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When the drake crashed to the ground, the night sky it had conjured began to unravel, having lost its source. The darkened sky turned blue once more, and sunlight poured through from above.
The Stigma of the Guardian, which had temporarily gone dormant, greedily absorbed the light. Thanks to its absurd effect, it restored nearly all of the stamina and Aura Leon had expended during his evasion of the dark rain.
“Phew.”
With just three deep breaths, Leon shed all his fatigue and raised the sword in his grasp to mid-guard into the Pflug stance. A posture with the hilt held near the waist and the blade angled upward—like holding a plow—his center of gravity shifted forward, ready to lunge at any moment.
He had to end this fight before the drake’s wings recovered.
Push with full force. Even if I can’t finish it in one blow, I can’t stop until a fatal opening appears.
The drake knew this, too. That was why it wasn’t advancing recklessly. If it took flight again, they would never bring it down a second time. It would simply rain down attacks from high above without ever touching the ground.
That would be the end of everything. This moment was the first and last chance. Grasping that truth, Leon shot forward like lightning.
Almost simultaneously, the drake’s claws tore into the canyon wall. Leon’s movements were several times faster than the monster had anticipated.
With the first step, he surpassed the wind. With the second, he reached the speed of sound. It was an acceleration that seemed to defy air resistance.
Moving faster than even his afterimage while...
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