'If they see us faltering, they'll all charge at once!'
They needed to repel this dragon swiftly and decisively to deter the others. A re stand off would only encourage them to join in. Taking a deep breath, Sylas tightened his grip on his sword.
"What are you doing? Get in formation with your retainers!" Ragnar barked as Sylas remained in place, his focus elsewhere. Toby and Rey looked to him, equally uncertain.
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"My lord, shall we proceed?" Toby asked, but Sylas didn't respond.
Ragnar's voice bood louder, demanding action. "Wake up! You're supposed to lead the charge!"
"Quiet. Just stay out of the way," Sylas shot back curtly.
Ignoring the bewildered stares, Sylas turned his attention inward, tapping into the still unfamiliar power he had inherited. The ancient techniques, the mories from his lineage's founder, stirred within him. He steadied himself, drawing on the mory of that imnse power, focusing entirely on his objective.
Kill the dragon.
His heart thudded powerfully as he sank into the mory's rhythm. Though the mories had faded with ti, his body still retained the muscle mory of that mont—the way his muscles had moved, the way he had channeled power.
Kill the dragon!
Suppressing the raw urge to lose himself in the mory, Sylas maintained control, calling forth only the technique. As his focus sharpened, reality and mory aligned, his movents synchronized with the founder's.
From nearby, a soldier's scream and the dragon's roar grew faint, distant, as if Sylas were subrged in a separate reality. He watched, detached, as the dragon reared its head back, preparing to unleash its deadly fla.
"Fire breath…!" a soldier cried.
"We're too late…!" Ragnar's horrified shout barely registered. The dragon's mouth opened wide, but Sylas was already moving, unsheathing his sword at a speed that seed natural to him yet impossibly fast to the bystanders.
With a swift slash, he brought his sword down.
Swoosh.
"…What?"
Before it could even exhale, the dragon was cleaved down the middle, split in two from snout to tail.
The two halves of the dragon's massive body hit the ground with a thunderous crash, sending tremors throughout the castle grounds. The weight and size of the creature were imnse; typically, it would take hours for a skilled warrior to slice through even half its bulk. Yet, Sylas had split it in two in the blink of an eye.
For a mont, everyone stood in stunned silence, their minds blank from shock. This wasn't just the humans—the other dragons observing from a distance also appeared paralyzed, watching as if haunted by the sight of their fallen kin.
Sylas exhaled deeply, wiping the sweat from his brow, his hands trembling from the effort. Did I overdo it? he thought. He'd managed to kill the dragon in one strike, achieving his intended goal, but the force required to wield such an attack had taken a toll on him. It was as if he'd spent hours in grueling combat in just one move. But he knew he couldn't show any weakness; maintaining his soldiers' morale was paramount.
Gathering his composure, Sylas bellowed, "What are you standing around for?"
"Sir Sylas? That was… I an, it's…" One soldier stamred, unable to put the spectacle into words.
"Get it together! Keep moving! We're not fully deployed yet!"
The shock snapped everyone back to reality. The soldiers quickly mobilized, the commanders barking orders to keep them focused. Though many couldn't resist glancing back at the dragon's corpse, they pushed forward, knowing the threat was far from over.
Inside his tent, Sylas slumped onto a seat, wincing as he massaged his aching muscles. Every part of his body felt tense, as though he'd pulled every muscle he had.
Toby hurried over, examining Sylas's body with a frown. "What happened to you, my lord? Your muscles are all twisted up like a tangled rope!"
"Quiet," Sylas muttered, grimacing. "Everything hurts."
"Of course it does. Give your arm; if we don't loosen up these knots now, you'll feel it for days."
"I'll help too," Rey chid in.
Both knights set to work, pressing and kneading Sylas's muscles. Despite their surprise at Sylas's abilities, they were experienced warriors who understood how to treat injuries from intense strain. As they worked, Toby couldn't hold back his curiosity.
"Now that you can speak again, care to explain what that was?" he asked.
"What do you think? It was a technique of our founder," Sylas replied.
"The technique of Leonik the Dragonslayer? How did you even get access to sothing that rare?"
"That's… a long story." Sylas shrugged off Toby's question, knowing any explanation involving ancestral mory would be difficult to convey. Instead, he assessed his condition. Though sore, he felt he could still fight effectively.
"What's the status of the other dragons?" he asked.
"They haven't shown signs of attacking yet," Rey replied.
"And how are the soldiers?"
"Surprisingly steady. They're still a bit dazed, but your display has bolstered their morale," Rey said with a small smile.
Sylas nodded, relieved. Though the initial shock had threatened to disrupt everything, his actions had managed to stabilize the situation. With three dragons left, we might actually have a chance.
With his strength and the formidable support of Toby, Rey, Ragnar, and the battle hardened Bjorn and Rogain, they had a fighting chance against the remaining dragons. If they could all target the dragons strategically, the threat could be neutralized without overwhelming casualties.
"Summon the commanders. We need to prepare an offensive," Sylas commanded.
"But you've just recovered, my lord," Toby protested.
"This is the best ti to act. If we delay, we risk another surprise attack."
There was no telling where the dragons would strike if they took flight. If even one broke through their lines and wreaked havoc on the populated areas within the walls, the loss of life and destruction could cripple the North for generations.
"Make haste," Sylas ordered. "The situation could change at any mont, so we need to…"
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