Chapter 375 - 360: Is That All?

Chapter 375: Chapter 360: Is That All?

On the dust-choked battlefield, Malcolm raised a hand to stop the restless Balot.

His narrow eyes stared intently at the Longsword buried deep in the ground, narrowing to a slit.

The dense Positive Energy clinging to the blade made him uncomfortable, but what concerned him more was the trace of...

...an aura he never wanted to recall.

"A Dragon... Dragon Descendant?"

As the dust settled and he saw the silver Scales covering Roland’s arm, Malcolm’s look of absolute confidence froze on his face.

He subconsciously reached for his waist, where a hideous scar remained.

Though long healed, the twisted scar tissue still spoke of the terrifying blow that had caused it.

For a moment, the memory of a Dragon Roar thundered in his ears, making him instinctively take half a step back and bump into Balot’s corpulent body.

Just as the Demon from the Nine Prisons was considering whether he should retreat, the thin mist completely dissipated.

When he got a clear look at Roland, Malcolm let out a long sigh of relief, a mocking smile returning to his face.

"’Incomplete Dragonification... So he’s just a whelp...’"

Meanwhile, Roland’s body was tense as he quickly scanned the battlefield.

When his gaze fell upon Morne, he couldn’t help but freeze.

Where was the majestic King of old?

A stooped back, thinning hair, and a once-sturdy frame that was now gaunt and emaciated.

If not for his vaguely recognizable face, Roland would have barely recognized this decrepit old man as Morne.

"His Majesty Morne, are you all right?"

Hearing the question, Morne’s unfocused gaze sharpened.

He leaned on his Longsword and slowly straightened up. His eyes swept over the fine silver Scales on Roland’s arm, and a flicker of inscrutable nostalgia passed through them before he shook his head with a self-deprecating smile.

"Roland? So it was you, kid..."

His voice was hoarse, but it carried a hint of relief.

"Seems like when you get old, you start dwelling on the past... I never thought you’d be hiding a secret like this. A Dragon Descendant... Heh..."

Seeing that Morne’s Power had faded but he wasn’t seriously injured, Roland’s tense nerves relaxed slightly.

"Now is not the time to discuss this, Your Majesty."

He pulled his Secret Silver Longsword from the ground, leaned forward slightly, and locked his sharp gaze on Malcolm, who stood not far away.

Although Morne’s inexplicable decline in strength was worrying, the two visitors from the Otherworld before him were also in far worse shape than before.

After their fierce battle with Morne, both Malcolm and the toad-like Demon had auras that were much weaker than when they first appeared.

"I think what we should be doing right now is giving these guests who’ve come so far a proper ’welcome,’ don’t you agree?"

"Do I need you to remind me of that?"

Perhaps it was just his imagination...

Roland glanced at Morne, who stood beside him.

He suddenly felt as if the King had been revitalized.

It wasn’t a recovery of Power, but more of a change in his state of mind.

Morne paid no mind to Roland’s searching gaze.

He tried to straighten his stooped back and casually slung his Longsword over his shoulder.

The posture was less like that of a dignified King and more like a seasoned Mercenary.

"That bastard used some kind of Evil Art to drain most of the Power from my bloodline."

He spat.

"Right now, I probably can’t handle that agile bastard, so..."

He jutted his chin in Balot’s direction.

"I’ll take the Demon named Balot. As for the trickier one, he’s all yours. Just like..."

Morne’s voice trailed off, as if he were whispering to the empty air.

"Just like old times."

"’Like old times...?’"

Before Roland could ponder the deeper meaning of those words, Morne had already charged out, Longsword in hand.

"Hey! You fat pig! I’m over here! Come and get me if you’ve got the guts!"

Morne had barely finished speaking when Balot threw its head back and let out a deafening roar.

Despite its limited intelligence and inability to fully understand human language, the undisguised mockery on the King’s face was enough to ignite the Demon’s most primal rage.

RUMBLE!

Accompanied by the heavy thud of footsteps and the shaking of the ground, the figures of man and Demon grew more distant, soon disappearing from Roland’s sight.

Hearing Morne’s taunt, which sounded more like something a street ruffian would say, Roland’s mouth couldn’t help but twitch.

But he immediately refocused, turning his gaze to Malcolm, who looked like he was about to intervene.

"Damn you, Balot! You idiot, don’t—"

Before Malcolm could finish his reprimand, his "companion’s" corpulent figure had already vanished into the dust.

