mousepad-d2 Chapter 565: Light and Darkness, the Clash of Mechanisms and Numbers
Chapter 565: Light and Darkness, the Clash of Mechanisms and Numbers
Dark clouds rolled like a sea, thunder roaring beneath his feet.
Reinhardt shot upward, piercing layer after layer of black curtains, silver lightning slithering like snakes around him yet never touching his body, as if clearing a path for this new Fate of the Mundane.
The cloud layers thickened and darkened.
Darkness grew so dense it was nearly pitch black, only the occasional lightning split the instant into brightness, illuminating the surging cloud masses; those clouds seemed almost solid, pressing and pushing at him, yet they opened an invisible passage along his forward path.
Reinhardt knew the direction.
That voice had come from above a moment ago, cutting through all darkness and chaos like a guiding light.
He had heard a similar voice countless times — in dreams, in the depths of memory, echoing in his weakest hours — but this time was different: this time he pursued it.
At last, he passed through the final veil of cloud.
The world suddenly fell silent.
All the clamor was sealed beneath the cloud sea: the gale, the lightning, the roars of dragonkin — everything vanished the instant he pierced the last layer.It was like stepping through an invisible threshold, from one world into another.
His figure paused above the cloud sea for a moment.
His golden hair was gently lifted by the high-altitude currents, his robes fluttering; he glanced down at the clouds underfoot, a churning white ocean that hid the way he had come.
Raising his head, the view opened wide.
Sunlight poured down unimpeded, bathing a massive platform in radiance.
They were above the clouds now, below a rolling sea of white, overhead a clear blue sky. The sun was not far, its light broad, warm and fierce.
At the platform’s center lay a dragon.
Reinhardt stared.
This was the dragon that had haunted his dreams for half his life.
Yet it was more real than any statue, any painting, any image he had imagined.
The Red Iron Dragon lay coiled at the platform’s center; merely in repose he resembled a mountain cast from blazing sun and steel.
His body was sheathed in dark scales, each scale as large as a gateboard, layered over the massive frame, stretching from neck to back and down to tail, with no easily pierced weak point.
A proud, formidable posture.
Now his head was slightly bowed, and a pair of eyes fixed on Reinhardt.
Reinhardt met those eyes.
The pupils were deep black, their edges faintly rimmed with a dark red glow.
The gaze did not seem fierce or violent, only quietly observant; yet such calm scrutiny forced one to hold their breath, made them feel tiny and fragile beneath it.
Reinhardt had stared into those eyes countless times in dreams.
Each time he’d wake with that gaze still lingering, heart pounding, sweating.
But now, standing truly before them, he found the fear was not as overwhelming as he had imagined.
Or rather, the fear remained, but he could accept it; it no longer controlled him.
A faint sound of scales rubbing together stirred.
The Red Iron Dragon lifted his head slowly, his neck curving into a powerful arc.
That simple movement seemed to freeze the air.
A king.
Those two words surfaced in Reinhardt’s mind.
Not a ruler built by power, by armies, by ceremonial pomp.
Such rulers need rituals, pageantry, countless people prostrating at their feet to declare their status.
This presence needed none of that.
He seemed born to reign — not because he desired dominion, but because his very existence drew people to follow, like the sun needing no proof of being the sun.
Scarlet Emperor Cangxing.
The Undying Dragon, founder of the Aola Kingdom.
Reinhardt’s hands trembled slightly, his breathing heavier — not merely from fear, but from something else he couldn’t name.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, calming the churning emotions.
Then he landed at the platform’s edge, rearranged the wind-tousled robes, and stepped forward.
His pace was measured and steady, each step firm; his golden hair floated in the wind, his back straight as a blade, his features freed from weariness and sorrow.
When he reached a certain distance, he stopped.
From here he could see the scale details more clearly: shallow cracks, long healed but still visible; flashes within the dragon pupils like lightning deep in a cloud, always fleeting.
Reinhardt bowed slightly in a human salute.
It was the most solemn courtesy of the Theo Kingdom, typically used only when meeting the monarch, and only in formal, important moments.
His movement was not perfectly practiced, even a bit stiff — he had not performed such a salute in a long time.
“Thank you for granting an audience, Your Majesty.”
he said. “I am Reinhardt of Theo. I dare intrude upon Your Majesty’s dragon court and your subjects’ peace. I beg pardon.”
He paused, then continued,
“I also thank Your Majesty for accepting my challenge.”
His tone was respectful, neither servile nor arrogant.
Not meek terror, nor the swagger of a brazen challenger; like a common visitor politely apologizing and expressing gratitude to an honored host.
The dragon did not speak.
He watched Reinhardt quietly, his gaze lingering on the human for a few seconds, as if evaluating an intriguing specimen.
A low wind swept between them, whistling along the edges of the dragon’s scales, ruffling the golden hair of the dragon might; the cloud sea churned beneath them, sunlight pouring from below and gilding the platform.
After a long while, the Red Iron Dragon spoke.
“I saw your performance below.”
His voice rumbled and deep, like sound from the deep earth or falling from a sky-height, every word weighted, vibrating through the air and making chests tingle.
“Entering Fate in this manner is novel.”
Reinhardt listened quietly, not interrupting.
“And I know you,” the Red Iron Dragon continued. “I watched that battle back then.”
Reinhardt’s heart gave a small jump.
The dragon said, “Once you were the Light of Theo, entrusted with great hope. My claws did not kill you. They left you alive to grow.”
He had known this.
The eyes he’d glimpsed in desperation before were no dying mirage.
Reinhardt inclined his head slightly, and smiled.
