After defeating Nekator, Leon and his party chose to rest and recover rather than rush to advance further.

The Holy Iron Inquisitors, who had fought valiantly throughout the battle, maintained a perimeter while assisting with cleanup.

Dominic, who had blocked the Six Realms Annihilation and was left unable to fight, wasn’t the only one in poor condition. Even Leon needed nearly half an hour before his ragged breathing finally steadied despite having the Stigma of the Guardian constantly restoring him.

Elahan, who had joined the fray late, was also exhausted from rushing to the field. Only Karen, who had used Pitch-Black Dance a few times and little else, was in decent shape.

Elahan remarked, “The devastation is incredible... So that was the power of the second of the Nine Hells...”

Something about their final exchange must have left an impression on her. Instead of calling him a heretic, Elahan seemed to refer to Nekator as a fellow human.

He was a man born human, yet unable to live as one. His sins were unforgivable, but not beyond pity. Leon could still picture his face, smiling as he fell into the Asura Realm.

“Yeah... He was terrifying,” Leon murmured.

He could still feel the phantom ache in the wrist of the hand that had cleaved through Nekator’s darkness. The pain was so vivid it bordered on illusion.

Even sparring with Irexana had never felt like that. If they fought again, the odds wouldn’t be high. Had even one of the four not been there, they would’ve lost.

If Elahan had arrived just a few minutes later, it would’ve been over, Leon thought.

Nekator had lived and died by his own will. For someone who found purpose only in battle, perhaps being cast into the Asura Realm was, in a way, his salvation.

Still, that wasn’t something Leon could say to Elahan. As he searched for the right words, a murmur rose from the distance.

“Sounds like they managed to breach the city gates,” he said.

Elahan nodded and replied, “After the battle atop the wall, two Masters headed there. And with the force-field barrier still down, breaking through the gate wouldn’t have been difficult.”

“Turning soldiers into undying fodder doesn’t change the fact that they’re weaker,” Leon said. “Without regenerative power, once they adapted, they should have been easy to neutralize.”

“They didn’t seem strategically organized either,” Elahan added. “Cardinal Irexana suspected they were being used as disposable pawns.”

An army without command was worth less than a third-rate mercenary band. Even a mediocre commander made a difference simply by existing.

The Revolutionary and Ferma Armies, on the other hand, were composed of elite troops, and with two Swordmasters bolstering their ranks, the defending army was bound to collapse quickly. It meant that the commotion in the distance was proof that the allied armies had entered Calelum itself.

Leon’s expression shifted as the memory of the city’s horrors came rushing back.

“Ah. Karen, can you head for higher ground and get a look at what’s happening out there?”

“I see what you mean. Got it, Mr. Hero.”

Karen’s face hardened as she bounded away, scaling rooftops until she reached the bell tower. From that height, her line of sight stretched for kilometers. With her sharp vision, it didn’t take long to spot the allied troops advancing through the gates, and as soon as she spotted the sight, her brows knit tightly.

“Just as I feared...” she muttered and let out a heavy sigh.

Elite soldiers or not, they were still human. Even seasoned veterans used to taking their enemies’ lives had likely never seen depravity of this scale. An entire city had been reduced to a grotesque exhibition of death.

Evil taken beyond reason corroded the mind of anyone who witnessed it. Revolutionary and Ferma soldiers alike broke formation, vomiting where they stood. The yellow bile mixed with the puddles of blood, turning the streets into something too vile to look at.

“Mr. Hero,” Karen dropped from the bell tower and landed beside them. “I’ve confirmed the entry of the Revolutionary and Ferma forces. But the soldiers who made it into the city aren’t doing too well. It might take hours before they regain their composure.”

“I figured as much,” Leon said quietly.

Their shock and confusion were natural. Anyone who could face that hellscape and remain unmoved was the one to be wary of. Even the knights were too busy fighting back nausea to control the ranks.

Tens of thousands of men were paralyzed by horror to the core. The army would need hours just to recover its footing.

“Hm? Someone’s coming,” Karen noted.

A few presences were drawing near, and among them, a familiar face appeared first. It was Valter.

“Ah, so you were all here.”

