Beguilement

"Who are you?" Grand Duke Leo shuddered violently, asking the question in his mind. At first he had thought it was his own inner thought, but then he realized something was wrong, and a chill ran down his spine—the voice was clearly beyond his control. "Who I am is of no consequence." "What matters is that red dragon. He slaughtered the son upon whom you pinned your highest hopes, crushed your invincible army, and is on the verge of destroying the family and realm you hold dearer than anything in the world." "You were meant to be the natural sovereign of the Northlands, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Lionheart King, Roselle, and carry the bloodline of House Bosque into eternity." "Yet now, that red dragon has ruined it all." "Do you not crave vengeance?" The deep voice asked again, as though dragging him step by step toward the bottomless Abyss. Terror instantly seized Leo's heart. He knew all too well how many beings in this world were capable of invading the mind: mind flayers, demons, devils, and even nameless extraplanar entities... Whoever it was, an entity like that posed supreme danger to a mortal like him. He was suddenly reminded of an old tale that had circulated since time immemorial: deep within the Anstica Mountains, a demon was said to hold dominion over vengeance, possessing the power to grant immense strength to the vengeful so they might cut their enemies to ribbons. The voice spoke once more. "I will grant you power. I will aid you in slaying that evil dragon. You shall become the savior of Anzeta, the true and only king of the Northlands!" "However..." *Roar—!* A draconic roar erupted through the heavens again, shattering his thoughts. Grand Duke Leo looked up to see the colossal red dragon soaring high into the sky, vomiting a billowing sea of flame that warped the air and dyed half the heavens crimson, as if bent on reducing the entire world to cinders. The wyrm silver dragon conjured a radiant, shimmering magical barrier, struggling desperately to withstand the encroaching flames. Yes. Kill him. A monstrosity like that should never have existed in this world. Be it the temptation of a devil or the dark power of a demon, so long as it could eradicate the evil dragon threatening the Principality of Bosque and preserve his family's millennium-long reign, sacrificing everything would be well worth the price. Leo Bosque lowered his head, long-suppressed hatred burning deep within his bloodshot eyes. He seemed to have reached a resolute choice. "I agree." "Splendid." The voice let out a contemptuous chuckle. "Urgh—!" Leo felt an extraordinarily chaotic surge of energy violently flood his heart, churning through his internal organs like a giant fist. Yet compared to the intoxicating ecstasy of newfound power, that fleeting agony was trivial. Never before had he felt so invincible, so brimming with strength. "Still... I need a little preparation." Leo retrieved a translucent crystal, held it close to his mouth, and whispered, "The grand dragon-slaying rite is about to begin. Members of Crimson Edge, prepare yourselves." A feverish smile crept onto the duke's face, and a faint glint of emerald light flickered deep within his pupils. ... "You and your archaic order will eventually be ripped apart by my claws!" Cassius smashed brazenly through barrier after barrier of abjuration, extending his muscular talons to pounce toward the wyrm silver dragon suspended in midair. Yet just as he was about to make contact with the gleaming silver scales, the dragon's body turned translucent and indistinct—even though that supposed "illusion" had been weaving spells just moments before. A flash of surprise struck Cassius's mind, and he whipped his head around immediately. "A *Simulacrum*?" "Arrogant whelp! When I was battling great wyrm red dragons, you hadn't even hatched!" A deafening roar erupted behind him as translucent scales materialized into solid form. The air vibrated violently as the silver dragon's massive true body abruptly appeared at his rear. Its forepaws were imbued with the combined magical effects of *Bigby's Crushing Hand*, *Fist of Stone*, and several other spells, slamming down brutally toward the red dragon's torso. Yet just a heartbeat before impact, Cassius's forelimbs moved with blur-like speed. *Rip—!* His talons, enveloped in a spellbreaking field, swept against the silver dragon's claws and scored across that once-flawless, mirror-bright wing membrane, carving out five gouges several meters long. *Boom!* The tremendous kinetic force carried by the 9th-level spell flung Cassius backward through the air. Shattered red scales rained down from above. With another thunderous crash, Cassius's immense bulk slammed heavily into the mountainside, kicking up a colossal plume of dust as he embedded deep into the stone, sending the entire slope crumbling downward. Yet before long, the dust cleared, and the red dragon's towering silhouette emerged once again. "Tricky old fossil." Cassius casually shook off the debris. As golden radiant fire ignited across his frame, his wounds knitted back together at a speed visible to the naked eye, his pale-gold pupils glaring fixedly at the silver dragon aloft. "A dragon over a thousand years old, and you still resort to such cheap tricks?" "Come! Face me head-on!" Cassius bellowed into the heavens, shouting his brazen provocation. Even after losing half of his enchanted items, this wyrm silver dragon still possessed a terrifyingly vast arsenal and astonishingly rich combat experience. A thousand years of accumulated wisdom was no mere bluff; the relentless barrage of spells made it difficult even for Cassius to stay fully on guard. A single misstep risked falling into a trap, followed immediately by a devastating cascade of arcane bombardment. "Barbaric, vulgar beast!" "I will teach you the meaning of true order!" Oszedro beat his wings in midair, though his left wing was now badly mangled and his form flickered between light and shadow, bruised and battered from head to tail in a distinctly disheveled state. Despite his dismissive words, the wyrm silver dragon wore a grim expression, his mercury-orb eyes filled with undisguised shock. Oszedro was now utterly certain: this red dragon possessed the potential to become a progenitor dragon, and might even climb higher still. The creature's magical nature was astonishingly elevated; ordinary spells could not affect him in the slightest, unable to leave even a scratch on his hardened scales. Only spells of the 7th circle or above could barely take effect. His vitality was equally monstrous. Even after taking the brunt of a 9th-level spell, he recovered with blinding speed. It was as though a magical reactor was housed within that ferocious draconic body, producing an inexhaustible torrent of surging power. In the wyrm silver dragon's assessment, the red dragon's only slight shortfall lay in his spellcasting. Yet even so, bolstered by supernatural Charisma, an overwhelmingly potent bloodline essence, and ancient draconic spells passed down through ancestral inheritance, he commanded spellcasting prowess rivaling that of an epic sorcerer. That *Spell Wither*, bearing uncanny similarities to *Mage's Disjunction*, had dealt Oszedro a bitter blow. Over the course of the protracted clash, the clouds and mist had gradually dissipated. Under the gaze of tens of thousands of observers across the battlefield, the two great dragons—one crimson, one silver—confronted each other once more from a distance. The battlefield was utterly transformed, bearing no resemblance to the once-flat wasteland. The spectating soldiers and onlookers stood slack-jawed in sheer awe. Across the pitted, ravaged earth lay fallen meteors, scorched and resolidified basalt, slowly creeping lava, and gradually melting icebergs, all mingling into a bizarre and chaotic panorama of devastation.