When people think of monsters invading a city, what comes to mind?
Blood and fire.
Wailing and screams.
The dead and the damned.
But at this moment, the only thing in the hearts of everyone in Bedford City was—
Majesty.
The Storm Dragon strode down the main road toward the inner wall, each step steady and deliberate. Upon its back stood the Dragonslayer Armour, towering and unyielding, as thunder and storm sang their praises—as if an ancient king had returned to the mortal world.
Such a sight… Forget fighting it—
Even worship would feel like blasphemy.
Stella's throat was dry. More than ever, she longed to know: what was the connection between the Storm Dragon, the Dragonslayer, and the Sun's Firstborn? How could mortal enemies of old now stand side by side?
Lightning continued to reap the lives of mercenaries one after another. Even Gelka and Simon were not spared—struck down where they stood, their bodies frozen in place, never to move again.
It was—Divine Punishment.
The mercenaries struggled in vain. No resistance, no spell, no scream could stop the storm's wrath. One by one, they fell, their end marked by blinding flashes of white.
Soon, the thunder faded into silence. Every mercenary of the Light Eagle, every soldier who had trespassed into the dungeon's domain—dead.
And yet… not a single adventurer had perished.
Well—almost. A few had been struck by debris, some blown away by the storm, others had fainted from fear. But none were killed.
The survivors stared in stunned silence at the Storm Dragon.
Mouths opened, but no words came. People glanced at one another in disbelief. Then, someone—braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest—took a step forward.
They followed.
They wanted to see what the creature would do next.
Would it slay the final offender?
Would it execute Count Philip himself?
Yes—if the Light Eagle mercenaries had been wiped out, then how could the Count escape divine justice?
And so, a strange procession formed.
The master of storm and thunder advanced, each stride unerring and regal. Behind them trailed a crowd of humans—small as insects, yet compelled to follow.
The only sound that filled the world was the howling of the wind.
Then, an unexpected group appeared ahead.
"By the Fire God—what in the world happened here!?"
A Fire Priest in crimson robes stood before the ruined city gates, a dozen believers of the Fire God gathered behind him.
They had journeyed long and hard to reach Bedford, drawn by rumors of the Fire God's presence in the Sein Dungeon. They had hoped to prove themselves as Warriors of Sunlight. Instead, they found chaos.
"My God!" The priest's eyes went wide as he saw the Storm Dragon and the Dragonslayer. He trembled. "How did a monster get into the city!?"
The townsfolk glared at him, warning him not to speak such foolish words.
"What happened here? Can anyone explain? You there—sir, please tell me!"
Someone, irritated and exhausted, gave him a rough recount of events.
The priest fell silent for a long time.
Just when people thought he'd leave, he suddenly dropped to his knees before the Storm Dragon and shouted:
"This is divine punishment from the Fire God! The judgment of Lord Gwyn!"
Lord… Gwyn?
The adventurers exchanged confused glances. They knew of bonfires, yes—but when had the Church of Fire turned Gwyn into their god?
"The true culprit of all this is the greedy noble!" the Fire Priest cried with burning conviction.
"His greed offended the dungeon itself! He has angered the will of the Fire God! Thus, the Lord has sent His emissaries to deliver wrath upon the sinner!"
To him, both the Dragonslayer and the Storm Dragon radiated unmistakable divinity. There could be no mistake—they were chosen by the Fire God.
Someone hesitated. "But… what did the Count do to anger the dungeon?"
"It is not the dungeon—it is the Fire God himself!" the priest snapped, glaring. "The Count restricted you—future believers—from entering the dungeon to make pilgrimage! If that is not blasphemy, then what is!?"
The crowd exchanged uneasy looks. The priest clearly sounded mad… but still, his words made a twisted sort of sense.
"So… by your logic, this dragon and armor are actually helping us?" someone asked tentatively.
"Have you seen them harm any of you?" the priest retorted.
…No. They hadn't.
Only the soldiers and mercenaries of Bedford had been slain. No adventurer lay dead.
