraved into his Threefold Circulation—
The so-called "KING for a Day."
And so, this battle—
"From the moment you landed, it was already decided, Vortigern!"
Lucan cried out.
Deprived of support, stripped of strength, Vortigern could only brawl ceaselessly—until, consumed, he was at last defeated.
From the very start, this had been Lucan's plan.
From the outset, he had lured Vortigern, guiding him into close combat.
[The primal, ultimate hunting technique contained within the dragon's body]
[For you, it is without doubt the most perfect addition to your Armory.]
…
On this day, Lucan shattered the threshold of divinity.
He seized the crown of Infinite Martial Training.