Seeing the situation was irreversible, the emissary from the Nine Prisons shook his head helplessly. He turned back to Roland, that formulaic smile returning to his face.

"I imagine our brief encounter earlier left quite an impression, Sir Roland. Your soul is truly... exquisite."

The Demon gave an elegant bow.

"I am Malcolm, and I sincerely invite you to—"

Before he could finish, a Longsword wreathed in golden light came slashing through the air.

’Damn it! You uncivilized brat!’

Malcolm cursed inwardly as he flicked his wrist.

The Thorn Chain seemed to spring to life, coiling like a striking viper as its links scraped together with an unsettling hiss.

In the blink of an eye...

HISS!

The Thorn Chain became a black blur, tearing through the air at a terrifying speed as it shot toward Roland’s vitals.

Faced with the sudden, deadly attack, Roland’s pupils contracted. He twisted at the waist, using the enhanced reflexes from his Dragonification to dodge with incredible speed.

However, even though his Dragonification made him far faster than before, he still couldn’t completely evade the vicious strike.

SCREECH!

With the sharp sound of metal scraping against Scale, the Chain Blade grazed his side.

’So fast...’

Roland took half a step back, his eyes locked on the retracting, deadly Chains. He subconsciously touched the spot where he’d been hit.

Thanks to his [Dragon Scale Armor] talent and the dense Scales from his partial Dragonification, the blow hadn’t broken through his defenses, leaving only a clear white mark on the silvery Scales.

However, the force of the impact still penetrated his body, leaving him with a dull, throbbing pain.

’Just a whelp, after all...’

Seeing his attack land, the last shred of hesitation in Malcolm’s mind vanished completely.

He flicked his wrist again, and the Thorn Chain shot toward Roland once more, fast as a shadow.

"Since you are unwilling to submit voluntarily, then..."

Amid the shriek of the Chain Blade cutting through the air, his whisper was cold and clear.

"After you die, I will simply extract your soul. The effect... is the same."

The next moment, the Thorn Chain transformed into black lightning bolts wreathed in the Nine Prisons Flame, searing scorching trails through the air.

At times, the Chain Blade would lunge like a viper, striking for Roland’s vitals.

At others, it would sweep like a thorny whip toward his path of escape, lashing the surrounding ground and sending shattered stones flying, leaving scorched marks everywhere.

Roland’s figure weaved and parried through the relentless assault, appearing to be in constant peril.

The blade, coated in Hellfire, repeatedly grazed past his neck and heart by a hair’s breadth, its intense heat scorching a few strands of his hair to ash.

Yet, no matter how Malcolm pushed his Power or quickened the pace, the deadly Chain Blade could never truly touch Roland’s flesh.

It could only add more shallow scratches to the Dragon Scales, which were harder than fine steel, or be deflected by a skillfully-placed parry from the longsword, sending out a shower of blinding sparks.

"Can you do nothing but dodge like a frightened rat, Sir Roland?"

Unable to land a decisive blow, Malcolm lost his patience and began to taunt him, a hint of annoyance and contempt flashing in his scarlet eyes.

"It seems your bloodline gave you a tough hide, but not the courage to match it!"

Before he finished speaking, an even deeper aura of Darkness erupted from his body. The Nine Prisons Flame on the Thorn Chain surged, its color shifting from dark red to an almost pale white.

It was a heat so extreme it could melt souls.

"Playtime is over!"

Malcolm declared, as if victory were already his, and the Thorn Chain shot out with unprecedented speed and Power.

The tip of the Chain Blade even tore at space itself, flying toward Roland’s heart with lethal intent.

And yet, the next instant...

SHINK!

The Thorn Chain, carrying destructive Energy and moving faster than the eye could follow, was stopped just a hand’s breadth from Roland’s chest by a palm covered in silver Scales...

Gripped tight.

The pale Prison Fire licked madly at the Dragon Scales but couldn’t melt them in the slightest. Instead, crushed by the force of the grip, the flames let out a pained, overburdened whine.

The ferocious impact sent Roland’s robes fluttering wildly behind him, but his upright figure remained as unmoving as a mountain.

He slowly raised his eyes, his icy gaze piercing through the lingering flames to land on Malcolm’s face, which was twisted in astonishment.

His calm voice carried an unmistakable, chilling edge.

"Is that all you’ve got?"