Chapter 186 (Book 5 Chapter 12) (Patreon)

Author's Note:

Extra-long chapter today, so consider this one a double update. Next chapter will be posted a week from now, on the 20th.

--

For someone attending an emergency war council, Rob felt much calmer than he probably should be.

It wasn't a sentiment shared by most. Riardin's Rangers were fidgeting as they waited, only Keira seeming unbothered at the prospect of impending bloodshed. The Leaders and Harpies appeared similarly tense, eyeing the sky as if expecting Queen Ragnavi herself to descend any second now.

If nothing else, their fear made for a suitable unifier. Any mistrust that might've existed between the coalition and Harpies had been erased by the necessity of the moment. They'd begun pooling their minds as soon as they learned that Dragonkin were inbound, narrowing their options to the three cardinal wartime strategies: negotiate, run, or fight.

It didn't take long to determine that a joint assault was their only real option. While the alliance wouldn't turn down peaceful negotiations, no one was holding their breaths for that to happen. Ragnavi's faithful hadn't traveled this far to talk. And while fleeing was technically a possibility, it would be too risky when the Dragonkin were this close by. If a Draconic Form flier spotted them and reported back to Ragnavi's main army, everyone here would be in deep shit.

No. In the end, there was no choice but to stand, fight, and kill. It was a realization that dredged up memories from eight years ago, tormenting the Elatrans' minds with things best left forgotten.

As for Rob? In all honesty, he was more relieved than anything. According to the Harpy scouts, the Dragonkin contingent heading towards Arieda City only had about 170 Combat Class users. It was presumably a smaller advance force that'd raced deep into Harpy territory to snag some glory before others beat them to the punch. That meant no Dragon Queen, and no reinforcements to back them up. A risky ploy, but considering Arieda's light defenses, that much would've normally been enough to take the city.

If the coalition hadn't already called first dibs.

Maybe that was why Rob couldn't bring himself to feel anxious. In an objective sense, he knew that people were about to die – mostly the Dragonkin, although coalition casualties were unavoidable as well. Their deaths would be completely meaningless, years of future potential wasted to fuel the ambitions of the two despots who'd started this conflict.

And yet all Rob could think of was that this was going to be a cakewalk compared to his usual big fights. By infiltrating Arieda City, the coalition had established a defensive perimeter and gained the element of surprise. When stacked on top of their number and strength advantages, it became eminently clear that they were going to flatten the Dragonkin like scaly pancakes. The gnawing worry of failure that always preceded these types of events was absent, its void filled by the stable comfort of an inevitable victory.

I could get used to this, Rob admitted to himself. When was the last time he'd felt this at ease going into a major battle? His Party's excursion into the recent Dungeon didn't count; that was a field trip, not a fight. In terms of scope, this was more akin to defending The Village or invading Dhalerune City – except there was no rampaging Blight, no unhinged Leader, no mad rush to disarm a nuke. Just a horde of acceptable targets who were serving up their heads on a silver platter.

Was it so wrong that a part of him was looking forward to it?

"Then we are in agreement," the Grand Overseer finally said, addressing the local Harpy-in-charge. Their discussion was just about finished. "To reiterate: for the duration of our battle against the Dragonkin, and twenty-four hours afterwards, our respective sides will enter into an official truce of mutual cooperation. No Harpy is to harm a member of the allied coalition, and the reverse is also true. Friendly fire that occurs during the battle, accidental or otherwise, shall be judged harshly."

The Harpy-in-charge nodded stiffly. He eyed the Grand Overseer with a combination of distaste, apprehension, and bafflement, as if the concept of a talking Fiend was something he was only putting up with due to the alternative being death by dragonfire. "As an addendum," the Harpy stated, "you are not to pursue vengeance towards any of my people who flee partway through. There's no point in them wasting their lives if the battle turns sour."

Ar that, Seneschal Sylpeiros let out a vulgar snort. "Unbelievable. That you would even consider fleeing when we are your allies is proof that a coward's heart beats within your chest."

Privately, Rob kinda agreed. But whereas Sylpeiros' personal Diplomacy Skill had been ripped from his soul, Rob still had the genuine article giving him negotiation lessons during off hours. "I think it's a reasonable request," he said, stopping the argument before it could begin. "Although if we're tacking on addendums, it's only fair that our side gets to suggest some too."

"May I speak?" Goroth said, the large Fiend stepping forward. Rob nodded in assent. "Thank you. I've given it thought, and there is a matter that the Harpies can assist with, one with far greater value than merely supplementing our ranks. You see, it isn't enough that we defeat the Dragonkin; we must contain them. Not a single one can be allowed to escape and report back to Queen Ragnavi. And they will attempt to escape, once they realize what their hubris has wrought."