“Your Majesty judges rightly,” he said. “I am grateful your servants spared me then, allowing me to see more of the world and giving me this chance to stand before you. Falling into the abyss was painful, but it taught me much.”
The great dragon lowered his gaze, still fixed on him, and spoke unhurriedly.
“You chose a poor time.”
The tone was even, like practical counsel. “You should have come when I had just awakened and was weak. While I had not fully recovered, join with other legendaries and besiege me.”
“Back then, you and others might have had a chance.”
Reinhardt shook his head gently.
“I was in the Scarlet Emperor Capital the day you awakened.”
he said. “I felt the aftershocks of that battle from afar. I could sense your power returning, the attackers struggling, and I could also sense... the outcome.”
He lifted his head, meeting the dragon’s eyes calmly.
“But I did not go.”
“Why?” the dragon asked.
“Because I knew they could not win,” Reinhardt replied. “Even if Your Majesty had just awakened, they could not win. At that time I had not yet entered Fate, but I could already see that point. Those legendaries... they thought they were hunters, but actually they were the prey.”
“And, most importantly, what I wanted was never a victory won by preying on the weak, nor a lucky win in an ambush.”
Reinhardt paused slightly.
He looked up at the Red Iron Dragon, a fire kindling in his gaze.
“What I wanted was to face you alone.”
“Directly.”
“Honestly.”
He spoke each word: “No schemes, no traps, no borrowed strength.”
“Just me, standing before you, looking into your eyes, then challenging you — not to kill you, not to prove anything but to... complete this task, to complete what I must do.”
A brief silence fell across the platform.
The Red Iron Dragon looked at him, something new seeming to appear in his gaze.
“Ha...” he laughed.
The sound rolled like distant thunder, deep and resonant, vibrating from his chest for several seconds before it faded into the high-altitude winds and dissolved above the cloud sea.
He let the laughter die, then fixed his gaze on Reinhardt.
“I laid waste to your kingdom.”
“You wandered for years suffering everything, once the Light of Theo now a homeless exile, a gifted talent turned fugitive. You have known much despair and pain.”
“And now you ask for a knightly duel?”
Reinhardt did not avert his eyes.
“Because I harbor no true hatred for Your Majesty.”
he replied.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“After I returned to Atlan, the first place I visited was Theo.”
Reinhardt continued: “I wanted to see what had become of my homeland, to see what it turned into. I thought it would be ruins, oppressed people, a wasteland. But when I stood in Theo’s streets and watched people go about their day, I realized things were not as I had imagined.”
He paused, then spoke again.
“I once thought you destroyed my country, destroyed everything I loved, but when I stood in Theo’s streets I found they were living well.”
“Today’s Theo is more prosperous and stronger than at any point in its history.”
His voice quietened as he went on: “The Twin-Ao War was not simply about right or wrong.”
“Two kingdoms clashing for survival, for development, for their own interests — the reasons for war are many, but at root it was because we blocked your path and you blocked ours.”
“And crucially, after Aola won, you did not enslave the people of Theo.”
“You... made Theo part of Aola, allowed it to continue to grow and prosper, and even preserved the name Theo so the Theo people could remain Theo.”
Reinhardt drew a deep breath.
“Seeing a flourishing Theo, I realized I hated not you, but the me back then: the one entrusted with hope who couldn’t protect his kingdom.”
When he finished, silence returned to the platform.
The wind rose, stirring Reinhardt’s hair and the hem of his gray cloak; the cloud sea rolled beneath them, sometimes sending up waves of vapor that fell back slowly.
The Red Iron Dragon listened quietly, Reinhardt’s reflection mirrored in his eyes.
Then he asked, “No hatred — why are you here?”
Reinhardt took a long breath.
“To confront my past.”
he said.
“Something has gnawed at me most of my life, grew roots and became like a beast inside me, torturing me day and night. No matter where I ran or what I did, it watched me and reminded me: you are a failure; you could not save your kingdom; you disappointed everyone.”
His voice trembled slightly, but he kept going.
“I have thought and thought. Only by fighting you can I truly let it go.”
He bowed again.
“I know this request is selfish. Your Majesty has no obligation to grant my private wish, no reason to waste time on my relief. But if you will give me this chance, Reinhardt will be forever grateful.”
“Even if I die beneath your claws, I will have no regret.”
The wind strengthened, making his cloak snap.
Sunlight revealed the sharper lines of his young face, a calm born of hardship visible around his brows and eyes.
The Red Iron Dragon appraised him, then slowly nodded.
“Very well.”
“I will give you this chance. But you must satisfy me.”
“If you came only to die, that would be dull. Show me your full skill. Show me how you have grown these years.”
Reinhardt inclined himself deeply.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
he said. “I will give everything. I will not disappoint you or myself.”
The Red Iron Dragon was silent.
He lifted his head slightly, and his right foreclaw traced a gentle arc in the air.
With a tearing hiss, space split.
A pitch-black rift opened between them, its edges flickering with faint silver light, like some power sustaining it.
Beyond lay another space.
Through the crack, Reinhardt glimpsed a barren land, a gray sky, and distant mountain outlines.
“Follow me.”
the Red Iron Dragon said.
He turned toward the spatial rift, his massive head slipping into the dimness first, then neck, foreclaw, until his whole body vanished within.
If it had been another, they might hesitate, suspecting a trap; Reinhardt did not.
He had come determined.
Whatever waited across, whatever lay in store, he would go.
He stepped into the rift behind the dragon.
His figure disappeared into the gloom.
The rift sealed behind him and vanished; the platform regained its silence, only wind and sunlight over the cloud sea remained.
At the same time, Reinhardt felt the light around him warp for a beat and then normalize.
The scene before him had transformed.
He stood on hard ground beneath his feet.
