Step to paradise

The spear, which was so sharp that it had pierced the ancient temple's magical guardian, was now stopped just a breath away from the dragon's forehead.

No cracking sound.

Only the invisible mana membrane, like a space-time glass cage, locked the space at the point of contact.

Flauros gritted his teeth.

His eyes flashed with anger, but instead of desperately pressing forward, he turned in midair, using the counter-shock to propel himself backwards, drawing a sharp arc in the air and landing far away from the dragon's head.

Thunder roared from where the spear tip touched.

The remnants of the purple-red lightning jerked wildly, like a whip from the sky lashing into space, causing the air to crack like broken glass.

'This protective layer…'

'…isn't a rune. It's not a normal mana layer. It's like a second layer of protection bestowed upon the creatures of this era by the Creation Era.'

'A solid invisible barrier…'

That was the mysterious blessing of the gods for each creature of each era, if the era of development was endowed with knowledge. In the era of creation, it was endowed with boundless defense.

He frowned.

The eyes gradually changed from purple to ruby red as before, stopping the use of forbidden attacks, as if the intelligence was cooling down, folding away the anger to open up for analysis.

This was no ordinary dragon. Not only that.

That body was not just the dry skeleton of an ancient creature, but also a repository of primitive magic power. If he kept attacking like this, he would only exhaust his mana and manas and die.

That was the reason why the dragon, up to this point, still

'Damn it… that barrier cannot be penetrated or scratched even a little. To penetrate, you need something that can break time, not just pure destruction.'

Below, the legion continued to advance.

High-level magic, archery, spear magic, and beast magic were all pouring down on the dragon, but not a single blow left a real scratch.

Flauros turned his head and saw Velynrather Kaelthas leading the cavalry charging straight into the dragon's feet, and the mages behind him had begun to draw auxiliary summoning formations.

"..."

Under the pitch-black sky, where purple ash was still falling like bloody snow, Flauros stood in midair, his cloak fluttering like the banner of someone who did not belong to any battle line.

The last flash from the blocked attack had not yet dissipated, but the corners of his lips had already curled up, a slow, deep, and vague smile like ink stains on wet paper.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Not angry, not desperate, but the gaze of someone who had solved the equation of death right in front of death.

"I see…"

The storm had not yet broken out.

The bone dragon had not yet moved.

But in the sky that seemed to have been swallowed by the blue, Flauros stood there, smiling, and his eyes seemed to have carved a path through the maze of impenetrable protection.

He did not charge. He did not cast a spell. He did not shout orders or swing his flaming spear.

He just stood there. He observed.

The dark grey cloak covered in magical dust fluttered in folds, the striped scarf swayed gently with his breathing, his eyes narrowed as if he were reading each ancient line of writing that flew across the battlefield with the senses of a possessor of "Knowledge".

'Just fight… You people have chosen to be the ones to die… Then dig a bloody trench into the ground, so I can pass through it without having to stain my hands.'

The skeleton dragon still stood tall like a crack in space crystallizing into a living being, not really injured yet, but the first fluctuations of its protective layer were gradually appearing, small scratches that could not be seen with the naked eye, but Flauros could see.

'The mark of time… a blessing from the time of Creation…'

'Not indestructible. Just need the right time, the right direction, the right amount of mana.'

He closed his eyes, allowing his body to calm down a bit.

Absorb.

Recover.

Prepare.

The divisions below were still fighting desperately, summoning magic diagrams continuously, blood spilling, the earth shaking, the sky shaking.

He stood like a tower guarding time, waiting for the right moment, just one strike, would end the entire layer of time engraved on that skeleton.

Nothing comes back to life from bones. Unless the living were once dead.

And that was what the dragon was.

It roared.

It had no vocal cords.

It had no flesh to echo.

And that was why the roar truly tore the sky apart, for it did not need to travel through the air to strike terror, it went straight to the brain.

The black sky shattered into purple ash.

The Earth gasped.

Mana hissed in waves like a snake with its head cut off.

The bone dragon spread its wings, and without them, it flew.

A giant skeleton held together by hatred and the curse of someone who should not be alive.

And it gathered fire.

Not fire, but ancient venom, burning green, surrounded by the purple glow of magic.

Each strand of mana gathered like the veins of a demon's hand, forming a ball of death,

and it breathed. Without warning.