Goroth gestured towards the coalition. "Once the battle begins, our soldiers will focus on routing the Dragonkin. I assure you that we shall have little trouble doing so." He gestured upwards. "Meanwhile, I recommend that the Harpies fly above Arieda City and keep watch. They'll be tasked with hunting down any Dragonkin escapees, whether it be those who run by foot, Utility Class users in the Dragonkin supply convoy, or the few soldiers who possess a Draconic Form. This will also be to the Harpies' benefit, affording them a measure of safety compared to being embroiled in the main battle."

He spoke in a patiently self-assured way, the kind that exemplified confidence untainted by arrogance. Goroth's assuredness was well-earned, as after a short round of discussion, everyone readily agreed with his plan. Curiously, the Grand Overseer didn't seem bothered that her subordinate was potentially upstaging her.

Message Received From Party Member: Alessia
Alessia: Do you recall when you told me that I remind you of Nerasi?
Rob: i alrdy said it was a compliment!!
Alessia: Yes, of course. That's not what I'm referring to.
Alessia: As I remind you of Nerasi, Goroth reminds me of Riardin.
Rob: oh
Rob: Oh. How so? I didn't know Riardin for that long, but he seemed more...
Alessia: Taciturn? Intense? Unyielding?
Rob: I'll go with those words, sure.
Alessia: It isn't Goroth's temperament that has me remembering Riardin. Rather, it's his position in Fiend society.
Alessia: If Riardin so wished, he could easily have commanded The Village as a whole. His Level far outstripped ours. His military experience as well. No one would have opposed him.
Alessia: Instead, he chose to follow. As Goroth does.
Alessia: For while Goroth is not strong enough to become a Leader outright, he's more than qualified to sit amongst the Grand Overseers.
Rob: Huh. Why doesn't he?
Alessia: Could be any number of reasons. Some men are afraid of power, and the responsibility therein. I don't know Goroth well enough to say.
Alessia: However, I do not believe this was the case with Riardin.
Alessia: He struck me as a man who desired rest, yet felt compelled to do his duty regardless.
Rob: I can empathize.
Rob: Since you brought up unwanted duty...I have to ask. If people are okay with Riardin and Goroth not being in charge, why doesn't anyone listen to me when I say I'm not a Leader?
Alessia: Your Level is too high. Treating you as lesser would be a farce. Especially when authority and followers are drawn to you like moths to a flame.
Alessia: Speaking of which – your Harpy lackey is about to cause a stir.

She's my lackey already? Rob wondered, just as Sorenne raised her voice. "I cannot accept the Fiends' plan," she said, in a quavering tone. The Harpy scout froze as multiple Leaders set their gaze on her, wings twitching as if she was resisting the urge to fly away. After a moment, she rallied her composure. "Others can do as they please, yet I...I must fight. The Dragonkin need to die."

"Our coalition is fully capable of achieving that," the Grand Overseer assured.

"No, you don't understand. I want to kill them." In an instant, Sorenne's anxiety vanished, a piercing bloodlust growing to take its place. "Death must be paid with death. It's what they deserve for my friends, my family, my village. I won't be satisfied until I've heard them scream as my talons run down their faces."

The only person who appeared completely unfazed by her outburst was Seneschal Sylpeiros. "The Dragonkin we'll soon be fighting aren't the soldiers who killed your loved ones," he explained, in a calm voice. "From what you've described, that group is days away – if they are heading here at all."

"What does it matter?" Sorenne snarled. "They all deserve punishment. Sending one Dragonkin to its god's Hallowed Halls will be the same as sending any other."

Rob couldn't stop himself from turning his head to look at Meyneth. The motion didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the council members, Sorenne included, whose face went stark-white the moment she realized what she'd said. "Uh," she sputtered. "I, that's-"

"Be at ease," Meyneth said, in a supremely dry tone. "If you're expecting me to defend my people, or to take offense at generalizations made against them, then you clearly aren't aware of my upbringing."

Sorenne was left at a loss for what to say to that. After several awkward seconds, Zamira stepped forth and added her two cents into the mix. "In light of the direction this meeting is taking, I must speak before decrees are made that can't be taken back."

She spared a glance for Sorenne, then pressed on. "I am of the firm belief that we should make an effort to capture as many Dragonkin as is feasible." Zamira raised a hand, forestalling the Harpy's outcry. "This would be for our sake, not theirs. Our main goal, above all others, is to defeat the Blight. Every soldier that dies in this war will weaken Elatra against its true enemy. We'll need all the Combat Class users we can muster to ensure our ultimate survival. To that end, if a Dragonkin is at your mercy, then capture, don't kill."

That's asking a lot from anyone who isn't us, Rob thought. Riardin's Rangers and the Leaders had the luxury of showing mercy, because they were strong as hell. They could enforce peace through overwhelming firepower. Like if someone strapped to the teeth with machine guns entered a Mexican standoff with someone toting a wooden slingshot. The slinger might go down fighting anyway, but they'd consider their options very carefully first.

This wouldn't be the case for the rank-and-file coalition soldiers, who weren't *that* much stronger than the Dragonkin. They didn't have nearly as much leverage to exert. A Mexican standoff between two gunmen armed with comparable weaponry was liable to result in both shooting each other dead.

