Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 219: The Dragon (3)

A Hero, who had hidden among the party disguised as a powerless child, had been at their side the entire journey. Only now, in the aftermath, did the party truly grasp the enormity of what they had overlooked.

How...? Seraphina felt her heart seize with a pang of regret and bewilderment.

Looking back, it had never made sense. No ordinary child could have followed them through such perilous terrain. Yet somehow, not once did they find it strange, never even questioning the boy’s presence. They simply took it for granted, caring for him as though he were truly defenseless, so certain of their own perceptions that it was as if their awareness itself had been twisted.

Instead of answering their silent questions, the woman, no longer the boy they remembered simply clapped her hands together with a smile.

“Well then. It’d be a shame to leave things so unresolved, wouldn’t it? You deserve a proper ending. Let me give you one,” she said with gentle finality.

She stepped forward, just a single stride, yet in that instant a chill raced down the spines of everyone present. Her first target was Seraphina.

Sensing the danger, Seraphina cried out, “Material, Book 23, Verse 1! Those who serve you raised their hands in prayer, and the Sun God answered, shielding them from all evil!”

A brilliant wall of holy light burst into being around her, a manifestation of the divine shield once granted directly by the Sun God to faithful believers. The ancient legend from the holy scripture was brought to life right there in the dragon’s lair.

Yet the woman, utterly unfazed, extended a single finger toward the barrier. With just that tiny gesture, the divine shield shredded like tissue paper. Seraphina gasped. Not even the dragon had broken her defenses so easily.

Before she could recover, the woman gently touched Seraphina on the forehead with that same finger.

“Thank you for your kindness during the journey,” the woman said, her voice soft but resonant.So now, you can rest easy.”

“Ah...”

The words washed over Seraphina, not just as sound but as power itself. Instantly, her consciousness faded, and she collapsed to the ground. However, there was no pain or fear on her face, only perfect peace, as if every worry and burden had melted away.

“Seraphina!” Spellweaver shouted, horror in his voice.

“You—!” Bloodedge gritted his teeth, rage and helplessness warring in his eyes. He lunged, dropping into a low stance as he closed the gap between them without hesitation. He drove his sword forward, its blade wreathed in sharpened Aura, aiming directly for her chest.

“What...?!” Bloodedge stammered. The sword, even with all its gathered power, couldn’t pierce her body.

It didn’t just fail to pierce her body. The edge of his blade didn’t even leave a mark on her skin, as though he’d tried to cut through the roots of an ancient tree with a toy blade. The woman gave him a patient, almost affectionate look.

“Bloodedge. You were always so careful not to let on, always quietly looking out for me. It was endearing. Now you, too, can rest.”

His body crumpled, and he collapsed alongside Seraphina, unconscious.

Only Spellweaver remained, trembling, hands outstretched as he tried to summon what little magic he had left.

“Come forth!” he cried.

The shadow beasts, dangerous homunculi he’d conjured earlier, beings only the Void-Reflected Shadow School’s master could control, slithered forward, surging greedily for the woman.

“Oh? Homunculi. You made these with great care, didn’t you?” she said, studying them like a fond aunt admiring a child’s art project.

Under her gaze, the shadow creatures seemed to shrink. They halted, then slunk back and crouched in a posture of utter submission, trembling.

“Hah...” Spellweaver could only let out a defeated laugh. That which should have been utterly loyal and deadly now cowered before this woman, meek as lambs.

Who... what is she? Spellweaver thought. As he slumped, his eyes landed on the ring the woman wore. Its sigil was old, nearly forgotten—yet for a School Master from the Mage Tower, instantly recognizable.

“W-wait... that mark. Are you... Could you be... Ignisia, one of the Elder Dragons?” Spellweaver’s eyes widened, horror dawning.

For the first time, the woman’s mask slipped. Her face twitched with a trace of genuine surprise.

“My, my. I didn’t expect anyone here to remember that name. It’s been such a long time,” the woman said.

“How—how are you here?” Spellweaver stammered, stunned.

The woman only smiled. “I have my reasons. Your calm, logical thinking does you credit as a formidable mage, Spellweaver. But it’s time for you, too, to go take a—.”

She began to utter the words that would send him into the same gentle oblivion as the others.

Boom!

A titanic crash resounded through the lair, cutting her off. The ground quaked, and everyone’s attention snapped to the center of the cavern. The great sphere of gray magic, where the dragon and Ketal had vanished, was fracturing, its surface splintering.

“Grraah!” The crimson dragon, battered but not yet broken, burst free, throwing its head back in a final, furious bellow. It stepped forward, out of the dissolving sphere, as though claiming victory.

However, even as it emerged, a tremendous force yanked it back, dragging its massive form unwillingly toward the collapsing domain. The dragon fought, slashing at the edges, trying to resist the pull. However, all its struggles were for nothing, as it was sucked back in with humiliating ease.

Another thunderous boom shook the air. The gray sphere, now riddled with cracks, began to fade, its magic dispersing at last.

And there stood Ketal—victorious. He stood atop the dragon’s limp body, grinning in satisfaction. The dragon lay utterly still, tongue lolling, every last muscle slack with defeat.

“That was... fun, in its way,” Ketal said, chuckling as he looked around.

His gaze landed on the scene around him, his allies unconscious at the feet of a strikingly unfamiliar woman. Their eyes met, measuring each other.

“What’s all this, then?” Ketal mused aloud, stroking his chin.

He’d spent the whole time inside the domain, battling tooth and nail against the dragon. To step out and find his companions defeated by a mysterious woman was... unexpected, to say the least.

She smiled back at him.

