"Woooo—!"
Dark clouds rolled across the sky as a piercing horn blared over the walls. The urgent call, mingling with the howls of monsters, sent tension rippling through every soldier atop the battlements.
"They're climbing the walls! Throw down the powder kegs—hurry!"
The undead swarmed like maddened ants, piling their bones into crude ladders. Guards frantically hurled barrels of explosives down, and a series of thunderous blasts shook the walls. Dirt and bone fragments scattered in every direction—the skeletal ladders shattered instantly.
But before the defenders could even cheer, more monsters surged forward like a black tide, forcing them to keep throwing explosives.
"Their fighting quality's pathetic," a mercenary sneered as he watched.
Even with only fifty or so men left, the group's mages had already begun chanting. In a battle like this, large-scale magic was the most devastating weapon.
A shimmer of blue spread outward, forming a massive barrier that cut the undead tide off from the wall. Then, as the mages' voices rose in perfect unison, the air trembled with the might of a King-tier spell—Meteor Shower!
Far beyond the walls, swirling whirlpools of molten flame took shape in the heavens. Each blazing droplet, the size of a human head, rained down like a fiery storm, reducing countless monsters to ash in an instant.
The goal was clear: break the monster tide and focus on purging the undead.
If priests had been present, their holy cleansing would've been far more effective—but unfortunately, the Holy Light Church had yet to arrive.
Instead, the mages cast an amplified Quicksand beneath the skeletal horde, dragging entire ranks into the earth. The result was devastatingly effective.
Other mages who had rushed in as reinforcements unleashed their own spells in a cascade of colors—all with a single purpose: keep the monsters from reaching the walls.
Compared to the guards, the mercenaries were far more experienced in siege warfare. Every unit moved in perfect coordination, each covering the others seamlessly.
Yet some monsters showed no fear of the blazing lava—like the wyvern.
"Watch out! Incoming!"
The exhausted mages, still drained from casting their King-tier spell, forced themselves to conjure another barrier against the incoming torrent of dragonfire.
"Rooooar!"
The wyvern bellowed, swooping low to sweep the wall clean of defenders like dust from a table.
But then—a small figure shot into the air.
Without master or mentor, she mimicked a technique nearly identical to Lion's Claw, and with overwhelming force, her greatsword came crashing down on the wyvern's skull!
Both dragon and warrior plummeted into the horde below, shattering another bone staircase on impact.
Amid the swarming monsters, one girl and one dragon clashed in a fierce, chaotic duel.
As expected of the Hero—Elsa, fearless beyond measure.
Her blazing spirit ignited the defenders' courage. Even their strikes grew sharper, their voices louder.
Then, with a clear cry of "Exterminate the heretics!", a gentle holy light descended from above.
Wounds across the defenders' bodies closed in moments, while the undead shrieked in agony—Holy Light was poison to them. Just a touch was enough to make them melt like vampires in the sun.
"Look! The Church—they've come!" someone shouted in joy.
At the forefront strode Arbuda, clad in full armor, flanked by nearly twenty Holy Knights. Their gleaming white armor made them look like angels descended from the heavens. Wherever they walked, divine warmth followed.
Behind them came hundreds of squires, nuns, and priests who immediately began healing the wounded.
And after them came waves of adventurers—nearly every adventurer in Bedford City had gathered here, united for one cause: to fight!
"Everyone, it's time to stand and fight!" Leon cried, raising his straight sword high, his golden hair blazing like sunlight.
The mercenaries' eyes gleamed with renewed hope. With so many allies… how could they possibly fail to hold the wall?
Then came more noise from behind—another group of reinforcements. The mercenaries turned with anticipation.
It was the city guards.
"Tch."
The mercenaries curled their lips in disappointment.
Simon and Gelka exchanged a look. Simon called to Arbuda, the apparent leader, "Praise be to the God of Light! Holy Knights, please—help us hold the monsters back!"
Arbuda shouted to the adventurers, "Honored adventurers, lend us your strength! We common folk beg for your protection!"
The gall of him to call himself "common folk"…
Leon, however, ignored the mercenaries entirely. Knowing their past deeds, he led the adventurers straight up the walls to join the front lines.
The priests of the Holy Light raised their voices in sacred hymns, radiant brilliance pouring down from the heavens and melting the undead where they stood.
In moments, the skeletal tide disintegrated. Without their bone stairways, the monsters had no way to breach the wall.
It looked as good as won.
At least, that's what everyone thought—until something changed.
"They're… turning to ash?"
