"ROAR!!"
Nergigante's defense... had been shattered.
It was a breakdown in more ways than one. While the Eater of Elders could normally endure the concussive force of the many evolved blasting scales, the rising heatwave—the searing tongues of fire forcing their way between its belly and the ground—broke its defensive posture. Forcing itself through the lethargy and muscle relaxation creeping into its skull and limbs, Nergigante hauled itself up from its "turtle" stance.
The Bazelgeuse brothers weren't about to ask Nergigante if it felt a draft down there, and Nergigante wasn't going to scream in frustration. Instead, its massive frame swayed as it attempted to retreat to a safer position. No monster would willingly waste its stamina soaking up damage for nothing.
Meanwhile, Kushala Daora was making its move.
As a Kushala Daora from the Old World, it had never seen a Bazelgeuse before. However, it could tell that this unknown Elder Dragon had, for various reasons, surpassed its own potential and attained greater power. This was normal enough, but Kushala didn't want one side to overwhelm the other. It wanted both sides to be evenly matched, to exhaust one another, and eventually, for both to die.
Swoosh!!
Asterion's blade-tail slashed through the storm, but it failed to cut the air itself. His tail hadn't yet reached the level where it could create a vacuum with a swing. This Kushala Daora possessed a masterful command over its Elder Dragon power; under its control, the invisible wind could switch between tangible and intangible states at a whim.
When the dragon needed to cut, the wind became a blade; when it needed a blunt strike, it became a solid wall of force. Yet, when faced with Asterion's head-on strikes, the dense, tangible wind would suddenly dissolve into nothingness, causing Asterion's blades to meet nothing but empty air.
Disgusting!
This Kushala Daora wasn't even in the same league as the ones Asterion remembered. It was far stronger than any typical Kushala!
The spirit of a master craftsman!
That was the only explanation Asterion could think of. Doing one thing for a lifetime made it as natural as breathing. Given the lifespan of an Elder Dragon, a Kushala that spent centuries playing with the wind would naturally possess an terrifying level of proficiency.
It was a pure wind-element mage.
The dragon even knew how to set traps. It would pre-emptively control the air in a certain area, and the moment Asterion stepped in to dodge an attack, the air would instantly surge, turning into a massive wind prison.
Had Asterion not been able to use his fire-jets to force a burst of propulsion, he would have been captured on the spot.
The compressed fire-gas he had stored before the battle had already been depleted in the heat of combat. Asterion was forced to inhale massive amounts of air while fighting, acting like a giant bellows. Even from a distance, one could hear the whistling roar of air being sucked into his body.
But now, even this mid-battle recovery was becoming difficult. It wasn't because Asterion lacked suction power, but because the Kushala Daora, noticing his heavy breathing, began to consciously accelerate the flow of wind around him.
Wind is simply moving air. When air moves fast enough—even without reaching supersonic speeds—it becomes difficult to draw into the lungs. One simply cannot breathe.
Logically, with the evolutionary traits Asterion had developed, he shouldn't have to worry about breathing during high-speed flight. His physiological structure was designed to automatically force air into his lungs and fill his compression sacs with the oxygen needed to mix with his fire-gas.
The problem was that he wasn't currently flying at high speeds. The air currents Kushala controlled weren't flowing rhythmically from front to back; instead, they swirled around Asterion from every angle and direction, acting like a tether.
Let alone inhaling enough air to compress into fire-gas, Asterion was struggling just to ensure his normal breathing wasn't compromised so he wouldn't pass out from oxygen deprivation during the intense exertion.
Damn you, Kushala Daora!
When he first arrived in this world, Asterion thought his greatest enemies would be the Apex predators of the various locales. After he defeated them, he thought his greatest enemies were the annoying dragons that stayed in the sky just to drop hazards on him. Once he finally found a way to fly, these dragons that could manipulate the environment at will became his new nightmare.
Asterion realized it more clearly now than ever! His problem wasn't a lack of physical strength; it was a lack of Elder Dragon power—the ability to make the outside world bend to his will!
