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The Lion faced the knights with arrogant eyes. He stomped forward, crushing human corpses beneath his paws. The Lion’s front paws were larger than a man’s torso. Steam dripped from the corners of its mouth, the remnants of the powerful magic it had unleashed.

“…What the hell is that?”

Rhys murmured. That thing was more powerful than an entire army of monsters. He tried desperately to deny the thoughts that flashed through his mind.

The Giant.

That Lion, alone, exuded such a presence. It denied the existence of humans, a being that refuses to tolerate anything living and breathing beneath it. Those who had fought the Giant before stood frozen in place, and those who hadn’t flinched at the sensations they were experiencing for the first time. The Lion stood single-handedly against the Kingdom, its presence raising the fallen creatures to their feet one by one.

“That can’t be the Disaster. I’ve never heard of one taking that form…”

Agnes muttered in a low voice. Behind her, Quenor drew his sword, his eyes flashing and his horse’s head turning. The soldiers cowered in the Lion’s presence. Monsters are to be feared by the people, but those who fight them must not be intimidated. The Archduke drew on his magic to dispel the dread that settled over him.

“It’s an old bastard. It’s probably the one controlling the monsters.”

At Quenor’s words, Agnes swallowed dryly.

“…Perhaps not a Disaster, but not too far from one.”

Quenor slowly unleashed his magic. The halberd in his hand trembled fiercely but quietly and then glowed. He was furious, but he did not lose his cool. Nor was he overwhelmed by the presence of his mighty foe. His blazing blue eyes showed pride and killing intent.

“I will go take care of it.”

Quenor dismounted from his horse, his voice calm. He needed someone to take charge of the Northerners if Quenor left the battlefield. Agnes did not insist on going with him; she had her own role to play.

“You must return victorious.”

Quenor nodded and moved forward. The time had come to avenge the humiliation of almost losing to the Giant. Each footstep toward the Lion left a trail of cold blue frost. His sword was light yet made marks as he walked.

“Are you not afraid?”

The Lion opened its mouth. Its gaze was still arrogant, but now its full attention was on Quenor. The imaginary scales between the two beings’ gazes were balanced, not tipped one way or the other.

“It is you who should be afraid.”

With that declaration, Quenor unleashed his full power. A small storm arose at the Archduke’s feet. The floor cracked, the atmosphere tore and howled. The arrogance slowly faded from the Lion’s eyes. Savagery took its place, and the tendons in its upper legs began to twitch.

“How delightful”

The Lion’s voice rang with pleasure. It was an unexpected encounter, but he was pleased all the same. The Lions let out a roar, fangs flashing, its mane twitched, and claws bared. The Lion breathed deeply and circulated its mana. It raced through its veins, ready to be unleashed.

“Let blood flow once more.”

The battles of the Age of Myth are imprinted in the Lion’s blood. The swords of heroes and spells of wizards. He had bitten and killed countless legends. It was his instinct, mission, and purpose.

“I’m glad to see I still have work to do.”

Quenor’s power was as strong as any of those legends. Maybe even stronger.

“They will be pleased when I kill you. I will grow stronger if I chew your throat and quench my thirst with your blood. Your life will be an offering for their descent, a symbol of our victory.”

The Lion laughed heartily. That is if you consider its opened mouth letting out rough grunts as a laugh. It then took a step forward. At the same time, Quenor took a step forward.

“That’s good.”

Quenor bared his teeth and laughed. The power of their perfect equilibrium did not leak out; it simply enveloped and swirled around them. The two beings were in a world of their own. The nervous gazes of the outside world were none of their business.

“What a coincidence. I find this most fortunate as well.”

They observed every inch of the being before them. The rise and fall of their chests, the slight deviations of their heartbeats, and the twitches of their legs and arms. Even standing still and observing each other was a battle. Invisible signs were translated into signals only they could interpret, things that would soon become knives pointed at their throats. Dozens and hundreds of clashes were exchanged with each tick of the clock.

At some point, after dozens of hundreds of observations, they stopped. The breath they inhaled and promptly exhaled blew into each other’s faces. They sized each other up, gauged the distance, and drew a line of death.

“….”

Finally, as a snowflake dropped to the ground, the Lion rushed forward and raised its forepaws. Quenor lowered his blade, and an azure aura coated it with frost. He then charged at the golden Lion with a howling tornado at his feet.