Each word, as if someone had slashed it straight into the throat of heaven and earth.

And when the fire touched down, the tree was no longer a tree. The stone was no longer a stone. The man was no longer a man. All returned to nothingness and dust.

The scream was muffled, exploding in the air.

The poisonous fire burned into cotton, breaking like rotting petals, covering everything.

The distant city trembled, flags were torn, and sorcerers fell like birds without nests.

On the ground, Velynrather Kaelthas swung his sword, cutting in two another ball of fire that was flying towards the northern army.

His eyes did not hesitate.

"Seventh line defenders! Summoners, change formation! Heal! Heal quickly!"

In the sky, Flauros did not charge, did not respond.

He smiled.

Not a crazy laugh, not a smug laugh.

But the laugh of someone who saw a flaw in a seemingly perfect picture.

"Very good… I thought you only knew how to scream. You know how to attack now."

He muttered, his eyes glowing purple, his hair touching the wind, and the fire swaying like wild grass about to catch fire.

The protective layer was gradually cracking. When it attacked, the defense would weaken due to the need to concentrate mana on the attack.

Enough.

Enough for a Flauros to restore his mana, and then twist his pen tip straight into the blank page in the middle of the battlefield.

Under the sky dyed black by fire and poison, while the last hissing sounds of the orb were still falling like ashes, Flauros raised his left hand high.

An hourglass-shaped circle of light exploded from his palm, drifting back up into the sky and exploding into a series of swirling silver-purple needles.

Mana broke into bright sand grains, wrapping around his body like a new garment woven from precise time.

The entire world seemed to stop for a moment.

Not because time had stopped, but because Flauros had run away from the current speed.

Boom!

The air was torn apart.

He rushed forward, like an inky meteor.

His right hand held a staff that turned into a spear of dark light. His left hand opened a forbidden book and drew swirling fire runes in the air.

Flauros didn't need to look to know where the protection was weak.

Because his eyes had memorized every single ripple, every temporary crack

between the dragon's roars.

Plop!!

The first strike stabbed straight into the left eye socket, where the purple light had once dimmed.

Didn't penetrate. No problem.

Dodged.

The second slash, stabbed straight under the cheekbone, where the golden formation had trembled half a beat.

Each purple-black ray of light shot back out with each slash, like a reaction of magic colliding with each other.

With each touch, the sky lit up and flashed as if lightning was bouncing back from the ground.

Not a slash to kill.

But a slash to destroy, to break the touch, to crack open the crack of time and stab into the core.

Each slash was a whispered curse, each streak of lightning was a streak of blood from the old will.

Below, Velynrather raised his head. In his eyes, the sky was no longer hell.

But a stage.

And that witch was the one dancing with each flash of fire, sharp and agile as if gradually blending into lightning, in the middle of the sky, thundered.

"Continue… strange witch."

"If you really have the strength to break that shell…"

"…then this old swordsman will be the first to charge into the heart of the dragon, holding his sword for you."

Amid the battlefield that was shattered like a painting with black ink spilled on it, amid the strange roars of the bone dragons and the lightning flashes from the magic that tore through the sky, there were still gazes…

Not just looking but watching.

From the defensive lines, behind the dense array, amidst the shouts of orders, the sounds of torn cloth, the sounds of dripping blood, and the urgent incantations, several young wizards paused for a moment.

Just for a moment. But it was real.

"Who… is that…?"

"Not from the Forbidden Corps… nor the Ancient Book Academy…"

"Is he… using some kind of acceleration and strengthening magic?"

No one answered. Because no one knew.

But everyone saw it.

That purple-black light. The book was open. The spear was spinning.

A middle-aged wizard, belonging to the Third Order, paused in the middle of chanting the Silent Thunder spell, watching Flauros's shadow glide like an electric shock through the gaps between the cacti, and couldn't help but let out a dry laugh.

"That's right… Only a true wizard can make others look back and click their tongues in admiration while fighting."

Admiration. From the subconscious.

From the depths of the inherently arrogant souls of those who study magic.

Because before power, wizards do not humble themselves, but will bow before Knowledge.

And Flauros… even though he did not wear a royal uniform, even though he did not have an official emblem, the way he drew the battlefield with each strike like a sword dance of the Divine Sense, was enough to make the people below temporarily forget about life and death and follow.

