Chapter 406

Chapter 406: Chapter 406

Lynn flew leisurely through the air, his face brimming with excitement.

For a long time, he had wanted to experience what it felt like to declare, "Tonight’s expenses are all on Young Master Lynn!"

It wasn’t because he was stingy—well, admittedly, he was a little stingy.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was the boldness of spending money like water, the nonchalance of paying without batting an eye, the magnanimity of saying, "It’s on me—order whatever you want!"

Just imagining it felt incredibly satisfying.

Unfortunately, whenever he considered trying it, a quiet voice in the back of his mind would ask, "And how much is this going to cost?"

Today, however, was different.

Today, he was treating everyone with Ragnuk’s money.

It was simply perfect.

If the opportunity ever arose, Lynn would gladly do it again.

Just as he was losing himself in his daydreams—

"ROAR!"

A deafening roar thundered across the distant horizon.

Lynn snapped back to his senses. Narrowing his eyes, he turned toward the source of the sound.

In the eastern sky, a vast shadow obscured the moonlight. It raced from east to west, drawing closer and growing larger with every passing second.

More than a dozen enormous dragons flew toward the city-state with their wings spread wide.

Their wingspans blotted out the moon, casting immense, shifting shadows across the ground below.

As the dragons approached, Lynn could gradually make out their appearances.

At the head of the formation was a Hungarian Horntail. It was the largest of the group, with a wingspan of at least fifty feet.

To its left flew a Common Welsh Green. It was slightly smaller than the Hungarian Horntail, but its scales were far brighter, gleaming with an emerald luster beneath the moonlight.

To its right was a Romanian Longhorn. It was the smallest of the three, but its horns were by far the longest, extending from the top of its head toward its back, each several meters in length.

More than a dozen other dragons followed behind them, none of which Lynn could identify.

They were smaller, their wingspans narrower and their flight slower. However, they made up for it in numbers, trailing closely behind like a swarm of worker bees summoned by their queen.

Yet the most conspicuous thing among this group of dragons was neither the largest beast, the one with the brightest scales, nor the one with the loudest roar.

It was the figure standing atop the Hungarian Horntail.

He wore a full suit of golden armor. From his helmet and breastplate to his bracers, greaves, and boots, every piece was gold. Its surface had been polished to a mirror finish, reflecting a piercing gleam beneath the moon.

A greatsword rested on his shoulder. Its blade was broad and sharp, and a massive ruby was embedded in its hilt.

He stood on the dragon’s back with his arms crossed, gazing down from above.

Ragnuk.

The moment Lynn saw him, he nearly gagged.

Clad in golden armor and standing atop a bronze-colored dragon, he glittered beneath the moonlight. Combined with his severely disproportionate body, he looked like a golden mushroom.

No.

More like a golden...

Lynn considered it and found a far more fitting comparison.

A pile of golden...

Never mind.

It would be impolite to finish that thought.

Standing atop the dragon, Ragnuk looked down at Lynn as he flew leisurely forward.

"Boy!"

His shrill voice rang out from above.

"You think you can escape after destroying so many of my treasures? I’ll turn you into a mummy and hang you at the entrance of the city-state to dry in the wind!"

Lynn dug his pinkie into his ear, twisted it twice, then blew on it.

"Then come and try. If you can harm even a single hair on my head, I’ll write my name backward."

Ragnuk’s gaze instantly turned vicious.

He wasted no more words.

Raising his right hand, he straightened his fingers and aimed his palm in Lynn’s direction.

Then he swung it sharply downward.

"Fire!"

At his command, more than a dozen dragons opened their mouths in unison.

Flames erupted.

Over a dozen streams of dragonfire surged in from different directions, weaving a seamless net of flames across the sky.

Orange-red fire spewed from the Hungarian Horntail’s mouth. It possessed the highest temperature, the brightest color, and astonishing speed.

Emerald-green flames poured from the Common Welsh Green. Though not as hot as the Horntail’s fire, they were far more persistent, surging forth in relentless waves without pause.

Deep green fire erupted from the Romanian Longhorn. It was the darkest and coolest of the three, but it covered the widest area, sweeping from left to right and back again.

The remaining dragons followed suit, breathing flames of gold, orange, dark red, and blue-white.

More than a dozen torrents of dragonfire converged, forming an immense pillar of flame.

It hurtled directly toward Lynn.

The air itself seemed to ignite as the temperature soared.

A wave of blistering heat rushed toward Lynn, but he made no attempt to dodge.

Instead, a torrent of golden-red flames erupted from the tip of his wand.

Fiendfyre surged forth like a furious dragon that had been restrained for far too long, roaring as it charged headlong into the approaching pillar of fire.

