The Dragon’s Retinue (2)

“Ah, so there’s another one here.”

A deep, gravelly voice emerged from the half-ruined building’s window.

Soon, a stocky dwarf tumbled out of the window, landing with a soft thud on the ground.

Thud.

The sound of his landing was surprisingly quiet, considering he had jumped from the third floor.

“I’m not one to hide in the shadows like that long-winded elf,” the dwarf said, his beard unkempt and wild.

“My pride as a craftsman and warrior wouldn’t allow it,” he added with a sly grin.

The dwarf was short, barely reaching Dalen’s waist. Even compared to the young mercenary Parren, he was slightly smaller, but his thick limbs were as sturdy as Parren’s waist.

Clink.

As he moved, the intricate scales of his armor glided smoothly, highlighting the powerful muscles beneath. He could probably hold his own against an orc warrior.

“This thing’s got great performance, but it’s a pain to carry around,” the dwarf muttered, lowering the complex crossbow he held.

The crossbow was nearly as large as the dwarf himself, and it wasn’t his only weapon. A massive war hammer was strapped to his back with a thin chain, and a multi-shot crossbow hung at his waist, the size of a pistol. Various other weapons were scattered across his armor, making him look more like a traveling arms dealer than a warrior.

Dalen watched the dwarf, pondering if all that gear weighed more than the dwarf himself. Meanwhile, the dwarf glanced over his shoulder and spoke.

“By the way, what was that spell just now? It looked like a hand axe, but it hit like a cannonball from the imperial army.”

His gaze was fixed beyond the bleeding elf clutching his neck, towards the corner of the training ground where a single-story building had been reduced to rubble. The axe had veered off course, demolishing the building’s walls and pillars.

The dwarf stroked his beard with interest as he surveyed the dusty ruins.

“It didn’t sound like a gunpowder weapon, and it lacked the precision of a mechanical device. I didn’t sense any magic either. Was it some kind of bloodline power or divine force?”

The dwarf twisted his beard out of habit, while Dalen watched silently.

After twisting his beard a couple of times, the dwarf finally turned to meet Dalen’s eyes.

”······.”

A steady gaze. Unwavering silence.

The dwarf stopped twisting his beard and scratched his bearded chin, slightly anxious.

“A trade secret, is it? Well, I wouldn’t explain my black iron composite bow to just anyone either. Not that many would understand it.”

With that, the dwarf lifted his crossbow again. Despite its size, it took him less than a breath to aim it with both hands.

Clink, clank!

The intricate mechanisms and pulleys whirred, drawing the string and loading an arrow on their own.

Click. Thunk―!

The trigger released, sending the arrow flying with destructive force.

Whoosh―!

The unexpected shot flew through the air.

If the intent was to catch someone off guard, it wasn’t a bad attempt. In the flickering firelight of the clearing, the arrow, black from tip to fletching, appeared as a single dark line.

Very few could react to such a sudden attack.

Dalen was one of those few.

Sss―

He reached out, time stretching around him.

Even in this elongated moment, the arrow was just a dark line, a testament to the power of the dwarf’s crossbow.

Dalen caught the arrow mid-flight, feeling a fierce resistance.

Ignoring it, he applied more force, his palm stinging as the matte black arrow settled in his grip.

Hmm. That stings a bit. Dalen examined the arrow in his hand.

The entire arrow, from tip to fletching, was made of dull metal, with sharp barbs protruding along the shaft.

“He… caught it? A black iron arrow?”

The dwarf muttered in disbelief. Dalen chuckled softly.

‘I’ve seen this before.’

It reminded him of a few months ago, when he and Lucia had ventured into a labyrinth. One of the bandits had fired similarly blackened arrows.

Dalen did what he had done then.

He returned the arrow to the bewildered dwarf.

Whoosh―!

The arrow flew back, nearly as fast as it had been shot.

But the dwarf was better than the bumbling bandits who preyed on hapless explorers.

As Dalen’s hand blurred, the dwarf instinctively used his massive crossbow as a shield.

Crash!

The large crossbow shattered under its own arrow, pulleys and strings snapping, metal and wood fragments scattering.

The dwarf leaped into the air, his stocky body soaring to the height of the second floor.

As he reached the peak of his jump, he drew the war hammer from his back.

“Hrrrgh!”

With a shout, he gathered his strength, veins bulging in his arms as he gripped the hammer.

At the same time, a blue sigil glowed on his forehead, the same as the gnoll warrior who had deflected ballista bolts at the front lines.

Dalen gripped his holy sword with both hands, the inner thunder resonating through the blade.

In this heightened state, time slowed once more.

In the slow-motion scene before him, he saw flames erupting from the back of the hammerhead.

Dalen’s brow furrowed slightly. A jet-powered hammer? He swung his sword horizontally, slightly taken aback.

The flaming hammer clashed with the thunderous holy sword.

Boom···!

A thunderous roar erupted in the center of the clearing. The dwarf landed several meters behind Dalen, holding a hammer with a split head.

Inside the broken hammerhead, thin chains, gears of various sizes, and oil dripped out.

The dwarf didn’t give up.

If the first and second moves failed, there was always a third.

“Haa―”

With a shout, he turned, drawing a small crossbow from his waist. The five-shot crossbow loaded itself, ready to fire.

“―Click?”

And that was the end for the dwarf.

Only his upper body turned.

His lower half, still facing forward, staggered before collapsing to its knees. The upper body toppled over, spilling its contents.