BOOM!!
Suddenly, a sound erupted that didn't belong to the Bazelgeuse brothers. It was a massive, external explosion, far from the immediate battlefield—sounding like a volcanic eruption.
It was a bright, sunny afternoon, yet a blinding light suddenly burst over the distant sea. It was as if a sun had risen from the shoreline, dyeing the blue sky and white coast a violent orange-red.
The volcano known as Zorah Magdaros had erupted. From the heat organs on its back, bright orange lava and glowing red streams of rock spewed outward, tracing arcs across the sky before crashing down in all directions.
Without a doubt, this was Zorah Magdaros's method of attack!!
It required no complex maneuvers or delicate "magic." Simply venting what it had consumed or secreted was enough to destroy everything in its path!
It was no different from a real volcanic eruption. Those crimson flows weren't just magma; they were molten liquid metals and minerals. As they hit the ocean, they clashed violently with the seawater. Massive plumes of steam covered the entire sea level, momentarily erasing any trace of blue water.
Before the first wave of lava could even cool into black stone, a new wave completely buried it. It was no exaggeration to say that a single eruption from Zorah Magdaros would create an entirely new island off the coast of the New Continent!
To revere the power of nature is to revere the power of Elder Dragons. At this moment, those who felt this truth most poignantly weren't the dragons like Asterion, who were watching the lava flows from a relatively safe distance. It was the hunters on the airships.
Because... they were Zorah Magdaros's targets!
Setting aside the lava falling due to gravity, the massive chunks of molten rock being expelled from the thermal vents on Zorah's back were aimed directly at the hunters' fleet.
Their attempts to approach Zorah Magdaros seemed to have annoyed the beast, leading it to "sneeze." That was the reality—this apocalyptic scene wasn't even Zorah Magdaros attacking in earnest; it was merely the casual flick of a tail to drive away a horsefly.
The airships looked like sky lanterns that had caught fire, burning brightly in the sky before plummeting toward the earth.
Those were the lucky ones—their gas bags had merely been ignited, giving the crew a chance to jump into the sea... assuming they could swim away before the spreading lava reached them, or before they were boiled alive in the heating water.
The unlucky ones were struck directly by the molten boulders. The airships were swallowed instantly, along with the hunters who didn't have time to escape. Asterion even saw smoke puffing from several airships as they jerked backward from recoil.
The hunters were firing their cannons, trying to shatter the incoming lava with cannonballs or at least knock them off course to buy a desperate chance at survival.
The Commission's investigation plan had failed once again.
Unlike Asterion, who was here for the meat, the hunters had no intention of joining the fray between the dragons immediately. They had wanted to get close to Zorah Magdaros—the unique Elder Dragon that acted as a "living ship" during the Elder Crossing.
Unfortunately, Zorah Magdaros did not welcome them. Thirty years ago, the Admiral and his team could only watch from a distance as Zorah's back disappeared into the sea. Thirty years later, it was the same story. Even with aerial transport, they couldn't even get close.
Even if the Admiral wanted to hitch a ride on a Wingdrake to land on Zorah's back, he couldn't. Terrified by the aura of an Elder Dragon, the Wingdrakes currently tamed by the hunters didn't dare approach Zorah Magdaros.
Ships were moving, extinguishing fires, and conducting rescue operations—BANG!!
The hunters' cannons fired again. But this time, Asterion heard a different note in the blast.
CLANG!
A metal projectile slammed into Kushala Daora. Having traveled such a distance, it had lost most of its kinetic energy, but as a provocation, it was more than enough.
Snapping its head around, Kushala Daora glared in the direction of the shot. To be attacked by such an insignificant thing—it was furious!
This wasn't its molting period; it didn't need humans to scrub its scales or grind off its rusted skin!
Whoosh—!
Kushala had just begun to condense a wind pressure shot when it sensed something and beat its wings. With a burst of wind, it glided nimbly to the side. In the spot where it had just been standing, Asterion's elongated blade-tail retracted, having missed its mark.
