The mighty dragon soared through the sky, its scales glittering as if showing off—after thousands of years since its last appearance and the extinction of its kind and the people who once lived side by side with the mighty dragon race.
Their time had passed… but now it's back.
A colossal dragon fills the heavens, its enormous wings blotting out the sun.
Air-raid sirens blared across the city, and the evacuation order was given.
Alexander stood frozen, unable to believe what he was seeing. Right in the heart of the city, in that exact spot, the great and terrifying dragon had emerged.
Helpless and hesitating, he remembered Benedict and Francis… both still down there.
He was supposed to kill the Knight, yet his resolve wavered—torn between finishing his mission or charging into the chaos.
A familiar voice cut through the panic—a scream he knew all too well.
It was Saint Theresa, sprinting toward him from afar, her face etched with concern.
She spoke firmly as she watched the dragon swagger in the sky, stretching its wings like it was showing off:
"A dragon in the sky? This has to be a joke… but it sure isn't funny."
People screamed and ran in every direction, while the Hunters began to gather, ready to tackle the colossal beast under the Guild's command.
"Mission done, Alex?" Theresa panted.
"I left John down there fighting that assassin… Katya. I told myself I had to hurry here and help you."
Then, as always, she leaned in like she was going for a hug—but in reality, she was teasing him with that playful flair of hers.
Alexander brushed her off completely.
"I was about to finish the job… until this damn dragon showed up," he said, sharpening his rain-forged sword, his eyes burning with determination.
"Give me a moment, and we'll end this… listen to me now."
Meanwhile, the Knight rose, his body drained of blood, surrounded by screams and chaos, his only thought the wish to return safely to Alruna and Katya.
But every cell in his body knew there was only one thing to do:
Raise his blade…and stand his ground against Alexander and his "guest."
Alexander lunged at him, droplets of rain trailing behind his strike, murmuring regretfully,
"Forgive me…but I have to end you."
The Knight parried one blow and dodged another with agile grace—just as Theresa, bold and unpredictable, intervened with a long, thorn-tipped whip.
Alexander hesitated at first, but that doubt vanished the moment he spotted the dragon in the distance. He knew he had to wrap this up fast—there were people who needed him… right now.
The blows rained down on the Knight: Theresa's whip cracked like lightning, and he knew that pain all too well… every lash carving agony into his skin.
Alexander's rain‑born spear‑thorns were lethal.
The Knight dodged, blocked, and fell to his knees more than once… yet his heart kept pounding, reminding him of his mission and of those waiting for him. His armor cracked, on the verge of shattering, ready to give way—yet he stayed silent, resolute, still fighting.
Theresa, ever proud, loved that silence. His resistance thrilled her.
"By the sky and the ancient gods…" she yelled, her voice alight with excitement,
"I'm starting to believe you actually enjoy being a tyrant… a title befitting you, you stubborn brute. I love smashing the game."
She sensed the Knight feel her—caught a flicker of his emotions. She realized he only wanted to survive. And she… she felt pity. So much so that she touched his heart, caressed it with her hands, while he remained oblivious to the nature of her blessed magic… a magic tangled in emotion.
When the Knight's strength finally waned under Alexander's relentless, shifting onslaught, the moment arrived.
Theresa smiled her victory smile, then clamped her hand down over his heart with fierce force, binding his feelings to her magic—her palm crushing it mercilessly.
The Knight collapsed, spent…
Pain in his chest, his body, every movement, every breath.
An excruciating pain… unbearable.
She knew he was suffering,
though to her it looked beautiful… a catharsis of emotion.
In a soft, weighted voice she murmured,
"I know… I know it hurts,
but it's time to say goodbye, old warrior."
Then she unclenched her hand.
His heart stopped.
The Knight slumped, bowed but not kneeling—
as any honorable man would, refusing to die humiliated.
His heart lay crushed beneath a pain he carried to the end.
Tears streamed down his face… then everything went dark.
Alexander, standing tall, knew it was over.
Perhaps the prophecy… was now void. Finished.
Theresa smiled, her tone weary as she whispered to him,
"We should toast our victory… then deal with that dragon on the horizon.
It's still laying waste, even with so many Hunters intervening."
Alexander knew Leon was on his way.
Maybe… he'd even arrived.
Their turn would come later,
once the other Saints gathered and marched on the city's heart.
Alexander cast one last look at the Knight's body.
Rain washed over him,
erasing his sins…
and cleansing his battered armor.
But he didn't understand… why his evaluation skill had suddenly activated.
A strange moment, one Alexander felt deep inside…
– Special Skill Activated: "Ultimate Survival Mode."
– All stats exceptionally boosted.
– Objective: survive… by any means necessary.
Alexander witnessed the Knight's special skill unfold as he assessed him—and he didn't even have to tell Theresa. She felt the mana surge back into the Knight's body, watched his armor reforge and heal right before her eyes.
The Knight now sensed something extraordinary… he was no longer powerless as before. Though wounds still gnawed at him, his skill let him push past the pain. He felt a latent power rising, a fierce energy, and a sense of isolation and focus—the same feeling he might have known long ago, now awakening anew.
His senses peaked. As Alexander crept in close, spear poised to strike, the Knight reacted instantly! He sensed the attack before Alexander even launched it, countering with lightning speed. His blade throbbed to life, its runes glowing a deadly crimson.
The counter‑strike was brutal—shattering walls and concrete, sending fragments of rooftops flying. Alexander barely managed to block it, bloodied and exhausted. He saw for himself how the Knight's blade had halted his healing and kept him down.
Theresa's intervention had been perfectly timed—and she knew it was her turn. She whispered urgently, "If I hadn't been here, you'd have bled out… but who'll deal with this tyrant whose dormant power just woke up?"
She swept her gaze over the wreckage, the half‑revived Knight, and Alexander bleeding in her arms.
The Knight understood that this wouldn't end here—that what had happened was only the beginning. If he did nothing now, chaos would spiral out of control. He had to choose… to stop the disaster before it escalated, before more innocents were hurt, and before he himself was forced into darker deeds.
An idea struck him, and he didn't hesitate. He raised his venerable sword high above his head, gripping it with both hands, then brought it down with all his might—driving it through his own chest without pausing. The blade sank deeper until the hilt touched the ground, his head thrown back, the sword buried upright in the earth.
The mana streams stilled, and silence fell.
Blood poured from him, each breath coming in ragged gasps.
Half‑conscious, he looked out from under his helmet at the burning sunset—yet he wasn't fooled.
He knew it wasn't a sunset at all but the dragon wreaking havoc on the horizon.
The Knight realized the fight wasn't over. He had to rise, to resist, to survive—and stand firm against Alexander.