Gray-brown earth, cracked and dry, strewn with pebbles.
Deep gullies and huge pits scarred the land, as if meteor strikes or giant beasts had plowed it repeatedly.
Distant mountain ridges were blurred, shrouded in haze; the sky was a uniform gray — no sun, no clouds, only dullness.
Light seemed to radiate from nowhere, yet was enough to reveal everything.
Clearly an isolated small world.
Desolate, silent, cut off — a perfect battlefield.
The Red Iron Dragon stood not far off on relatively even ground, watching Reinhardt and waiting for his readiness.
Reinhardt drew a measured breath, feeling the air and atmosphere there.
He raised his head toward the dragon and then spread his arms.
Buzz!
A light and a darkness rose from his palms, solidifying and extending into two massive swords seemingly forged of radiance, each nearly his height — one white, one black — already extraordinary in presence.
Such great swords would normally be gripped with both hands by a human swordsman.
Reinhardt wielded one in each hand.
“Dawn and Evernight — these are the two legendary swords’ names.”
he said, waving them fluidly as if they were extensions of his arms, continuing:
“I found them by luck in a desert ruin. They were not strong at first, but because they resonate with my domain, as I grew they sharpened, and now they are almost part of me.”
He paused then met the Red Iron Dragon’s eyes.
“Your Majesty, I am ready.”
Reinhardt sank slightly, the great swords held in front and behind, assuming a battle stance.
“Come, entertain me,” the dragon murmured.
Reinhardt moved.
He did not charge or sprint.
The instant words fell, his form blurred as if someone erased him from his spot; he vanished into thin air.
At the same time, a viscous darkness detonated from where he had stood.
Like ink dropped in clear water, it spread with terrifying speed in all directions.
The boundless blackness instantly engulfed the Red Iron Dragon.
This darkness possessed a special force.
It swallowed light, devoured sound, erased perception.
The world in the dragon’s sight condensed to a tiny circle, the rest an absolute, touchless black; the ground within arm’s reach was unseen.
He looked down at his claws — the outline of his scales had vanished into the dark.
Sound disappeared in the dark.
Not only outside noise, but even the dragon’s breathing could not be heard; heartbeat was unrecoverable, as if the world had been drained, leaving pure absence.
More strangely, his instincts.
The battle-honed fighting instinct and the Battle Dragon’s keen intuition sent scrambled signals.
One moment pointing left, then right, sometimes behind.
As if every direction held a deadly threat closing in.
Great Dark Heaven.
In days and nights of torment, Reinhardt had wanted to vanish and flee; thus when he ascended to Fate he comprehended this dark domain and learned to blend into the vast shadow, soundless and unseen.
When he first rose to legendary as a youth, he had limited experience.
He relied on talent and training, his domain traits pedestrian, once suffering a crushing defeat to centaurs at equal rank.
He thought that result normal then: youthful arrogance, narrow perspective, ignorance of difference.
Now it was different.
On the path after him there had been countless life-or-death crossings, facing innumerable dangers. Each step was over thorns, weathered by storms and snow.
In Arotala he had fought orcs.
A foe of higher rank with a Fury Curse — the fight was hard.
Orcs are warriors; though not matching dragons or giants by size, among many races they are formidable.
He won, and with not too great a cost.
Meanwhile, Reinhardt stayed hidden in the dark.
As the darkness spread, a vast dragon might radiated from the Red Iron Dragon.
Lightning and aura swelled; his already enormous body grew by leaps.
Bones thundered within, muscles bulged, scales expanded; his head, tail and length finally exceeded a hundred meters; claws sharpened; spines along the back jutted up one by one, each glinting metallic.
In an instant he became a three-headed, six-armed colossus.
Beyond size, his roaring electric flames harmonized and unified, briefly forming a rounded sphere centered on him: lightning and aura interwove without repelling, becoming a perfect whole.
The Cangxing Form.
Evocation, Bloodburst, Red Lotus — the external spectacle when Garoth unified these three states inspired the name from his epithet.
In this form his crown-level body radiated a might comparable to Fate itself.
Dragon might swept the air.
Yet the darkness did not ripple at all from that might.
It seemed to possess a will of its own, unmoved by anything external.
The three heads lowered; six eyes simultaneously flashed the True Eye.
Eyes that could pierce space, see through disguises, and detect illusion — yet now could only perceive a few hundred meters. Beyond that was absolute black, nothing could be seen or sensed.
“A neat trick.”
the Red Iron Dragon said.
His voice merged into the dark without echo.
Suddenly, the scales along his back rose a little.
Instinct blared a strong danger alarm.
This time the sense pointed clearly: behind.
The Red Iron Dragon spun, wings unfurling, claws lifting to strike the sensed spot.
The blow struck with tremendous force, tearing the dark shroud and letting light through; the surrounding black surged back and quickly filled it.
The strike hit nothing.
At that moment the pitch-black Evernight sword seemed to grow from the darkness itself, silently appearing behind the colossal dragon.
It condensed a long blade of light and aimed at the dragon’s back heart.
In that instant Reinhardt’s outline also flickered into being.
His expression was focused and cold, sword hilt clenched, the blade piercing the scale.
Garoth reacted with incredible speed.
The left head turned and opened wide, spewing Dragon Breath.
Its glow only lit a brief area in the dark before being swallowed; in that flash it revealed no sign of Reinhardt.
He had already vanished, Evernight vanishing with him into the shadow, leaving only a deep wound in the dragon’s flesh.
Dragon blood gushed from the wound, burning into a dark red aura in the black like a flower blooming in shadow.
The damage was not severe.
Though not shallow, the area was small and healed in a blink.