Before Rob could chime in, Sylpeiros spoke up. "I believe I'm beginning to understand the kind of person you are," the Seneschal said, sounding highly unimpressed. "Zamira. This plan of yours...that drivel about preserving Combat Class users...it's a cover to obscure how much you loathe going to war, is it not?"

A crack formed in Zamira's stoic expression. "My logic is sound."

"The best falsehoods are derived from truth. That still doesn't change your real, primary motivation: you hate the notion of killing more people. You want everyone to hold hands and sing songs as we prance in lockstep towards a brighter tomorrow."

He let out a scoffing sound, perfected through centuries of practice. "I would've assumed that Dhalerune City had cured you of such naive thinking."

"Some of the Dragonkin are victims as well," Zamira retorted. "If they'd refused Dragon Queen's orders to invade Harpy territory, she would have killed them without a moment's hesitation."

"Two things," Sylpeiros began. "First, I will not needlessly endanger my people for the sake of another territory. Ever. The Elves have entrusted their lives to me; in this regard, the Dragonkins' victimhood is irrelevant. Second, each soldier in this war is a person who has made their own choices. Some of the Dragonkin may have been coerced into service by Ragnavi, but what of it? That just means that they chose to follow the sadistic whims of a madwoman, rather than risk incurring her wrath. To them, the Harpies they intend to kill shall be a fair trade for their own safety. My sympathy is limited."

"That's funny."

The words were out of Rob's mouth before he'd finished thinking them. Sylpeiros frowned and turned towards him, motioning for the Human to say what was on his mind. Rob almost said nothing, knowing that would be the smart thing to do, but the cold-hot tension pumping through his veins had other plans.

"No sympathy for the Dragonkin who are 'just following orders', huh?" he chuckled. "Sorry. It's just really, really funny. Cause the biggest excuse I've heard about why The Scouring happened – when people aren't blaming it on the Humans they killed – is that other nations were afraid to go against Ragnavi. You included, Sylpeiros."

Despite himself, and despite the looks on everyone's faces, Rob chuckled again. Why was he bringing this up? It definitely wasn't going to help the alliance's cohesion, especially with a battle coming in less than ten damn minutes. He opened his mouth to change the subject.

"And the really funny thing is that I bet most people here would agree with you. Use that exact logic, even. Only for themselves, though – it's different for other races. Would be too inconvenient to judge yourself by the same standards you judge your neighbors. Am I right?"

You could have heard a pin drop. Sylpeiros' expression rapidly shifted from emotion to emotion, settling on a wintry fury tinged with the slightest bit of shame. "Human...Rob. Look around you. Whatever your feelings may be on the events of eight years ago, you're still here. Consorting and cooperating with those you are so quick to judge. Was it different, I suppose, when I came to your aid in Dhalerune City? Where was this high-mindedness then?"

Rob bared his teeth. "You're talking a lot of shit for someone without a counterargument. Don't you dare-"

All of a sudden, Diplomacy loudly clapped their hands. "Stop," they said, in a commanding tone. "The Dragonkin are on their way. Settle this later."

Rob winced and clamped his mouth shut. That, at least, he couldn't argue with. Where did all this come from, anyway? I've ignored Elatran hypocrisy in the past when I needed to. And I certainly need to – this alliance could decide the fate of the world. It's just...I got so *mad*, this time.

As Rob tried to sort out his thoughts, Sylpeiros glared daggers, still raring to go. Diplomacy cut off the Leader before he could continue. "To address Zamira's proposal," the former Skill said, "I think we should follow it. Partially. We can't ask our soldiers to show mercy at the risk of their own lives, but Riardin's Rangers and the Leaders have some wiggle room." They grinned. "You'll benefit. Allow me to elaborate."

Diplomacy's explanation left the Leaders looking thoughtful and the Harpies looking nervous. "Just who are you, precisely?" Sylpeiros asked, as if seeing 'Belria' for the first time.

He was answered with a coy smile. "Merely a strategist, of sorts."

--

Rob's abuse of the city gates ended up factoring heavily into the coalition's battle plans. While the Dragonkin would've normally scaled Arieda's walls or enacted a siege, the city's fundamental lack of a front door was going to be too tempting to pass up. Odds were likely that they'd bust the remnants down and charge directly through. Knowing that allowed the coalition to position themselves inside buildings near the entrance, laying in wait to spring an ambush.

Which also functioned as a sort of moral litmus test. If the Dragonkin broke inside and tried to negotiate, they could be afforded some leeway. But if they skipped straight to the looting and pillaging?

They'd find a lot more than they bargained for.

"The Dragonkin are within sight of Arieda City," Sorenne reported, her taloned fingers clenching and unclenching. "From what I can surmise, they've shown no signs of slowing their approach."

Rob gave her an appreciative nod, although the status update wasn't actually necessary. He'd volunteered to wait at the building closest to the front gates. When the Dragonkin broke into Arieda City, he'd know sooner than anyone else.