“Well, well. Should I say it’s nice to meet you, Ketal?” Her tone was playful, but a keen edge glinted beneath her words.

***

It was a bizarre scene, stepping from one life-and-death struggle straight into another. However, Ketal, ever the observer, simply responded, “I doubt this is our first meeting. Unless I’m mistaken, you introduced yourself as Ian, didn’t you?”

“Hmm...” The woman’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You caught on that quickly? I thought my disguise was flawless.”

“It matched perfectly. All your mannerisms were identical, even after you changed shape. Hard to miss, once you know what to look for. I hadn’t expected... quite this form, though,” Ketal said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He’d guessed she was a woman, but not such a tall, imposing adult.

“So it really was that obvious?” she mused, studying her own body, as if checking her movements against the memories of her earlier disguise.

Ketal stroked his chin, voice growing serious. “I was worried things would end up this way.”

He’d never sensed any power from the boy, Ian. Not a trace—not even with his own sharpened instincts, honed in countless battles on the White Snowfield. However, deep down, he had known. The feeling was the same one he’d gotten facing monsters that defied common sense, a warning honed through endless danger.

This child was strong, even stronger than his highest-level Transcendent companions. Perhaps the strongest being he had ever encountered outside the White Snowfield.

The boy had slipped in quietly during their fight with the dragon, watching everything. That was why Ketal had hesitated to intervene earlier. He couldn’t predict what the boy wanted, or what might happen if he interfered.

However, when it became clear that his companions would die if he didn’t act, he had no choice. He’d stepped in, fought the dragon, and now found his worry justified: as soon as the fight ended, his allies had fallen one after another.

“Did you kill them?” Ketal asked the woman, his tone neutral.

“No. Just put them to sleep. No lasting harm,” she replied easily.

“That’s a relief. Mind if I ask a question, then?”

“Go ahead. Ask whatever you like.”

“Who are you?”

It was a simple question, but one that cut straight to the point. The woman gave him a sly smile. Spellweaver, now regaining his composure, wanted to speak, but the pressure of her presence still held his tongue.

“What do you think?” she teased.

“A lot of possibilities come to mind...,” Ketal replied.

She’d claimed, as Ian, to have come from the Empire, so perhaps she was one of their powerful agents. Or, perhaps, as the dragon had hinted at a fascination with demons, she was a summoned demon herself.

However, one thing was certain, beyond all doubt.

“You’re a Hero,” Ketal said.

“Hm. Well, that’s not wrong,” she said, her expression turning slightly sour as if she’d hoped for a different answer, but didn’t argue.

Ketal leapt down from atop the dragon’s corpse, landing lightly before her. “So, what brings you here?”

The woman didn’t hesitate. She lifted a finger and pointed directly at the dragon’s body. “That. I came for what’s behind you.”

Ketal clicked his tongue. “You want the corpse?”

“I’d have preferred it alive. But even dead, it’s valuable.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Ketal replied, his voice cool and resolute. The dragon’s body belonged to him. He needed it as an offering to wield Myst. He wasn’t about to hand it over to anyone.

She regarded him thoughtfully, weighing her options. The truth was, she had no urgent need to fight Ketal for the dragon’s corpse. She’d already made arrangements with the Wandering Merchant, and in a sense, Ketal’s victory had resolved a troublesome task for her.

She could have ended it all with a simple explanation, yet something made her pause. She studied Ketal carefully, her eyes narrowing in calculation. There was something different about him, something alien. He didn’t seem like a being of this world. If he truly was what she suspected, then everything was about to change.

I have to make sure, she thought.

“And if I insist on keeping it?” she asked him aloud, a new tension sharpening her words. Her tongue traced her lips, anticipation in her gaze.

Ketal rolled his shoulders, muscles tensing. “Then there’s nothing for it.”

Two predators faced each other, both fixated on a single prize. The atmosphere grew heavier, as if gravity itself were pressing down on Spellweaver, the only one still conscious. He felt himself suffocating in their presence, unable to make a sound.

The woman moved first. She closed the distance in a flash, so quickly that even Spellweaver couldn’t register her motion. She threw a punch at Ketal’s head. He tilted his neck, narrowly avoiding the strike.

Her fist missed by a hair, the impact blasting into the cavern wall, sending gemstones cascading to the ground like rain. Ketal seized her arm and twisted, swinging her downward in a powerful throw, aiming to smash her into the floor. However, she stamped her foot, the ground reverberating beneath her and breaking his momentum. Unable to control her movement, Ketal couldn’t pull her down as planned.

She retaliated with a punch aimed at his chest. Ketal knocked her arm aside, the force sending another shockwave through the cavern, more gemstones raining down. They both launched punches simultaneously.

Their fists collided, and the air itself seemed to buckle. The entire lair shuddered. Were they not sealed inside, the shockwave would have leveled the entire mountainside.

Spellweaver barely managed to shelter himself with a conjured shadow beast, the impact rattling his bones and drawing blood from his lips. The woman skidded backward, only managing to halt herself by digging gouges into the stone.

“Amazing,” Ketal said, genuinely impressed.

Never since leaving the White Snowfield had anyone matched him in close-quarters combat. Even among the barbarian tribe, only the rarest individuals could withstand a single exchange.

What astonished Ketal most was that she used no visible Myst. He had, through hard-fought experience, learned to sense even subtle Myst. However, the woman fought with raw, unadorned physical power alone.

“How do you pack that much force into such a slender frame?” Ketal wondered aloud.

“Are you mocking me?” she said, shaking out her hand, her face twisted in pain. The bones in her fingers had been utterly crushed from the impact.