Typemoon: Starting Out as the Lion King's Personal Knight

In contrast, a sound tore through the atmosphere!

Buzz!

Invisible waves split the sea of fire, leaving cracks in the ground.

As the piercing sound intensified, it formed a cold, ruthless symphony above the roaring flames.

"Sir Tristan? Where are Sir Lancelot and Alaika?"

Arriving at the scene, Alaric and Mordred immediately spotted Tristan, a knight of the Round Table, locked in fierce combat with a massive dragon.

Tristan's movements were graceful, and every invisible slash he unleashed left deep, bone-revealing wounds on the dragon. Yet, despite this seemingly one-sided assault, the battle was a grueling stalemate.

"Such incredible regeneration... Is this its final form?"

Alaric's sharp gaze noted how every wound on the dragon healed within seconds, its body regenerating at a terrifying pace. This resilience was the dragon's trump card in its struggle against Tristan.

As for the source of this bizarre regenerative power—

Alaric's eyes fell on the blue-and-white sea of flames surrounding the dragon. Its temperature far surpassed that of the chimera-infested flames they had encountered earlier, suggesting a different kind of magic at work.

"Is it their numbers?"

The previous sea of flames had swarmed with hundreds of chimeras, whose relentless battles caused their collective power to grow. It seemed as though their conflict would eventually spawn a super chimera.

Now, however, the flames near the dragon were devoid of other creatures—as if the dragon alone ruled over them.

"Well, if it isn't Tristan. You look pretty rough out there!"

Mordred burst into laughter, noticing Tristan struggling against the dragon.

"Getting this beat up by a dragon? How do you plan to face King Arthur after this, Tristan?"

"Hmm? Sir Alaric and Mordred? You abandoned your task of intercepting the Lionheart King to come here instead?"

Tristan, clutching his longbow, slightly turned his head. Though his eyes were shut, an intangible gaze seemed to pierce outward. His voice, calm yet firm, carried a hint of reproach that Alaric and Mordred could sense.

"Sir Tristan, we didn't encounter the Lionheart King after entering the mountains. It seems Sir Agravain's plan didn't succeed. That's why Mordred and I arrived here early. Do you know where Sir Lancelot is?"

Alaric raised the Sword of End and asked loudly.

"I see... It seems Sir Lancelot has already crossed paths with the Lionheart King."

Tristan nodded slightly at Alaric's explanation, plucking his bowstring once more.

Buzz!

A sharp hum sliced through the air, cutting the towering blue-and-white flames in half.

"I don't know Sir Lancelot's current whereabouts. He led the crusader magus deeper into the valley about twenty minutes ago."

Tristan's serene demeanor remained unshaken, as though the fiery dragon before him posed no real threat.

"Ugh, you're so slow, Tristan!"

Mordred summoned her kingly blade with a grin.

"Looks like I'll have to help you out!"

Boom!

With a muffled sound, Mordred vanished from her spot, launching herself directly toward the fiery dragon.

The hundred-meter distance disappeared in a flash. Like a cannonball, Mordred collided with the towering dragon, sending it crashing to the ground.

The atmosphere compressed to its limit—then exploded!

With a thunderous roar, Mordred's ferocious strike flipped the colossal dragon onto its back. Flames erupted as the dragon fell, surging higher than ever.

Tristan seized the moment, plucking his bowstring rapidly. Layers of piercing hums merged into a giant slash that struck the dragon's body.

Slash!

The dragon's thick scales tore apart, revealing crimson flesh and white bone beneath.

"Argh!"

Caught off guard, Mordred was splattered with dragon blood.

Before she could complain to Tristan, the dragon stirred again. Its wounds regenerated rapidly, and it swung a massive claw, slamming Mordred away.

Screech!

As Mordred was flung back, a streak of crimson lightning pierced through the sea of fire.

Dark light blossomed within the blue-and-white flames.

Boom!!

A black pillar of light surged into the sky, mingling with the blue-and-white fire, as the dragon's agonized roar echoed.

Though much of the fiery sea evaporated, the dragon's shattered body began to visibly heal once more.

"Still not dead?"

Seeing the dragon recover yet again, a gemstone-like brilliance flickered in Alaric's eyes. Against foes that refused to die, Alaric often relied on his ultimate mercy—

[Mystic Eyes of Death Perception].

Slash!

As Mordred returned to the fray, Alaric drove his sword through the death line on the dragon's body.

The flames raged on, but at its core, the dragon silently succumbed to death.

Crash!

The blue-and-white fire crept over the dragon's corpse, attempting to consume it.

Alaric would not allow it. His gaze fell upon the flames as he swung his blade.

Buzz!

With a resonant hum, the fire was extinguished.

"Whoa, you finished it off already?"

Mordred looked around in disbelief at the now-calm battlefield. Just moments ago, the dragon seemed unstoppable, yet now it was dead, and even the sea of fire had vanished.

"So this is your power, Sir Alaric?"

Tristan put away his bow and walked toward Alaric. Though he had never seen Alaric fight before, the display of strength left him slightly surprised.

According to Lancelot, Alaric had once been an ordinary man, empowered only by the dragon's blood granted by the Lion King. For him to achieve this level of power was a testament to both talent and hard work.

"You've been hiding something!"

Mordred eyed the dragon's corpse suspiciously before confronting Alaric.

"I have good eyes—Mystic Eyes of Death Perception," Alaric said with a smile, pointing to his jewel-like eyes.

"The legendary eyes that perceive death... Truly worthy of you, Sir Alaric," Tristan remarked with a faint laugh.

"So, Sir Tristan, what exactly happened here?"

Alaric sheathed his sword and surveyed the ruined valley. Beneath the extinguished flames, a horrifying sight emerged: countless charred towers of bones, forming a hellish landscape.

"Sir Lancelot and I discovered the Crusaders' chimera workshop. But it was an empty shell—all the chimeras had been released into the wild to fight and evolve. What you see now is the result."

Tristan's calm tone painted a grim picture of the inferno they had encountered.