Even his Party members. Currently, he was alone, the rest of his Riardin's Rangers spread across multiple buildings in other locations. Rob wasn't a huge fan of the idea – splitting up the gang never worked out in horror movies – but tactically speaking, it was optimal. His friends could take care of themselves, and this setup allowed them to respond immediately to wherever the Dragonkin sent their big guns.

"Are you certain of this?" Sorenne asked, out of the blue. "Fighting the Dragonkin head-on, I mean."

"I've killed people before," Rob said, quietly.

"That's not what I meant. Lord Rob, you may be incredibly powerful, but you've positioned yourself at the front without backup. Why didn't you accept the offers of an honor guard?"

Rob smirked. "I've got a couple abilities that are easier to use when I don't have to worry about friendly fire. Why risk my friends and allies for no reason?"

Sorenne clenched her fists again. "What of the risk to you? I want you to massacre the Dragonkin, and you can't do that if you succumb from being outnumbered."

Gee, thanks for caring. Before he could reply, an enormous metal creak erupted from outside their building, followed by triumphant cries and stampeding feet. As the noises grew louder, Rob stood up from his chair and stretched, casually summoning a crate of Firebombs. "Our guests have arrived."

Sorenne tensed, unsheathing the daggers strapped to her waist. She stepped towards the front door, but Rob grabbed her shoulder and gently pulled her away. "You haven't seen what I can survive," he said, "and you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you, so I'll keep this simple. They can't kill me. I'm their worst nightmare come to life, and if you think that sounds overly edgy, just sit back and watch for a few minutes."

The front door burst open. A pair of Dragonkin charged inside, brandishing weapons in their hands and savagery in their hearts. They skid to a halt when they saw a Human awaiting inside, eyes bulging as they cast Identify and discovered what his Level was.

Rob popped open the crate, picked out a Firebomb, and idly rolled it between his left hand fingers. He wasn't planning to use it – not with Sorenne this close by – but the display made for a nice prop. "I'm only saying this once." Blue Spatial Storage mana flashed around his right hand, revealing a longsword. From the way the Dragonkin flinched, it may as well have been an executioner's axe. "Surrender. If you do, no one gets hurt, and no one dies."

The Dragonkin remained frozen in place. They said nothing, considering all their options, and after a period of internal debate, chose the worst one. Two desperate battle cries resounded as they charged, Skill auras swirling in unison.

Well, I tried.

Rob moved, and the fight was over. It didn't matter that the Dragonkin soldiers had better form than him. It didn't matter that they seemed experienced in fighting as a pair. It didn't matter that they'd trained and fought for decades, having built up their strength longer than Rob's parents had been alive.

Because at the end of the day, they were 50 Levels lower. One activation of Power Slash, one swing, and both Dragonkin were sheared straight in half. Rob danced backwards, more concerned about avoiding their blood splatters than he'd been about dodging their attacks. After all, the gushing spurts of red were faster and a bigger inconvenience. This outfit was brand new.

Distantly, he recognized that he was being very cavalier over having killed another two people. Rob stared at the Dragonkins' twitching corpses, attempted to feel something, and couldn't. Why should he, honestly? If he'd been a Harpy civilian, the Dragonkin would've slaughtered him without remorse and bragged to their buddies about it later.

"You took both," Sorenne muttered, sounding disappointed. She stomped on a corpse, driving her talons into its face. "One should have been mine."

...And now I feel less iffy about the lack of empathy. At least I'm not *that* far gone. Thanks for the pick-me-up, Sorenne, even if it was unintentional.

Rob shook his head at her, striding towards the open front door as shouts of battle echoed from outside. "You're a scout, not a fighter, and I'm not gonna hold down a Dragonkin as you execute him. That's a little too morbid for my tastes. Just stay safe – you'll have more chances in the future to get revenge, promise."

Sorenne grit her teeth, nodding as if the motion pained her. Satisfied, Rob turned away and walked outside, stepping into what would soon be a bloodbath.

Although unbeknownst to the Dragonkin, it had already begun. The Arieda City streets were like a slaughterhouse; unassuming at a glance, yet hiding well-oiled carnage behind closed doors. What transpired within Rob's building was being repeated in dozens more; eager beavers rushing inside, only to get ambushed by a surplus of coalition soldiers. Message after message filled Rob's vision, his Party members informing him that everything went as predicted.

Like clockwork, he mused, with a hint of amazement. In large-scale battles, plans rarely survived contact with the enemy. Even if your opponents acted predictably, and your allies performed their duties flawlessly, random bullshit tended to throw things awry. Maybe that random bullshit was still yet to come, but so far, the coalition's strategy had annihilated the initial wave of Dragonkin.

There were still 140-ish soldiers pushing deeper inside the city, but their charge was slowing now that they'd realized none of their allies were coming back out of the houses they'd broken into. Fervor gave way to confusion, and then to dread. They were just beginning to comprehend that they'd fucked up when hundreds of coalition soldiers emerged from their positions, collapsing onto the Dragonkin in a wave of spells and steel.

