HPV 85

The warrior and the swordsman who stepped forward managed to stop the black dragon in its tracks — but the price was steep.

The black dragon, having descended to the ground, opened its massive jaws whenever enough fire built up, breathing destruction.

It struck people with its vicious wings, tore at them with its fangs, and crushed them against the earth.

Of course, Banwes — whose size was barely comparable to one of the dragon’s legs — couldn’t hold the creature back alone.

Paronai was struggling just to dodge the dragon’s swift and overwhelming attacks; he didn’t even have the chance to aim for its neck.

It was too much for a single person to handle. Together, the two of them barely managed to survive, constantly saving each other and trying to draw the dragon’s attention.

…Banwes is hurt too badly.

Yurichen could heal Paronai’s injuries from a distance, but Banwes…Banwes was entirely Riarun’s responsibility.

His blue waves of healing energy trembled in his hands, unable to reach the battlefield in time.

And he couldn’t get any closer either. If he even tried, he’d be struck down by the dragon’s breath or shredded instantly.

Riarun turned back, leaning on Penzey for support, his eyes seeking out Bryzan. From his trembling lips came a voice he never thought he’d speak:

“Take me there. Anyone…”

Penzey shook his head, regretful. He was already at his limit, barely managing to cast sixth-circle attack spells.

Using his strength to protect Riarun now would be a serious loss to their fighting power. If only we could hold the dragon back just a little longer…

But the only fighter left was—a small boy whose arrows couldn’t even pierce the dragon’s hide.

Riarun and Bzhan locked eyes. Riarun couldn’t tell what Bzhan was thinking.

Bzhan was raised by a race that lived for a thousand years, which had trapped his human body in a child’s form.

Even though he was eighteen, he had remained small and undeveloped.

Had he stayed in the elves’ forest, he might have lived out a full human lifespan, still trapped in a child’s body even as he grew old and died.

But he had left the elves.

And within just a few months, his body had begun to change.

The elven magic was fading, and he was returning to his natural human form.

Was he even managing to adapt to the sudden changes in his body? Outwardly, he didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, he kept focusing inward, on his true self.

‘I was never meant to be a spirit wielder.’

Those closest to the spirits were the elves, but even among humans, only a rare few were born with the talent for spirit magic.

Bzhan had failed to even mimic what the elves were. An old man he met in the castle had unintentionally reminded him of that painful fact:

—Did you ever learn swordsmanship?

The Rohin Spirit remained in the warm, fertile southern lands. But here, in the barren and desolate north, only a single, thin branch of spirit energy had barely managed to survive — in this black dragon’s nest.

And yet, wasn’t it incredible that Riarun could draw out such tremendous spirit power even under these miserable conditions?

Once, Riarun had been a candidate for High Priest of the Rohin Order. And there was someone even more talented than him.

If Riarun, who carried such vast spiritual strength, wasn’t chosen as High Priest, then what kind of person was?

‘WwwStill, I’d probably hate to see any other spirit wielders besides Riarun.

He was just human. He wasn’t even born with the gift to wield spirits power. That truth used to make him so bitter, so furious, that he ignored any other talents he might have had.

‘That old man, he really did have a good eye.’

The strength he does have is still beautiful, and yet, it feels forever out of reach, like a butterfly fluttering just beyond his fingertips.

He was born human. Instead of chasing what he could never have, he should have cherished the gifts he was given.

Bzhan closed and reopened his eyes. From across the battlefield, the thunderous clash between the black dragon and the two warriors shook the earth.

He drew an arrow from his quiver and set it to his bow. At the very moment he abandoned his longing for spirit power, a new strength awakened deep within him — a strength that had always been there.

A pale, solid light gathered at the tip of the sharp arrowhead.

Though the elven-forged arrowhead was made of stone, not iron, it did not break.

Swish!

The arrow sliced through the air, bending sideways and curving perfectly mid-flight — a miraculous shot.

The arrow pierced cleanly through the dragon’s wing. A chilling roar tore into the sky.