Even he couldn’t remain calm after witnessing the city’s nightmare. His fingers trembled with barely restrained anger and disgust. Whether the dead were Imperial citizens or not didn’t matter—some things simply couldn’t be forgiven by any human heart.

Soon after, Lyon, Cedric, and the other leaders of both armies arrived to join them. With the commanders assembled, they could reorganize their shaken troops, share what they had learned, and plan their next move.

The meeting started off with a discussion of what they knew about Apophis.

“There’s such a creature lurking beneath the city? Unbelievable,” Valter said.

“If you don’t believe it, you can always go see for yourself,” Karen said, grumpily.

“N-no, I’ll take the veterans’ word for it. Ahem, then we’ll have to abandon any plans involving the underground passages. Had it not been for you, we’d have walked straight into disaster.”

They went on to describe the traces of battle in the area.

“What?! You defeated the second Nine Hell Bishop? Is that true?!” another commander asked in disbelief. “That’s excellent news. Gratitude to His Eminence Dominic for his valiant effort. A costly, but worthy victory.”

Cedric muttered, “What a shame. I would’ve liked to cross blades with him myself.”

He examined the ruins of Nekator’s Destruction Technique, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. The sheer purity of the enemy’s skills reminded him faintly of his own Ten Thousand Severing Strikes, and the regret on his face was plain.

After a few more exchanges, the conversation settled on the only matter left to discuss.

“Next on the map is... the White Peak Palace...”

The very mention of it carried a different weight from everything before. The White Peak Palace, seat of the Emperor of Clyde, was the most beautiful and impregnable fortress on the continent. Its defenses would far surpass the outer walls of the Imperial Capital.

Regarding the attack on it, no one was more eager than Valter, a Marquis of Ferma.

“We must begin the assault the moment the army is reorganized!”

His severed fingers had only just been reattached, but the chance to destroy the Empire’s loathsome palace set his blood ablaze.

Lyon, however, objected immediately.

“That’s impossible. I know the White Peak Palace’s defenses better than anyone here. If the Emperor decides to entrench himself inside, not even a million soldiers could drag him out.”

“Ridiculous! If it’s that unassailable, it wouldn’t even be possible to conquer in the first place!”

“I’m saying we’ll need an infiltration strike led by the Masters!”

Valter snorted, “Prince Lyon, be honest. You just don’t want to see the palace you’re supposed to inherit reduced to rubble, do you?”

“And you, Marquis, simply want an excuse to vent your personal grudges.”

At that, the tension between them rippled through their followers. The cooperation between the Revolutionary and Ferma forces had been a miracle to begin with. Now that Irexana—their mediator—was absent, the two sides tore into each other as if they’d been waiting for the chance. The troops were in chaos; some, lost in delirium, even tried to set fires.

Dammit. Now’s not the time for some petty argument...!

Leon’s group grimaced at the sight, but they couldn’t intervene. The Holy Iron Inquisitors looked equally frustrated, as they were bound by their vow of neutrality in political conflicts.

This wasn’t like before, when they could subdue both sides by force. All they could do was watch until a decision was reached.

Then, a deafening, guttural roar, more like a shriek, split the sky, heavy enough to make the ground tremble. Everyone instinctively turned toward the sound and froze. The reaction was natural.

Someone shouted the words everyone was thinking.

“A d-dragon! It’s a dragon!!” 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

The sight struck them all speechless.

A colossal creature with wings spread wide and a fifty-meter-long body covered in pale white scales was soaring toward them.

Cedric unsheathed his sword with a grin of exhilaration. Valter gripped his hilt, his face drawn tight with tension. Lyon, too, stepped back with his retainers.

Leon’s party, however, reacted differently.

That thing... is that really a dragon?

Leon’s golden eyes pierced through the illusion to the truth. What he saw was a mass of foul, twisted miasma. It mimicked a dragon’s form but lacked its essence. It seemed more like a lump of corrupted flesh.

Anna and Elahan recoiled instinctively from its unholy energy, while Karen, with her sharp eyes, could see the grotesque unnaturalness more clearly than anyone.

“Mr. Hero, that thing...!”

“Yeah. That’s not a dragon...”

