HPV 86

When the hero leapt onto the dragon’s back, he looked as lively as if he had never been exhausted at all—like a shattered carriage somehow running on its own.

Even after twisting his ankles several times, the hero climbed the dragon’s massive body with grim determination.

Meanwhile, the others launched attacks of their own, scattering the black dragon’s attention.

The holy sword lit up the night sky, and its aura split the heavens in two.

“Ah…”

But the blade couldn’t pierce deep into the dragon’s neck; instead, it bounced off harmlessly.

Paronai took a direct hit from the dragon’s breath.

The tainted magic engulfed him completely. The young man’s body dropped like a broken leaf. He fell from the dragon’s neck, crashing heavily onto the ground.

Yurichen raced toward him in a panic. Even after pouring out the last of his strength, they had failed.

Paronai’s body was now turning black under the curse of the black dragon.

Even though he must have already lost consciousness, his fingers had frozen stiff around the hilt of the holy sword, refusing to let go.

Meanwhile, the mage who had been left unprotected was also thrown far away.

“Penzey!”

The mage couldn’t be allowed to fall! If no one else could do it, then Riarun would have to heal Penzey himself.

Staggering like he might collapse at any moment, Riarun ran toward him.

Above his head, the black dragon’s cold, murderous eyes rolled and locked onto him.

A shadow fell over him, and for a moment, he thought night had suddenly come.

Just as a chilling sense of dread overtook him and he turned to look back—

CRACK! A terrible sound echoed through the battlefield.

It took a moment to fully grasp what had happened.

The dragon’s foot had just tried to crush him, leaving almost nothing recognizable behind.

Thump, thump—Riarun’s heart pounded so violently it felt like it might explode.

He forced his stiff neck to move and looked up, blankly staring at the man who was holding up the dragon’s massive foot with both arms.

It wasn’t that the man was horribly wounded—he wasn’t hurt at all. What was broken was his spirit.

Banwes had thrown away his pride, his soul, everything he had clung to throughout his life—all for the sake of saving Liarun.

An overwhelming energy rose up from Banwes’s entire being.

Flesh—not even something you could properly call muscle—swelled grotesquely across his body.

His original face was buried beneath bulging, black, deformed flesh. Only his bloodshot red eyes protruded.

Where his nose had been, there were now only two gaping holes. His mouth had torn open grotesquely, revealing massive yellow fangs that no longer looked even remotely human.

He wasn’t even like a normal orc. It was as if he were some half-formed, failed creation.

His flesh looked like it had melted and hardened unevenly, and his body was warped and misshapen.

Though his bones hadn’t grown larger, the pressure he exuded was overwhelming.

His bloated red eyes rolled sluggishly on his distorted face. Yet his gaze stayed locked firmly on the black dragon.

He drove a powerful strike straight into one of the dragon’s wings. The dragon, roared in agony as if stabbed by a spear, collided with the monster.

The earth-shaking roar that followed sounded like an entire mountain collapsing.

Even when the dragon’s breath washed over him at point-blank range, the creature didn’t budge.

Its skin, rough and cratered like the surface of a volcano, was fiercer than the black dragon’s curses.

Half of Banwes’s bloodline was that of the legendary Orc King, once called the Demon King.

Riarun bit his lip and pulled himself away, racing to his goal. He dug out Penzey, who was half-buried under a pile of rubble, with his thin, trembling arms.

The mage’s eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, seeing Riarun’s expression, Penzey thought he had died—that’s how grim his face looked.

But once he grasped the situation, he followed Riarun’s gaze—and for a long moment, even he couldn’t speak.

“…Can he ever go back to his original form?”

The monstrous figure straddled the dragon’s leg and repeatedly stabbed it with his spear.

The dragon slammed the monster into a cliff wall to shake him off—but the creature’s grip never loosened.

The monster roared in the orc’s guttural language and fought like a beast. It was said that humans born with an orc’s vocal cords could howl like that.

If anyone outside their party had witnessed this scene, no one would have objected to exiling Banwes from human lands forever.

A thunderous war cry, the orc’s battle taunt, tore from his throat.

Yet even in that monstrous form, he still possessed his human mind. Tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes, clinging to his grotesquely bulging eyelids.

