novelraw Chapter 145: Evil Dragon, Save Your Words for My Holy Smite!
Chapter 145: Evil Dragon, Save Your Words for My Holy Smite!
The arena was surrounded by ascending circular steps, with a blood-red barrier overhead about a hundred meters above the ground.
"To create such an independent space and forcibly pull me in..."
"This is indeed a powerful alchemical tool."
Within the blood-red barrier, a stone slab could faintly be seen—the true form of the Duel Array Disk.
Garoth suddenly raised his head, opened his maw, and unleashed a torrent of fiery breath like molten lava straight at the barrier's core, attempting to shatter both the disk and this confined space.
However, though the blood-red barrier visibly dented and rippled under the fiery assault, it behaved like cotton struck by a heavy fist—showing no signs of tearing or breaking.
Garoth sensed that continuous breath attacks might eventually melt through the barrier and damage the disk to escape this space. But the immediate problem was that he wasn't alone here—the dragon hunters watched him intently from across the arena.
The hunters didn't attack Garoth directly, even allowing him to assault the barrier. After a brief attempt, Garoth ceased his efforts.
Short-term destruction proved impossible, and wasting his stamina and magical energy would only give the hunters more opportunities. Their cold stares revealed their strategy—waiting for him to exhaust himself.
Troublesome, Garoth thought.He knew alchemy on planet Bernardo was highly advanced, so encountering various alchemical tools wasn't surprising. Yet this Duel Array Disk still exceeded his expectations.
"You're clever to try breaking the disk first," the curse mage said eerily. "But unfortunately, neither you nor anyone present possesses the power to destroy it. This disk was custom-made at great cost—a fine replica of a legendary artifact, more valuable than an entire adult dragon. Using it on you is somewhat... excessive."
Even ordinary hunters know to sharpen their spears and prepare tools before a hunt. The Duel Array Disk had cost the Dragon Hunting Team nearly their entire savings. Powerful yet limited to three uses, its first deployment had slain an adult black dragon—this was its second.
Had Viscount Iron Thorn not provided substantial rewards, they'd never have used this precious opportunity on a young dragon.
As for the legendary original it replicated—beyond basic functions, it could continuously drain a target's attributes to strengthen the wielder, permanently retaining a portion after killing the target. Truly worthy of its legendary status.
"Evil dragon! This shall be your grave!"
From the hunting team emerged a man whose features struck Garoth as familiar. Clad in thorn-patterned armor, gripping a greatsword, his face was hardened steel, eyes burning with profound hatred.
One glance told Garoth his identity—the cold familial resemblance to Edmond, the armor's emblems, those venomous eyes—this was Viscount Iron Thorn himself.
Rather than remaining safely in the southern federation, he'd liquidated assets to personally pursue Garoth into the wilderness.
This surprised Garoth, then ignited his killing intent.
Leaving roots unremoved leads to consequences like this. Who could predict what depths of vengeance a grievously wronged man might plumb? Though admittedly, eliminating a viscount deep within federation territory had been impractical then.
But now...
He'd come to Garoth himself, presenting the perfect opportunity to eradicate this threat.
"I underestimated your resolve," Garoth rumbled. "Chasing into the wilds takes courage—you're a man of substance." His gaze darkened before suddenly splitting into a grin. "Though your son groveled like a kobold—begging on his knees for mercy, pleading forgiveness for his stupidity and offense. I refused, then crushed him like an insect."
Verbal sparring sometimes proved necessary—it enraged enemies, disrupted their composure, creating advantages.
The viscount's face turned ashen. He breathed heavily, struggling to contain his fury, nearly charging forward before a large hand restrained him.
"Plunder! Slaughter!"
"Evil dragon! Your crimes are unforgivable!"
A thunderous, solemn voice boomed from the paladin. Garoth recalled ancestral knowledge—paladins always stood with "justice." When their conviction wavered, so did their power.
"You're mistaken," Garoth fixed the paladin with his gaze. "This viscount plunders under taxation pretense. As for you—hunting creatures peacefully living in wilderness, treating sentient beings as beasts."
"Plunder, slaughter... Heh. If I'm guilty, your sins run equally deep."
The paladin hesitated briefly before scanning Garoth's savage visage. "Inherently evil half-breed! Save your lies for my Holy Smite!"
He stepped forward, greatsword sweeping horizontally through empty air.
Holy Smite!
A fifteen-meter-wide crescent of light erupted, howling through air toward Garoth's neck.
The young dragon crouched low, muscles coiling before launching sideways onto spectator steps, claws shattering stone as debris rained down. Where he'd stood, the holy strike left a yawning fissure.
"Of course. Such men need but glance at me to brand me an evil dragon needing slaying."
"Then I need hold nothing back."
The red iron dragon's pupils contracted to vertical slits, cold and ruthless. This space permitted no retreat—only battle remained.
No more caution. No weighing consequences.
Only one thought remained:
—Kill them all!
Garoth's wings unfurled, dark red energy surging behind them as the curse mage's chant summoned dozens of shadowy chains piercing from void to entangle him.
Whoosh!
Wings beat violently as he vaulted skyward, weaving between chains. Though most missed, several wrapped his hind legs—snapping instantly under his strength but briefly stalling his ascent.
That momentary pause invited a barrage:
"O Mighty Lord of Battles!"
"Unconquered Tempus!"
"Grant us blades to cleave our foes!"
A hulking, bald war priest with sword-and-shield holy symbols tattooed across his face raised his blade. A beam of light pierced the bloodied barrier, gilding every ally's weapon.
"O Mighty Lord of Battles!"
"Undefeated Tempus!"
"Grant us armor to withstand blows!"
His silver tower shield rose next, summoning another radiant mantle over his comrades.
Beside him, the beast hunter—a lean man specializing in massive prey—drew a bow nearly his own height. Fingers touched string as runes flared, conjuring a glowing arrow.
His arms became blurs—dozen-limbed illusions—as arrows stormed forth in impossible volleys. Each shaft sought eyes, scale gaps, wing joints, with others intercepting potential dodges.
Garoth barely moved.
One claw rose casually, wings twitching to deflect lethal shots while others pinged harmlessly off his armored bulk in showers of sparks. His normally gray explosive scales flushed crimson like heated coals.