The Holy Sword El-Cid flared in Leon’s grip as the monster’s vast body closed in, its shape growing clearer by the second. Cedric and Valter, now recognizing it too, twitched their brows in disbelief.

They had every reason to. The “scales” were bone shards, the flesh rotting away beneath, and its lifeless eyes couldn’t even focus.

“...That’s an undead made to look like a dragon,” Leon finished his thought.

Even so, its presence was menacing. The Zombie Dragon’s presence, felt through Leon’s senses, was comparable to that of two or three Masters combined. Whether its combat power truly matched that was uncertain, but its raw output was overwhelming.

If I use both the Grand Chariot and the Sun Sword together, like I did against Nekator... no, not yet. I haven’t recovered enough.

Leon’s face stiffened as he tried to draw up his Aura. Even the Stigma of the Guardian couldn’t completely mend the internal injuries that still throbbed inside him. If he forced his power now, he wouldn’t be in full condition for the battle waiting at the White Peak Palace. He had no choice but to leave this one to the others.

And then, unexpectedly, a familiar voice came from the dragon. From atop its head, to be exact.

“Just die already, you piece of shit!”

It was Adela. Before Leon’s group could even process her voice, the monster’s massive skull exploded with a thunderous explosion, spraying putrid brain matter and viscous pus in every direction. Its headless body plummeted, crashing down toward the cluster of commanders gathered nearby.

“W-whoa! Everyone, get back!”

“Your Highness, behind me!” Gilbert said.

“The dragon’s falling—move!”

The Zombie Dragon’s corpse slammed into the ground. Buildings collapsed. Roads split apart. The enormous carcass skidded across the square, carried by its own momentum, wings snapping and the bone scales tearing free from its body. A thick stream of black blood and rotted entrails poured out beneath it as it came to a halt.

The stench was unbearable, the air filled with choking dust. Even those who had been shouting moments earlier went silent, their eyes fixed on the grotesque spectacle before them.

Then, cursing breathlessly, Adela emerged from the steaming carcass.

“Phew! Damn bastard! If you’re gonna die, do it cleanly! Why the hell did you have to throw a tantrum till the end?!”

Her body was covered in burns, her clothes half-melted by corrosive acid and hanging in tatters—but she was still standing, unbroken. After kicking the corpse a few more times for good measure, she finally noticed the others watching her.

“What the—oh, everyone’s here already? What a coincidence.”

Leon and his companions hurried over.

“Cardinal Adela! What happened?!”

As Elahan cast a healing spell over her burns, Adela tilted her head and replied casually, “What do you mean, what happened? I fought this thing all the way over here, obviously.”

“What about the Bishop of Chaos? And Cardinal Irexana?”

“Morse got away. The bastard summoned this freak monster and ran off, so I had my hands full dealing with that. I’m not sure if Irexana caught him, but...”

She pointed to the unmoving corpse of the Zombie Dragon.

“...Judging by how this thing’s finally staying dead, I’d say Irexana finished him off. These kinds of undead usually keep coming back until their summoner’s dead.”

And indeed, that seemed to be the case.

Relieved, Leon exhaled and asked, “Then where is he now?”

“Over there... oh, I came pretty far, huh. Come on, let’s go.”

They couldn’t afford to waste any more time—not when the debate over the White Peak Palace had already stalled.

Leaving the commanders of the Revolutionary and Ferma armies behind, Leon’s group shot off toward the direction of the palace. At a speed where those who weren’t Masters wouldn’t be able to follow, they leaped over the city’s shattered rooftops.

Anna remained with Dominic, gathering the Holy Iron Inquisitors as she watched Leon’s party disappear into the distance.

“Guess I’m getting old,” she murmured. “Can’t keep up with them anymore, huh?”

Dominic, still unconscious with his head resting on her lap, didn’t answer. But the faint smile on his lips was as gentle as ever. It almost felt as though she’d heard his reply regardless. Anna smiled softly and folded her hands in prayer.

“May the Goddess watch over our path ahead.”

As if in answer, sunlight broke through the clouds, embracing the wounded and the weary. The way the light was cast upon the path looked as if it were guiding Leon and his companions as they marched toward the battlefield once again.