A Style to Defeat Dragons

Sheen had won.

He stood victorious in a room spattered with blood, littered with severed limbs and strewn with corpses.

The plan to raid the nobles’ banquet at the foot of the mountain had fallen through, but he still held the most important bargaining chips.

The Duke’s daughter.

And the eldest son of a merchant family.

Ransom these two, and he could live the rest of his life in comfort and ease.

For Sheen, that was more than enough.

A slight smile touched Sheen’s lips at the thought.

He walked over to Kukk’s body, his expression complex as he gazed down at the desiccated corpse.

If someone hadn’t poisoned the bastard, he likely wouldn’t have survived the preceding melee.

Besides, it was better this way… Had Kukk lived, Sheen would have been forced to follow him on that suicidal raid.

It would have been a death sentence.

Ever since Kukk started using ‘that stuff,’ he had become impervious to blades and his strength had skyrocketed, but his decisions had grown radical and reckless, even unhinged.

Sheen glanced down at his own wounds.

His left arm and abdomen, among other places, were slashed, some still oozing blood…

Yet even so, he smiled—a grim, joyless thing.

Sheen turned, his triumphant gaze falling upon Adrian in the corner.

He noticed that the black-haired youth, who moments ago had been red-eyed and trembling, now seemed like a completely different person.

The fear on Adrian’s face was gone, replaced by a triumphant expression that mirrored Sheen’s own, tinged with a hint of nonchalant arrogance.

That look in his eyes…

Sheen’s brow furrowed, and killing intent flared within him.

“Was it you, you bastard? Did you poison him?!” Sheen snarled.

Adrian shrugged.

“Please. When you captured me, all I had was a thread-bound book,” Adrian said, picking up a longsword. “Your own group is a mess of suspicion and infighting. Don’t pin your problems on me.”

Sheen’s eyes scanned Adrian.

Suddenly, he saw it—Adrian’s left hand.

A fresh cut, still weeping blood.

Sheen’s pupils contracted as a chilling thought surfaced in his mind.

Earlier, one of his men had carelessly shattered a vessel. They’d made Adrian clean up the shards, and he had cut himself.

‘No, it’s impossible…’

A memory flashed through Sheen’s mind.

Adrian had indeed poured Kukk a cup of wine.

But he had been watching Adrian the entire time; his every move had been under scrutiny.

Only a few drops of blood… had fallen into Kukk’s cup.

The color drained from Sheen’s face.

‘Poisoned blood?’

‘No… that can’t be!’

Sheen forcefully pushed the absurd thought from his mind.

Regardless, it didn’t matter now.

He was in control of the situation. The boy couldn’t escape his grasp.

“You think a few days of practicing the Kingdom’s ‘performance swordplay’ makes you a match for real swordsmen like us?” Sheen tightened his grip on his hilt. “I was once the prince’s own royal swordmaster. I’ve been to war. I’m a warrior who has clawed his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.”

“They call me the ‘Sword Saint of the Royal Capital,’ just like that famous one from Dongqi,” Sheen said, raising his sword, his eyes like a hawk’s fixed on its prey. “And you? You’re just a brat with hands too soft to even have calluses. I doubt you’ve ever even killed a chicken.”

He watched Adrian’s movements, a cold sneer playing on his lips.

Sheen was also bolstering his own confidence.

He fell into his opening stance, the tip of his longsword aimed directly at Adrian’s face.

Despite his injuries, despite that flicker of doubt…

Sheen was now brimming with confidence.

His sword style was an unparalleled art, a school developed by the most brilliant swordsmen of Dongqi.

The Dragon-Form Imperial Sword.

Most masters would recognize this opening stance, and Sheen could practically smell the fear it inspired in them.

But this boy before him, though he looked like he was from Dongqi, had grown up in the Kingdom.

He surely had no idea how formidable this style was.

Thinking this, Sheen even felt a twinge of pity.

His remaining men also took their stances, all of them pointing their swords at Adrian.

Adrian flourished his longsword and settled into an opening stance of his own.

‘What the hell is that posture?’

