That long, slender sword-tail, once the pride of Mirrorblade, was no longer the smooth, mirror-like blade of the past.
No longer did blade-scales spring from its edges; in their place was a thick, heart-stopping layer of Underworld energy crystals.
It was difficult to say whether this was merely a state covering his body or a deeper form of erosion and symbiosis. It spread and congealed like plants growing from between flesh and scale—ever since surviving that brush with death, Mirrorblade had gained complete mastery over this cold, violent, and peculiar new elemental energy.
It was so obedient, so submissive, shifting its form according to his every whim like an extension of his own limbs. It had driven Mirrorblade to actively change the combat style he had used for decades, adapting to new battle instincts.
He now bore a closer resemblance to his mother, the Acidic Glavenus. Mirrorblade now possessed a "Heavy Tail," the energy extremely compressed and condensed upon the surface of the tail-blade. Layer upon layer overlapped, sprouting countless sharp barbs that shimmered with a cold, lethal light.
Rather than describing Mirrorblade's current tail as a "sword-tail," it was perhaps more accurate to call it a "hammer-tail." Even though the tip of this Nether-Crystal Heavy Tail remained a flat, blade-like edge, anyone who saw it would inevitably be reminded of a warhammer's head.
BOOM!!
Accompanied by a low, suppressed growl of excitement from deep within Mirrorblade's throat, that crystalline tail-blade—heavy enough to seemingly crush the earth—swept across the hard stone ground with unrivaled momentum. No sparks flew; logically, such a strike should have sent them flying, but at this moment, all heat seemed to be swallowed by those Nether-Crystals.
Amidst the ear-piercing sound of friction, a deep trench was gouged into the ground. Then, something strange happened: along the trajectory of Mirrorblade's tail-blade, countless sharp, ghostly-blue crystal clusters surged upward like frenzied plants scenting nutrients. In an instant, they formed a wall of crystalline thorns.
If they truly were plants, they must have undergone some incredible time-acceleration, completing the cycle from germination to maturity in a thousandth of a second, leaving behind only their hardest, sharpest forms. But they were merely crystals—solids, stones.
Strangely, this was not just a physical change. As Mirrorblade's emotions surged and the energy within him boiled, these massive clusters of Underworld energy—which bathed the dim Leyline Corridor in a ghostly blue light—seemed to gain a collective consciousness.
They emitted a glow several times more intense than before. This light was no longer constant; it pulsed with a deep, grand rhythm. They seemed to be breathing, each flash accompanied by the ebb and flow of the surrounding spatial energy. It was unclear whose rhythm they followed—was it the tide of the Leylines themselves?
Was it Mirrorblade? Or was it... Asterion, who still lay within the nest?
The Underworld energy in the air had become so thick that a human would find it nearly impossible to breathe. The once-light air now felt like a gel, possessing actual weight. Mirrorblade knew this was no illusion born of his nervousness.
At the very least, the young hatchling could clearly sense that breathing was becoming difficult. What she drew into her lungs was no longer simple oxygen, but a mixture that felt like inhaling concentrated, spicy rust. It was a stinging sensation—though, naturally, the hatchling didn't know how to describe it. She could only whimper and burrow deeper into Kulve Taroth's embrace.
Centering on Mirrorblade, countless shattered, unformed fragments of Underworld energy began to defy gravity, rising slowly from the ground under the pull of his will. They collided, merged, and melted in mid-air like sentient liquid metal, reshaping themselves at staggering speed.
In the span of a few heartbeats, these disorganized scraps transformed into a shimmering array of cold, sharp weaponry of various types—the heavy axe-blade of a Switch Axe, the slender curve of a Long Sword, the spiral tip of a Lance... They floated densely around Mirrorblade's massive body like an army ready for a campaign.
Countless more specks of fine crystal dust swirled around him in layers, like a brilliant yet dangerous nebula, shifting constantly with his movements.
Danger aside, the scene was truly beautiful—or perhaps "eerie" was the better word?
At the very least, it captivated the little thing hiding in her mother's forelegs. Her eyes were wide, refusing to blink for fear of missing the battle that could erupt at any moment. Even with a hatchling's mind, she could tell this stranger was here to challenge her father.
But that didn't stop her from wanting such pretty things to sparkle around her. No, she wanted to become that beautiful.
Well, a female dragon is a female dragon, even a young one—especially when she is the offspring of a beauty-loving species like Kulve Taroth. The inheritance was quite successful.
However, Mirrorblade, standing in the heart of the ghostly blue nebula, had no time to worry about the dragon who was technically his younger sibling. His entire focus was locked on Asterion in the depths of the nest, staring deathly at his father's massive vertical pupils, which burned with ghostly blue flames.
"Are you finally willing to look at me properly? You bastard!"
Abandoning his lazy, curled-up posture, Asterion finally rose from the nest. While one wouldn't use the phrase "the earth shook and the mountains moved"—a term reserved for the Mohrans or Zorah Magdaros—the way Asterion stepped out of the nest still made Mirrorblade think of those words.
Accompanied by a low roar like a shifting mountain range and the crisp shattering of the newborn Nether-Crystal clusters as he brushed past the cave entrance, Asterion nudged the little hatchling aside after she hopped out from Kulve Taroth's side and stepped forward.
At this moment, Mirrorblade finally saw his long-absent, much-resented father in his entirety. No longer was he peeking at a few scales through a narrow entrance; he was facing the full majesty of Asterion without any obstruction.
Yet, it was precisely because he saw him so clearly that Mirrorblade's heart—already filled with rage and soaring fighting spirit—felt as though it had been stabbed. An uncontrollable sense of powerlessness, even despair, rose within him.
