Chapitre 98: I’m Also a Dragon
The holy sword struck fiercely toward Liliana's abdomen.
"Wings of Artemis, pierce the night and grant me the power to soar through the heavens!"
Liliana rapidly chanted the ancient spell only those of a witch's bloodline could use.
Her incantation was incredibly fast, the lengthy spell bursting forth all at once. The girl let out a sound like an eagle's cry.
She broke free of gravity entirely, kicking against Saint George's solid leg armor and flinging herself back.
The holy sword Ascalon struck only air, sinking into the ground instead.
While he excelled at defense, Saint George was by no means incapable of offense.
Having once crusaded against countless pagans, he was familiar with a witch's techniques.
This was the blessing of flight.
Raising the holy sword high, Saint George let the sunlit disk behind him catch on its blade before he brought it down in a powerful swing.
…
This sword, gifted by a witch, had once been pure—a blade that would protect its wielder from all malice and enemies.
But ever since Saint George had slain the dragon, bathing in its blood, it had become corrupted.
The hilt stained deep red by dragon's blood, this once-protective blade had turned into a weapon of slaughter, granting the power to sever an opponent's blessings with a single strike.
This power was naturally effective against the heroes of Celtic myths, bound by their Geis.
However, Saint George's current opponent wasn't a hero encumbered by Geis.
With the swing of Ascalon, the magic around Liliana was shattered.
The girl's blessing of flight vanished, and she crashed to the ground, though she was already close to it.
But in the intense fight against a Heretic God, even a stumble was fatal.
Saint George swung the dragon lance like a massive sword, descending with the force of a red dragon plummeting from the sky.
Clang!
A piercing metallic crash resounded.
From her vantage on the distant hillside, Erica's hand clenched around Kurumi's.
"Liliana..."
"No need to worry." Kurumi reassured Erica, smoothing her anxiety.
"The game has just begun."
…
The dragon lance was blocked.
Saint George realized it the instant he swung down.
But what shocked him was what had stopped the lance: it wasn't some weapon or shield.
It was the girl's exposed right hand.
From her palm, a radiant silver glow flowed outward, spreading over her entire right arm.
Her right arm transformed into a silver limb as Liliana seized the lance's tip, her grip tight. With a turn, she hurled Saint George back.
Slowly, the girl rose, her right arm gleaming with a terrible, searing energy, as though ready to tear through anything in its path.
"So, this is the power you've taken," Saint George observed with a smile.
"The famed Silver Arm of Nuada, king of the Tuatha Dé Danann."
Recognition was inevitable—the trait was unmistakable.
"This power wasn't stolen," Liliana corrected him once more.
"It was a gift."
…
Placing her right hand on her modest chest, she swore an oath with great reverence.
"Oh, God of Victory! Appear here!"
"I offer all I am unto you!"
"Bring forth the presence of my lord!"
Liliana's left arm hung at her side, still holding the Silver Maestro as a faint smile touched her serious face—a smile like melting snow, like a young tiger after its first successful hunt.
She raised her silver arm toward the young god, clenched her fist as if in challenge, and the world held its breath.
The wind stirred her silver arm and silver hair, illuminating her like the moon piercing a winter night.
The silver scales on her right arm sprang up, flowing over her like liquid armor.
Liliana's long hair cascaded down, fluttering upward.
When it settled, she was clad in a shining, fearsome silver armor.
"Fight!"
Without a moment's hesitation, she transformed into a silver comet, crashing down upon Saint George with a whirlwind of blade strikes.
The earlier skirmish was merely play; the game truly began the instant Liliana unleashed Nuada's power.
Saint George braced himself, positioning the dragon lance defensively.
There was no escape. He was faced with the vow of Nuada's inevitable victory; to flee was to die.
The youthful knight hurtling toward him, a comet of relentless ferocity, made him long once more for his beloved Ascalon.
With the earth's blessings fortifying him, Saint George crouched, readying his defenses.
The name "George" meant "one who works the earth," rooted in the harvest god Ba'al of the ancient Middle East.
The Silver Maestro struck the dragon lance as Liliana spun on her toes like a ballet dancer.
The silver blade became a perfect circle, slashing relentlessly at Saint George's lance, forcing the young god back step by step.