Every fighter froze. Not because they refused to fight, but because there was nothing left to strike. The monsters' bodies dissolved into fine dust, drifting on the wind. In mere moments, the entire horde had vanished.
Elsa, locked in battle with the wyvern, suddenly felt her opponent crumble beneath her blade. She blinked in confusion, as if the world itself had disappeared beneath her feet.
"W-what's going on?"
No one understood.
One well-read adventurer cleared his throat and explained,
"It's the time limit! Dungeons in Berserk mode only last so long. Once time's up, the monsters vanish!"
"So we're safe now?" someone asked.
"Yes! We're safe!"
The sudden victory left many stunned.
"Huh?" Maru blinked. "Wait, that's it? But I didn't even get to do anything yet!"
"Finally over," Gelka sighed in relief. "Tonight, I'm drinking until I drop!"
Only Leon stayed grim, eyes locked on the drifting ashes.
The monsters' remains didn't vanish completely—they swirled through the air, gathering across the battlefield until even the skies dimmed.
The black storm clouds overhead didn't fade. If anything, they grew heavier—thick and suffocating.
Like the silence before a storm.
"Something's wrong. Everyone, prepare yourselves—the battle isn't over!" Leon barked.
"ROOOOAR!!!"
His warning had barely left his lips when a roar unlike any wyvern's thundered across the plains.
And with that roar—the storm descended.
Tornadoes ripped across the fields. A dense fog rose from the ground, as though the very sky had fallen to earth.
Dong… dong…
A bell tolled in the distance—the same tone that marked a dungeon's opening or closing.
But this time… it felt like a summons.
Like something—someone—was being called forth.
The howling winds drew the ashes together, swirling violently in the heart of the storm. The particles condensed—began to take shape.
Stones and debris whipped through the air as defenders shielded their eyes, straining to see.
Then—BOOM!
A colossal claw tore free from the storm, followed by another. A massive body emerged, covered not in scales, but in dark feathers.
It was a dragon—but not one of this world. Its feathered form exuded the regal power of a true dragon. The oppressive might radiating from it declared one truth: this was no mere beast. This was a catastrophe given form.
"ROOOOAR!!"
The creature raised its head and unleashed a roar that shook heaven and earth. Storm winds blasted outward as lightning tore across the sky, striking the mighty walls—and shattering them in an instant.
[King of the Storm(Dark Souls)]
[Overall Combat Power: B]
The mount of the Nameless King from Dark Souls III. His eternal companion in battle.
Yet somehow, it had been summoned here—separated from its master.
Everyone trembled in primal terror, the instinctive dread of prey before a predator.
Stella's eyes locked onto the dragon. No—she wasn't staring at the beast itself. She was staring at—
"There's someone riding it!" someone screamed.
A rider?
Who could possibly sit astride such a monster? Only a god…
"T-that's…"
Drew's eyes went wide. He recognized that armor. Not the long-haired sun warrior wielding a spear. Not the golden lion-clad knight.
No—this figure wore the towering, crimson-stained Dragonslayer Armour.
[Dragonslayer Armour]
[Overall Combat Power: B]
Drew's mind reeled, nearly overwhelmed by the revelation.
Why… why would a Dragonslayer stand alongside a dragon?
Sworn enemies by nature—why were they fighting as one?
It wasn't just Drew. Stella, too, stood frozen in disbelief. She could faintly sense the lingering aura of Gwyn within the Dragonslayer Armour, which only deepened her confusion.
"Woooo—!"
The horns along the city walls blared. What should have been a rallying call instead sounded hoarse and broken—like the dying gasp of the doomed.
"Attack! Attack!" Simon shouted, deciding in an instant. They had to strike before their enemy fully manifested. If they waited, the crushing aura alone would ensure their annihilation.
Not that his order was even needed. The Mercenary mages were already chanting in unison—a reflex born of survival when faced with overwhelming power.
It took no fewer than ten high-ranking magicians to weave a King-tier spell: Death Omen Piercing Arrow.
A massive crimson arrow—death itself given form—materialized and was loosed. Anything it touched, even a graze, would be claimed by the Reaper's grasp.
With this one strike, they would send both the Dragonslayer and the King of Storms to hell.
The arrow tore through storm winds, through roiling clouds, through the ashes swirling in the sky. In a flash, it was upon the Dragonslayer Armour.
How could he respond, still only half-formed?
Gripping the massive Dragonslayer Axe with both hands, he raised it high.
"Rumble—!"
Lightning split the heavens. Divine thunder wreathed the colossal axe as he swung it down upon the arrow of death—
Lightning. Endless lightning.