He was too big.
The size difference was so vast that the brain didn't even need to process it; biological instinct alone understood the gap instantly. It was a clear realization that they were not even on the same level.
An unbridgeable chasm—Mirrorblade couldn't help but recall the phrase he had learned back at the Research Base.
A Glavenus is a monster that, thanks to its explosive muscular structure and a tail-blade accounting for half its body length, holds the title of the largest Brute Wyvern. Mirrorblade, having inherited Asterion's bloodline, had taken that superior foundation several steps further, being half a size larger than a normal Glavenus or even his mother, the Acidic Glavenus.
But even so, even with Mirrorblade holding his chest and head high, he realized he still had to look up to see Asterion as he walked toward him.
That was just the height. If one factored in the exaggerated body length and the terrifying, oppressive width, Mirrorblade's sense of futility deepened. This was the primal reaction any creature has when facing something stronger and taller than itself.
Mirrorblade felt as if he were looking at a walking hill. In his fading, distant memories, his father's silver-gray scales and thick shell had been like beautiful mirrors. Now, they were unrecognizable.
By the light of the lava river flowing through the Leyline Corridor, Mirrorblade saw his father's body covered in countless thick, translucent, ghostly-blue crystals. They were exceptionally dark; one could imagine their defensive power just by looking at them. Beneath some of the Nether-Crystals, the original shell was faintly visible, but most of his surface had crystallized—or rather, he was clad in a heavy crystalline armor of staggering thickness.
He was like a self-propelled mineral mountain—though mineral mountains don't grow wings. Mirrorblade even wondered if a body that heavy could still fly.
Asterion, however, seemed quite comfortable. To shake off the stiffness of his long sleep, he lazily stretched his limbs and spread the wings on his back. Mirrorblade stared at his father's strangely shaped wings, which looked like two massive cannon barrels.
They were dozens of times thicker than the cannons stacked at the Research Base. The ghostly blue Nether-Crystals also covered the eight wing-bones, even fusing them together. The entire structure shimmered with light, pulsing in tandem with Asterion's heavy breathing.
In a purely instinctive reaction, Mirrorblade took a sharp step back, his heavy claws crushing a patch of crystal clusters. The moment he finished that step, a surge of shame and pride flooded his heart. Realizing his cowardice, he gritted his teeth and stepped forward twice, as if trying to compensate.
"ROAR!!" (As I thought, you are behind all of this!!)
There was no need for more evidence or confirmation. As Asterion took those heavy steps, as he began to move the body, bones, and muscles that had stiffened during his long slumber, the energy reaction within him was as bright as a lighthouse in the dark. Every casual breath, every micro-vibration of his muscle fibers, was like a boulder dropped into a still lake, causing the invisible Underworld energy throughout the Leyline Corridor to resonate and vibrate violently. The entire space revolved around him; he was the source and the core of this power.
Mirrorblade certainly had the right to be proud, especially after successfully defeating that ferocious, blue-tinted Espinas. While "blue-tinted" large monsters were becoming more common in the New World—from the violent, high-powered Azure Rathalos to the high-stamina Rathian and the even stronger Anjanath—those monsters had simply become more feral and powerful due to the forced adaptation to Underworld energy. They might coat their attacks in that energy or even spit out crude crystals for ranged attacks.
But in the end, only Mirrorblade could command this violent energy as easily and precisely as a part of his own body, even shaping it into intricate forms for combat.
This was one of the primary reasons the scholars at the Research Base had focused their investigation on Asterion after synthesizing various pieces of evidence. Mirrorblade's uniqueness likely stemmed from his special bloodline—that unknown Elder Dragon whose full form was still a mystery, whose power ceiling was unknown, and whose maturity remained unconfirmed.
Even though Mirrorblade was loath to admit that all his achievements were tied to the cold, ruthless father who had abandoned him, the fact that his strength had finally broken through its bottleneck brought a deep sense of joy and satisfaction to his power-hungry heart.
Especially after that world-shaking battle with the blue-tinted Espinas, even the Field Team Leader—who knew Mirrorblade best—didn't truly understand the depth of this dragon partner's desire for strength.
He craved to prove himself. He craved to surpass that shadow.
But now, in front of Asterion, before his greatest shadow, Mirrorblade mournfully discovered that the "precise control" of Underworld energy he was so proud of—the very thing the scholars praised him for—was so... pathetic.
"Roar..." (What exactly... have you done...)
This roar lacked confidence; it felt forced. It was embarrassing, but for Mirrorblade, only by issuing such a hostile challenge could he stabilize his mindset and resist that crushing pressure—a pressure that came from the very same source as his own power.
Whether it was the nebula of ornate energy shards surrounding him or the Underworld energy within his own body, everything was rioting, vibrating with an eager yet anxious frequency, as if ready to burst through Mirrorblade's skin at any moment.
"Growl." (Interesting.)
Compared to Mirrorblade's high-alert state and emotional volatility, Asterion's response remained flat and calm. He didn't even look Mirrorblade in the eye; instead, he looked with interest at the Nether-Crystal weapons floating around him.
It was as if he were looking at low-quality toys used by children—Switch Axes, Charge Blades, Insect Glaives, Lances, Great Swords, Long Swords... various types of weapons that, while looking sharp and shimmering with light, were... perhaps a bit too ridiculous?
"Roar?" (Do you intend to poke me to death with those toothpicks?)
The invisible mockery was the most lethal of all. Asterion couldn't help but be amused, showing no intention of saving Mirrorblade's face.
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