The clash shook the battlefield, causing minor earthquakes. The Lion’s downward-slashing claws blocked Quenor’s upward-slashing blade. Quenor grimaced at the weight he faced. The ground dug deep, creating a shallow but massive pit. The Lion wanted to press down and kill, and Quenor tried to throw it off balance.

Mana and magic recoiled. The stalemate was over but not concluded. Quenor forced his disjointed sword strikes together and pushed forward. The Lion did not dodge the blow but matched it with its forepaws.

“…Unusual.”

Quenor muttered. The Lion hadn’t spilled a drop of blood, even after he had unleashed his aura at full force. It shook its mane in satisfaction and approached again.

“You are stronger than the heroes I faced before. It would be worth taking you down.”

Quenor gritted his teeth. This time, it was the Lion’s gaping maw that came forward. It spread its forepaws wide and tried to crush Quenor with its upper arms. He tried to thrust his sword into the Lion’s gaping maw, but before the blade could penetrate the roof of the Lion’s mouth, it closed its jaws like a shark, catching it. The Lion stuck its neck out, trying to separate the sword from Quenor.

“Arghhh!”

Quenor gritted his teeth. His shoulder was nearly ripped off. He unleashed his aura once more, but the Lion held strong.

“It’s fun to bend a people who won’t listen.”

The Lion said coherent words were said even with its mouth held open. Quenor and the Lion were engaged in a battle of wits. Letting go of power would narrow Quenor’s options, and maintaining it would keep the fight even. The Lion bit down harder, seemingly unfazed by the azure auror burning in his mouth.

“It would be extra special if I could break and kill you.”

“Arrogant.”

Quenor cranked up the power. This time it was the Lion’s turn to be surprised. He almost lost his grip on his sword with the force of the pull. But it held. Coupled with the aura’s increasingly annoying burning in his mouth, the odds were stacked against him.

“Hmph.”

With a snort, the Lion threw the sword upwards. Contrary to his expectations, Quenor had expected the timing. He twisted in midair, thrusting his blade down. The moment it made contact, his aura exploded.

The eruption tore a massive hole in the ground. The Lion’s face contorted and writhed, its body twisting and trembling.

“How dare youuu-!”

This time, the Lion increased its power. An earth-shattering roar erupted from its throat, sending shockwaves through the area. Those fighting nearby were swept away, monsters and humans alike.

“Remnants-!”

The Lion shouted. A blurry golden afterimage lingered like a shadow over the grass. The Lion itself became a giant blade, slicing through the tall grass. The charge could not be dodged or blocked. Quenor realized instinctively: He must push back with greater force, somehow deflect it.

He has reached a crossroads. One side was life, the other death. One path would be a narrow passage, while the other would slowly shrink until it no longer existed. If a choice is not made, the way ahead crumbles. Below the cliff, the golden paws of the Lion awaited.

The choice was obvious for Quenor. He meets the oncoming golden blade head-on. The sword shot forward. No deviation or imperfection. The peak of two unstoppable forces met each other. A single mistake will cost their lives.

Sword and claw collided. The line drawn by the Lion and the hero disappeared. The line would become a scale, swinging until a corpse gives a clear victor.

Claws met metal, and they tangled. The Lion had three primary ways of attacking. And it knew how to wield them better than anything else. Quenor had one sword. So how does he counter it? He just has to match them.

Quenor sees the path of the three attacks and thrusts his sword out. With one swing, he parries three. Sword and claw clashed, searing sparks flying. The force whizzed past his face, leaving a small scar on his cheek.

“Persistent.”

The Lion’s words mingled with a low growl. Again the front paws flew out. Quenor’s gaze met its eyes, and he felt the attack with his senses alone. The hilt deflected the claws. Parrying was a process of pushing. Force and direction. Quenor let his body do the thinking.

The sword made an opening and aimed for the heart. Mythical blood spattered the air and vanished. For the first time in millennia, blood burst from Lion’s hide and flowed. It roared again, furious. The Lion is ancient, yet it lived in the present. All the years humans had spent building up from generation to generation, it had spent as an individual.

It could not accept the outcome.

With a momentary burst of power, it pushed Quenor away. The difference in birth tipped the balance, and for the first time, a one-sided attack landed.

“Kughh-!!!”

Quenor coughed up blood and was thrown back. Human blood stained the ground. A gust of wind howled from where the Lion’s claw had passed. The space warped and shook.

“Can’t you see the ending?”

The Lion smiled again, this time with satisfaction. It took a step toward the fallen human.

Quenor’s armor lay in shreds on the ground, and where it had been shattered, a deep gash spilled out a pool of blood.