The two infernos collided in the night sky.

"BOOM!"

The golden-red Fiendfyre resembled a razor-sharp blade, attempting to cleave through the pillar formed from the dragons’ combined breath. Meanwhile, the pillar of dragonfire was like an incomparably heavy shield, stubbornly resisting the Fiendfyre and refusing to let it advance even a single step.

The point where the two infernos met shifted constantly—surging toward Lynn one moment, then retreating toward Ragnuk the next.

The stalemate lasted only a few seconds.

Then—

The Fiendfyre began advancing.

Bit by bit.

Inch by inch.

Foot by foot.

Golden-red tongues of flame licked at the edges of the dragonfire, closing in from both sides toward its center.

Ragnuk stood atop the dragon, watching as the Fiendfyre devoured the pillar of flames. His eyes burned with vicious fury.

"Burn him!"

"Burn him!"

"Burn him!"

Amid his roars, the pillar of dragonfire grew even brighter.

All the dragons simultaneously intensified their breath. A brighter glow flared deep within their throats before they unleashed an even greater torrent of flames.

"I’m afraid burning me to death won’t be quite that easy."

A playful voice suddenly sounded behind Ragnuk.

His body froze.

He whipped his head around.

There was no one behind him.

"Up here."

The voice came again, this time from above.

Ragnuk jerked his head upward.

Beneath the moonlight, Lynn descended from the sky at such tremendous speed that the air shrieked around him.

His body traced an arc beneath the moon, sweeping over Ragnuk’s head before landing precisely on the Hungarian Horntail’s back.

His feet struck the dragon’s rough scales, and he lowered himself slightly to stabilize his center of gravity.

In his hand was a long spear woven from lightning and ice crystals.

Its shaft was translucent and icy blue, shimmering with a frigid luster beneath the moonlight. Countless fine patterns covered its surface—the traces of coursing lightning.

The spearhead was pure white, condensed entirely from ice and as sharp as a scalpel. At its tip, a fist-sized sphere of lightning slowly rotated, emitting a low hum.

Standing on the dragon’s back with the spear in his right hand, Lynn allowed his left arm to hang naturally at his side.

His gaze shifted from Ragnuk to the nearest dragon rider.

It was a young goblin dressed in light silver-white armor and a helmet adorned with red feathers. He sat astride a Common Welsh Green, clutching the reins with both hands as he stared nervously at Lynn’s sudden appearance.

Their eyes met.

The young goblin froze for a moment. Then he abruptly released the reins and reached for the wand at his waist.

Too slow.

Lynn’s figure blurred.

He launched himself from the Hungarian Horntail’s back like an arrow, tracing an arc through the air.

He moved so quickly that the young goblin saw only a shadow flash before his eyes.

Then—

Something struck his chest.

He looked down.

An icy-blue spear was pressed against his breastplate.

"BOOM!"

The sphere of lightning exploded instantly. Countless blue-white arcs spread from the young goblin’s chest, racing across his armor and into his limbs.

His entire body convulsed violently.

Lynn extended one foot and planted it against the goblin’s chest.

"Off you go."

He gave a light kick.

The young goblin was sent flying.

"Thud!"

A muffled crash came from the ground below, followed by the clatter of shattering roof tiles.

Lynn didn’t even look.

He had already turned toward his next target.

"How can there be two thieves?"

Standing atop the Hungarian Horntail, Ragnuk stared at the Lynn attacking the dragon riders. Then he looked down at the other Lynn, who was still locked in a contest of flames with the dragons.

He was completely dumbfounded.

His mind went blank.

He could feel the aura radiating from both Lynns.

They were identical.

There wasn’t the slightest difference between them.

"There are more than two."

A voice sounded behind him.

Ragnuk spun around.

Yet another Lynn stood there.

Lynn gave Ragnuk no time to think. He abruptly raised the ice spear in his hand.

Ragnuk jerked backward.

His reaction was remarkably fast—fast enough to mildly surprise Lynn. In that instant, he drew the longsword from his waist, gripped it with both hands, and blocked the spear thrusting toward him.

"Clang!"

The crisp sound of metal striking metal exploded through the night sky.

The spearhead slammed into the blade, sending sparks spraying through the air.

Ragnuk’s arms instantly went numb.

The webbing between his thumb and forefinger split open, and blood seeped from the wound before trickling down the hilt.

The force of the impact drove him several steps backward. His feet slipped across the dragon’s rough scales, nearly sending him tumbling over.

After regaining his balance, he raised his head and glared at Lynn.

Lynn gazed back with a faint smile.

