The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 297: Third Villain Act [3]

With Lan's power flowing through me, the Shibazorak's assault was almost laughably easy to endure.

Each strike landed like thunder, shaking the air, but the artifact dulled the impact until it felt no harsher than a sparring tap. Compared to Alice Draken's blows back on campus, this was nothing.

Of course, I wasn't relying solely on Lan. My body hummed with the constant thrum of [Enhancement], every fiber reinforced, every joint steadied. Between the two, I had full control of the pace.

Still—control didn't mean infinite endurance. Even if the strikes didn't hurt, the sheer force was enough to wear down armor, footing, and time itself. I knew that.

[So, is that all?] My voice carried calmly beneath the mask, almost bored. [It's unpleasant to be hit without resistance, even if it doesn't hurt. Think of it as my way of showing goodwill. I hope you enjoyed it.]

Most people would've crumbled by now, shaken by the futility of their own attacks. But the man in front of me wasn't "most people."

Shibazorak's fists came again in a storm, his movements heavy but precise, honed through years of battle. My reinforced coat shuddered under the barrage, fabric fibers snapping with each successive blow.

If not for Zaho Yuren subtly siphoning off the worst of the impact through Lan's resonance, I would've been staggered. But with him sharing the load, I could breathe. I could think.

[…Impressive,] I said at last, tilting my head slightly, the sound of another blow reverberating off my guard. [But tell me—are your fists still intact?]

He didn't even pause. "No. It's like hitting a mountain."

There was a shift in his eyes then—less mockery, more intrigue. His strikes slowed by a fraction, enough to look at me properly.

"I don't know if it's a relic, some kind of armor, or if you're just hiding strength I can't read," he said, voice steady now, "but… you're better than I thought."

Behind him, a sharp voice cut in.

"Boss! What are you doing?! Just stop him already!" The short woman practically bounced with frustration, her fists clenched as if she wanted to leap in herself.

But before Shibazorak could respond, another voice silenced the room.

"…Wait."

Seraphine.

Her eyes, usually unreadable, narrowed with intent as she finally stepped forward.

"I want to confirm something first," she said slowly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "So we'll watch."

The short woman snapped toward her, shocked. "What?! Are you serious?!"

Seraphine didn't answer her. Her gaze never left me.

It wasn't curiosity in her eyes, not exactly. It was sharper, probing, as though she was peeling back the layers of my mask without touching it.

Whatever she was looking for, I had the unsettling sense that she was close to finding it.

Then I should make her want to stop him.

"I'm quite lucky today," Shibazorak said, twisting his massive arms with a grin that split his scarred face.

His voice rumbled like boulders grinding together.

I couldn't help but note the cliché. It was exactly the kind of line protagonists in those fortuitous-encounter novels liked to say, right before they awakened some hidden power.

[Oh? And how so?]

Shibazorak's eyes gleamed like molten iron.

"How often do you get the chance to hit a mountain in human form…!" His fist clenched, veins bulging, muscles swelling with terrifying intent. "You bastard…! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to break a mountain!"

Mana gathered around his hand, thick and heavy, as if the air itself was compressing into his strike. It wasn't just a punch—it was a declaration.

An extraordinary blow.

One that could crush stone, shatter walls, maybe even rival a dragon's claw.

[No.]

I exhaled softly, my tone almost bored.

Taking that attack head-on would've been suicide. But more than that—he was starting to mistake my patience for weakness. That couldn't continue.

[I've shown enough goodwill.]

I raised my hand. The air shifted.

Shadows bled outward from beneath my feet, spilling like ink across the cracked stone. They writhed unnaturally, clinging to the walls, devouring the light itself until the chamber dimmed as though the sun had been snuffed out.

For a heartbeat, the entire dungeon seemed to hold its breath.

Then the shadows moved.

Black Shadow—what had been just a fragment of my arsenal until now—answered my call, trembling with power I had forcibly pushed into it. With my Enhancement feeding its core, it swelled, no longer content to remain hidden.

It revealed its true form.

