Leopold's Counterattack

Leopold struggled to crawl out from the rubble. He heard it—he heard the chant echoing across the sky, and he felt the weight of every single syllable.

He raised his head. Blake was pinned to the wall, his head lolling to one side as blue blood trickled down his forehead. Isabella was pinned to the rubble by chains of light, her white dragon wings bound tightly as she struggled desperately.

Ophelia hovered in midair, her four wings spread wide, the golden light radiating from her body growing brighter by the second.

“Dies Iudicii nunc advenit!”

“Per sanctum lumen, pereat tota civitas!”

Her chanting continued, her voice growing higher and faster. Leopold could feel the surrounding air constantly rushing toward her.

Countless golden magic circles materialized from the void, layering and overlapping, expanding outward from the center until they covered the entire fluorite dome.

It was the largest and most complex magic array Leopold had ever seen. His inherited memories told him that this was an Eighth-Circle Domain spell of the Angelic God Race, specifically designed for large-scale destruction.

“Oblivio Venit!”

As the final syllable fell, Ophelia raised her right hand and pressed down gently. Golden light cascaded from the dome, striking the central plaza. It instantly erupted into concentric rings of golden shockwaves, blasting away entire stone walls, roofs, and towers.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The massive fluorite on the dome shattered under the impact of the golden shockwaves, raining down on every corner of the city like falling stars.

Rows of stone houses in the residential district collapsed under the bombardment of the light pillars. Rubble and dust billowed up, mixing with fire and golden light as they collided, squeezed, and exploded in the narrow alleys.

Goblins were running, goblins were screaming, but everything was ultimately swallowed by the roar of the explosions, rendering all else inaudible.

Ophelia hovered in midair, her four wings unfurled amidst the light as she looked down upon the crumbling Bronzebeard capital. Her expression remained entirely serene.

Below, Leopold exerted all his strength to free Isabella from the chains of light, her wings bleeding continuously.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Bella, can you still move? We need to fly up into the sky before the shockwaves hit!”

“I can...”

Leopold nodded and immediately transformed into his black dragon form, unfurling his pitch-black dragon wings.

“Change into human form, get Blake and Oliver, and climb onto my back. Quick!”

He looked down at Isabella. She had already reverted to her human form, her long white hair falling messily over her shoulders, her face stained with dust and dried blood.

“Go, quickly,” Leopold's voice rumbled from his throat, deep and urgent.

Isabella did not hesitate. She spun around and rushed toward the deep crack in the wall. Blake was still embedded in the rubble, the puncture wound on his left shoulder still bleeding, blue dragon blood trickling down the stone wall.

She simply bent down, hoisted him onto her shoulders, grabbed Oliver with her other hand, and climbed onto Leopold's back.

With a powerful kick of his four claws, the black dragon's body soared into the air from the ruins. His pitch-black wings whipped up a gale as they unfurled, sweeping the rubble and dust beneath him to both sides.

Isabella lay flat on his back, one hand gripping the scales on the back of his neck in a death grip, while her other hand held the unconscious Blake securely by her side.

Beside them, Oliver instinctively hugged Leopold's tail tightly.

“Leo, directly above!” Isabella's voice cut through the howling wind. “The dome has cracked open!”

Leopold looked up. The massive fluorite had shattered into countless pieces, peeling away from the dome and raining down on the capital like a glowing meteor shower.

Behind them, the capital was completely engulfed in a sea of fire. Golden pillars of light fell one after another from the dome, grinding streets, stone houses, and towers to dust.

“Leo, falling debris on your left wing!” Isabella shouted from his back.

He tilted violently. A fragment of fluorite larger than his entire body grazed the tip of his wing, smashing into a collapsing tower below. The tower snapped in half, crashing heavily into the residential houses and kicking up another massive cloud of dust.

“Hold on tight!”

He pulled in his wings and charged straight up. The airflow whistled past his ears, the sound of the wind so loud it almost drowned out the collapse of the capital.

Suddenly, a beam of golden light shot from the left. Leopold instinctively twisted his body, and the pillar of light grazed the scales on his belly, leaving a scorched mark.

He looked down. Ophelia was hovering at the top of a surviving tower below, her four wings spread wide as she looked up at him.

Leopold hovered in midair, his wings spread to maintain balance, with the collapsing capital below.

He did not continue flying upward. Stopping just below the crack in the dome, he circled, silently watching the city below as it was devoured by the golden pillars of light.

“...Oh? You're not going up?” Ophelia sounded a bit disappointed. “I went through all the trouble of blasting a crack in the dome. If you don't fly out, isn't that a waste of my good intentions?”

Leopold did not answer. He looked down, noting that Ophelia's magic was nearing its end. It was almost time to go down.

Below, the capital was still collapsing, and the golden pillars of light were still rampaging, but their frequency had clearly decreased.

Standing at the top of the ruined tower, Ophelia looked up at him, confusion appearing in her emerald-green eyes for the first time.

“You're not going up... and you're not fleeing?”

Leopold did not answer. He circled, his gaze sweeping over the ruins below. The golden pillars of light were extinguishing one by one, and the edges of the magic arrays were shrinking and dispersing, turning into drifting golden stardust that slowly floated down.

The duration of the Eighth-Circle Domain spell had reached its limit.

“...I see.” Ophelia's voice went up a register, as if she had realized something. “You're waiting for it to end?”

“Hahaha, what a foolish dragon. You don't actually think you can defeat me just because my spell's duration is over, do you?”

Leopold ignored her laughter. Folding his wings, he dived from the sky, passing through the dispersing golden stardust and dust before landing steadily on a relatively intact stone plaza at the edge of the central square.

Isabella slid off his back, gently laid Blake on the ground, and then turned to help Oliver down.

Oliver had been clinging to Leopold's tail, completely dizzy. Once he let go, he slumped directly onto the ground, gasping for breath.

“I... I'm still alive...”

“It would be even better if you could stand up,” Leopold said as he reverted to his human form, leaning down to pull Oliver up.

Ophelia drifted down slowly from the air, her two pairs of wings folding slightly behind her. She stood at the edge of the ruins, looking at them from dozens of paces away.

“...You surprise me,” she said. “I thought you would run.”

“I never planned to run in the first place.” Leopold stood tall, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Are you really that fearless, Mr. Black Dragon?”

Leopold did not answer immediately. He glanced at Oliver. The half-elf was leaning against a pile of rubble, pale and breathing heavily; he would likely be of no help.

“...Leo,” Isabella walked to his side, her voice very low. “Most of her Holy Power has been depleted.”

Leopold paused. “How do you know?”

“I'm a white dragon, so our powers share the same source.” Isabella's gaze swept across the ruins, landing on the golden figure in the distance. “I can feel that the spell just now consumed at least sixty percent of her mana.”

“My, my. So you stayed because you were certain I would be heavily drained, and thus unable to defeat you?” Ophelia's voice drifted over from the ruins. “You really are foolish, Mr. Black Dragon!”

Leopold stood straight and rolled his wrists, his right hand wrapped in a thin layer of shadow. This shadow was no longer churning violently like before; instead, it clung tamely to the surface of his skin.

After the recent battle, Leopold had completely understood the nature of shadow. More importantly, he still had two trump cards left unplayed—his inherited Grand Magic. Although casting them would require a considerable price, at this critical moment of life and death, it was worth risking everything.

Leopold raised his eyes, his dark-gold pupils staring directly at the holy angel before him, his heart already filled with absolute certainty—

He would not necessarily lose this battle!