Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights

Toria turned and saw Dirge a good distance away from her. She casually tossed the werewolves away with slight movements of her fingers. Some had their arms ripped off or their heads severed by unseen forces.

Her telekinesis made her a nightmare. As she tossed them into the air, Ballista and his incarnation’s arrows would meet them mid-air. Dirge’s plume waved as she moved elegantly, slapping these monsters off her path. Then she stopped, wrapped both hands around her staff, and lifted it up.

The moment no telekinetic force held these wolves anymore, they swarmed Dirge from all sides, their growls enough to paralyze a man with fear. With each inch the staff rose, the werewolves grew closer and closer until they lunged, claws and fangs inches away from her face.

Right at that moment, Dirge activated Black-Out State and transformed into a banshee. Half her body became like smoke as she unleashed an ear-piercing screech that rippled out like the shockwave of a nuclear bomb.

Her screech, though restrained, destroyed everything around her. The monsters were the first to burst apart before the desert followed. Sand flew outward with such speed it was able to make the other werewolves feel pain.

They howled, growling at the banshee in the red fog whose bright eyes gazed at them. Suddenly, silhouettes emerged from the ground, thousands of them with glowing eyes. One, larger than the others, howled and ran on all fours, heading for the fog. Others followed, but the Crimson Taotie shadow wraith Cavalrymen charged out of the fog with a dragon above them.

As both sides were about to clash, Dirge unleashed another screech, but this one wasn’t as cataclysmic, neither did it possess any ear numbing effect. However, crimson mist burst out of her shadow wraith army.

She had used an adaptive skill called Banshee’s Grace.

Then both sides clashed. Dying didn’t matter to the shadow wraiths, as they would reform again, but one slash was all it took to cut down a wolf, and it would remain dead, permanently.

On the other hand, Lysander cut through a tide of beasts, leaving cold corpses behind. Something moved a few feet away. It moved like thunder given flesh, the Death Rider. If he were an angel, he would be the evil angel, the representative of death.

The Lamenting knight.

Lament, riding his steed, slaughtered the wolves like he was harvesting from a farm. With each crescent swing, two, or most times three, wolves would fall.

Solstice didn’t even unleash his weapons. He unleashed a large amount of flames from both hands, like a human flamethrower. The fire was so hot it turned the wolves to ash before they could even scream. None survived, even when they fled.

After unleashing a massive amount of sunfire, he unleashed his swords and went straight for the others. He was the only one they were fleeing from. A werewolf saw him approach; before it could lift its claws, its head fell to the ground as Solstice had already moved past it.

A progenitor werewolf, perhaps the only one on the battlefield, grabbed a fleeing werewolf and crushed its neck. That action stopped the others in their tracks, forcing the werewolves to turn back, facing Solstice once more.

Solstice stretched out both arms and approached them. The progenitor was the first to move. It burst forward and swung its claws at him. The blow was powerful enough to cause a massive gale that blew others away; some small dunes lost a lot of sand due to the impact, yet Solstice stood there, blocking the blow with just one sword.

His head tilt conveyed one sentence: Was that all?

This was who he was. Before becoming a knight, he was known far and wide as the Golden Boy; arrogant, handsome, brave, charming enough to make the ladies clamor and the men wish they were born with his traits.

Solstice sliced off the progenitor’s arms, but it used Grief Transfer to distribute the damage, saving its arms. It closed in to rip his head off with its fangs, but the Chief Knight rammed his sword right through the monster’s heart. Then the blade burst into flames as he swung upward, splitting the wolf’s upper body into two.

Then he proceeded to grab its horn and fling it aside like garbage.

He, Solstice, was the one who, before mana came, when dragons were gods, went to the cave of one of the most dreadful of them all, looted it, and came back alive. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

He was the legend. A man with no equal. He once climbed the mountain said to belong to the most terrifying lion and baited it to fall off its own mountain to its death, then wore its pelt and declared himself lord of the mountains.

He was a myth carved into a man, but the arrival of dungeons took it all. And his journey as a knight began, from a self-entitled man with lofty goals to an honorable knight with discipline.

Solstice saw things, things that changed him, that took away his veil of invincibility and tempered this knight. He once served himself, never willing to bow his head, yet how was it that same man stayed when the order crumbled?

Godfrey watched the battle in silence, his eyes on the boss, who remained unmoving so far. He was bound to move soon; his legion was being decimated.

At that moment, when Solstice brought down one of the strongest werewolves on the battlefield, the boss charged toward the Chief Knight and swung its claws, but Godfrey appeared and blocked the blow with his longsword.

Cold blue eyes met black-and-gold ones as a resounding clang echoed.

"You possess something unlike the mana system of your kind. You must be a chosen one," the boss growled, then its other arm flickered upward, aiming to carve through Godfrey’s entrails, but it ended up drawing sparks from Godfrey’s armour.

There wasn’t a scratch.

"Hehehe, I see now. You are definitely the chosen one," it chuckled as they separated and began to walk in a circle.

"Then what? I am a chosen one. How does that bother you?" Godfrey’s voice rang from his helmet.

The boss sharpened his claws against the other, drawing sparks as he grinned. "Remember the name, Mor. This will be the first time I kill a chosen one. Then I shall present that armour to he who sent me."

Mor declared. His eyes sharpened as Godfrey suddenly vanished and reappeared mid-air, almost behind him, his sword inching closer and closer to Mor’s neck.

"Very well then."