As if the health bar dropped by a ten-thousandth and instantly refilled.
What alerted the Red Iron Dragon was not the shallow wound but that he had not felt the strike coming.
His instinct gave no warning; perception captured no anomaly, as if the sword had never existed — only a phantom.
That meant this darkness could deceive even his intuition.
And although the wound healed quickly, a jet-black sword scar remained, a shallow mark along the scales’ surface.
Before Garoth could dwell on it, a second strike came from the side.
This time it was Dawn.
A white blade flowed from the dark, its sanctified radiance illuminating Reinhardt’s face; as he appeared, the dragon’s sweeping paw struck.
That claw moved with unbelievable speed.
Its tip tore the space, leaving deep rifts in the dark domain; each rift radiated the chaotic scent of space and domain rupture.
Dawn’s trajectory did not deviate.
Reinhardt used Evernight to parry.
Darkness clung to the Evernight blade forming a near-solid barrier.
When blade met claw, the barrier shattered.
Sparks flew, the metallic wail of steel extinguished in the dark and barely traveled.
A massive force surged through the sword, blanching Reinhardt’s face; his arm went numb, and he was sent flying backward. Mid-flight he re-entered the dark and seemed swallowed, vanishing.
At the same time, Dawn’s blade grazed the Red Iron Dragon’s forearm, leaving a scar.
As before, the mark healed in an instant.
But like before, a white sword scar remained, echoing the earlier black one.
Reinhardt reappeared, but did not immediately press the attack; instead he raised both swords and slashed at empty air.
No blade surged — a feint.
The Red Iron Dragon’s gaze tightened; he sensed something off.
The black wound at his back and the white mark on his arm brightened together.
In the next heartbeat an arc of light shot from the two scars like lightning, extending along the dragon’s body until the two arcs met.
The arc did not run straight; it traced a special trajectory, cutting through scale, muscle, bone...
A horrific, snaking, giant sword mark opened across the Red Iron Dragon’s body.
It was not a simple slashing wound but an erasure, ignoring defenses and slicing straight through the beast from back-heart to forearm.
This was Reinhardt’s crown-level ultimate.
Terminus Arc.
By concentrating power into both blades to leave light-and-dark marks, when both marks exist the arc can trigger: the final arc of force strolls along the shortest path between marks, ignoring defense and inflicting true damage.
Terminus Arc alone could not have caused so much harm.
Reinhardt’s trait also contributed.
Spine-Breaking Resolve.
You once had your backbone broken and fell into the abyss but never truly despaired; when facing an opponent with attributes higher than yours you deal extra damage — the greater the gap, the greater the damage.
This is a fang honed from suffering, a force grown from desperation.
The dragon felt the wound deeply.
The slash was deep enough to almost sever him diagonally from back to forearm.
Yet the wound healed visibly: muscle reconnected, vessels rejoined, scales regrew.
On Garoth, Rapid Regeneration and Unending Regeneration had not fundamentally changed, but after crown-level ascendancy they had strengthened.
Reinhardt descended from the sky.
The two swords merged as he spun down like a black-and-white meteor.
Evernight before, Dawn behind.
Both swung in tandem, carving two arcs which converged into one.
Garoth did not even lift his head.
He curled his wings like twin shields and struck upward with them.
The sheer wind pressure lifted Reinhardt’s hair and rent his robes.
The dragon unfurled his domain offensively; without domain shielding, a direct wing-blow would likely be instantly lethal.
Reinhardt blinked out of sight.
The next second he emerged from the darkness before the dragon.
Blades condensed into razor light; Evernight aimed for the neck while Dawn thrust for the heart — nearly simultaneous.
The dragon’s six arms converged with breath and claws from all directions.
If any hit, it would pulverize any legendary human.
But Reinhardt did not evade.
He charged forward as if to be gone with him.
Garoth did not retreat either.
The swords cut across the dragon’s neck and pierced his heart; the claws closed, engulfing the human body.
Terminus Arc and Spine-Breaking Resolve ignited again.
A burst of sword light erased scales and flesh, leaving a terrifying wound from heart to neck.
It brightened from the front and shined through from the back, nearly tearing the dragon’s upper torso apart.
In the past, the dragon’s Master Life and Death would have probably triggered.
It’s one of his survival skills, locking his last breath to reverse life and death when suffering fatal wounds.
Now, aside from a slight tremor, he showed few reactions.
His wounds flared with bloodflame and healed fast.
Meanwhile, Garoth’s claw felt a snap.
“Is that all?”
Garoth thought.
He believed Reinhardt would not die so easily.
As expected, the dark domain remained.
From the darkness, a figure condensed inch by inch.
Reinhardt reappeared, and the object in Garoth’s claw was only a dark mass fading — a substitute formed from Great Dark Heaven, a body made of shadow that took the deadly blow for him when he suffered lethal damage.
Nine Lives of Fortune.
Within his domain, when hit by fatal damage he becomes immune; in a single battle this can trigger at most nine times.
“Not bad.”
the dragon murmured.
“How many times can you sacrifice yourself like that? If you did a hundred more times, perhaps you could kill me.”
To Garoth this no longer constituted a fatal wound; the strike likely cost him about one percent of his life, and it was already recovering.
Reinhardt managed a wry smile.
“Your Majesty’s vitality is astonishing.”
he said.
A hundred more times? He couldn’t afford that.
Nine Lives only triggers nine times, and he could not sustain such high-intensity combat that many times; each Terminus Arc drained huge energy.
Reinhardt also saw something else: attacking critical points seemed pointless.
Heart, skull, neck — lethal parts for normal creatures — were no longer weak on the Red Iron Dragon.
After his crown-level ascension the Red Emperor became even less vulnerable.
