School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start Chapter 12: The Prophecy Reawakens

Erin's eyes, a pure sky blue, are blurred with tears, evoking an instinctive desire to protect her.

She wears a green dress adorned with delicate golden patterns, exuding both nobility and a hint of sorrow.

Approaching her, Owen asks in a steady, sympathetic voice, "Why are you so sad?"

Lifting her head, Erin recognizes Owen, her expression swiftly turning to excitent.

"Saint, is that you?"

She quickly wipes away her tears, though her voice still quivers with emotion, as she tries to show respect and welco to Owen.

Erin explains her grief:

"I am Erin, of the Green Dragons. I longed to return to our holand, but it's been overrun by barbaric trolls who have wreaked havoc on our sacred land."

Owen's eyes flash with anger upon hearing this.

It seems like fate.

He extends his hand gently, "Erin, I am here to eradicate the trolls. Would you join on this mission?"

Erin's eyes shine with resolve as she firmly grasps Owen's hand.

Nikol has no objections, and the trio sets off together.

On the way, Owen curiously asks, "How did the Green Dragons lose Windshadow Forest, such an important territory?"

Erin, with a tone of despair, sighs,

"The Green Dragons have been weakening, our numbers dwindling. And though trolls are only an interdiate race, their breeding prowess is formidable. Over ti, we lost Windshadow Forest to them."

Owen is puzzled and asks, "Doesn't the tribe help you?"

Nikol explains,

"Internal harmony among dragons is not always present. Many actually look down on the Green Dragons... Only a saint like you can unite our forces. You understand how important you are to us dragons now, right?"

"Yes, saint," Erin adds with sparkling eyes and excitent.

"Since you arrived, I've noticed a significant improvent in the atmosphere among all the tribes."

Owen gently pats Erin's hair, musing, "Is that so..." He realizes why the various races are so exhilarated at the appearance of a saint. Indeed, the role of a saint, capable of unifying the major powers within the tribe, is truly special.

...

Standing at the outskirts of Windshadow Forest, Owen is t with a disheartening scene.

Trolls ravage through the forest; their large, rough bodies with deep green skin covered in hard, wart-like bumps give off a repulsive and formidable impression.

Their disproportionately large heads, with long pointed ears and crooked fangs jutting from their mouths, seem ready to tear apart prey at any mont.

These trolls wield crude weapons made of rough branches and stones, smashing trees and trampling flora, finding joy in the destruction of nature.

Their coarse, malevolent laughter accompanies their dancing and leaping, causing the entire forest to tremble.

Most appalling is their capture of spellbeasts, which they consu raw, splattering blood and guts everywhere, a display of savagery and brutality.

Nikol, standing next to Owen, analyzes the enemy with a grave expression.

"The trolls' attack thods are primitive and direct. Their imnse strength makes them almost unbeatable in close combat."

"However, their limited intelligence and slow movents are vulnerabilities we can exploit."

He points to a troll devouring a spellbeast.

"Their abdon is a weak spot, with thinner skin and fewer bumps. A precise strike there can incapacitate them."

Hearing this, Erin's eyes fill with concern.

Despite their weaknesses, the trolls' sheer violence and numbers remain a significant threat.

"Saint, perhaps we should retreat and call for reinforcents. There are just too many trolls," she suggests.

Nikol chuckles lightly and reassures Erin, "Don't worry. With the Saint being a Divine Gold Dragon, being outnumbered isn't an issue."

Filled with a fighting spirit, Owen rubs his wrists and declares, "I'll test the waters first, Nikol, you back up."

With these words, Owen leaps into Windshadow Forest, suddenly appearing before the unsuspecting trolls.

The colossal creatures are montarily stunned by the unexpected arrival of this small human figure.

Their slow brains struggle to process the sudden turn of events.

As the trolls regain their senses, they respond with furious roars.

Their hideous faces contort with malice, their bloodstained teeth, like trophies from past killings, drip blood onto the ground.

They regard Owen's intrusion with contempt, as if mocking the foolish human daring to invade their territory.

"Little insect, are you seeking death?"

"Hahaha, are you here to be our appetizer?"

"Another fool to devour, just what we needed after feasting on spellbeasts."

"...."

Owen remains expressionless and whispers in his mind, "Activate the prophecy."

"[Prophecy activated.]"

Once again, Owen enters that strange world where everything turns gray and silent, as if watching a silent film.

Without any hesitation, Owen strikes swiftly and precisely at the trolls' vulnerable abdons.

His sharp dragon claws penetrate a troll's belly, quickly draining its blood.

Blood spurts onto the ground, creating a macabre scene.

Owen moves with lightning speed, his actions nearly imperceptible.

This is the Dragon's Shadow, a legacy technique of the dragons, mastered by Owen to an extraordinary degree.

The trolls' eyes widen in horror as their massive bodies thunderously collapse to the ground, causing the earth to tremble with their fall.

This instantaneous kill shocks the other trolls, who quickly turn their shock into rage and swarm towards Owen.

Wielding their cumberso weapons, the ground quakes under their steps, their roars filled with lethal intent.

However, Owen faces this onslaught fearlessly, his eyes ablaze with the fire of battle.

He begins to unleash his skills, surrounded by a golden aura as if a golden dragon materializes behind him.

Owen's movents beco more agile, his strikes infused with the power of the dragons, each blow seemingly capable of shaking the heavens and the earth.

Despite the trolls' strength, they appear clumsy and vulnerable in the face of Owen's Divine Gold Dragon bloodline.

Within re seconds, the trolls lay defeated on the ground, each with a gaping wound in their abdon, blood gushing ceaselessly.

None of the trolls are spared.

Owen's gold-tier strength rivals that of an ordinary diamond-tier.

Awakening from the [Prophecy], Owen's eyes do not relax despite the ease demonstrated in the vision.

The diamond-tier troll has not yet made an appearance within those three seconds shown by the [Prophecy].

"Ha ha ha, this guy must be scared stiff by us," jeers a troll.

"Must've wandered in here by accident, straight into our territory," mocks another.

"Let's just kill him quickly. We wouldn't want the at to sour from fear," adds another with a grim laugh.

Owen's gaze flickers with determination.

Just as in the [Prophecy], without any hesitation, he swiftly attacks, targeting the abdon of the nearest troll.

Instantly, the unfortunate creature's belly is pierced, blood gushing out violently.

The other trolls, montarily shocked, then roar and charge towards Owen.

To Owen, their angry shouts and swinging clubs are like slow-motion replays.

His figure flickers in and out of visibility on the battlefield, his movents not only swift but also incredibly graceful.

With each dodge, he simply sidesteps slightly, allowing the trolls' hefty fists and clubs to whiz past him, as if their attacks were rely accentuating his evasive maneuvers.

When Owen counterattacks, his arm sweeps through the air silently yet precisely, striking the trolls' vital spots.

Each of his movents is a study in precise calculation and perfect control of force.

The trolls' thick skin is as fragile as paper under his attacks, and their massive bodies fall easily before his strength, like autumn leaves swept away by a gust of wind.

Throughout the battle, Owen remains calm, his heart seemingly beating in a mysterious rhythm that synchronizes with his surroundings and the movents of his enemies.

For Owen, this isn't just a mission; it's a straightforward combat practice.