Rob almost regretted positioning himself at the Arieda front entrance. Virtually all of the Dragonkin had charged forward into the city, meaning he couldn't see their expressions when a surprise army consisting of every other race in Elatra brought its hammer down. Thankfully, a group of three turned tail and ran, letting him see their faces when they stopped cold at the Level 81 Human guarding their passage to safety.

"I'm only saying this once. Surrender. If you do, no one gets-"

"HUMAN!" One of the Dragonkin charged forth lance-first, and his cohorts followed suit, like lemmings jumping off a cliff.

Sorry, Zamira. I don't think the whole surrender thing is going to work for me this time. Rob summoned a Riardin Special and threw it into the center of their group. Two of them dodged, and one didn't, his body popping into a confetti shower of limbs and blood. The survivors' distraught faces didn't prevent Rob from rushing forward to meet them, his sword swinging in a blur of motion and Skills.

One more down – wait, what? The distinctly un-bisected Dragonkin flew to the side, as if pushed by a great force, yet was otherwise unharmed. A telltale shimmer of Not A Scratch faded, the soldier landing unsteadily on her feet. She glanced in horror at her torso, comprehending in that instant how close she'd been to death.

Rob couldn't see the woman's System Messages, but he imagined that something like '800 Damage Nullified' had popped up. Hesitating, he lowered his sword. "I guess I am saying this more than once. Now that you've seen what I can do, I highly recommend surren-"

188 Piercing Damage Received!

He paused, then glanced down, narrowing his eyes at the speartip poking out of the front of his chest. Emboldened by her partner's sneak attack, the Dragonkin he'd been attempting to reason with charged.

Again.

Something in Rob's mind snapped like a dry twig under a hydraulic press. He grabbed the front of the spear and yanked it forward, pulling it through and out his chest.

"I keep giving you people chances." Rob activated Imbue Vitality for quadruple damage, then whirled around, stabbing the spear up through the roof of its owner's mouth.

"And you never." He summoned a crate of Firebombs and kicked it backwards.

"Fucking." An explosion shook the street, painting his back in viscera.

"TAKE THEM."

Despite Rob's Stamina being near-full, he was panting. Gradually, slowly, the ringing in his blood began to calm. Forget them, he told himself. Can't get hung up on a few randos. The sooner we rout them all, the less coalition casualties there'll be.

He faced the main war melee, hastily taking note of its progress. While he couldn't see everything – some of the fighting was splitting off into side streets – it seemed to be the beatdown he'd anticipated. The allied coalition had boxed in most of the Dragonkin, leaving them with no room to escape. One-by-one, the Dragonkin were being picked off, unable to gain ground against the coalition's superior...everything, really.

As expected, Riardin's Rangers, Sylpeiros, and Cyraeneus were the stars of the show. Both Leaders stood at the battle's forefront, manhandling anyone who faced them and exerting pressure just by virtue of their existence. Keira was almost lazily batting away her opponents, Danger Sense ensuring she remained undamaged and untouched. Vul'to's Auto-Guard was doing an admirable job at keeping Dragonkin away from the normal coalition soldiers. Meyneth was exchanging heated words with what seemed to be an enemy commander, looking like she'd swallowed a lemon, before picking him up and hurling him into a pile of Dragonkin-shaped bowling pins. Orn'tol's arrows and Malika's spells warded off whoever got too close, and Faelynn was zipping from enemy to enemy, Coup de Grace increasing her stats whenever she downed someone.

Overall, it was evident to Rob that the battle would already be over if the coalition had gone full bore right from the start. There was no need to, though, so they were content to take it slow and steady. It served the dual purpose of minimizing coalition casualties and grinding the Dragonkins' morale into a fine paste.

Several Dragonkin managed to break off from the main fight, sprinting like bats out of hell towards the Arieda City entrance. Rob was there to greet them. Another failed surrender spiel later, and he was starting to wonder if he should ask Diplomacy for more negotiation lessons – or at least follow Keira's advice to beef up Intimidation – because this was seriously getting ridiculous. Why in the world couldn't he convince people to value their own lives? Had Ragnavi threatened to disembowel them if they consorted with the Human or something?

Level Increased! 81 → 82
5 Stat Points Gained!

BERSERKER Level Increased! 79 → 80

Rob's eyes widened. He'd lost track of his EXP due to focusing on the battles, but now that he looked at it, it was going up fast. Sharing Hand was putting in a lot of work, giving him partial EXP for each Dragonkin soldier that Riardin's Rangers defeated. Even accounting for that, though, it was more than he'd-

You IDIOT. Rob activated Step of the Wind and sprinted forward into the heart of the melee, uncaring of the startled Dragonkin landing free potshots on him as he ran past. He couldn't afford to spare the attention. Not when he'd seen a flash of silver peeking out from one of the side streets, instantly causing him to understand why his EXP was boosting so quickly.