“Bzhan’s a sword aura wielder!”

Even before Paronai could fully sense it, Bzhan had already awakened sword aura — a rare, prodigious gift.

Despite the desperate situation, Paronai couldn’t hold back his awe and shouted. Bzhan leapt lightly, like an elf, onto a rock.

As he drew his bow again, sword aura gathered at the tip of the arrow, his dark eyes glinting with a faint blue sheen.

“I’ll cover you. Go — to your…”

Riarun shook his head but didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he immediately bolted forward.

The battle against the black dragon dragged on through the first day, and then the second.

One of the worst moments came when Paronai’s bones broke audibly, even though he rolled over and over to absorb the force of an attack.

And another Bzhan Bryzan was sent flying, tumbling down the mountain.

At that moment, the group had to split up: Riarun stayed behind to heal the wounded, while Yurichen rushed down the mountain to find Bzhan.

No one spoke unless it was about the battle.

They barely ate or rested. When they could, they shoved bits of dry bread into their mouths —bread soaked in their own blood, tasting faintly of iron.

Paronai held the black dragon off for a while before handing it over to Banwes and retreating.

As soon as one fighter pulled back, another would step forward from the rear.

They took turns, conserving their strength through rotation.

If you added up all the wounds the hero had suffered, it would have been enough to kill him seventy times over.

No one knew how much divine power Yurichen had poured into him. Yet Paronai never let his knees touch the ground. He rose again and again.

Once, Paronai had speculated whether the reason why even high-ranking healers, like the High Priest, didn’t heal indefinitely was out of a sense of fairness.

But he had been wrong. It wasn’t about fairness — it was because healing had its limits.

No matter how many times you repaired the body, the damage done to the soul could not be undone.

Eventually, the soul would dry out and wither away.

True, complete healing was impossible.

It wasn’t about physical strength or even willpower. Paronai’s true power came from the sheer will of his soul.

If measured by soul alone, there was no one else on the continent who could match him.

“Ugh…!”

The hero’s body rolled violently across the ground. To reach the dragon’s head, he had to climb up its body — but every time he tried, the black dragon, seemingly tireless, flung him off.

We have to distract it. They needed to create an opening for Paronai.

If only there were several Banweses, it might be possible. But since that was impossible, everyone — even those without the monstrous endurance of a half-blood — had to step up to draw the dragon’s attention.

The High Priest and the mage exchanged glances. A silent understanding passed between them.

Regardless of whether they could actually hurt the dragon, they had all resolved to give it everything they had.

And in the middle of all this, Riarun thought: What about me?

‘Compared to the others… how many times have I failed to notice Banwes’s pain?’

Banwes had been torn apart by the dragon’s claws, wing horns, and teeth.

His back and shoulders, which he had used to shield his vital areas, were ripped so badly you could see the bone.

Because Riarun had missed the moments when Banwes was injured — blown away by the wind or too slow to react — Banwes had suffered even more.

Riarun’s breathing grew ragged, overwhelmed by helplessness, self-loathing, and shame.

He forcibly killed those emotions, forcing his mind under control.

Don’t be afraid.

Until now, he had struggled to accept this world as reality, not a game.

But just for this moment—he would tell himself it was a game.

‘Don’t be afraid.’

Repeating it to himself like a mantra, Riarun rushed toward the black dragon.

The dragon swung its wing. The scene flashed through his mind — his body being crushed, flesh and blood splattering everywhere.

He could picture his own death all too vividly. At the last second, he threw up a shield.

Crack — it shattered. But then—A part of the dragon’s foot was severed. Dark blood, thick and heavy, spurted from the wound.

‘It worked…!’

For the first time, the black dragon had been injured by a being it had always dismissed as insignificant.

The dragon’s eyes blazed with fury.

Riarun quickly scrambled back and screamed internally:

‘Pao!’

As if hearing the call, the hero slammed his holy sword into the ground like a staff. Though he had seemed unable to move just moments ago, he pushed himself back onto his feet.