Chapter 209

The End of the Legend (1)
Draconia was delivering the wounded to the fortress. Healing magic tools, due to the risk of capture, were concentrated at the border fortresses. The rationale was that bringing them to the frontlines would only risk them falling into imperial hands and benefiting the enemy.

Draconia was in a foul mood. He hated the Empire. Because it had destroyed his homeland. His relatives had fought to the bitter end, and he alone—then just a child—had survived.

This time, he would protect them no matter what. He wouldn’t let his family, his comrades, be taken from him again. Draconia remembered his family and their companions from his youth. They had all been good-natured people. The memories of his family, already fading, were always of smiling faces. Faces he would never see again.

"Your Majesty, our escort seems insufficient."

"It can't be helped. There are too many wounded."

Draconia’s unit was composed almost entirely of the injured. The Empire's numbers had been overwhelming. His elite troops, directly under his command, had suffered heavy losses.

Sneaking through the forest, fleeing to the fortress, felt like nothing less than a retreat of defeated soldiers. It was humiliating.

He had believed there was no need to fear the weak imperial army. That so long as he remained vigilant, they posed no problem.

And indeed, the imperial army was weak. But they were far too numerous. Every time they launched a surprise attack, they lost more comrades. In terms of kill ratio, they were probably winning. But tactical victories weren't translating into strategic success. The Empire’s front-line troops consisted of conscripted militia and criminals, so even if they took losses, the main force remained unaffected. That said, morale at the front lines was low.

The Kingdom's army was tough. A single soldier could match ten imperials. But that didn’t mean they could fight ten at once. And the imperial soldiers were also fighting for their lives. They never fought one-on-one—they always surrounded their target. That tactic increased casualties on Draconia’s side.

For now, he could only send the wounded to the fortress and then lead the healed soldiers into battle himself, trusting that Gilbert’s forces were still holding off the Empire. With the northern Stampede still unresolved, no reinforcements would be coming.

He considered barricading themselves in the fortress. But they'd only end up besieged and give the Empire a clear path to the capital. Breaking out of a siege was no easy task.

After continuing through the forest for a while, smoke and the smell of burning began to waft through the air.

“They’ve set fire to the forest. We’ve got no choice—everyone out of the woods!”

If they stayed, they'd be consumed by the fire.

Draconia found himself envious of the Empire. They had the resources to form diversionary squads like this. Arland had no such luxury anymore.

Outside the forest, just as expected, imperial troops were waiting. It was then he realized it was a trap. Slow-moving heavy infantry were already in formation.

But they couldn’t go back—the fire behind them, the heavy infantry ahead. If he had to choose, the heavy infantry were the easier threat.

However, behind those infantrymen were mages. They launched fireworks-like spells into the sky—clearly signaling the main force still engaged with Gilbert in the forest. They’d be headed this way now.

Their response was far too fast. Draconia looked to the sky. A man and a girl were floating there.

(They got us.)

They had used heat detection from high enough in the sky that only a highly skilled magic user might have sensed it via mana presence.

“They found us, brother.”

“It’s like the nose of a beast.”

The man was clearly from another world, dressed far too casually in jeans and a T-shirt. The girl wore a frilly sweet-lolita outfit and carried a decorative parasol.

“So you’re Draconia? Just a pile of muscle, huh.”

Draconia flushed slightly at the insult.

But his face quickly hardened. The man began chanting a spell.

“Come forth, my servants.”

Draconia’s expression twisted as people rose from magic circles on the ground. He recognized some of them. Former rivals from his adventuring days. Warriors considered national heroes.

Heroes from across the continent, gathered to destroy Draconia, raised their weapons with vacant eyes.

Clearly controlled. Yet their movements lacked the usual stiffness of those under manipulation.

“You think you can kill me with this?”

Draconia put on a bold front.

“Old man, you’re just a relic. It’s my servants’ time now.

Besides, even you must know your prime’s long gone, right?”

Draconia was a power fighter who overwhelmed enemies with brute strength. But even if his prime had passed, the man once called the strongest wouldn’t be taken down that easily.

“Break through and run to the fortress!”

“Your Majesty!”

“You’re no match for them.”

Draconia looked at the enemy with serious eyes. Even he couldn't afford to let his guard down. The wounded kingdom soldiers stood no chance. That’s how strong they were.

The kingdom’s troops began a charge against the heavy cavalry. From deep in the forest came the sound of a gong. Gilbert must be rushing to their aid. Another gong sounded—imperial forces were heading in too. Once the main body arrived, sheer numbers would crush them. Most of Draconia’s forces were currently wounded.

“Come. I’ll show you the power of the man who once sat at the pinnacle of strength.”

“Go, my servants!”

The first to move was a lightly armored woman. She was once the leader of the adventurer clan Beast Fang, known for her speed. Her name was Syria.

Draconia didn’t move.

Her twin daggers, sharp as fangs, plunged into Draconia’s body. The man looked bored.