The bone dragon was still screaming, but in the eyes of the wizards, for the first time, it was no longer despair.

But of course.

Not everyone saw it.

Not everyone understood.

And not everyone has the privilege of being "admired" in the middle of the battlefield.

Because only wizards, those who have suffered so much reading through the ancient texts that their noses bleed, can see what is special about each line of incantation, each movement, each barrier hidden under the wind.

Only wizards know how magnificent that beauty is.

And below, in the mud and blood, those who are not wizards, who do not need magic, only weapons and will, can see only one thing.

That someone is holding the dragon still.

And that is why they are still alive.

Velynrather Kaelthas, the old knight in silver-gray armor stained with mud and blood,

his eyes do not look up much, only turn to his subordinates and shout loudly in the middle of the battle line.

"Western spearmen, open the circle! Break the bones of its left leg before it can shake its body!"

"Northern Ancestral Palace, adjust your shooting angle! Don't waste time while it attacks again!"

To them, the swordsmen, archers, spearmen, guards…

Flauros was not a Forbidden Spell wizard, nor was he a cool guy like in the legends.

He was "the one who made the dragon stand still". He was "the one who made its head tilt a little". He was the reason why the monster's left foot hadn't had time to crush their comrade.

In a melee, no matter the name, as long as you kept the person next to you alive for a minute, you were someone worthy of thanks.

There was no applause. There were no fireworks. There was only survival in hell, and a silent, simple, and rustic sentiment,

sprouting from the warriors' hearts.

"Good, at least that dragon is still being held back by someone."

Because on the battlefield now, there are only those who are willing to die for the empire, the nobles who are afraid of death have long since fled the empire.

In the sky that was cracking with purple light, Flauros was like a living spear that repelled the will of the Myth. The more he stabbed, the hotter his arm became, the bones of his arm seemed to be about to crack from the recoil from that ancient barrier.

But he did not stop.

The time acceleration spell had been deeply ingrained in his cells, each thrust seemed to tear apart a frame of time, each stab seemed to twist fate.

A purple-black light burst out with each thrust, the head of the bone dragon slowly deviated a small angle, where the ancient light began to ripple erratically.

He knew, with just a few more strikes, the time-stained seal would crack.

But how could a dragon just let it be?

ROAR!!!

This time, the scream was no longer a sound wave, no longer the roar of a beast, but a series of spells crushed from deep within its core.

And so it was called.

Boom! Boom! BOOM!!!

Evil green magic circles, large and small, began to open up in the air, above the armies, in the middle of the battlefield, and even in the sky above the capital.

Like divine eyes, hovering, pinning down on each target.

The first orb fell.

It opened up, like an upside-down flower petal, then exploded into streaks of acid fire burning against the sky.

BOOM!

BOOM!!

BOOM!!!

The entire battlefield seemed to shatter into pieces of smoke, fire, and blood.

On the ground, Velynrather shouted.

"ALL SUMMONING ABSORPTION FORMATIONS! DEPLOY IMMEDIATELY! HEALERS, RECOVER MANA TO THE FRONTLINE!"

Sweat ran down his forehead, even as a legendary knight, he still couldn't control this storm alone.

Up above, Flauros paused in midair for a moment, his eyes throbbing with each explosion.

'It's calling down the dead heavens...'

His left hand flipped another page of the book. The second spell formation was forming.

Holding the core alone? Not enough.

"Must also cancel the summoning ability."

The light from the life book bloomed behind him, thousands of runes as small as snowflakes began to roll into a double forbidden formation.

The sky of the capital Ozone, which had already been torn apart by the roars and poisonous fireballs, was now being pressed down by something else.

Letters.

Not just any letters, but the Forbidden Ancient Runes, characters that no one understood, no one dared to call out their names, a gift bestowed by nature upon creatures that possessed mana.

They started from a point in the air, where Flauros hovered like a living pen, then spread out, swirled, opened like fields of purple ink, rolled into ribbons of demonic words, crisscrossing every building, every tower, every corner of the market.

The other witches did not dare to breathe loudly.

Because they knew what was operating before their eyes.

The power of the forbidden spell was said to be very powerful, but there was no further information because it had been banned since the reign period. Now they had witnessed it with their own eyes.

Each rune vibrated in the air, emitting a purple light like a beacon at the end of the world. Each character seemed to have life, they raised their heads, twisted, and connected to each other to form living barriers.