The severed lower half, too, lost its strength and fell, spilling its entrails.

“Ugh. Ughhh······.”

Blood drained away, and his vision darkened.

The dwarf gasped for breath, raising the crossbow. He couldn’t die like this.

He was a warrior and a craftsman.

The finest among the Dragon’s retinue.

This five-shot crossbow was his masterpiece, and with the explosive bolts he had smuggled, he could land a blow on that monstrous northern warrior.

“Ughhh······.”

But his fingers wouldn’t obey.

No matter how hard he tried, the trigger felt impossibly heavy.

Then a shadow fell over his upper body.

Thud.

It was the northern warrior.

“What are you doing?”

He asked. The dwarf struggled to lift his gaze.

And for a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Gasp···!”

The barbarian warrior’s form overlapped with that of a dragon.

A dragon clad in dark crimson scales.

Flames flickered from its maw, and its slit eyes gleamed as if piercing through his very being.

“Ugh, gasp···!”

To dwarves, dragons had always been creatures of terror.

The oppressive presence was akin to facing his own lord, and the dwarf’s eyes rolled back as his face twitched.

It was the last thing the dwarf saw. Soon, all the blood drained from his brain.

As his brain ceased to function, his heart stopped.

The dwarf froze, his face pale, eyes wide open in terror.

Dalen watched the scene, muttering to himself.

“···What was that?”

Did he see a hallucination before dying? Dalen thought little of it, taking the crossbow from the dwarf’s hand.

“Hmm.”

The five-shot crossbow was intricately designed.

Though relatively small, its form was familiar.

As Dalen examined the crossbow, he suddenly reached out and grasped the air.

A shadow emerged from the building’s wall, only to be caught in a powerful grip.

“Gah…!”

The shadow vanished as if washed away, leaving only a slender neck in Dalen’s hand.

The shadow elf woman, her long hair now unevenly cut, bore a glowing blue mark on her forehead and a long scar on her neck from a near-miss with an axe.

“Ugh! For Beyorn’s revenge…!”

The elf thrust a wavering sword at him, a desperate strike even as her neck was held tight.

Dalen merely flicked his fingers. The crossbow, triggered by the motion, released two bolts no thicker than a finger.

The slightly thicker-than-usual arrows pierced her skin, burrowing between muscle and bone before the tips exploded.

Thud! Crack!

A dull explosion, followed by splintering bone and flesh.

The hand holding the sword fell against his armor and dropped. The elf, now missing everything below her elbow, rolled her eyes back.

“Aaah! Die! Just die, you barbarian…!”

“Lenia—Vasak.”

Crackle!

Blue electricity surged from his grip on her neck.

The struggling elf went limp.

---

Dalen wasn’t the only one attacked.

Simultaneous assaults targeted the scattered paladins, who were spread out for reconnaissance.

Two were injured, but thankfully, there were no fatalities.

The group, composed of high-ranking knights and inquisitors, was well-prepared for unexpected attacks.

“Tsk. If I were ten years younger, I’d have cut down these scum with a single stroke.”

Second Inquisitor Domer clicked his tongue, bandages wrapped around his waist.

At his feet lay a gnoll, larger than usual, with a gaping hole in its chest.

A faint blue mark was etched on the gnoll’s forehead, the same symbol found on all the attackers.

“It’s the mark of the minions. All the attackers are servants of the Azure Dragon, Cheonglin,” Maugg said.

Hearing this, Dalen paused, his hand stroking his chin. Minions, huh? He might know something.

He waved his hand lightly, brushing the cheek of the shadow elf. The elf, who had been knocked out by the shock, awoke with a start, rolling on the ground.

“Ugh! Mmph!”

“Just a few questions.”

Dalen crouched in front of the elf.

”······.”

The elf’s eyes darted around as she awoke.

She fidgeted, testing the ropes binding her hands behind her back, her tongue working against the gag that blocked her spells.

This won’t do. Dalen grabbed her collar and pulled her to her feet.

This time, he gently touched her other cheek.

“Ugh! Gah! Ugh…”

“The attack failed. No one died. Do you think struggling with spells will change anything?”

With her jaw dislocated and the gag removed, the elf drooled blood and broken teeth as Dalen spoke softly.

The elf shook her head wildly, then began nodding. Her eyes, slightly unfocused, suggested she might finally be ready to talk.

Dalen carefully realigned her jaw and asked again.

“Just a few questions. First, how did you manage spatial transference like that dead lizard, Oxykirus?”

The shadow elf and the dwarf hadn’t just appeared from hiding.

Even Dalen, with his keen senses, only detected them moments before they revealed themselves.

Hiding in shadows wouldn’t have escaped his notice.

His gaze could easily pierce through such spells or powers.

Moreover, the familiar sensation of presence fading and then sharply reappearing was something he had experienced before.

They had used a spell similar to the spatial transference power of the Azure Dragon’s minion, Oxykirus.

“Oxykirus… ugh, created scale scrolls and offered them to Cheonglin. We used those.”

“I see. So why attack us?”

“You’re after the Holy Sword and the Key to the Rift Barrier. Isn’t it best to catch the fish before it escapes with the bait?”

Fish, huh. That rubbed him the wrong way. Dalen considered slapping her again but settled for a kick to her kneeling legs instead.

Touching her face wrong might dislocate her jaw again. She needed to be able to talk.

After the elf’s screams from her shattered knee joint subsided, Dalen asked one last question.

“Where are the Holy Sword and the Key you mentioned?”