“Syria. I told you once, didn’t I? That speed alone isn’t enough to reach me... In the end, you never did reach my level.”

Draconia’s armor had changed. It was the armor of a tyrant. A full-body black suit with gold trim. Syria’s daggers hadn’t even scratched it.

Magic Armament. A warrior’s secret technique, raising one’s fighting spirit to the realm of equipment itself—a peak of mastery. Every attribute surpassing natural limits—a terrifying power.

Draconia swung his warhammer at Syria as she tried to retreat. The speed was such that even Syria, a speed specialist, couldn’t evade. She crossed her daggers in defense, but both she and her blades were blown away.

She tumbled across the ground again and again, and by the time she came to a stop, she was already dead.

"At the very least, I’ll be the one to kill you. There’s no going back anymore, is there?"

Draconia understood by instinct. That he had no means to return these people to normal. And from the absence of the members of the clan led by Syria, he knew the clan had already been annihilated.

Syria never acted alone. She only ever moved with clan members she trusted. The fact they weren't here was proof enough. If her comrades had been killed and turned into puppets, then, as someone who once knew them, the least he could do was end it with his own hands.

And then, a moment too late, the remaining enemies rushed at Draconia.

He dodged a sharp thrust, and an arrow came flying at him. Draconia caught it and threw it back at the man who shot it, but it was blocked by a man with a large shield.

"What a pain."

Cold sweat ran down his back.

Magic gear was powerful. But it had a weakness: short duration. In his prime, Draconia could maintain it for five hours without issue. Even in full combat, two hours was easy.

Now, he likely couldn’t maintain it at full power for even an hour.

He turned a knight, famous for his war hammer, into chunks of meat, but was then pierced by multiple spears. They seemed to be magical spears, for they pierced through Draconia’s magic gear.

Letting out a beast-like roar, Draconia twisted his body with the spears still lodged in him. The men holding them had no time to let go before they were blown away by the sheer force of the movement.

"You think I’ll die from something like this?!"

He was the strongest man alive. That’s why he had been able to marry the woman he loved, Sylvia. He was the king who inherited the hopes of the previous monarch. Draconia, carrying that will, could not allow himself to fall on the battlefield.

He would live and return home. At the castle, Sylvia, their unborn child, and their beloved daughter were waiting. He could not allow them to be taken from him. He would not suffer the despair of losing his family a second time.

Incidentally, his son was also fighting valiantly. They were both in this together, and both would return.

No matter how many wounds he sustained, Draconia would not fall. Even as his magic gear was shattered bit by bit, even as swords were driven into his bare flesh, he never stopped moving.

Draconia glanced at his subordinates. The Imperial heavy infantry were clearly there to stall them, and they hadn’t been able to break through. Beyond the forest, dust clouds rose from the grasslands—cavalry with high mobility must have advanced ahead.

Now more than ever, he couldn’t afford to fall. If he went down here, the morale of the kingdom's army would collapse. But the heavy infantry was blocking the way, and Draconia, their hope, was being overwhelmed by over 300 powerful foes. No—those powerful ones, now controlled by the otherworlders, were toying with him.

He couldn’t win. There were too many opponents on his level. One-on-one, he could prevail. But with over 300 enemies, all he could do was buy time.

An arrow pierced his shoulder. Draconia swung his war hammer like a wild beast, scattering death around him.

And then, the cavalry charged into the kingdom army, who were being delayed by the heavy infantry.

A few kingdom soldiers managed an absurd feat—counter-kicking full-speed charging cavalry—but the cavalry numbered over a thousand. Chaos quickly spread through the royal army. Even so, their morale didn’t break. In fact, seeing their comrades killed before their eyes only raised their fighting spirit for vengeance. But this was no longer a matter that morale alone could solve. They had to break through these enemies and crush the heavy infantry to find a path to survival.

"Serves you right."

"How pathetic, Brother."

If he could just kill one of those two, perhaps the situation might change a little. But those who were being controlled were like a wall of flesh. He couldn’t break through. And the controlled ones continued to corner Draconia.

"Well then, since the next prey has arrived, Shiori, shall we go capture those muscles?"

A roar echoed from the forest, and the kingdom’s soldiers came charging in. At the front lines was a robed magician. Covered in blood, Gilbert ran toward them with a desperate expression.

"Is that musclehead really worth that much?"

"Come on, we were planning to take him hostage, weren’t we?"

The refined man laughed, "Huhuhu."

At those words, Draconia understood their objective. His fighting aura flared up again.

"You intend to use me as bait to capture Alicetia?! I will never forgive you!!"

His damaged magic gear began to re-form.

"OOOOOOHHH!!"

With a roar, Draconia resumed his battle against the powerful foes.

"Well then, Shiori, as always, I’ll leave it to you."

"Leave it to me, Brother♪"

Shiori descended to the ground, stored her umbrella in spatial storage, and stood to face Draconia.

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