Would he need to be completely pulverized to die?
Reinhardt inhaled deeply and stopped overthinking; he began to flicker through the dark with rapid teleports.
He moved like a phantom, appearing unpredictably: atop the dragon’s heads, beneath his belly, behind his wings — each appearance accompanied by a slash.
Dawn and Evernight carved countless dangerous arcs through the darkness.
Across from him every body part — forelimb, head, wing, tail — were lethal weapons; one hit and Reinhardt’s Nine Lives might be spent.
Yet this dark domain was extraordinary.
The dragon’s senses and intuition were deceived; his visible range remained narrow.
Reinhardt’s strikes were lightning-fast and elusive, always finding tiny gaps in his defense. The spaces were small and fleeting, but under Great Dark Heaven’s cover they sufficed for a strike.
Ribcage, shoulder blade, spines, back...
Marks accumulated.
Each slash left a light or dark trace; then a Terminus Arc flickered, leaving a large scar intersecting across the dragon.
Dragon blood burned silently in the dark.
But every wound healed.
Each new injury formed just as the older one closed and healed.
Reinhardt reappeared again.
He thrust both swords: Evernight drawing attention while Dawn waited in shadow, Evernight lunging at the left eye; Dawn concealed behind, seeking the fatal chance.
The dragon’s claw answered, reaching for him.
Reinhardt blinked in midair and reappeared from another patch of darkness; his form was like a specter, forever dodging the dragon’s strikes.
Yet the dragon’s tail lashed out with uncanny prescience.
The once-misled instinct had quietly recovered.
Reinhardt was startled.
Facing a tail already within arm’s reach, he only had time to cross the swords to defend.
The tremendous force rolled him in the dark; blood spilled from his mouth.
The tail’s power transmitted through the sword into his arms, shoulder and organs — all his viscera churned — but while tumbling he still thrust a blow. Dawn’s blade slashed the tail scales, leaving a white mark.
Simultaneously, the dragon’s claws struck.
Before his flying silhouette vanished into shadow he was seized.
Reinhardt could not escape.
The dragon’s claws grasped his entire body and tightened.
The talons bound him like iron hoops around arms and torso; his bones creaked as if about to snap.
He did not struggle; he tightened his grip on the sword and poured strength into Evernight, stabbing through the dragon’s claw heart.
From claw to tail.
In an instant, arcs of light sprang from marks at the claw and tail, tracing the shortest path and connecting them — ripping scales and muscle along the way.
Reinhardt reformed from the dark.
His face was pale, blood at the mouth, yet eyes razor-focused.
One more Nine Lives consumed; he had seven left.
No time to breathe; he attacked again.
Combat within the dark domain was silent.
Everything swallowed by shadow, like a pantomime — only the occasional arc light and bloodflame revealed the ferocity.
As time passed, they fought in the stillness.
Reinhardt’s elusive strikes and frequent Terminus Arcs left wound after wound intersecting on the dragon.
Garoth’s counterstrikes grew fiercer and more precise.
He seized two opportunities, slamming with wing and head, each hit forcing Reinhardt to pay heavy costs as Nine Lives dwindled rapidly.
Not long after, the dragon’s breathing remained steady.
He scanned the blackness; his sight reached only dense dark.
Though he had adapted and could see more than before, his senses remained impaired.
“If there are more tricks, show them quickly.”
he said. “I grow bored with these.”
As he spoke golden flames surged from the seams of every scale, enveloping his whole body.
It was as if a burning sun manifested within him.
The brilliance was too dazzling, too fierce; layer by layer it pushed back the dark.
At the same time he raised six dragon arms, claws spread.
Dragonqi bombs began to congeal.
Each orb was like a miniature sun in his palm, radiating scorching light and destructive force, stripping the dark and revealing human silhouettes.
Reinhardt sensed the impending power.
He instinctively backed into shadow.
But this time darkness would not protect him.
Garoth’s six arms thrust together.
Dragonqi orbs expanded and erupted in golden coronas, trailing incandescent tails, carving brilliant arcs across the dark domain.
The light shook the entire domain.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Golden radiance piled in waves, each tearing the thick dark into countless rents.
Each tear widened, revealing more black’s interior.
The dark tried to close, but before one seam sealed, another dragonqi blast exploded and tore it further.
Reinhardt’s figure was fully exposed; nowhere left to hide.
He stood in the open, face grim.
He felt his dark domain collapsing, forced apart by nearly endless light.
He made a snap decision.
The dark contracted.
The thick black smothering the land seemed gripped by an invisible hand and rushed back toward Reinhardt’s body. The once-omnipresent darkness vanished within several breaths.
Then light bloomed from his chest.
This was a force wholly different from the prior darkness.
Warm, intense, with a comfort that reassured.
A Radiant Domain.
Reinhardt had not fully surrendered to the darkness forged from torment. Upon ascending to Fate, a light within him shone and illuminated the dark, forming this Radiant Domain.
Light poured from his chest through the layers of dark as if dawn finally arrived after a long night.
It did not spread wildly like the darkness had.
The Radiant Domain clung closely, forming a luminous membrane across his body, enveloping him like a fallen star among men.
Reinhardt twisted and dodged within the Dragonqi blast.
With his domain’s augment, his speed exceeded before; his form left countless afterimages in golden light.
The dragonqi orbs were too dense and their blasts too large to fully avoid.
But when the sunlike brilliance first swept in, his Radiant Domain absorbed and converted the light into a sturdier defense; the membrane shone brighter at the moment of impact, like a shield repelling heat and explosion.
He moved like a bird through a storm.
Lightning brushed him, scorching winds grazed past but did not truly touch him; residual shocks struck and were mostly neutralized by the Radiant Domain, the remainder unable to threaten him significantly.