Ragnuk gritted his teeth. Raising his longsword, he clutched it in both hands, aimed the point at Lynn, and charged.

His silhouette traced an arc beneath the moonlight, moving at a speed that seemed impossible for a goblin with such a large head, small body, and short limbs.

His swordsmanship was unexpectedly superb as well.

His footwork remained steady, every step atop the dragon’s back as firm as though his feet had been nailed in place. His wrists were flexible, and every strike came from such a treacherous angle that it seemed nearly impossible to defend against. Nor was he lacking in strength—each swing carried considerable force.

Lynn parried as he retreated.

"Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The rapid clash of weapons rang through the night like an endless string of exploding firecrackers.

Ragnuk’s assault grew increasingly fierce.

His sword slashed in from the left—Lynn parried with his spear.

It hacked in from the right—Lynn sidestepped.

It came crashing down from above—Lynn raised his spear to block.

It lunged upward from below—Lynn leaped over it.

After several exchanges, Lynn abruptly stopped retreating and charged forward.

Ragnuk’s pupils contracted.

With no time to think, he instinctively raised his longsword to parry—

But he was too slow.

Lynn was far faster.

He surged in front of Ragnuk, gripping the end of the spear with his right hand and supporting the middle of the shaft with his left. Then, wielding it like an enormous sledgehammer, he swung it upward with tremendous force.

"CLANG!"

The impact was louder than any that had come before.

The butt of the spear slammed into Ragnuk’s longsword. The tremendous force tore the wound in his hand even wider, sending blood gushing down his wrist.

His arm trembled.

His body trembled.

His entire being trembled.

And his longsword—

Broke.

It snapped cleanly in the middle. The upper half flew away, spinning several times beneath the moonlight before landing on the dragon’s back. A powerful beat of its wings sent the broken blade tumbling into the darkness below, vanishing to parts unknown.

Ragnuk still held the lower half in his hand, its jagged edge resembling a snapped tree branch.

He stared down at the ruined sword, then raised his head to look at Lynn.

Lynn gave him no time to react.

The spear spun once in his hand, its point aligning with Ragnuk’s helmet.

"Clang!"

The spearhead struck the helmet.

Lynn had controlled his strength perfectly. According to his calculations, the impact should have been just enough to knock Ragnuk unconscious.

Yet Ragnuk didn’t pass out.

His body merely swayed.

Ragnuk shook his head, clearing away the dizziness. When he looked back up at Lynn, a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"This is the finest armor I have ever forged."

He raised a hand and patted the spot on his helmet where the spear had struck, producing a pair of dull thuds.

"Go on. Hit it as much as you like. If you can break it, I’ll admit you have some skill."

Lynn said nothing.

He merely looked at Ragnuk, the corner of his mouth curling upward as he pointed behind him with his left hand.

"Behind you."

Ragnuk’s smile stiffened.

He hesitated.

This had to be a trick. Lynn wanted him to turn around so he could launch a sneak attack. Ragnuk had seen such cheap tricks countless times before.

And yet...

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back.

He instantly regretted it.

Not because he had turned his head, but because of what he saw when he looked back.

Another thief!

That Lynn was currently wielding a golden-red Fiendfyre blade, weaving through the chaotic group of dragon riders.

He moved so quickly that none of the dragon riders could clearly follow him.

His bladework was so vicious that every strike claimed a life, while his movements were so elusive that the dragons’ breath couldn’t even singe the hem of his clothes.

He didn’t attack often.

But whenever he did—

A dragon rider died.

A single slash struck one rider in the chest, and golden-red flames exploded from the wound, incinerating him and his armor into ashes.

Another slash carved into a dragon’s neck. The beast released a shrill scream and plunged downward, nearly throwing off the rider atop its back. Before the goblin could regain his balance, another strike arrived and sent him flying from his mount.

In only a few seconds, yet another dragon rider had fallen.

Ragnuk watched with eyes nearly bursting from fury.

"Just how many of you are there?!"

He tore his gaze away from the chaotic battlefield and looked at the Lynn before him. Then he turned to the Lynn still cutting through his forces before looking back once more.

His mind could no longer process what he was seeing.

Lynn watched him, the curve of his lips growing wider.

"Just one more."

He delivered the most devastating words in the gentlest possible tone.

Ragnuk was going insane.

He could no longer distinguish the real Lynn from the fakes.

Only one thought remained in his mind—

Kill the person in front of him!

Gripping what remained of his sword, he charged.

Lynn didn’t use his spear.

He tossed it aside and drew the Sword of Gryffindor from his waist.

Ragnuk rushed forward, raised his broken blade, and slashed down.

Lynn didn’t dodge.

He raised the Sword of Gryffindor and met the blow with his blade angled.