Zamira, in her effort to minimize casualties not just for the coalition, but for the Dragonkin as well, had taken it upon herself to incapacitate as many enemies as she could with Mercy's Whisper. Every artful swing of her sword rendered a soldier unconscious, yet alive, inflicting phantom injuries that would never kill. The Skill essentially forced them to surrender without her having to speak a single word.

It was a noble goal – and egregiously reckless. Zamira was smack dab in the middle of over thirty enemy soldiers. Rob knew for a fact that she hadn't put many points into Vitality, and while her evasive footwork was like a blur dancing around snails, nobody was perfect. Zamira would get hit eventually, and in that moment of weakness the Dragonkin would dogpile her before she regained her bearings.

Rob spat out a foul curse as that exact possibility played out in front of him. One soldier scored a lucky slice on Zamira's ankle, leading her to misstep and get grazed on the arm by another. Little injuries swiftly piled up, her face morphing into a mask of grim determination as she realized the situation she was in.

Then a Power Strike-infused warhammer smashed into her right leg. Without Rob's shared defensive Skill buffs, it would've crushed her bones to dust. The blow still sent Zamira reeling, her leg bending at an angle it shouldn't. She fell to the ground, and opportunistic vultures closed, preparing to strike.

"YOU DON'T GET TO DIE!" Rob spam-cast Rampage, activating its explosive effect at the end of each dash. Unsuspecting Dragonkin were blown apart in a line, as if an eighteen-wheeler truck had plowed straight through them. When he finally reached Zamira, the soldiers surrounding her froze in shock, scarcely able to believe their eyes.

They started to say something. Maybe to shout a battle cry, maybe to surrender, he didn't care. Rob cut down three lives in three seconds, the rest of the Dragonkin scattering away like a leaf pile before a tornado.

Practically growling, he ran his hand through sweat-tinged hair and turned to face Zamira. "For fuck's sake," Rob seethed. "Stop risking your life to play hero." He said it more angrily than intended, but he meant it.

Zamira gave him a weak chuckle. "Oh, so only you're allowed?"

"Do as I say, not as I do." A grin crept across his face, and he ruthlessly wiped it off. That had been too close. Rob faced the nearby Dragonkin, who were cowering like frightened rodents – as they goddamn well should be. "Would any of YOU like to surrender? Silly me, of course you don-"

Intimidation Level Increased! 4 → 5

Five sets of weapons clattered to the ground. "Y-you promise to spare our lives?" one of the Dragonkin mumbled, his voice wavering.

Oh come on! Rob suppressed a groan. I was scary before too, and the other guys still bumrushed me like Leeroy fucking Jenkings! What did I do differently this time? Was it the explosions?

...Wait, I think it actually was. Now that he thought about it, oversized explosions could function as a form of psychological warfare, especially to Elatrans who hadn't grown up on action movies and video games. They weren't accustomed to the sounds and sights of it at all. People here used Firebombs sometimes, but definitely not the way he did. A full crate was too volatile to carry around unless you had a deathwish, and too costly to waste on a single big-ticket blast.

It was a line of thought that seemed obvious now that he'd realized it, but in truth, Rob was so used to Rampage and the Riardin Special that they were his baseline for how big a boom should be. Anything smaller was just settling for less. Would also help explain why bombing the Arieda gates got the Harpies to capitulate. Hmm. This has...potential.

He blinked. Oh, right, the Dragonkin. "I accept your surrender," Rob said, adopting an imperious tone that made his skin crawl. He'd prefer not to have to cosplay as a Leader, but this would be more effective. Sure enough, the five Dragonkin sagged in relief, slinking off into a corner as they attempted to look as tiny as possible.

Only one stayed behind. "Revolting," the Dragonkin commander grumbled, eyeing his subordinates with pompous antipathy. "We are fortunate that our Queen is not here today. If she could see them now, she'd be disgusted to her very core."

Rob sensed a delusional two-bit villain monologue coming on. He cast Identify, confirming that the commander was only Level 45, and brandished his longsword. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Are you surrendering or should I bash your head off?"

The Dragonkin laughed. "Why surrender, when victory is assured? You haven't the faintest concept of how powerful our Queen is. She is inevitable. Inexorable. Invincible. An incarnation of Tylrud given mortal form. And even from afar, she grants her most devoted followers strength beyond measure."

What the heck is this dude smoking? In the brief moment that Rob was stunned into silence, the Dragonkin commander rapidly began to change. His skin bubbled, then hardened, dark brown scales spreading across the entirety of his body. Muscles bulged and expanded as he grew in size, swelling from six-and-a-half feet tall to over twenty. The man's clothing stretched, then ripped into pieces. Fangs and claws lengthened, and his face elongated into a snout. His posture shifted from bipedal to quadrupedal. Lastly, two long, leathery wings sprouted from his back, unfurling in all their resplendence.

The process took mere seconds to complete. And when it was all done, an honest-to-god Dragon was standing before them.