The Fire Priest lifted his voice, passion swelling in every word:
"Then there is no doubt! This is proof that the Fire God protects the innocent! The First Flame shines upon all! The very fact that you yet live proves His mercy!"
Before anyone could respond, he shouted again, his voice echoing through the storm:
"Come! Let us witness together the fall of the greedy Count! Do not fear—the emissaries of God will not harm you!"
At first, the people had followed the dragon merely out of curiosity.
Now, under his fiery preaching, the crowd transformed into a pilgrimage, as if convinced that a Fire God had truly descended to punish Count Philip.
It was surreal—absurd, even. Yet many, uneasy but awestruck, followed anyway.
The inner wall loomed ahead—forty or fifty meters tall, a miracle once wrought by the ancestors of House Bede.
Today, that miracle meant nothing before the storm.
In the lord's mansion, faces had gone pale as the tempest drew near.
Count Philip had already been warned by a messenger mage—who was promptly struck by lightning mid-report.
Now, he could only cower in his manor, listening to the Storm Dragon's footsteps draw closer—each thundering step marking the rhythm of his impending death.
Why… why had it come to this?
He didn't understand. He had only wanted to mine more Blood Crystals—to offer them to the king, to ensure a better life for himself.
So why did this end in ruin?
He had dismissed Sali and the servants. He was alone now, hiding within his manor.
But even the mansion meant to protect him was torn apart by the storm.
The fragile mortal raised his gaze to meet the mighty being's.
The Dragonslayer looked down. There was no mercy in that gaze—only judgment.
The great dragon-slaying axe rose high.
The Fire Priest cried out, "Deliver divine punishment upon the blasphemous noble!"
But then—
"Pikachu, use Thunderbolt!"
A lightning bolt crashed down upon the Dragonslayer Armour—without leaving so much as a scratch.
The armor didn't even react.
But the Fire Priest exploded in fury.
"Who dares!?" he bellowed.
An unexpected figure stood before Count Philip. Pikachu leapt into his arms, baring its teeth at the Dragonslayer.
It was—Vilde, the son everyone had thought useless.
Seeing his second son step forward, Count Philip froze. Of all people, he never imagined his savior would be Vilde.
"You—"
"Father, don't worry! I'll protect you!" Vilde declared, clutching Pikachu tightly as he glared up at the towering armor, trying to look brave.
But his legs trembled so hard he was on the verge of wetting himself.
"Pi… Pi… Pikachu," he stammered. "M-Maybe you should run. I'll… stay here…"
"Pika…" Pikachu was too terrified to reply.
A fierce gust swept through. Man and Pokémon screamed as they were hurled into the storm, vanishing without a trace.
Count Philip stared blankly at where they'd been. Strangely, he felt no worry at all.
Instead, a darker craving stirred in his mind.
I want blood therapy… blood therapy… I can't hold it back—I need it!
The mental strain shattered the calm facade he'd been forcing upon himself.
Bloodshot veins crawled across his eyes. Coarse black bristles sprouted along his skin. He was mutating—losing his humanity.
The thirst for blood warped his features beyond recognition. Driven by madness, he charged the Storm Dragon in a frenzy.
But when the lightning fell—
Nothing remained.
BOOM——!
.
..
...
In September of the year 2174 of the New Calendar, the Sein Dungeon went berserk. Count Philip of Bedford and the mercenaries of the Light Eagle perished. Bedford City fell—but there were no further casualties.
The figures of storm and thunder spread across the continent, and every nation turned its eyes toward the Sein Dungeon. Its strange artifacts and bonfires sparked boundless fascination.
The lure of treasure outweighed fear. Records showed that no dungeon ever went berserk twice in a short span—so adventurers flocked there in greater numbers than ever before.
And because the Storm Dragon had not slain a single adventurer, rumors began to spread:
"The Sein Dungeon is a dungeon that welcomes adventurers."
In October of that same year, a new heir of House Bedford took office.
His name was—Charon.