"CLANG!"

The swords collided with a dull, thunderous roar.

Ragnuk was thrown several steps backward. His arm went numb, and another tear opened in the webbing of his hand. Blood flowed down his wrist and dripped onto the dragon’s back.

Lynn gave him no chance to catch his breath.

He stepped forward and struck again.

Ragnuk raised his sword to block.

"CLANG!"

Another deafening crash rang out.

Ragnuk’s hand trembled, and his sword—no, his half-sword—became even shorter.

The cut was exceptionally smooth.

Lynn didn’t stop.

A third strike.

A fourth.

"CLANG!"

"CLANG!"

"CLANG!"

The clash of metal rang relentlessly through the night, each blow faster and louder than the last.

Every strike was fiercer and heavier than the one before it.

Ragnuk retreated step by step. His arm shuddered again and again, while his broken sword shortened inch by inch.

Fragments splintered from the blade, glittering beneath the moonlight before falling onto the dragon’s back and being swept away by the wind.

The metallic chorus of colliding weapons echoed across the Goblin Kingdom.

Countless goblins emerged from their homes and stared up at the chaotic battle unfolding in the sky.

"Which one is the King?"

"The one being chased and beaten."

"Can the King win?"

"It’d be better if he died sooner!"

"Beat the King to death!"

"Make him abdicate!"

"Kill that damned King!"

"Send him to hell!"

Shout after shout rose from below, leaving Lynn—who was in the middle of relentlessly hacking at Ragnuk with the Sword of Gryffindor—utterly stunned.

This king’s reputation had truly sunk to an astonishing low. Apparently, he had spent nearly all his time extorting his own people.

In that case, Lynn no longer needed to hold back.

He had been worried that killing Ragnuk might trigger an all-out war between wizards and goblins, but judging by the current situation, that seemed impossible.

The webbing of Ragnuk’s hand had been completely torn apart. Blood streamed down his wrist, dyeing his entire arm red.

His lips trembled, his teeth ground together, and sweat covered his forehead.

Yet he didn’t retreat.

He raised the remnants of his sword—a blade now so short it could hardly become any shorter—and charged once more.

Seeing him like this, Lynn suddenly felt a trace of admiration.

Not for his strength.

To be honest, Ragnuk’s strength was merely average.

What Lynn admired was his resilience.

Even though he couldn’t win, even though he had been driven into a dead end, and even though the sword in his hand was about to be reduced to a knife—

He still refused to retreat.

Lynn had encountered people like him before.

Not many.

Every single one of them had died a miserable death.

Lynn took a deep breath.

Black scales instantly covered both his arms as he activated Thousand Refinements.

A surge of heat erupted from his heart and spread through his limbs and bones.

He tightened his grip around the Sword of Gryffindor and swung his arms in a wide arc.

Then—

He slashed upward with all his strength.

The sword traced a silver-white arc beneath the moonlight, moving so fast that Ragnuk saw only a flash before his eyes.

"CLANG!"

Ragnuk’s body froze.

The blade swept past his chin, carving a deep gouge into his helmet.

The scar stretched diagonally from left to right, running from his jaw to his forehead.

The impact sent Ragnuk flying backward. One foot slipped from the dragon’s back, and he tumbled helplessly across its scales.

At the last moment, he grabbed hold of one of the dragon’s scales and barely prevented himself from falling.

He lay flat on the dragon’s back, gasping for breath.

Lynn stood before him and looked down.

"It seems the armor you forged isn’t as sharp as the swords you make."

Lynn raised his sword, turned the blade sideways, and lightly pressed its tip against Ragnuk’s forehead.

"I’ve wanted to slay a king for a long time, but I’ve never had the chance." His voice was exceedingly soft, as though he were speaking to himself. "Using you for practice doesn’t seem like a bad idea."

Ragnuk’s body stiffened.

Only now did he finally come back to his senses.

"Don’t... Don’t kill me... Godric Gryffindor and I are brothers... good brothers... He often comes to visit me... We drink together... We chat together... We..."

Lynn interrupted him.

"Good brothers, yet you tried to fool me with a fake sword?"

Ragnuk’s voice caught in his throat.

"I doubt brothers like the two of you will ever exist again."

Ragnuk began trembling violently.

He could feel the tip of Lynn’s sword pressing against his forehead, inching forward ever so slightly.

"Have mercy... I know I was wrong..." His voice grew quieter and thinner, as though he were about to cry. "Please, have mercy! Spare my life!"

Lynn shook his head and spoke the coldest words in the gentlest tone.

"I’m afraid I can’t do that."

With those words, he pushed the tip of his sword forward.

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