He never once looked back at Riarun. In truth, he wished he could simply disappear from this world.

It was hot. Dizzying. He must still be alive—but he couldn’t feel his body anymore. Only the searing pain in his soul remained, vivid and real.

Piece by piece, his soul was vanishing into the darkness.

No—this can’t happen… Paronai murmured with sorrowful eyes as he watched from above, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t catch the fragments scattering away.

No. He wouldn’t give up anything.

When he forced his eyes open—eyes leaking black blood—he found himself standing.

Behind him, Yurichen stared in stunned disbelief.

The monster charged the black dragon, roaring like a dying beast.

The massive dragon stumbled, unable to regain its strength. Paronai’s swollen eyes locked onto the monster.

His lips moved slightly, whispering words that only he could hear: You too… your soul has been wounded, hasn’t it?

With every step he took, Paronai’s soul was being consumed. His life force dwindled faster than ever before.

Shiiing—The blade of the holy sword scraped along the ground.

With each step, more strength gathered in his body, and the black smoke that ravenously gnawed at his soul trailed behind him.

Slowly, he raised the holy sword.

Even if he would never move again, the hero kept running. He threw his whole body forward in a final burst, leaping high into the air.

Slick.

It felt as if the world had blacked out. The silence that followed made it seem like the entire world had been sliced cleanly in half. The black dragon’s neck tumbled to the ground.

Its body, now headless, slowly tilted and collapsed, leaving a deep, final tremor through the mountainside.

Paronai, too, plummeted down and did not open his eyes.

The High Priest jolted upright.

But Yurichen didn’t run to check on the fallen hero—he turned immediately toward the dragon’s corpse.

He plunged his divine power deep into the severed neck, grasping something that tried to escape.

In that same moment, Riarun, who had been rushing toward Paronai, froze as if his ankle had been seized.

“Ugh…!”

An excruciating pain surged up from his chest like a wave of nausea. Gritting his teeth, Riarun forced himself not to show it.

He steadied his breathing, pushed his trembling knees to move, and stumbled down to sit before Paronai.

He knew the man would be watching him.

He had to endure it. No. Please. I can’t ruin everything. I can’t let them see. Please…

Meanwhile, Yurichen, unaware of anything else, entrusted himself entirely to the mission before him.

He spread his divine power like a web, binding the demon within it.

Only he and the demon remained.

A prison where only one would survive.

Yurichen pressed his divine power into the creature like a branding iron, muttering prayers under his breath—low and fast.

The demon thrashed, searching desperately for a gap to escape through.

Its foul whispers slithered between the prayers.

If such words were whispered into a child’s ear, that child would surely grow up to become a murderer or a madman.

Blood flowed from Yurichen’s eyes, ears, and nose.

He swallowed it back and poured even more divine power into the spell.

Still not enough—He slashed his own arm with a dagger, letting his blood spill forth.

A gush of crimson holy blood splattered out.

“Is this… still not enough?”

Suddenly, Yurichen’s muttering broke the silence. It was as if he were speaking to someone—but there was no one there.

He wasn’t even looking at anyone.

His golden eyes had lost all focus, plunging deep into another dimension.

”…I see. So if I offer my life, it will suffice.”

Without hesitation, Yurichen stepped out from the place where he had bound the demon.

Under normal circumstances, no priest would ever abandon the purification circle mid-ritual. It was unthinkable.

He approached the unconscious hero and reached for the hilt of the holy sword.

That was when it happened—In a blur, Penzey seized Yurichen’s arm, gripping it tightly and twisting it.

Penzey was stronger than Yurichen. The holy sword slipped from the High Priest’s hand.

But strength alone couldn’t control the mind of the High Priest.

“Penzey, please listen to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not listening.”

“No—you must. What I intended to do once I returned to the capital… I can’t do it now. So I’m passing it to you instead.”

You care about Riarun too, don’t you?

This is about him.

“No. I don’t care what it is. If it’s something you’re willing to die for, then don’t say it!”

The mage refused to listen.

If he had been himself, he might have laughed at the ridiculousness of a solemn High Priest offering himself up as a sacrifice—but instead, he gathered the last of his fading strength, his eyelids pale, and furiously fought to stop him.