After a moment Garoth narrowed his eyes and stopped the dragonqi barrage.
If he continued, Explosive Qi could not be halted and Shining Form would trigger — he had no desire to reach that threshold now.
The golden flare dimmed, returning to normal; the flames from scale seams ebbed and the surrounding temperature dropped.
The dark dispersed and golden light faded, replaced by a white world.
Reinhardt unveiled the Radiant Domain.
The sky turned silver-white and the ground shone as well; even the air was filled with motes of light.
Countless dust motes drifted like tiny fireflies, illuminating everything; unlike the dark domain, here every scale and pebble could be seen clearly.
But clarity did not mean safety.
The motes began converging onto the dragon.
As if drawn by some force, they floated toward his body, clinging to his scales and coalescing into patches of light.
At first the spots were faint, but as more dust accumulated they brightened.
Simultaneously, Reinhardt vanished into the brilliance.
Not by shadow-teleportation this time.
He relied on extreme speed; within the Radiant Domain his attributes were comprehensively enhanced.
Moreover, injuries from earlier shocks quickly mended.
Torn muscle, bruised organs, ruptured vessels — all healed rapidly under the Radiant Domain’s glow. His pale face regained color, his weary body refilled with strength.
This Radiant Domain also had healing properties.
Clang!
Blade met claw, spraying tiny fragments of light like ephemeral fireworks.
Man and dragon engaged in near-full frontal combat.
Reinhardt danced on the edge of life, seizing gaps between claws, finding breathing spaces between breath and tail.
Evading one blow, Evernight and Dawn alternately struck the dragon.
Light motes formed marks on his scales.
Accumulated dust adhered to the scales and, over time, produced visible marks of light.
Combined with the sword-inflicted traces, three marks now existed.
One dark and two white, conspicuous upon his vast body.
Rend!
Two arcs formed between the marks, cutting into flesh despite defense like invisible blades, slicing through scale, muscle, and bone.
A long wound ran from shoulder to chest.
Before dragon blood rose, a second arc lit beneath the ribs, extending to the back; the two scars crossed, leaving a massive cross on the dragon’s flank.
Reinhardt struck and retreated a kilometer.
His breath steadier than expected; his grip did not falter. Continuous attacks had drained much energy, but with Radiant Domain support his condition held.
Suddenly the dragon fixed his gaze on him.
Boom!
A mid-sized dragonqi orb formed out of nowhere and detonated, swallowing Reinhardt almost without warning.
Luckily a premonition rose in him, saving his life; at the blast’s instant he wrapped both swords as a shield of blade-light, splitting and cutting the fiery explosion.
Flames rolled past the shield’s sides, igniting scorched earth behind him.
But at that moment the spiked tail whipped forward.
The shield, already cracked, collapsed.
The tail’s power surged through the shattered barrier and smashed Reinhardt with mountain-like force.
The Radiant Domain’s healing could not fully activate.
His body was torn apart into splinters of light and forced into Nine Lives.
Reinhardt reformed.
One more fatal-immunity used.
The Radiant Domain shrank.
He gripped the blades; darkness flowed from his feet and spread, swallowing Garoth anew.
But this time it differed from before.
After darkness came light.
Wave upon wave, dark and light alternated, seamlessly switching domains.
Darkness fell, and next second radiance blossomed; before the light faded, dark returned.
Two opposing powers rose and fell like tides.
Clearly Reinhardt was growing through combat.
He had only just attained Fate; his Fate powers were raw, but he was becoming familiar.
His form vanished amidst rolling black; a moment later he appeared to the dragon’s left, Evernight slicing a black mark beneath the ribs.
Garoth’s claws snapped; light burst and Reinhardt’s speed soared, dodging the strike and momentarily manifesting behind the dragon to bring Dawn down on the spine — a white mark.
Light and dark, two marks.
Not only two.
During domain interplay marks gathered on the dragon.
Dust and dark mist drifted and naturally adhered to scales, forming bright or dim marks.
Terminus Arc sparked between marks along shortest paths.
One, two, three, four... marks multiplied.
Reinhardt’s dark domain had learned to coalesce marks too — a new Fate technique he had barely mastered.
Terminus Arcs wove a net across the dragon’s scales, leaving intersecting scars. Gradually the newly adept Fate user seemed to seize the upper hand.
Then the dragon’s claws ripped through the dark and lunged.
Speed shattered previous limits, as if time was crossed.
Reinhardt barely reacted before the claw struck, his body shattered and scattered only to reappear elsewhere.
He looked at Garoth, at the wounds crisscrossing the dragon, eyes grave.
The previously penetrative damage now faltered.
Terminus Arc’s true damage weakened.
Not because Reinhardt had grown weaker — his power barely diminished — but because Garoth’s body had altered, reducing even true damage. Spine-Breaking Resolve’s bonus could not keep pace with that change.
He wasted no time and rushed the dragon.
Garoth could regenerate.
If Reinhardt did not press more damage soon, his previous efforts would be undone by the dragon’s astounding recovery.
Light and dark flashed around him.
Each switch accompanied a slash; each slash left a mark; each mark birthed an arc.
He threaded between claws and fangs, between breath and tail.
He grew more familiar with his nascent Fate power; his attacks became denser and faster, his whole being a storm of light and dark engulfing the dragon.
But the harder he pushed, the more he felt the dragon’s invincibility.
Like an insurmountable mountain, nothing he did moved it.
The darkness that once deceived his instinct now merely slowed him slightly.
Arcs that had once cut through scales now left only shallow marks.
Exhaustion settled in.
His strength was not infinite.