Asterion wasn't about to let Kushala Daora wipe out those "annoying little bugs." Even if the hunters couldn't deal lethal damage to an Elder Dragon in most cases, he was counting on the Admiral to harass and distract Kushala, creating an opening for him to finish off Nergigante.
The hunters had come to fulfill their pact. That cannon shot was the signal.
The Bazelgeuse brothers were reveling in their newly evolved power—stronger explosions and higher temperatures. The ones firing at the battlefield weren't just the surviving airships, but also the sea vessels. Compared to the former, the latter, equipped with dozens of cannons, were the true heavy hitters.
The... heavy hitters?
Asterion had to repeatedly swing his tail to intercept Kushala Daora, preventing it from charging over to sink those ships. In the rapidly shifting chaos of close-quarters combat, the hunters' aim wasn't exactly precise... several cannonballs even hit Asterion. Honestly, they actually packed a punch!
Wait, are these really muzzle-loading cannons?
After taking two hits, even Asterion's massive body tilted slightly.
He was a bit confused. Human technology in this world relied heavily on "archaeology," and after feeling it firsthand, he couldn't quite reconcile the power of these shots with the primitive cannons of his memory.
The gunpowder they're using is a bit too intense, isn't it?
Not only that, but hunters were now flying in, hanging from the talons of Wingdrakes. Leading them was the Admiral, who was waving frantically at Asterion—though Asterion wasn't sure if he was supposed to be seen.
The hunters, including the Admiral, had to land far away and run the rest of the distance. The Wingdrakes feared Zorah Magdaros's aura, and they were just as terrified of Nergigante and Kushala Daora. Forcing them further would only result in the creatures' wings cramping as they plummeted.
SHING!
For the first time since Kushala had started fighting seriously, Asterion's blade-tail connected with the dragon's tail.
Like the rest of its body, Kushala's relatively slender tail was covered in a hard, thick steel shell. Under the grinding force of the serrated edge, a shower of brilliant gold sparks erupted.
There was absolutely no sensation of cutting through flesh. Asterion felt as though he had returned to his days of practicing swordsmanship, hitting a training post. No, it was more like hitting an iron pillar.
But in Kushala's eyes, this was alarming. This was the first time it had truly felt the weight of Asterion's attack. When it pulled its tail back and realized its prized steel shell had been shaved down a layer, the dragon snapped into full alertness.
Something is wrong!
Because Glavenus existed in the Old World, Kushala had subconsciously associated this strange, tail-wielding dragon with that species. It had watched Asterion move in and out of Nergigante's reach, but it never imagined the tail could be this sharp!
The monsters in its home territory that fought with their tails weren't like this. Their strikes would, at most, leave dents or scratches in its steel hide; they didn't shave off layers like someone snapping a branch.
Asterion didn't give Kushala any more time to think. He only knew that he had finally landed a hit on this disgusting creature—one far more annoying than the Kushalas of the past!
The previous exchange could be summarized in one sentence: A graceful Mage toyed with a brawny Warrior grunt. And Asterion was that grunt!
Nice work, hunters!
Asterion didn't know which hunter had fired the shot, but it was the cannonballs from the sea and the occasional bullets from the airships that had disrupted Kushala's movement, allowing him to catch that opening.
Uh, it would be even better if they could aim a bit more accurately.
Asterion swung his tail to block Kushala's attempt to destroy the distant ships. However, Kushala didn't give up. It could accept being attacked or even wounded by another dragon, but it could not tolerate being provoked by "pests"—especially when those pests actually caused it to get hurt.
With a beat of its wings, a current of air began to swirl and condense in front of Kushala. In the blink of an eye, it surged upward, transforming into a tornado that reached the clouds. Carrying the sand and stone of the coast, it began to tear its way toward the sea!
In that split second, Asterion twisted his body and slashed toward—Nergigante!
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