Sheen narrowed his eyes, the contempt on his face deepening.

The stance was bizarre; even the battle-hardened Sheen had never seen anything like it.

There was only one possibility: the boy was bluffing.

“Trying to stall for time?” Sheen scoffed.

He saw right through Adrian’s intentions.

Sheen knew that as soon as Duke Wenser discovered Ilisia was missing, he would dispatch a large contingent of guards to search for her.

It was only a matter of time before they found this place.

Sheen had no intention of letting him drag this out until the guards arrived.

“Royal swordmaster? Sounds impressive,” Adrian said, his expression grim.

He raised his injured hand and unconsciously rubbed his nose.

“Enough talk. Are you going to fight or not?” Adrian demanded.

Sheen’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening around the hilt.

“Hah! If you’re so eager to die, I’ll be happy to oblige!”

With a great shout, Sheen and his men surged forward, their swords slashing in unison.

The Dragon-Form Imperial Sword was like a divine dragon taking flight—once unleashed, it was unstoppable.

But Adrian simply shifted his body, and with a flick of his blade, he deflected the incoming strike.

It was deft, swift, and utterly seamless.

Adrian followed with a flip, his toes tapping the ground to launch himself into the air. The sword in his hand struck like a viper, its arc a flash of rainbow light.

His blade pierced the throat of the man beside Sheen.

One down.

Sheen’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Such speed!’

Giving himself no more time to think, Sheen brought his own sword down in a diagonal slash.

His remaining men attacked at the same time.

But—

Adrian’s footwork was as light as the wind, his blade flowing like water. It was as if he were dancing.

Clang!

With a single, clear ring of steel, Sheen’s killing blow was parried.

A moment later, a flash of light swept out, enveloping the wrist of another of Sheen’s men.

The man’s face went pale with fright. He scrambled back, but before he could even catch his breath, his wrist was severed.

“Urk…”

He collapsed to his knees, blood jetting from the stump of his arm.

He fell to the floor, twitched once, and then was still.

Two down.

Sheen was utterly stunned.

His eyes saw Adrian’s moves, but his mind couldn’t process them.

‘How can this boy’s sword be so fast?’

Before Sheen could even reset his stance, Adrian saw an opening and lunged forward.

His sword carried the force of a gale, yet moved like a falling petal.

The attack was a masterful blend of feint and reality, truth and deception.

Sheen hastily raised his sword to block, but he knew his defense was rushed and clumsy. A fatal mistake.

He watched as Adrian suddenly retracted his blade, the cold light of the steel twisting in the air.

Clang!

The sword was knocked from Sheen’s hand.

Three killing blows, all effortlessly broken.

The flash of the blade came again.

Sheen was now unarmed.

He could only twist his body in a desperate attempt to dodge, but he couldn’t evade a single strike.

Adrian’s movements were light, his blade tapping weightlessly against every one of Sheen’s joints…

And every joint began to bleed.

The final thrust went straight into Sheen’s stomach.

Adrian released his grip, leaving the sword embedded in the wound.

Sheen staggered back, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.

Blood seeped from the wound, staining his clothes crimson.

“Your backhand is weak!”

“Your forehand is clumsy!”

“Your footwork is sloppy!”

“Your reflexes are slow!”

Adrian looked down at Sheen, who was bleeding out on the floor, and shook his head in disappointment.

“Not a single one of your moves was decent!”

His gaze turned cold.

“And you dare compare yourself to the Sword Saint of Dongqi?”

With that said, Adrian let out a breath, the cold mask on his face dissolving back into his usual nonchalant expression.

Sheen’s face was ashen, his pupils dilated. He was still breathing, but his ability to fight was completely gone.

He stared at Adrian for a long time before finally forcing out a question:

“What… what sword style is that?”

Sheen’s voice was hoarse and low.

“It’s a style designed specifically to defeat the Dragon-Form Imperial Sword,” Adrian replied.

“You… you…” Sheen’s eyes suddenly bulged.

But before he could utter the second ‘you,’ his head lolled to the side, and his last breath escaped him.

Sheen was dead.