And gradually... a giant shield in the shape of a letter, covering the entire East City, South City, and part of the residential area to the West, pressed close to the ground, creating an impenetrable membrane.

"Just… this far…"

Flauros whispered.

There was no regret in his voice. Only fatigue mixed with icy reason.

"I couldn't save them all."

"But as long as I save enough for the others to continue fighting,

enough for the sound of people behind me to stab with my spear…"

"…that's enough."

Outside the boundary of the formation, in less populated areas, the outskirts, the countryside, the runes stopped.

It wasn't because the spell was lacking. It was because the caster knew what to choose. If the coverage was too wide, the shield's strength would be thinned.

The green fireballs continued to fall.

Some were shattered by the runes, but others fell outside the protective zone,

burning the roofs, destroying the fields, and burning the helplessness in the hearts of those who hadn't been saved.

But no one complained. There was only silence.

Silently looking up at the sky.

And so, the ban was placed.

Ozone was temporarily still breathing.

The cry was not a word.

The scream was cut off by the poisonous gas.

The call for father, mother, lover was turning into ashes.

To the world, it was the sound of destruction. To Flauros, it was the sound of reloading.

The amount of mana consumed in the battle to protect the city had not yet recovered, but those pains had voluntarily poured into his body. Fear. Loss. Despair. All of them mixed into a dark purple smoky mana stream, pouring straight into Flauros' soul like poisoned wine poured into a scratched glass.

Once again, he rose.

Above his head, the Runes did not fall, but wrapped themselves around Flauros' body,

twisting, intertwining, weaving into an armor of words.

In midair, each ring of purple-black Runes screamed and swirled around his body, the armor automatically repelling the poisonous fire away, absorbing the spells that were coming closer, and lifting him higher for him to stab down.

The rune-armored spear pointed straight at the head of the bone dragon. The purple-black light from the spear tip tore through the clouds, slicing the sky like a cut in time and space.

BOOMMMMMMMMM!!!

A collision exploded like the end of the world. The explosion was not of magic. But of something very ancient, very old, a blessing from the time of Creation, cracking for the first time.

On the ground, the excited, terrified, and unconscious screams of the army resounded. Not because of victory.

But because they had just seen the dragon retreat a step.

From the cracks, light oozed out like purple blood. It was a sign that the ancient protection was about to be broken. Just a little more. Just one more strike…

And then—

BOOMMMMMMMMM—!!!

The Ozone shook.

The ground, the air, and even the thin thread of light between life and death trembled.

The Bone Dragon's shield.

It was broken.

A huge crack like thunder exploded right next to his ears, echoing throughout the mountains and the purple sky. The sky was instantly dyed brownish gray as thousands of poisonous bone gas and a foul-smelling acid rain sprayed straight out from the crack.

Flauros was thrown out of the center of the formation.

Although the explosion just now was his own, the energy bounced back like a tsunami hitting the shore.

His body flew away like a broken arrow, tearing through the thick clouds, and the cold wind whipped his face like a silver whip. He stopped with a mid-air spin, blood dripping from the corner of his lips.

"This beast... doesn't know what pain is."

Flauros spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes still burning with fire.

The Bone Dragon seemed to have gone mad.

The empty eye sockets flickered with a brilliant red-green light.

Each pulse of mana within it twisted the air, then exploded into patches of lingering poisonous bone gas.

And then the rain of poisonous bone began.

Not water. Not fire. But broken bone fragments, infused with acid magic, vaporized as they fell.

The air seemed to bleed. Poison and ash mixed into a mist that obscured the city.

Flauros cursed. He couldn't counterattack without reinforcing himself.

Just one more crack, and the poison would seep into his heart.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and spread his arms, letting the blood runes form a circle once more.

A second shield was erected.

This time it was a spiral armor, three layers of runes rotating in opposite directions, both blocking the poison and repelling the pressure outward like a counter-shock.

Each spell he chanted was now indistinct, for amid the sounds of the battlefield, only the beating of Flauros's heart echoed in his ears.

'Can't stop.'

'Not yet.'

'Must destroy its core before that unsettling thing comes.'

Amidst the rotting rain of poisonous bones in the sky, the gray cloak of Flauros still stood there, amidst the swirling layers of runes.

