No matter what that power truly was, its source was clear—Vortigern, the Usurper King, the embodiment of the entire island of Britannia.
Shiomi took the full brunt of the mana torrent unleashed by the White Dragon. He could feel his skin and flesh being stripped away, layer by layer, until even his bones were exposed.
It seemed Vortigern's intent was to burn him down to ashes.
And Shiomi didn't know—if he truly were reduced to ash—whether he'd be able to recover this time, as he had from every other near-death encounter before.
The Primordial Runes shielded his body, granting him the endurance to withstand the assault longer than he should have been able.
What finally interrupted that raging torrent was the crimson spear Shiomi had thrown.
A guaranteed kill—no matter how it was engulfed by world-shattering mana, the scarlet tip of that spear would still seek out its target, unstoppable until it hit home.
The spear hadn't pierced through the White Dragon's body, but it had embedded itself deep where the membrane of the wing met the torso, wedging into the crevice between bone and sinew.
The dragon came crashing down, its colossal body striking the ground with the force of a cataclysmic quake.
Shiomi landed on the desolate plains where a fortress had once stood. His body was scorched—muscles burned away, exposing raw bone—and thick smoke rose from him in heavy white plumes.
Whether from the heat or the regeneration process, only Shiomi knew.
Rain fell on the exposed bones, and slowly, flesh began to regrow. One of his eyes refused to open due to the injuries; with the other, he glared at the white dragon, now writhing amid the dust.
The beast roared again and again. Though the sounds held no meaning, the agony behind them was unmistakable.
Even if the Curse Spear hadn't pierced Vortigern's heart, the curse had begun to spread from the wound. The barbed tip lodged in the bone's seam was like a thorn—he knew where it was, but couldn't pull it free.
All Vortigern could feel was the curse clinging to him, impossible to remove. Enraged, the White Dragon rampaged—massive limbs and tail tearing everything apart.
The fortress littered with corpses moments ago was leveled in a storm of fury, reduced to ruins so desolate they stirred grief.
Eventually, as Shiomi staggered to his feet, Vortigern's rage gave way to clarity. He noticed the tiny figure before him.
Destroy this human, and the crimson spear would vanish with him.
Vortigern lowered his sacred body, disregarded his injuries, and spread his wings. He aimed to launch into the sky and then descend with earth-shattering weight, crushing Shiomi into the ground and merging him with the soil.
But in that instant, the dragon's sharp eyes caught a faint smile tugging at Shiomi's lips.
From the black clouds above, eight lightning-forged spears shot forth—each one piercing Vortigern's most vulnerable membrane wings with ease. They tore through the vast wings that had once spanned thousands of miles.
The torn wings fell away from the White Dragon's body.
This strike pushed Vortigern into a frenzy. Even if he could no longer fly, he would still rip this insignificant foe limb from limb.
Thud. Thud. Thud—
Each step was thunderous, heavy with wrath and murderous intent.
A giant, razor-sharp claw came crashing down toward Shiomi's head—so fast and violent that even the most skilled Heroic Spirit would hesitate to take it head-on.
Shiomi spotted a narrow gap in the attack, fell back, braced with his left hand, and rolled swiftly to escape the blow. He quickly retreated to widen the distance.
He sprinted across the plain, dodging the incoming mana blasts while casting spells of his own—both to retaliate and to keep the dragon at bay.
But Vortigern's mana seemed endless.
One mana bullet after another, each capable of obliterating a fortress, rained across the battlefield. Before long, Shiomi had nowhere left to stand.
Forced into defense, he rapidly formed a binding spell—locking down the approaching mana projectile, seizing control of its trajectory, and preparing to fire it back.
But in the mere two seconds it took to cast, another blast was already upon him—striking the intercepted projectile before he could return it.
The twin mana forces collided and detonated on impact, instantly shattering the spell Shiomi had cast to shield against the shockwave. Blood spurted from his mouth as he was sent hurtling even farther by the blast.
Dragging himself out of the gaping crater left behind by the magic projectile, Shiomi leaned on his wand, gasping for breath. The damage from that last strike was still serious, but at least the wounds that had exposed muscle and bone earlier were already beginning to regenerate as he dodged Vortigern's relentless barrage.
But now trapped in a war of attrition and unable to seize the initiative, Shiomi had been forced into a purely defensive position.
No matter how he tried to dodge or counter, he couldn't avoid every attack.
Vortigern's offense and defense were flawless—worthy of the island's final and ultimate Mystery incarnate.
"...So who's stronger, Vortigern or Fafnir, I wonder...?"
Kneeling on one knee after being caught in the explosion's shockwave, Shiomi looked up at the white dragon now looming over him. Their eyes locked. Yet there was no fear in his gaze—only a quiet grin as he made a wry remark, then flipped backward and summoned a second crimson spear.
As the dragon opened its bloody maw, Shiomi hurled the spear with precision. It pierced through one of Vortigern's forelegs, pinning its massive claw to the ground.
In return, Shiomi was struck by the dragon's charging head, sent flying once more, distance forcibly reopened between them.
Wounded and bleeding profusely, Shiomi could barely stay on his feet, stumbling forward before collapsing onto his hands and knees. He managed to brace himself, just enough to keep from falling completely.
The blood dripping from his body was quickly swept away by the torrential rain, dyeing the runoff water around him crimson.
He quickly assessed Vortigern's condition.
The first crimson spear had struck the root of the dragon's left wing, severing its ability to fly.
The second had pinned its claw to the ground, temporarily immobilizing it.
Among the roars echoing across the field, Shiomi could hear traces of what sounded like human screaming. It felt almost like a hallucination.
He remembered now—how the legends described the Usurper King who had allied with foreign invaders and nearly destroyed Britannia. That Vortigern had been King Uther's younger brother, making him King Arthur's uncle.
And in those same legends, when Artoria faced the Usurper King, she no longer relied on the Holy Sword—its light devoured—but on the Holy Lance, the shadow of the Tower of the End.
But his own weapons were now spent—and they still bore the task of suppressing Vortigern's power.
All that remained was the wand in his hand. If he wanted to strike back, it had to be with powerful Magecraft.
Vortigern was already beginning to free himself from the red spear's restraint.
Shiomi struggled to rise, but even the weight of the rain seemed too much. He collapsed back into a kneel, blood running down his arms, soaking into the wooden wand and dyeing it red.
Then, suddenly, the staff began to shine—its entire body radiating with a golden glow.
"…Eh?"