Rapid domain switching could concentrate marks faster but consumed power faster; Garoth was no passive target — any connecting counterstrike might kill him.
He had already triggered Nine Lives nine times.
The final trigger came as the dragon’s claw shattered half his body.
He reformed in the light, pale as paper.
His Radiant Domain flickered to a thin film about his skin, as if a candle on the verge of extinguishing; the dark domain could barely muster a wisp at his feet, barely sustaining the last shape.
“One more hit and I am truly dead,” Reinhardt thought.
His sword grip trembled; arms quivered; breathing quick and labored. Yet his eyes remained sharp — he had resolved to die if must be.
He retracted both domains, closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Swords crossed before him.
Dawn and Evernight — light and dark — awoke simultaneously within him.
They no longer alternated — they coexisted like parallel rivers running through his body.
His eyes lit.
Black and white beams shot from his pupils, pure and untainted, deep enough to consume and bright enough to illuminate.
Reinhardt raised both swords.
The radiance on Dawn intensified into a blazing sphere of light. Blade light extended into a pillar stretching hundreds of meters from the tip — a condensed column bright enough to sear sight.
Evernight absorbed surrounding light, growing darker and deeper until it became a solidified black rift. Its blade light extended too, a hundred-meter-long void where no light could linger.
This was the Fate ascendance’s refined trait.
Nine Lives of Fortune: after consuming nine fatal damage immunities, you may gather all remaining domain power to briefly strengthen your weapons into Judgement Lightblade and Great Dark Blade; all slashes carry Terminus Arc and ignore defense.
This was his last trump card after nine deaths — the sole counterstrike.
Two massive sword beams, each hundreds of meters long.
One light, one dark.
“Your Majesty, be careful.”
At those words Reinhardt stepped forward, his figure vanishing and leaving a fading afterimage.
In the next moment he stood before the dragon.
Both blades struck.
Hundreds-of-meters-long sword beams shredded the sky, each carrying the Terminus Arc. Light and dark collided along the blades.
Garoth’s eyes narrowed.
“After damage and recovery, I’ve probably lost roughly twenty percent of my life...”
“Yes, be a bit cautious.”
Thinking so, he erupted with Qi again.
Golden flames shot upward like lava from a volcano, spouting from his scales’ seams.
Dragonqi surged and shaped in his claws, compressing and condensing.
From gas to liquid to solid.
Not a Dragonqi orb this time, but Dragon Spears.
Six spears formed from golden Dragonqi, each longer than Reinhardt’s swords; their tips sharp enough to pierce space itself, shafts etched with golden patterns exuding suffocating pressure.
He swung all six simultaneously.
Boom!
When sword beams met dragon spears, the world seemed to lose sound.
Golden flame, dazzling light, and deep darkness tangled, exploded, and entwined around the collision, forming a vortex nearly a thousand meters across that drew everything in.
The ground uprooted, debris pulverized; the air compressed into a physical shockwave spreading in all directions.
Residual sword light and flame arcs struck mountain tops, shaving them and exposing raw stone; huge pits were flattened then re-exploded by subsequent blasts.
The battlefield was mangled as if by an invisible hand.
Reinhardt’s swords began to crumble.
The first spear shattered beneath his blade; golden shards scattered.
The second also splintered into points of light.
Third, fourth, fifth... dragon spears fractured with each collision, while his palms were torn from repeated shocks; the web between thumb and index split, blood dripping down the hilt.
In the white-hot clash his body reeled.
Worse, Garoth’s Dragonqi seemed endless.
Just as a spear broke, another condensed.
As long as Garoth breathed, the Dragonqi wouldn’t exhaust; Reinhardt’s strikes failed to land on his body, each one intercepted by spears.
Finally, with a swing of a dragon arm, spears came down in a head-on barrage.
Reinhardt’s face went ash-white; he gritted his teeth and unleashed Judgement Lightblade and Great Dark Blade together.
Crack! Crack!
They stopped the attack, but the domain-formed sword beams shattered into fragments.
Reinhardt felt as if struck by lightning and plunged toward the earth, crashing like a meteor and gouging a deep pit in hard ground.
His robes were torn, exposing a body crisscrossed with wounds.
These were from residual impacts.
The swords, reverted to normal, fell among rubble; their light barely flickered now.
The ground trembled.
The Red Iron Dragon folded his wings and stood over Reinhardt, his massive form casting a shadow that swallowed the human.
Reinhardt forced his eyes open and looked up into the dragon’s gaze.
In a similar moment long ago he had seen a pair of indifferent vertical pupils that haunted him; now it was different.
He lay back and opened his arms, feeling no pain, only peace.
The fears that had tormented him for years — the nightmares that robbed his sleep, the shadows that drove him to Arotala — faded in that instant.
He could finally face those eyes calmly.
“I lost.”
“I failed to entertain Your Majesty. I apologize.”
He smiled weakly and spoke haltingly.
Though the fight had been fierce and he had inflicted great damage, he could clearly feel that Garoth had not used his absolute strength.
A Fate rank humbled by a crown-level...
Yet Reinhardt found it unsurprising.
From the start he had not believed he could win.
His life had lived largely in the dragon’s shadow.
Even fleeing to Arotala, while hiding he could not help but hear the dragon’s deeds, stories that sounded like legends.
On one hand he feared it — those tales were mountains pressing on his chest.
On the other hand he felt it should be so and even marveled.
The dragon’s power exceeded reason and imagination, like someone born to stand where others cannot reach.
Within this conflict, the dragon became for him both dread and demon, pursuit target and, in a way, support.
In many self-destructive adventures chasing danger, he faced utter desperation and wanted to give up.
