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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Holy… What the… Holy crap!
Saint George's usually composed and saintly expression was now one of utter bewilderment—he was downright stunned.
Too bad no one could see it.
Was this really how his Authority was meant to be used? Did this boy even understand what the name "Saint George" represented?
Guess he really was a true descendant of the Romans.
"Hey, hey, hey, we're about to start the fight. Mind calming down, oh noble god? You're getting on my nerves." Tony grumbled to the divine presence within him.
He couldn't care less about whatever background his esteemed godly guest had, or what slaying dragons might symbolize.
All he knew was that using such a powerful ability to buff someone else was a ridiculous waste.
The dragon-head pauldron on his shoulder seemed to come to life as he wrenched the arrow out of it without a sound.
Tony stretched, his joints popping one after the other.
The "dragon factor" pulsed through his body, and his heart felt like a molten core as his energy surged and his magic boiled. His blood felt like it was ready to burst from heat.
He'd never felt strength like this before, power that could seemingly split mountains and seas with a mere flick of his wrist. This was the power of a "Dragon," the power of a "Heretic God."
Assuming a simple, unassuming stance, he lowered himself slightly and raised the holy sword Ascalon in front of him, poised to face Liliana.
"Come on… let's see what you've got."
Normally, the power of Thou Art a Dragon would only last for a fleeting moment, temporarily branding its target as dragonkind.
But for Tony, who had fully embraced it, keeping Ascalon in hand and continuously pouring divine energy into the spell, Thou Art a Dragon became a more prolonged state.
Though it didn't take him to a realm of no-mind, no-thought, it still gave him the taste of wielding truth through sheer power.
"Hey, kid. It looks like your wish won't be coming true after all," Saint George warned him.
"Huh?" The simple-minded knight hadn't quite processed the comment.
"She's back. The most ferocious, the most ruthless of them all has returned. Hand over your body to me. If I fall, at least you'll be free." Saint George urged.
"No." Tony refused, his sweaty hand gripping Ascalon even tighter, his eyes fixed on the figure before him.
The sky darkened.
...
Liliana wasn't exactly in peak form either. Nuada's power had been crushed once, and her small frame was trembling.
She was still too young. In a few years, she could likely stand alone as a true Godslayer. But for now, she was still just a bit too young.
Even so, her exquisite little face held nothing but resolve.
Liliana was, in her unyielding way, a "fool" as knights go.
"Enough, that's enough."
A soft, alluring voice drifted from behind her as a warm presence pressed against her back, arms gently encircling her neck.
In an instant, the world before her became soaked in dark red ink, as a golden, lifeless clockwork eye opened slowly.
The girl who met her gaze was darkly captivating; just meeting her mismatched eyes made people instinctively look away.
Mountains of corpses, seas of blood, countless bleached bones.
Kurumi leaned her head against Liliana's shoulder, her breath warm against her neck, making the little knight freeze in place.
She had no resistance to someone's breath against her neck.
"My, my, Liliana, you've done wonderfully." Kurumi whispered, her voice soft and soothing, as if she were speaking to a small animal.
Liliana stood stock-still, unable to move a muscle.
This was the goddess she had vowed to serve, the one to whom she'd pledged everything.
Though… there was just a touch of sadism there.
"Now, leave the rest to me."
...
What kind of enemy was this?
Saint George sighed deeply, feeling his own helplessness.
The young swordsman known as Tony was even stronger than he'd imagined, wielding unparalleled swordsmanship. Each stroke could be treasured and studied by master swordsmen for years.
Yet even so, he was still no match for this terrifying Heretic God.
Each effortless swing of her blade tore through his defenses, the terrifying strength hidden in her slender wrist enough to fight dragons on even footing.
There was a difference in strength even among gods, Saint George sighed.
"Let me take over, Tony."
The resilience of this knight surprised him, and now that he had ceded control, he couldn't take it back—despite Tony being an idiot.
"No," Tony said.
"Letting you take over is a death wish, isn't it?"
Saint George fell silent.
"I came here as a martyr, solely to kill the Heretic God."
"Kill?" Tony rolled out of the way of a swinging gun blade.
The opponent wasn't even serious. She was merely toying with him, indulging in a bit of revenge for the little knight.
"Can you really kill a god like that?" Tony glanced around; the world was drenched in her colors.
"You're marching to your own death."
"So what?" Saint George said softly. "The world doesn't need gods."
"But I do." Tony rolled out of the way again, her gunblade lashing out along its chain, pinning the edge of his blood-red robe to the ground.
"Besides you, where am I going to find a god willing to lend me his strength?"
"C'mon, you lend me your power, and I'll go take down those Heretic Gods. Isn't that a pretty good deal?"
Tony was surprisingly good at calming people down, even if he was a hopeless fool.
"Saint George the Dragon Slayer or whatever…"
"Historically speaking, didn't that never actually happen?"
"Saint George being identified with Michael? Isn't that just a coincidence of art and myth?"
Tony smiled as he swung the holy sword at Kurumi once again.
"So you're merely 'Saint George' by proxy, the 'dragon slayer' by mere association, right?"
"The world is vast. Why don't we go see it?"
Unsurprisingly, the holy sword was instantly batted away by the flintlock gun. She was a brute who didn't play fair.
Without even relying on her powers, she could overpower a dragonified, god-empowered Tony with ease.
Kurumi hadn't even fired a shot.
In the end, Saint George's power just didn't suit Tony. Even though he had used Thou Art a Dragon on himself, he still struggled.
Saint George remained quiet within him.
Tony sensed his power and charged at Kurumi again.
Holy flames rained down, falling as if in divine judgment.
This was Saint George bound in the temple, praying to the Lord, summoning forth divine wrath.
The girl in black-and-red emerged from the holy flames unscathed, jabbing the handle of her gun into Tony's stomach, driving him to the ground.
Staring up at the night sky, he released his grip on his holy sword, feeling the dragon's blood fade away, his breathing ragged.
"You really are a fool," Saint George said, exasperated. "Still… you're right."
"I like traveling."
...
Tony didn't have the energy to respond.
He lay flat on his back, muttering in irritation.
"Ugh… safety shorts."
—
Full of innocent retribution, Liliana stepped right over Tony's sprawled-out body.
What she thought was a "fierce" act of revenge was surprisingly playful.
Yet she seemed to forget that without her bright silver armor, she was now dressed in the short chiffon dress and pristine white stockings that Erica had so maliciously chosen for her.
Liliana had resisted such a short dress, but in deference to Lady Kurumi's delight, she had begrudgingly put it on.
Erica understood her friend's sensitive pride and embarrassment too well.
…
"Tsk, safety shorts."
A lazy voice drifted up from below.
Liliana froze. Within seconds, her neck and face flushed a brilliant red, with her delicate ears following suit.
"Oh my, it's Steam Maiden Liliana," Kurumi snickered inwardly, committing this moment to memory.
She had to admit, there was something deeply amusing about teasing a girl like Liliana—serious, dignified, yet sensitive and easily flustered.
Kurumi hadn't known that kind of delight before, but as she watched Liliana, her lips curled into a mischievous smile.
Oh, what fun this could be.
She imagined Liliana's stern and prim face, her brows knit with embarrassment—wanting to refuse but hesitating, forced by duty to stand there, utterly flushed.
Yes, it seemed she really was a "bad person."
Then, after a brief moment of mortification, Liliana turned and gave Tony a fierce kick to the head.
A viciously precise kick.
In the final moment before it hit, all Tony saw was the toe of her small, round shoe growing larger in his vision.
"Oh no. Game over."
—
The journey from San Gimignano to Florence covered about 60 miles.
Their destination was the St. Giardino Monastery, located about a twenty-minute drive outside Florence.
There, "Saint Raffaello" and the head of the Copper-Black Cross, Paolo, awaited their arrival.
