He lifted his gaze to the gray-white sea of grass that rolled silently through the fog, and unconcealed ecstasy burst across his eyes.
Mana! Endless mana!
What ill-omened grass of death? This was a gift from the heavens—a boundless wellspring of mana.
With this inexhaustible ghost grass, the weakness of his slow mana recovery would vanish. A steady flood of mana meant longer battles, and ultimate skills cast again and again.
Leon smothered the surge of excitement and resolved to refill his mana first.
He crouched, yanked up several stalks of ghost grass as thick as a wrist, and streams of cold, deathly yet pure energy flowed into him. His mana ticked steadily upward—+1, +1, +1.
Every stalk he held lost its luster the instant its mana was drained, withering to ashen husks that cracked apart.
Janice watched from the side, small face full of bewilderment, as Leon squatted like an indefatigable farmer and 'harvested' stalk after stalk.
She could not fathom why this young mage from the East was so obsessed with the grass used only for rites in Teria, but she obediently stayed silent, warily scanning the surrounding fog.
Right then—
SCREEEE!!!
A shrill, piercing cry detonated from the somber sky—closer and clearer than before.
The instant he heard it, Leon's face changed.
Janice went deathly pale; uncontrollable fear filled her lovely left eye and her delicate frame shook.
Leon would never forget that sound: the hundred-foot, three-headed Purple monster bird from Dragon Road.
He glanced at the pale swaying sea of ghost grass, a trace of reluctance in his eyes—then survival took over. He scooped a great armful of stalks and, without a care for dignity, clamped another bundle between his teeth.
He seized Janice's arm with his free hand and snarled, "Move!"
He spun and sprinted headlong toward the Withered Woods.
SCREEEE—!!!
A second cry exploded almost overhead.
A vast shadow blotted out the ground; dense fog was torn apart by savage winds.
The sky-veiling, three-headed Purple monster bird showed clearly beneath the roiling clouds.
Three pairs of eyes burned with scarlet slaughter-light—six stars of hell—locking onto the tiny fleeing figures below, close enough to touch.
Leon's face paled as he saw the endless black shadow. Clamping Janice's slender waist like iron, he lifted her bodily and burst into a speed and strength that made eyes widen, flying like a loosed heavy arrow over warped dead trunks and broken ground.
They fled at full tilt, yet the bird still hung above like a kite, bound to Leon; one pause and it would stoop to smash his skull.
He crested a low hill; the ground leveled into a valley.
But the sight below made even a man running for his life shudder.
In the valley's blackened floor, huge charred trunks lay every which way, some still burning with crackling moans. Flickering flames lit the corpses strewn across the ground.
They were not human: scaled monsters, a hundred or more, in every twisted posture of death.
Some had been sheared in half, blood and entrails smeared across the earth.
Others bore holes through skull or heart.
More had been blasted and burned into twisted, blackened chunks.
The reek of blood and scorched flesh mingled, foul enough to turn the stomach.
The valley had clearly just survived a savage battle.
At the sight, joy flashed in Leon's eyes—this slaughter-field was a treasure trove.
Faint draconic essences still drifted above the freshly fallen monsters.
Heaven-sent chance!
Wild with glee, he ran on, focusing his mind, sweeping every corpse within reach.
Absorb! Absorb! Absorb!
Cold, mighty life-force poured into him like rivers to the sea.
He could feel the invisible gauge of his draconic bloodline soaring; every absorption brought a surge of power.
Rough count: more than a hundred bodies, nearly all bearing dragon spirits—an unprecedented leap in purity.
While he devoured the spirits, the ghost grass in his arms fed him mana, withering away in swathes.
dragon spirits and mana flourished together.
Yet while he thrilled to the rush of power, death's shadow slammed down.
SCREEEE—!!!
The three-headed bird shrieked at his ear; a hurricane of air smashed downward.
It had lost patience, its colossal frame stooping straight at the two fleeing figures.
Reading the shifting shadow, Leon knew straight flight meant death. He veered sharply, carrying Janice into a tangle of dead trunks, trying to foul the monster's strike.
But the instant he turned, vast wings of purple-red feathers blotted out the sky.
A wall of sulfurous wind struck his back.
The tearing shriek of the stoop rang like a wraith's wail.
Too close—no escape!
Warning sirens screamed in his mind; he whirled.
The Purple monster bird had folded its sky-blotting wings and crashed to earth barely twenty paces away.
The impact shook the ground; dust and brimstone geysered skyward.
Its three heads—each a small siege hammer—lowered.
Six crimson eyes blazed with pure ruin, fixing on him with predator cruelty and mockery.
All three beaks bristling with fangs gaped wide; crimson light ignited in their throats. The air warped and hissed.
Thick brimstone choked the breath from the lungs.
Dragonflame!
It was gathering Dragonflame!
This three-headed Purple monster bird could summon the exclusive breath of dragons.
In the furnace glow, Leon's face turned grimmer still. Three spheres of annihilation that could vaporize him in an instant were about to erupt—and he and Janice had nowhere left to run.