The dragon lance groaned in protest, on the verge of shattering.
Across a hundred meters of relentless assault, Liliana finally ceased her spinning. She bent low, taking a step forward with her hands grasping the long blade.
The blade was poised at her right side, ready to thrust forward.
Yet she stood with her back to Saint George.
He was just about to raise his lance to strike when he saw her swing her right arm suddenly.
The Silver Maestro flew from her hand, its hilt crashing into the dragon lance.
Crack!
The ancestral weapon split apart.
The Silver Maestro's hilt shattered the lance, piercing Saint George's abdomen as crimson blood spilled forth.
"Hear the sorrow of David, people! Alas, may the heroes fall! Alas, may the weapons of war be destroyed!"
With her back still to him, Liliana recited the verse, her chant resonating like a dragon's roar.
"O' mountains of Gilboa, I pray that dew and rain will not fall upon your peaks! I pray that your lands grow infertile, unable to flourish!"
"There, the shield of the hero was cast away! The shield of Saul, unpolished with oil, was cast away over yonder! Undrinking blood of murderers, the unretreating bow of Jonathan! Unconsuming oil of the brave soul, returning the sword of Saul in vain! Alas, the heroes, fallen in the midst of battle!"
The Silver Maestro trembled, transforming into a blue aura in her grasp.
"O' bow of Jonathan, with eagle's swiftness and lion's strength, a hero's weapon. Go forth in assault, upon my fleeing enemies!""
The soulful chant echoed as Liliana turned to face Saint George, her right hand now holding a massive, sky-blue bow even taller than she was.
The air around them grew frigid; this was Song of The Bow, capable of piercing even a Heretic God—Jonathan's Arrow.
Saint George looked at her and sighed.
A strange light flickered in his eyes. He cast aside the dragon lance, raising the red-stained holy sword Ascalon toward Liliana.
The young god cried out with power,
"—You are a dragon! (Abyssus Draconis)"
Gentle to everyone yet ruthless with his blade, the saint Saint George raised his holy sword toward Liliana.
"Thou art a dragon!"
Liliana's heart felt as though it had been struck by a massive hammer. After a sudden halt, her heart surged, flooding her veins with immense, chilling energy akin to dragon's breath. Each breath she took released a terrifying, icy power that soared into the heavens.
She felt the energy of a dragon coursing through her body. Her serene, lake-like eyes shifted into slit pupils, while jagged bone spurs pushed through armored scales. With every step forward, her shadow stretched long by the setting sun, casting the image of a fierce, elongated dragon.
Was her opponent... buffing her?
But in that instant, her dragon eyes fell upon Saint George, and a visceral sense of mortal peril arose.
Like a snake confronted by an eagle…
Like a mouse faced with a cat…
Like a dragon gazing upon the man who slays dragons and serpents!
She couldn't afford to let him strike her. The insight of her witch's heritage was now magnified to a dragon's instincts. Liliana took a slight step back, drawing four shimmering blue arrows and notching them to the sky-blue bow that towered over her.
"David, behold! The enemy of Jonathan stands before us!"
Four arrows left the bowstring at once.
The shadow they cast on the ground appeared like a dragon in flight.
Saint George's grip on his sword tightened, his face solemn.
The powers stolen from gods by Campione evolve to suit their wielder's needs, interpreted in the way most fitting to them.
This was the gift bestowed upon these "children" by the sole god who stood with the Godslayers, Pandora, the one who oversees the rebirth ritual for slayers of gods.
One manifestation of Liliana's Authority was that her attacks could never be evaded; fleeing them led to inevitable defeat.
Saint George slashed the first arrow aside, caught the second in his left hand, blocked the third with his broad sword, but the fourth arrow pierced into his shoulder.
The wind howled around him.
The cloak bearing the blood-red cross billowed in the intense magic, resembling the wings of a red dragon in the light of the setting sun.
Underneath, his armor, as if cast from bronze, was revealed, with a snarling dragon's head on his right shoulder. Now, however, the dragon's mouth held an arrow, and blood seeped from beneath the shoulder plate.
Saint George's left hand was soaked in blood, and the arrows were slippery from the wounds. His right hand was blistered, his skin split from the clash.