The darkness surged upward, coiling, reshaping into something vast. Jagged horns, scale-like ridges, and eyes like smoldering voids took shape in the abyss. The floor groaned as the weight of its presence pressed down on everything.

A dragon.

A dragon born of shadow.

Its maw opened wide, silent but oppressive, as if the act of being seen by it was already a curse.

This was the original power of Black Shadow, the form buried beneath countless restraints. The only reason I could call it out now was because I had enhanced it far beyond its limits.

Its name resonated in my mind, old and heavy, like a forgotten legend whispering itself into the world again.

Dark Dragon Shadow.

Shibazorak's grin froze.

For the first time, the "mountain in human form" hesitated.

As Dark Dragon Shadow continue to grow, it continues devoured every light and mana.

Yes, mana.

[How does it feels to lose all mana? Can you tell me?]

Yes, before the shadow of a dragon or dark dragon, the most blessed creature in this world, humans were not allowed to wield mana.

In the novel, the beings most familiar with mana were neither demons nor humans.

It was dragons.

The chamber groaned as if the stone itself wanted to flee.

The dragon's silhouette pressed against every corner of the dungeon, devouring flame, vine, and aura alike. The light of torches guttered out, swallowed whole until only that abyssal form remained, breathing silence into the room.

New Dawn froze.

The short woman who had shouted earlier dropped into a crouch, clutching her arms as though she could hold onto her own mana before it was ripped away. The others weren't faring better—their attacks fizzled, their aura waned, and their eyes widened with dawning terror.

Shibazorak staggered back a half-step, his massive fists trembling. It wasn't fear of pain. It was deeper than that, something primal. His body understood what his mind refused to admit.

Mana was leaving him. Being stolen.

"Wh-what the hell…?" His voice cracked against the oppressive silence. "Why… why can't I feel—?!"

His arms flexed again, veins bulging as he forced his body to obey, but the mana simply refused him. It slipped away like sand through open fingers, dragged mercilessly into the gaping maw of the Dark Dragon Shadow.

I tilted my head beneath the mask, my voice calm, measured.

[Dragons were the first to breathe mana into the world. To them, mana is not a tool. It's a birthright. A possession. In front of a dragon… do you really think you are allowed to wield it?]

The dragon's eyes flared, black voids burning like eclipsed suns. A wave of pressure slammed outward, heavy enough that the civilians behind New Dawn collapsed onto their knees, gasping for air.

Only, Seraphine was calm and composed in this chaos...

"Stop it. And Shibazorak, stand down."

Finally, she decided to intervene.

Her voice was level, almost casual, but it cut through the oppressive silence like a blade.

The dragon's shadow loomed still, its presence pressing against every breath, yet the calmness in Seraphine's tone bent the moment around her.

"B-Boss!" The short woman snapped, spinning toward her in disbelief. "You can't be serious! Look at what he's doing—he's—he's sucking the mana right out of us! If we just let this—"

"Quiet."

Just one word. Cold. Firm. Absolute.

The short woman bit her tongue, trembling with unspent fury, but she didn't speak again.

Shibazorak's fists slowly unclenched. His chest rose and fell, each breath sharp, his gaze torn between me and Seraphine. His instinct screamed to fight, to break through this suffocating wall and swing until nothing was left.

But for the first time, his body didn't obey him. The mountain could be shaken.

"…Tch." He exhaled roughly and stepped back, lowering his arms. His grin was gone, replaced by something heavier—acknowledgment.

The dragon shadow's void-eyes tracked him for a moment longer before my will tightened. Darkness bled back into the cracks of stone, retreating like a tide. The suffocating weight lifted, though faint remnants clung to the air like smoke after fire.

I straightened slowly, tilting my head toward Seraphine.

[…Oh? I didn't expect you to be the first to break the silence.]

Her gaze didn't waver. "Enough games. You've shown your hand. Now tell me—what is it you want from us?"

The New Dawn members shifted uneasily, still shaken from the suffocation of mana loss. Their eyes darted between her and me, as if waiting for the chamber itself to collapse from the tension.

I tapped the mask with a fingertip, letting the sound echo faintly.

Finally, now we can have a normal conversation like a democratic people.