I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World-Chapter 156: Aftermath

The missile slammed into the dragon’s shoulder with a blinding flash and a thunderous roar.

The resulting explosion lit the sky in hues of crimson and gold, casting Inigo’s cockpit in sharp contrasts. His HUD flared from the shockwave, warning lights blinking across the display, but the Apache held firm. Smoke and shattered scales spiraled through the air, trailing behind the flailing behemoth.

The dragon screamed.

It wasn’t just a roar—it was agony. Rage. Pain. Shock.

From Ironmark, the people could hear it even through the thick stone of their walls. The ground trembled, birds scattered, and even the bravest warriors flinched. It was the sound of a legend bleeding.

"She’s hit!" a sentry shouted from the watchtower.

On the edge of the plaza, children cried. Mothers clutched them close, not out of fear—but awe. For the first time in living memory, the Red Wyrm of Emberreach was not invincible. She bled. She burned.

"She’s falling!" someone screamed.

"No..." muttered an older knight, eyes wide. "She’s retreating."

—

Up in the sky, Inigo kept the Apache steady, circling high above the smoke trails. His breathing was heavy, controlled. Every nerve in his body buzzed, not with fear, but anticipation. Adrenaline had taken over now.

He wasn’t done.

On his radar, the dragon dove. Not in defeat, but in fury. She swept low across the valley, trailing flame across the slopes, torching ridgelines and ravines.

Scorched earth in her wake.

"She’s trying to flush me out of the air," he said, flipping switches on the side panel. "Not gonna happen."

He pushed the throttle forward.

The Apache surged down, chasing after her wake.

Below them, Emberreach burned like the furnace of a blacksmith god. Volcanic cracks split wider from the dragon’s wrath. Trees withered. Rivers boiled.

Inigo flipped to chain gun mode and dropped behind her.

"Let’s go again."

BRRRRT!

Another burst from the 30mm cannon raked across the base of her wing. This time, the shells punched through. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The membrane tore.

The dragon buckled mid-flight, wings uneven.

A second roar ripped from her throat—but now, it wasn’t just fury.

It was desperation.

She spiraled once. Twice. Then recovered, barely, flapping hard to stay aloft.

But her flight had changed.

She was wounded now. Hunted.

—

Back in Ironmark, the people stared in disbelief.

"Look at her..." a mage whispered. "She’s... she’s running."

"No," said Lyra, gripping the railing of the tower. "She’s afraid."

Marshal Cedric’s eyes were locked on the two figures warring above the clouds. "I never thought I’d live to see her bleed. But that man... that machine... they’re not from this world."

A page nearby stammered, "Is he—Is he even human?"

Lyra didn’t answer.

She just watched.

—

The Apache’s targeting HUD blinked red again—tone lock reacquired. Inigo had a clear shot.

He hesitated.

A strange feeling stirred in his gut. Not mercy. Not fear. But something akin to respect. This dragon had ruled the skies for centuries. She was no mindless beast.

But he couldn’t stop.

Not now.

He pulled the trigger.

FWOOOSH!

Another missile screamed forward.

The dragon veered—too slow.

It clipped her midsection, exploding just below the ribs.

The detonation hurled her sideways, a gout of blood spraying from the wound.

Her flight collapsed.

She spiraled.

And she fell.

Straight into the mountainside.

The impact was deafening.

A ring of fire surged outward. Boulders shattered. Dust and smoke rose into a pillar that reached the clouds.

Silence followed.

Then a low, keening wind.

—

From the chapel, the Flamekeeper fell to her knees. Not in despair—but in disbelief.

"She... she is down."

Around her, people wept. Some from joy. Some from terror.

Others simply knelt in silence.

Even Cedric lowered his gaze. "He’s done it..."

—

High above the crater, Inigo circled, eyes scanning the smoke.

His sensors flickered.

Movement—weak, scattered.

"She’s not dead," he murmured.

The Apache hovered for a moment. He could see her sprawled across the rocks, wings broken, tail limp. But her eyes—still alive. Still burning.

He hovered over her, weapon systems armed.

"End it," a voice whispered in his headset.

It was Lyra, speaking through the enchanted relay.

"She’s too dangerous," she added.

Inigo exhaled.

He steadied his hands.

His finger hovered over the trigger.

But he didn’t pull it.

Not yet.

Instead, he activated the external broadcast.

He spoke into the wind:

"Stay down. Or I end this."

The dragon’s eyes flickered.

And, for the first time... she closed them.

—

Back in Ironmark, cheers erupted across the towers and walls.

"He’s spared her!"

"The beast is defeated!"

"Long live the rider of steel!"

—

When Inigo returned to Ironmark, the plaza was overflowing with people.

Soldiers cleared a path as the Apache lowered into the same crater it had launched from. The wind whipped cloaks and dust across the stonework. Lanterns flickered. Horns blared.

As the rotors slowed, the canopy hissed open.

And Inigo climbed out.

Covered in sweat and soot. Face grim. Eyes tired.

But victorious.

Lyra was the first to reach him.

He didn’t speak.

She didn’t need him to.

She just grabbed his hand and held it tight.

Marshal Cedric bowed his head slightly. "Whatever world you came from... they must consider you a god."

"No," Inigo replied softly. "Just a man. With the right tools."

Then he looked toward the distant smoke.

"She’s alive. But broken."

The priestess stepped forward, her walking staff clinking on the stone.

"Even wrath can be humbled," she said. "You have shown us a new path. One not of prayer, but of will and craft."

Inigo didn’t reply.

His eyes were still on the horizon.

Because somewhere in that scorched wilderness...

A dragon nursed her wounds.

And waited.

The silence that followed was unlike any Ironmark had ever known—not from fear, but reverence. The people, once skeptical and wary of the outsider, now looked upon him with unspoken awe. Mothers whispered his name to their children. Blacksmiths paused mid-hammer. Priests clutched their relics and silently reconsidered the power they’d witnessed. Even the scholars, who lived for logic and records, had no words to fit what had just occurred.

This wasn’t just victory.

It was revelation.