"Hey, you mere mortal, talking big, aren't you?"
It was as though he were speaking to someone else entirely.
"A sword?"
"Watch closely. Mortal techniques are nothing compared to a true Authority!"
"Do not weep. Look, the Lion of Judah, the root of David, has triumphed! He is worthy to open the scroll and its seven seals."
Saint George chanted aloud, striding steadily toward Liliana.
Had her spells belonged to a foreign faith, they might have inflicted more significant harm upon the martyred saint.
But, regrettably, her spell was drawn from the Word of David.
Each step fell heavy, like a war drum, pounding in Liliana's heart.
"And behold, a great red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, with seven crowns upon its heads."
The young god laughed, wild and arrogant, casting his gaze over the mortal world.
"Tony, that's what I should call you, right?"
He addressed the knight locked within his heart.
"Look, this is the power of a god!"
"And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought the dragon!"
Saint George raised his holy sword Ascalon high with both hands.
Death!
Even though she stood a hundred meters from him, the instant she saw him raise Ascalon, Liliana's entire body began to tremble.
It was a primal fear etched deep in her blood—a dragon's dread of the dragon-slayer.
She wanted to run… but her feet felt nailed to the ground.
It was as though a blade hovered just above her skin, ready to slice her apart, inch by inch.
Her pupils contracted into pinpoints, and the scales of her silver armor rose, clattering into place.
What had she forgotten?
The young god's lips curved upward, his golden hair glowing red under the setting sun.
He raised his sword high, then swung it down upon the dragon within his heart.
Dragon Slayer (Interfectum Dracones)!
In the shadow cast by the setting sun, a winged dragon roared, only for its head to be severed.
Such a scene should have manifested into reality.
The young knight, marked as a dragon, ought to have been decapitated.
Suddenly, Saint George clutched his throat in bewilderment, his expression one of utter disbelief.
The small figure of the knight had already dashed forward, striking as he paused after swinging his sword. She sliced his throat with the gleaming blade.
At the moment he decapitated the dragon, Liliana felt every drop of her blood freeze solid.
At that instant, she remembered—she wasn't a dragon.
But contrary to Saint George's expectation, it wasn't the girl's neck that exploded with blood. Instead, it was her right arm.
The silver arm burst apart, like a lizard shedding its tail for survival, buying Liliana her life.
She wouldn't give him a second chance to use his Authority. Pressing her left hand against the ground, she launched herself forward.
In the blink of an eye, she was upon him, and her blade carved across Saint George's throat.
Saint George clutched his neck, the divine protection sealing his wound quickly and halting the blood flow.
Though his voice was still hoarse, he smiled wryly.
"What are you saying… does this prove a sword is better than a god's power?"
…
He'd been talking to someone, a certain Tony, the swordsman, Saint Raphael's pupil, who had brought him to the human world.
Saint George had been debating in his heart with Tony all along: which was stronger, the sword or divine power?
"If you think you can do better, why don't you try?" Saint George muttered.
"If you can surpass me, then you're welcome to claim victory over me."
…
"I'll try, then."
…
Particles of silver light gathered slowly as Liliana flexed her newly regenerated right arm, gripping the Silver Maestro tightly.
She kept her gaze warily fixed on Saint George. A strange bloodlust had just erupted from the god, as though a new will had taken hold.
For a brief instant, his serene, azure eyes—a martyr's gaze—had flared with a sharp, unrestrained killing intent.
It wasn't stronger, just sharper, like the edge of a blade.
"Uh, that young girl I've seen before?" he asked, smiling a bit sheepishly.
"Why don't we have a little match?"
…
This wasn't Saint George anymore.
But Liliana did not relax in the slightest. The man hailed by Saint Raffaello as the Heaven's Gifted Child of Swords held nothing back in a fight—not even against Saint Raffaello.
And Saint George's situation was still unclear.
Tony, however, didn't care about any of that. The girl before him was one of the strongest people he'd ever seen.
At that moment, his fighting spirit burned brightly.
Then, under Saint George's astonished gaze, Tony raised the holy sword Ascalon and pointed it at himself.
"I am also a dragon!"
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone