Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 217: The Dragon (1)

“Aah...” Ketal couldn’t help but let out a gasp, his eyes utterly transfixed by the red dragon sprawled before him. For a long moment, he simply stared, bewitched by the living legend that had appeared at the heart of the lair.

He remembered how far he’d come since leaving the White Snowfield. He’d witnessed many wonders and horrors along his journey—liches with eyes that burned with deathless fire, ogres who could split boulders with a single blow, the slithering forms of basilisks, the ethereal beauty of elves, even merfolk and demons of the deep sea. He had seen with his own eyes the kind of creatures one would normally only encounter in the wildest tales and fever dreams.

Each time, he had felt awe, amazement, even a touch of reverence. Those feelings were still vivid within him, memories etched in the marrow of his bones. However, none of them could compare to what he felt now.

He was before a dragon. The very word held a weight beyond the sum of its letters. The ultimate symbol of fantasy and myth was now standing right in front of him, vast and real.

The dragon’s scales were a radiant crimson, their luster undimmed by the countless jewels that lined the cavern walls. It was as though each scale had been carved from living ruby, every inch of its massive body cloaked in a shifting, glittering armor of gemstones.

Its wings, unfurled even in slumber, seemed broad enough to blanket half a village in shadow. Its claws looked sharp enough to rend the very world apart.

Ketal was left speechless. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear little else. The thrill and awe threatened to swallow him whole.

“This is a dragon...,” Ketal muttered.

“It’s magnificent,” Spellweaver mused.

The others were just as awestruck, even if they didn’t stand in open-mouthed amazement like Ketal. Still, their composure returned quickly. They knew what they had come for.

“It’s sleeping,” Spellweaver observed.

The dragon lay coiled at the center of its hoard, eyes closed in a deep, untroubled sleep. Not even the echo of battle outside seemed to have disturbed it.

“So... what do we do?” Bloodedge asked the party quietly.

“We should strike before it wakes,” Seraphina suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. “We won’t have a better chance than this.”

Spellweaver weighed the idea, then nodded at the Mercenary King. “Bloodedge, you should take the first move. The rest of our powers are too destructive. We might wake it up if we all attack together.”

“Understood,” Bloodedge replied, raising his blade and gathering Aura for a decisive strike.

However, before he could even take a step, something happened.

“Graah...”

A rumble, low and deep, resonated through the cavern. The dragon’s eyelids slid open, revealing eyes the color of blackest night, reptilian pupils narrowing as they adjusted to the light.

The party collectively froze, breath caught in their throats. The dragon slowly rose, massive body shifting, each movement a testament to its sheer, impossible power. Ketal found himself holding his breath, mesmerized all over again by the myth unfolding before him.

“Grraaaah...”

The dragon’s gaze swept the chamber, falling upon the intruders who had dared to invade its domain. For a heartbeat, there was only confusion in its eyes, as if it could not quite believe what it was seeing. However, confusion quickly gave way to something else—anger.

The dragon’s fury surged. That such insignificant creatures would dare to trespass in its lair was an affront beyond tolerance. Rage shimmered through every muscle, and with a single inhale, the dragon readied its response.

“Get ready! It’s going to—”

“Breath!” Spellweaver shouted in alarm.

The dragon’s jaws parted, and from the depths of its throat erupted a torrent of pure, searing flame. The temperature in the chamber skyrocketed. It was as if they’d been thrown into the heart of a volcano. Even at a distance, their skin prickled and their lungs seized.

“Damn it!”, Fiego cried, whipping its horns forward. Flames erupted around it, its own primordial fire clashing with the dragon’s breath in midair.

Fiego was a spirit born from the primordial fire. It was the purest flame in all existence, both in might and dignity. Its fire was a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the world.

However, against the dragon’s breath, Fiego’s flame withered and died. The dragon’s fire was a force of such purity and intensity that it simply erased anything in its path.

“Shadow!” Spellweaver shouted, beginning his chant.

“O Sun God, protect your servant from this threat!” Seraphina called out in desperation, her prayers barely audible over the roar.

Spellweaver and Seraphina unleashed their greatest powers, arcane shields and divine blessings alike rose to shield them from the blaze.

However, even those defenses began to burn away. This wasn’t hellfire, which existed outside the world’s natural laws and burned everything indiscriminately. This was the dragon’s own fire: pure, unrelenting power that destroyed simply by virtue of being greater.

A high, piercing screech echoed through the cavern.

For a frantic moment, they all fought desperately, pouring every last drop of strength into their defenses. Finally, by a hair’s breadth, they managed to block the dragon’s breath. The cost, however, was immense, as each of them stood panting, drained, sweat beading on their brow.

“No... this can’t be...”

“What in the world...?”

The strength of the dragon surpassed anything they had imagined. The dragon scowled, displeased that its breath attack had been checked.

At that instant, Bloodedge moved. He was suddenly right beside the dragon, moving even as the breath attack began, capitalizing on the momentary distraction.

His sword glittered with sharpened Aura, poised for a decisive strike. After all, dragons were renowned for their magical prowess, but even the strongest spellcaster could die if given no time to react. Bloodedge lunged in, denying his foe even the chance to speak an incantation.

However, an unseen force repelled him. Bloodedge was thrown backward, forced to twist midair and land in a defensive crouch.

“Magic?” Bloodedge muttered. It was unmistakable. Some kind of magical backlash had occurred. Bloodedge’s eyes narrowed. “But I didn’t see any casting...”

In answer, the dragon unleashed a flurry of magic circles, dozens appearing around its body without warning or chant.

Spellweaver’s face twisted in dismay. “The race of magic...”

Dragons were, above all, beings of magic. For them, wielding magic was as effortless as breathing.

The dragon spread its wings in a show of irritation, and from every circle, raw mana burst forth in waves.

***

BOOOOM!

The very air shook as pure magical energy exploded through the chamber. There was no intricate spellwork here, just raw, unfiltered power. However, the force of it was like a hurricane.

“Ugh!”

The party scattered, dodging the blasts as best they could, but there was precious little room to maneuver. Every attempted defense felt like being struck by a sledgehammer.

“What is this...?”

It was stronger than they had expected. For the highest level of Transcendents, being forced onto the defensive like this was unheard of.

For Spellweaver, though, things were even worse. Every spell he tried to cast shattered against the dragon’s overwhelming power. It was like being a helpless child, unable to do anything at all.

To a dragon, magic was as easy and natural as breath. Human spells were little more than shadows, swept aside with a flick of its gaze. The dragon’s storm of mana surged toward Spellweaver, threatening to engulf him.

In that instant, Ketal moved. With a mighty leap, Ketal broke through the raging magic and grabbed Spellweaver, dragging him to safety along the edge of the lair.

“You alright?” Ketal asked him, steadying him.

“Y-yes... thank you,” Spellweaver managed, still trembling.

It was all happening so fast, he hadn’t even realized Ketal had rescued him by brute-forcing his way through the storm.

“This isn’t looking good,” Ketal muttered.

“Not at all...,” Spellweaver agreed grimly.

Hunting the dragon had been their goal, but now, survival itself was in question. Ketal glanced off into the empty air, a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’d like to step in and help directly, but... there’s something else here. Something that’s making that difficult.”

He was staring into what seemed to be empty space, but his gaze was intent, as though following an unseen figure.

“For now, you’ll have to handle the dragon yourselves. Can you manage?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Spellweaver answered, then hurled himself back into battle, all attention focused on the dragon.

Spellweaver didn’t see Ketal, who had been gazing into the air, suddenly swing his fist. He missed the shockwave that followed, a force powerful enough to crush all their strength. He also failed to notice how that overwhelming power was perfectly neutralized by someone unseen.

The cancellation was so precise, so seamless, that even those in the midst of battle failed to notice.

“You’re strong,” Ketal said with a wry smile. “I hope you show yourself soon. I’d like to join the fight myself. Or are you planning to face me instead?”

***

Spellweaver’s thoughts raced. The dragon was undeniably strong. Its power was beyond what any one of them could hope to overcome.

But... it isn’t invincible, he thought.

They were highest-level Transcendents, just a step below the true Heroes. If they pooled their strengths, there was still a chance.

The dragon’s power came from its indestructible body, its ability to wield magic without casting, and, of course, its breath. However, if they worked together, they might prevail.

Spellweaver caught the others’ eyes, and in that brief exchange, understanding passed between them.

Seraphina moved first. “Fiego! I’m counting on you!”

“This is what I get for working with my lunatic master!” Fiego grumbled, unleashing a torrent of flames to buy them time.

Seraphina raised her hands skyward, voice ringing with divine command. “Material! Final Chapter, Verse 1!”

The higher the chapter in the sacred scripture, the greater the power, and this was the final chapter of the Book of Material, a rite so sacred that even Aquaz had never been allowed to recite it.

“They said: Though I depart from this world, you shall remain under my protection. Among those who serve me, I shall choose one to become my avatar!”

A piercing hum filled the air as light surrounded Seraphina. For the first time, the dragon’s expression changed.

At this moment, Seraphina had become an avatar of the divine, a vessel of the Sun God’s power. Even a dragon could not take her lightly.

Seraphina, too, was trembling under the weight of that power. Blood welled at the corner of her lips as her knees buckled. Even she could barely endure the burden of channeling the scripture’s final chapter. The strain was immense, and she could not hope to maintain it for long.

She lifted her shield, pushing back against the oppressive force.

Light exploded from her body, shattering the torrent of mana that had been pounding at them. The radiance did not stop there. It poured outwards, threatening to sweep over the entire world. Had it been night outside, the people in the fields might have thought dawn had arrived.

The dragon retaliated, pouring its strength into a massive spell circle that tried to seal away Seraphina’s power, compressing her body beneath an invisible weight.

“Light!” Seraphina shouted, and the brilliance erupted anew, shoving back against the dragon’s magic.

Fiego joined in, supporting Seraphina with its flames. Their combined efforts began to match, and even slightly push back, the dragon’s relentless assault.

Finally, this gave Spellweaver the opening he needed.

“No matter how powerful dragons are as a race of magic... I am the School Master! I won’t go down so easily!” he shouted.

The Void-Reflected Shadow School was a venerable order, boasting centuries of tradition. As its master, Spellweaver could command every spell his predecessors had ever devised.

“Shadow that rises in darkness. Shadow that shrinks from the light. Shadow that lingers after all has been consumed, disappearing with the dawn. I grant you form. Swallow this world, drain its colors away.” He completed the incantation. “Be free.”

Shadows began to swirl at the dragon’s feet, churning like living tar. They rose up, engulfing its radiant scales in darkness. These were not mere illusions, but magical homunculi—shadow creatures that craved the color and light of the world.

Unleashed and uncontrolled, they would have rampaged across the land, devouring everything in their path. It was a dangerous spell, one entrusted only to the masters of the Void-Reflected Shadow School.

The dragon shrugged, rippling its body in annoyance. Shadows burst and were scattered, but they did not relent; they clung persistently to the dragon’s body, fighting to snuff out its brilliance.

With Seraphina and Fiego occupying the dragon’s attention and Spellweaver’s magic binding its movements, Bloodedge was finally free to act.

He crouched low, tightening his grip on his sword. He had neither the miracles of a priestess nor the devastating power of a mage, but he was every bit their equal in sheer martial skill.

“Gather,” he whispered. Aura surged through his body, spiraling around his blade. With every ounce of his will, he focused it to a razor’s edge.

As he stepped forward, the ground splintered beneath his feet. Even the enchanted stone of the dragon’s lair could not withstand such force.

The air itself seemed to split as he accelerated. He moved so quickly that even Spellweaver could not track him, crossing the chamber in a fraction of a second and stopping, blade drawn, before the dragon’s eye.

Even if the dragon tried to repel him with magic, he was moving too fast—he would pierce straight through any barrier.

The sword made contact with the dragon’s eye. For a moment, Seraphina thought that they had succeeded. However, then, for the first time, the dragon spoke.

“Begone.”

With that single word, everything fell apart.