"Gaze upon the glory that is our birthright!" The Dragon's maw opened wide as he spoke, but his lip movements didn't quite match his deeply guttural words, as if they were echoing from somewhere else entirely. "Know this, Human! All other races are our prey! Animals to be hunted as we see fit! The Queen of Elatra has decreed thus, and so her will is law! No – greater than law, it is truth!"

As the Dragon rambled on, Zamira limped over to Rob. "Why didn't you strike him while he was transforming?" she whispered. "Is something amiss?"

"...Never seen one transform before. Thought it would be cool to watch at least once."

Which was a partial truth at best. In actuality, Rob wasn't sure why he'd hesitated. Something about the situation felt off. Just looking at the Dragon made him feel pins and needles poking under his skin.

Then the transformed commander leaped into the air, and just like that, Rob remembered in full.

He was back in Broadwater City. The Fiends were seconds awaiting from completing their teleportation spell and letting everyone escape that hellhole. Then, at their moment of triumph, death on wings came from above. Much larger than this Dragon, with red scales instead of brown. Fast as the wind. Strong as a mountain. Emanating power, malice, and insanity like roiling waves of Corruption.

Rob was tempted to compare it to a hawk swooping at a rabbit, but that wouldn't be fully correct. The hawk only hunted because it was hungry. It did not hate. It did not despise. Rob had faced countless monsters, and none of their cold eyes had seared into his memories nearly a fraction as deeply as the Dragon Queen's murderous gaze.

That gaze, aimed directly at him as she descended.

So when the brown-scaled Dragon commander yelled out a final taunt and started to dive, for a brief instant, all Rob could see was Ragnavi coming for him again.

Panicked instinct roared within him. He hurriedly activated all of his offensive Skills: Power Slash, Imbue Vitality, Bulk Up, and the Anklet of Moderate Brawn. Rob's feet left imprints in the ground as he jumped skyward, bypassing claws and fangs, his longsword slamming into the Dragon's underbelly.

Its hardened scales resisted – for half a second. A tearing squelch sound filled Rob's ears as he was absolutely showered in blood, gore, and plenty of other odds and ends that he didn't want to think about. The street rumbled as two huge pieces of Dragon collapsed to the ground, already motionless.

Swordsmanship Level Increased! 8 → 9

Rob landed back down a second later. Everything had gone strangely quiet. The fighting in his vicinity was on pause, coalition and Dragonkin soldiers alike frozen from witnessing a Dragon felled in one blow. Even though Rob's sword wasn't long enough to bisect something that large, the force of his attack had traveled upward through the Dragon's body and burst outwards, as if some giant creature had reached inside and yanked its flesh in opposite directions.

As the silence stretched on, Rob peered down at himself. Another outfit ruined, he thought, in a daze. Dripping head-to-toe with blood, and not a single drop was his own.

Rob flinched as he was doused by a gentle shower of water that washed off some of the fluids sticking to him. He looked to the side to find Merfolk King Cyraeneus casting low-grade elemental magic on him. "Came to assist you," Cyraeneus said, in a clipped tone. "Wasn't needed." He inclined his head towards the Dragon's corpse. "Good kill. Messy, though."

With that, he ran off to rejoin the Merfolk contingent. Rob wiped a mixture of water and blood off his face, the King's comment sinking in. I just killed a Dragon. That's a fantasy world bucket list item, right?

He tried to feel hyped, or gratified, but all that brought was a vague sense of bewilderment. Rob knew he was powerful, and the Dragon commander was far from the strongest thing he'd killed, yet more than anything else so far, this moment put things into perspective. There'd been no Party backing him up, no Purge Corruption to exploit a crucial weakness. He'd challenged an apex predator and butchered it with one swing of his sword.

Since when had this world gotten so fragile?

An echoing roar broke him out of his reverie. At the opposite end of the battlefield, Rob saw a second Dragon commander take flight. Instead of preparing to dive, this one kept rising, apparently wanting nothing more to do with any of this nonsense. It was time for the Harpies to earn their keep and chase it down before it could report to the Dragon Queen.

Before the Harpies could react, four arrows – each with the power of a bazooka – slammed into the Dragon's side at once. Another volley immediately followed, perforating both of its wings. The Dragon barely had time to cry out in pain as a barrage of elemental magic cut through, blades of wind and ice piercing straight into its wounds, carving out chunks of flesh that fell to the ground.

The Dragon itself fell a moment after.

Rob let out a low whistle. "Orn'tol and Malika have been practicing."

"So they have." Zamira grimaced. "It may provoke an unintended response, though. Look at the Dragonkin."

Rob surveyed the main battle area. While he couldn't see everything going on at once, by his estimates, there were about 60 Dragonkin left who hadn't surrendered or been killed. Those holdouts were yelling in their native tongue, faces stricken with panic. Watching their Draconic Form bosses get annihilated in a matter of seconds must've sent them into full fight-or-flight mode.