Rejecting the idea of having Arianna come to pick them up, Kurumi took the wheel herself for the trip to St. Giardino.
But soon enough, both Erica and Liliana paid the price for their hasty decision.
Kurumi's driving was smooth—controlled with the ease of a seasoned pro and surprisingly bump-free… if one ignored the speedometer needle nearly pinned at the max.
The car engine roared like a furious beast. In the passenger seat, Erica's face was pale as she hesitantly worked up the courage to speak.
"Lady Kurumi, in Italy… they drive on the right side of the road."
"Oh?" Kurumi appeared to hesitate, then abruptly jerked the steering wheel before swiftly straightening it again.
The force flung Erica forward, leaving her sprawled in Kurumi's lap.
"Ugh…" The usually mischievous Erica felt utterly defeated, groaning inwardly.
"I should've known. The way she calmly walked away from Arianna's car that time should've tipped me off."
"Why was she so unbothered?"
"How could she stay so indifferent to Arianna's driving?"
"It was because… they both drove the same way."
Meanwhile, Liliana clutched the handrail, eyes fixed on the wind chimes hanging from the rearview mirror, too scared to look anywhere else.
Both Erica and Liliana found themselves slightly envious of the unconscious Tony—he was lucky.
It was right then that Tony began to stir, propped awkwardly against the floor, looking dazed.
He stared blankly for a long moment before finally sitting up.
In the next instant, his face drained of color.
"What kind of monster driver is this?!"
…
As night fell, activity was still underway at the St. Giardino Monastery.
A "Heretic God," a "Godslayer," and a saintly vessel would soon arrive.
Though a grand reception wasn't necessary, it wouldn't do to let such distinguished guests arrive unnoticed.
Dressed in black, somber priests moved busily through the fortress-like white monastery.
Beyond the courtyard, row upon row of knights continued their rigorous training, their expressions holding not a trace of complaint.
A procession of distinguished guests approached.
A dignified priest, with a bearing as upright as a sword, led the group inside.
Kurumi followed with her usual grace, trailed by two perfectly synchronized young ladies, and lastly the slouched, casual Tony.
The priests they passed bore odd expressions, struggling to maintain composure, lips twitching as if stifling laughter.
It wasn't their fault. After all, who could remain solemn upon seeing a young man sporting a perfect footprint on his face, wobbling along nonchalantly?
But Tony hardly paid it any mind, preoccupied with his silent exchange with Saint George.
To most, the thought of another soul inhabiting their mind, able to witness their thoughts and memories, would be unbearable.
But Tony was different. There was nothing in his life he felt he needed to hide.
He had become a knight for his love of the sword; his lack of magical talent had made him the black sheep of his order, and yet it was for that very same swordsmanship that he had earned the title "Knight of Siena" and had been taken under Saint Raffaello's tutelage.
A life fit for the protagonist of a story.
"Well, well, seems you know my tale quite well~" Saint George teased.
To better wield Saint George's authority, Tony had peppered him with questions of all kinds.
But the saint, rather unexpectedly, was nothing short of a joker.
"Not exactly," Tony denied. "You just seem pretty taken with reading your own biography."
"Tell me, how many versions of your legend have you read since you came into my life?"
…
The priest leading them stopped to bow respectfully, gesturing for them to enter the small, white chapel nearby.
"Greetings to you, Lady Kurumi." With a sound of staggered footsteps, a muscular knight and a dark-haired beauty came forward and bowed in reverence.
A sophisticated-looking man with the air of a living David statue then approached Liliana with a complex expression.
"Greetings to you, young Campione, sixth of the Godslayers."
"Uncle…"
Erica froze, momentarily at a loss for words.
"Erica, I am grateful for your close connection with our Campione."
Paolo said.
"But… she is a Godslayer, do you understand?"
…
Regardless of how it came about,
the young girl named Liliana
was now, officially, the sixth Campione.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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