Like a bronze pillar in a storm, like a flagpole planted deep into the black earth, blood stained its feet, but it was still not falling.

From the walls of the city, the wizards of the kingdom stirred, then acted in unison. No one told anyone, but the entire sky immediately lit up with circles of light filled with symbols.

A nod. A short murmur. And magic formations began to sprout like mushrooms after a rain of blood.

They did not know him. They did not know who Flauros was. But they saw.

A lone wizard, fighting a creature from the Creation era by himself.

Each protective spell connected into a network like blood vessels, pouring mana into the air around Flauros. He was still the center, but now there were dozens of invisible arms supporting him.

On the ground, the knights, the heavy-armored warriors, did not stand still. They planted their shields, set up an earth-strengthening spell formation, and poured earth into the sky, as if they wanted to borrow the power of the earth to protect a sorcerer in the air.

At that moment, from afar, Velynrather Kaelthas, an old knight with eyes that seemed to have seen thousands of battlefields, tightened his grip on his heavy sword. His eyes looked up at Flauros, who was surrounded by a layer of poison like a fog of death, but still did not stop his spell.

"This brat… is he really… crazy?"

His voice was hoarse, and no one answered.

He was not to blame.

It was not because he looked down on him.

But because he knew very well how difficult it was to maintain a protective spell right after an attack that consumed a large amount of mana. Although they were not sorcerers, the way knights used manas was almost identical to how sorcerers used mana.

"Do you no longer need your life?"

Then a young wizard beside him softly replied, his eyes still following the grey figure in the sky.

"No, sir… Perhaps he is using his life to protect us."

'You're thinking too much, if we don't strike quickly, we'll all die together?'

Flauros only wished he could transmit his voice down. He heard everything. This poisonous bone wave had a very large range, and the protective formations of the neighboring countries were all opened. In the air, he could observe very easily.

The wind blew across the sky, and the smell of blood mixed with the poisonous mist lingered forever.

Flauros stood in the middle of the sky, purple light swirling around, still holding his head high as if the one about to fall was the sky, not him.

The black-gray striped scarf was stained red, blood seeped from the bridge of his nose, from the corner of his lips, seeping into each strand of fabric, then dripping into the cold air.

He did not frown. He did not curse. He did not gasp.

He just slowly raised his hand, firmly wiping the blood from his cheek, then looked down at the poisonous mist below as if he were reading a simple formula.

The dragon continued to roar.

The sound rang out like the sound of a broken bronze bell, echoing throughout the mountains and forests, penetrating each layer of barriers, penetrating people's hearts.

The moldy white bone wings flapped wildly, the poisonous gas spewed out in rhythm with its roar, each time causing the earth and rocks to shake, the clouds and sky to spin into a tornado.

Flauros did not respond.

No more spells.

He waited.

Waiting for his mana to recover.

Waiting for the poisonous gas to thin out.

Waiting for his breathing to stabilize.

Then he continued to attack. Finishing it off once and for all.

A mage below clenched his staff, whispering.

"What kind of crazy monster… would carry the battle with his blood like that?"

Knight Edwin was silent, his eyes filled with anxiety, then he tilted his head and closed his eyes for a moment, as if bidding farewell to a hero who had chosen the path of no return.

And the sky, still waiting for the next strike.

Flauros paid no attention to the flowing blood, nor did he care about the eyes of the people below who were watching him in tension, admiration, or fear.

He only knew one thing, he would not die.

Impossible. Not to be. Not worth it.

'I haven't returned yet…'

'I haven't… finished that unfinished thing.'

'How can I die?'

Below, the dragon was still writhing in madness. Its broken wings crashed into the mountains, creating rumbling sounds, broken bones, shooting up into the sky like spears.

The green magic circles around its body… were fading.

From shining like stars to fading like dust. From writhing violently, to trembling silently.

Flauros narrowed his eyes.

A thread-like mana thread brushed across his skin, the feeling of an exhausted creature, its magic drained.

The dragon had exceeded its limits.

It was enraged.

It screamed.

It spat poison and acid without even bothering to conserve its mana.

It abused its magic like a drowning man awakened from a thousand years of darkness.

And now it was weak.

No one needed to say anything, Flauros understood.

His chest heaved slightly, a deep breath not from fatigue, but to calm himself.

His eyes were as sharp as knives.