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"How can this be…?"
The proud dragon knight crashed down with his lifeless beast, his body slamming against the stone walls of the fortress. Pain raged through him, but it was nothing compared to the sorrow in his heart. His dragon—his partner, his brother-in-arms—was dead.
He staggered to his knees on the battlements, eyes wild with disbelief. Below, the city defense officer's face lit up with triumph.
"Quick! Catch him alive!" the officer barked, his voice shaking with both fear and excitement. "Seize him—he is a dragon knight!"
"My God… a dragon knight, here!"
"To capture him alive will be our greatest honor! His Majesty the King must see this!"
The words spread like wildfire among the soldiers. Awe, excitement, and ambition flickered in their eyes. The fall of a dragon knight was unthinkable—something men sang about in songs and legends, not something they witnessed with their own eyes.
The words clawed into the knight's heart like poisoned daggers.
All his life he had been undefeated, his pride forged in the flames of a hundred battles. He was a dragon knight, a figure mortals worshipped from afar. Yet now, a mere city garrison—men he considered no more dangerous than insects—had brought him down. His arrogance shattered, replaced by humiliation.
The soldiers of Ross, rifles clutched in trembling hands, approached eagerly. Their 98Ks, still fitted with gleaming bayonets, were raised as they closed the distance.
They would tell this story to their children, their grandchildren: how they had slain a dragon and captured its rider.
But the dragon knight Eren—his pride bleeding more than his wounds—snarled.
"You filthy mortals… lower than the piss of a frog! You dare to touch me?"
His eyes blazed scarlet, rage consuming him.
The death of his dragon, the disgrace of being toppled by mortals—it broke something inside him. He went mad.
Like a beast, he roared, drawing the long sword at his waist. With terrifying speed, he lunged, the blade flashing under the moonlight.
The Ross soldiers had no chance.
Steel ripped through flesh. In an instant, seven or eight young men crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Blood stained the walls as screams filled the night.
Even stripped of his dragon, Eren was still a great knight. Against ordinary soldiers, he was a whirlwind of slaughter.
"Hahaha! You weaklings! Come! Come and die, you lowly mortals!"
Eren's laughter was savage, his face splattered with blood, his eyes burning like a demon's.
"Damn it! I forgot… he's still a great knight!" the city defense officer cried, his face paling. Regret stabbed into his chest. Because of his reckless command, seven or eight promising young soldiers had been butchered.
"Open fire! Disable him! Shoot his limbs!"
The fury of the soldiers erupted. Grief and rage for their fallen comrades drowned their fear. Dozens of rifles rose in unison.
Gunfire thundered.
Bullets tore through Eren's arms and legs, shredding flesh and splintering bone. The dragon knight shrieked, but even as pain consumed him, he swung his blade, desperate to kill more.
Then his sword fell from his hand. His right arm was gone. Then his left. His legs gave way. One by one, his limbs were destroyed, until he collapsed into a broken, bloody ruin. His severed arms and legs lay scattered across the wall.
The once-proud dragon knight now writhed helplessly, humiliated beyond words.
The soldiers rushed in, their grief turning to fury. The butts of their rifles slammed into his battered body. Blow after blow fell. This was not a knight's duel—it was vengeance.
For the dragon knight, this was the deepest disgrace. For the soldiers of Ross, it was not triumph but rage. Their comrades had died because of him.
And yet, to the wider world, this moment was monumental.
If word spread, countless kingdoms would tremble. To slay a dragon and capture its rider was a feat so valuable that emperors would spend thousands of lives to achieve it.
For the soldiers on the wall, however, it felt hollow. Their brothers-in-arms lay dead at their feet. What was the worth of killing a dragon if it cost the lives of friends they had laughed with just hours before?
The city defense officer staggered, clutching his helmet in both hands. His face twisted in grief.
"Seven or eight young men… because of my mistake… I killed them."
His tears fell freely.
He had fought bravely at the Battle of Wali Plain and the assault on Tino City, where victory came swiftly and losses were rare. He had grown arrogant, thinking his army invincible. Tonight, arrogance bore bitter fruit.
"It's not your fault," another officer said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "He was a great knight. You know how powerful they are. Even one can slay a dozen men with ease."
"But they were so young…" the city defense officer sobbed.
The older officer, a veteran from the old Ross army, sighed deeply. "War always takes the young. When I first fought, I lost friends the same way. It is the soldier's fate."
He pointed at the dragon's corpse lying atop the walls. "This is only the beginning. The Kingdom of Ross will grow stronger, but so too will the enemies we face. This dragon knight was only one man."
The city defense officer lifted his tear-streaked face. "Then what enemies await us?"
The veteran's eyes grew heavy. "The Tongsley Empire and its hundreds of vassal states. The Central Magic Empire, with its disciplined armies of true magicians. The Eastern and Northern regions, whose warriors are said to rival dragons themselves. Perhaps even the ancient demons, banished to other worlds, waiting for the day to return."
He clenched his fists. "These are foes not so easily broken. Their armies will not crumble like the Nord Kingdom's. They will come with magic arrays by the thousands, with legions of sorcerers and knights, with beasts and dragons of their own. And our king, Gavin Ward, will need us ready."
Silence settled over the wall. The surviving soldiers stood among the bodies of their comrades, their rifles trembling in their hands. The blood of friends mingled with that of their enemies.
The veteran's voice rose again, steady and firm.
"Remember this night. The army is always accompanied by iron and blood. It is forged in tears and sacrifice. That is the true epic of soldiers."
The city defense officer clenched his jaw, his grief slowly hardening into resolve. He knew now what it meant to command. His men's blood would weigh on him forever.
But he also knew this: Ross had slain a dragon tonight. And though the cost was bitter, it was proof that their army could rise even higher.
Far away, beyond the borders of Ross, the storm clouds of greater wars were gathering.
The future would not spare them.
But the Ross Kingdom would not flinch.