The clouds below evaporated in an instant. The ground split open. The plains themselves trembled violently.
Those who dared look upon the strike were blinded by its brilliance, their vision seared away.
"Quick, heal me! My eyes—!"
Even the clash alone—not its aftermath, just the collision—had thrown the walls into chaos.
And when their sight returned, what they saw drove them to despair.
The Storm Dragon strode forward, each step heavy and deliberate.
Upon its back stood the Dragonslayer—tall, unyielding, like an unshakable demonic god.
The King-tier spell, Death Omen Arrow, had done nothing.
Thud. Thud.
Each footfall of the Storm Dragon landed on their hearts, the pressure so immense that weaker men fainted outright.
"H-how are we supposed to fight that?" Gelka rasped, voice shaking with terror.
Who could even think of resisting such a foe?
Leon's sword hand trembled. He had believed his training complete—that he could reclaim his honor, perhaps even conquer Sein's Dungeon with ease.
But before this pairing, all courage withered.
So this… is the true might of Sein?
If the final boss hadn't been the Crucible Knight but this armor—who could have ever cleared it?
A bitter thought sank in. Their earlier "victory" might have been nothing more than mercy.
"No… we can't let them enter the city!"
Even under that crushing fear, Leon forced himself to move.
If the Storm Dragon breached the walls, Bedford was doomed.
He raised his sword, pointed it at the dragon, and shouted, "I'll stop it!"
The next moment, Terl smacked him on the back of the head, knocking him out cold.
"Get the boss outta here, now!"
"This stubborn idiot—still trying to play hero at a time like this!" Drew growled, kicking Leon's limp body in frustration.
Responsibility was one thing—but throwing away your life in a hopeless fight was madness.
Enemies like this… only the legendary heroes of old could have faced them.
Through the fog, a small figure emerged—Elsa. Greatsword in hand, she poured every ounce of strength she had ever possessed into her charge.
"It's her!" someone shouted. "The girl who fought the wyvern earlier!"
If it was her… maybe there was hope.
The Dragonslayer raised its massive shield. Elsa's greatsword came crashing down, the impact splitting the skies with a deafening roar.
Her teeth clenched. Her entire body strained—but the Armor didn't even flinch. Beneath it, the Storm Dragon staggered from the shock, then roared furiously.
The storm surged. Elsa tried to retreat, to regain her footing—but she had underestimated the storm's fury.
Before she even hit the ground, the winds swallowed her whole. In an instant, she was gone—without a trace.
"…"
A deathly silence fell over the walls. The soldiers' fleeting spark of hope was snuffed out before it could burn.
"P-purge the heretic?" a Holy Light knight stammered, glancing at Arbuda.
He turned away.
What kind of joke was that? There was no way he was fighting that kind of "heretic."
With no one left to stand in their way, the storm advanced step by step.
Despair spread like wildfire. Many fled, but some—too proud to surrender—unleashed every spell and skill they had. Brilliant arcs of magic streaked through the air, only to be torn apart by wind and thunder before ever reaching their mark.
They couldn't fight. They were never meant to fight something like this.
Under countless despairing gazes, the Dragonslayer and the Storm Dragon reached the walls.
The fortress of humanity—the proud defense of Bedford—was no stronger than paper before them.
The axe lifted once more, and all knew what would follow.
"Rumble—!"
The walls collapsed completely.
At the Adventurer's Guild, Sid looked up toward the storm's heart.
"Should I step in? A fight like this might end in mutual death…"
A terrible aura began to rise from him—the pinnacle of human strength. Yet—
A sudden shackle bound him, suppressing his full power.
"Tch… guess I'll just have to grit my teeth and fight," he muttered.
But when he looked back toward the storm, he froze.
Then, faintly, he smiled.
"Well now… what a rare sight. Truly spectacular."
The pressure around him faded. Sid calmly lifted his cup of cold tea, took a slow sip, and told his trembling assistant, Gina:
"Don't worry. The only ones who'll die today… are those who deserve it."
And Sid was right.
As the walls fell and the Storm Dragon entered the city, despair crushed every heart.
Yet something strange happened.
The two overwhelming beings did not slaughter indiscriminately. They marched straight toward the inner walls, not even glancing at the fleeing masses—like ants unworthy of notice.
"They… they're not killing us?" an adventurer whispered, dazed.
"Rumble—!"
A thunderclap answered. Beside him, a mercenary was struck down, his body charred black.
Lightning poured endlessly from the heavens. Yet the only ones who died—
—were the mercenaries and soldiers of Bedford.