But under the cool stare of those eyes he had borne through, growing stronger.
“Hmm, not entirely satisfying, but good.”
Garoth said slowly.
He had not used Wild State or Shining Form; Master Life and Death and Rage Without Fear of Death had not been triggered. Still, the battle had been intense: two Qi eruptions; another would inevitably force Shining Form.
If pressed enough to use Shining Form, he would kill Reinhardt without hesitation.
For now...
Garoth’s gaze narrowed as he looked at the human before him.
Reinhardt bowed slightly and offered a faint smile.
“That’s fine.”
He hesitated, then said: “Please give me an ending.”
Having spoken, Reinhardt stared at the gray sky awaiting final death.
A dragon claw descended, blocking all sight and pressing down; Reinhardt made no movement, letting it enclose him, darkness swallowing him.
But the death he expected did not come.
He felt a bump, then slowly opened his eyes.
Sunlight poured overhead onto him.
A clean wind howled past, carrying dampness from deep in the clouds; it lifted his hair. The wind was cold but the sun warm — two sensations interwoven as his consciousness cleared.
Feeling this, Reinhardt inclined his head faintly.
Clang!
The two great swords were thrown at his feet.
Dawn and Evernight lay on the metal platform with crisp metallic notes.
They rested within his reach as if waiting for him to pick them up; though their light was dim, it still shimmered.
“If you’re not dead yet, stand.”
A familiar voice sounded.
The Red Emperor stood at the platform’s center, his form returned to non-battle normalcy.
He no longer bore the ferocity of three heads and six arms, only a single dragon shape, still dignified, head bowed a little as he looked down.
Reinhardt grabbed the hilt.
He pushed up on his sword and rose, stumbling as his spine straightened — first waist, then back, finally neck.
He raised his head to face the dragon.
“Why... did you not kill me?”
he asked, puzzled.
The Red Iron Dragon asked in turn, “If you had won, would you have killed me?”
Reinhardt was taken aback for a moment.
Frankly, he had never considered that question.
From the challenge’s start he had not expected to win.
He had prepared for failure; he had not even considered victory as possible.
Wind passed between them with cloud-borne chill.
Reinhardt looked at his sword and reflected.
“No.”
A few seconds later he raised his head and said:
“Your Majesty’s presence allows Theo to prosper.”
“If you exist a day longer, Atlan will not be easily swallowed by demons.”
“When I was in Arotala I saw what a continent becomes without a ruler. If Your Majesty died, Atlan could become a second Arotala — perhaps worse.”
Reinhardt remembered being praised in youth as comparable to a former Holy King.
He had grown a little proud then, truly thinking himself chosen to lead Theo to glory.
But now he knew clearly.
Though talented, he was slow in many matters, ignorant in many governance arts.
He did not understand how to rule a nation, balance factions, or keep a kingdom safe during turmoil.
He was no cornerstone, no savior.
Garoth’s lips twitched into something like a smile.
“People call me Fate’s savior, protector of the races, the harsh father to demons... and many other titles.”
He paused; his tone grew deeper.
“My original motive was not altruistic. I built a kingdom primarily to grow and strengthen myself.”
“But I would not stand by and watch demons swallow the Material Plane.”
“Regardless of origin, I prefer to see an Atlan that grows prosperous.”
As he spoke, sunlight burned behind him, stretching his shadow long across the cloud sea like a barrier spanning heaven and earth; clouds churned beneath his feet as if an entire continent bowed under him.
“However, Atlan now seems calm but beneath that surface currents boil.”
“No one knows when the demon legions will return in force — perhaps with Great Demons or even a Demon King.”
He stared at Reinhardt: “I am strong, but I am only one.”
“My dragonkin and followers can govern the kingdom and gather resources, but they cannot truly fight all with me. If demons mount a full-scale assault, I cannot be on every front. If Atlan falls, I can at best preserve Aola; kingdoms like Theo would utterly perish.”
The wind blew harder, tugging at Reinhardt’s cloak.
“You... wish to say something?”
he asked.
The Red Iron Dragon raised a foreclaw, palm up, offering it.
The claw was large enough to cup Reinhardt; its tip gleamed metallic in the sunlight.
“You have let go of your past. Now you must look to the future.”
“Reinhardt, will you share the burden of being the savior?”
he asked.
The dragon’s voice was low and resonant, rippling in the air and stirring Reinhardt’s heart.
He felt dazed, gazing at the Scarlet Emperor; sunlight gilded the dragon’s outline, highlighting each scale’s edge.
Images flickered through his mind.
He remembered his father’s face, the harsh training, the old king’s aged countenance and farewell words.
He recalled what he saw when he returned to Theo: bustling streets, laughing children, people living in peace...
These scenes blurred and then he realized he could finally fully release those memories.
Yet new things were budding in him to replace them.
What exactly, he could not name — only that a warm thing grew in his chest, filling long-empty places.
Reinhardt’s eyes cleared.
He reached out and placed his hand in the dragon’s palm, then dropped to one knee with head bowed, golden hair shadowing his face.
“Thank you for your mercy and trust.”
“By my life and blade, I will guard your lands.”
he declared solemnly.
His voice was small but resolute.
“Good. I trust you can do it.”
The dragon’s claws tightened slightly and lifted Reinhardt up.
“First, go heal.”
Year 550 of the New Calendar, autumn.
Once the Light of Theo, for the sake of settling his past, returned to challenge the Scarlet Emperor with the power of Fate; after defeat he swore fealty and pledged to share the burden. The Scarlet Emperor, crowned-level and awe-inspiring, bowed a Fate rank to loyalty. This unprecedented event spread across Atlan and to distant continents — Reinhardt’s fame soared like the sun at noon.