Group Message Received From Party Member: Meyneth
Meyneth: Be ready to protect our soldiers.
Meyneth: The Dragonkin are going to charge at the cost of their lives.
Meyneth: They believe a swift, noble death is preferable to being captured and tortured for information.
Zamira: Is it possible for you to-
Meyneth: I have attempted to reason with them.
Meyneth: Apparently, the words of a 'traitorous reprobate' or 'Human-loving harlot' are hardly worth considering.
Meyneth: Those appellations were the kindest I've heard today. I shall decline to mention the more colorful language they've used to describe me.

Zamira sighed and lowered her gaze, seeming resigned to what was about to transpire. Her expression gave Rob pause. He didn't care as much as her about saving everyone, but a suicide charge would still result in unnecessary coalition deaths. They'd kept their casualties to a minimum up until then, and it would suck if that changed because the Dragonkin didn't know how to quit when they were behind.

I'll just have to teach them. Rob examined the buildings in the surrounding area, picking out one that was tall and close to the center of the main battle. He produced a few MP Potions from Spatial Storage and chugged them in record time, nodding at Zamira after he'd swallowed the last drop. "Be back in a jiffy."

"Wh-"

Rob was already spam-casting Rampage up towards the rooftop. He chose not to activate its explosive effect and draw attention to himself; his plan would be more effective if it was a surprise. One Rampage, two Rampage, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. It was close, but his remaining MP combined with the Bracelet of Teleportation narrowly put him over the rooftop's edge.

"Step 1 complete." He slapped his longsword against his palm. "Can't say I'm looking forward to Step 2." Out of curiosity, he checked his HP.

HP: 1760 / 1760 (+60 from Battle Fever)

That tracked. Lifesteal had healed him to full. Let's see...I think I took around 200 damage from that initial backstab...and another 200 when I ran through the crowd without defending myself. He pointed his sword at his chest. So about 600 more to go.

As the Dragonkin prepped a suicide charge, Rob did the only thing he could think of that would save their lives: repeatedly skewering himself. Several vital organs later, a mental ding went off in his head, like the Skill version of an egg timer, informing him that he'd reached the '1000 damage sustained within a 1-hour period' threshold.

Lifesurging back to full HP, Rob took a deep breath. "You fuckers had better appreciate this." He-

Level Increased! 82 → 83
5 Stat Points Gained!

BERSERKER Level Increased! 80 → 81

He paused.

A thought occurred to him. If the Dragonkin charged, Riardin's Rangers would end up killing most of them. If it was, say, 40 out of the 60 soldiers...that meant 40 Combat Class users worth of EXP, partially gifted by Sharing Hand.

Tempting. Very tempting. He didn't want to reduce living people to EXP – that was a bad slippery slope to go down – but it was legitimately hard to give a shit about the Dragonkin right now. They were morally repugnant and seemed determined to earn a collective Darwin Award. His sleep wouldn't suffer much if he let them all die. Still, there were the coalition soldiers to consider, and...

And Zamira would be sad. Rob groaned. Fiiiine. I guess I'll be a good friend and not shatter her dreams.

He summoned a crate of Firebombs and tossed it over the rooftop. Aiming carefully, he threw his Broken Shortsword at the mid-air crate, detonating it high above the Dragonkins' heads. It got some of their attention, dozens of heads turning upwards.

That would have to be good enough. "HEY EVERYONE!" Rob screamed, at the top of his lungs. "CHECK THIS OUT!" He leaped forward, and at the peak of his jump, activated a Skill.

'Living Bomb.'

The world became heat and noise.

For a good few seconds, Rob couldn't see anything except white-orange flame surging around him. It covered his body and his vision, extending outwards by who knows how much. A cacophonous explosion rang in his ears, and it was only via the Skill's user-protective properties that he wasn't immediately deafened. The blast was worth ten, fifteen, maybe twenty Riardin Specials, all condensed into one sphere of fiery destruction.

I need to find more excuses to use this.

Gravity asserted itself around the same time that the Living Bomb faded. Rob landed feet-first in the center of the street, proudly surveying his handiwork. Not a single person had been physically harmed – although the rooftop he'd jumped from was little more than rubble – but the psychological damage was another matter entirely.

All the Dragonkin were giving him a wide berth, visibly terrified. They were so focused on creeping away from him that they'd backed into coalition soldiers, who were forced to awkwardly move their weapons out of the way to avoid accidental impalements. Speaking of the coalition soldiers, they were staring at Rob as well, albeit in awe rather than horror.

Neither side was looking at the other. If you removed the dead bodies and blood splatters littering the ground, there wouldn't have been any notion that a war battle was just taking place.

"Surrender," Rob said, in a calm, measured tone.

Intimidation Level Increased! 5 → 6

Intimidation Level Increased! 6 → 7

Weapons clattered to the ground. A couple holdouts raised their voices in protest, and were promptly silenced – by their own allies telling them to shut the hell up.

Message Sent To Party Member: Zamira
Rob: You're welcome.

--

Changes, Character Sheet, Skill List 

Thanks for reading!