Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1442 Must We Lose It?
Nidhogg's dragon claws struck the Countess, slowly but resolutely. The surrounding shadows seemed to press inward, bringing a heavy sense of oppression. A gloomy aura of death surged and spread from between the decaying, pale skeletons, carrying the desolate scent of death, threatening to completely devour the tiny vampire before her. But the Countess did not flinch, for she knew that no thought of cowardice could ever prevail over the dragon's authority; only battle could earn his approval.

It was strange; why would she want the approval of a dead dragon? Especially one that was incredibly brutal, evil, and dangerous. Neville was puzzled by this feeling, sensing that it might stem from a forgotten memory from history, one from which she could not trace.

Instinct told her to focus on the battle at hand.

If you don't want to die.

The oppressive aura of the evil dragon was suffocating. Even the most powerful blood magic could not shake the dragon's skeletal body in the slightest. The countess gritted her teeth in hatred. She knew that she actually had one last resort, which was... to forget about blood magic.

By directly unleashing magic as a weapon, the demigod vampires, with their vast magical reserves, might be able to shake Nidhogg's momentum. This is a last resort, just as it's useless to rely on previously learned combat techniques when facing a madman. Only the most brutal and bloody melee can determine the final outcome.

The countess's strength lay in doing whatever came to mind, so once she made up her mind, she didn't hesitate. Her hands swept across the air, her sharp nails tearing open her arms and wrists, slicing through her thin skin, biting open the tightly knit flesh, and a torrent of blood gushed out like a flood bursting its banks, forming a mighty tide. The bewitching red stained the darkness, making it seem as if time had reversed, returning from night to dusk.

A vast expanse of crimson twilight released itself in the opposite direction of night, stirring up tremors and wails in the void. These surging tides of twilight, like a thousand horses galloping, relentlessly rushed towards the resurrected dragon. In their path, everything superfluous was devoured—the wildly swirling, decaying mist, the deathly aura emanating from Nidhogg's body, even the finest dust particles invisible to the naked eye in the void—all were absorbed into this twilight, becoming part of it.

The tide's colors gradually deepened, becoming a somber, dark, and somber hue, exuding an aura of decay and destruction, as if the entire world was destined to perish under the baptism of twilight, with no possibility of escape. Nidhogg heard a roar of pain and rage from this twilight, the roar of his former adversary, defeated and even killed by the Countess. The resentment in the soul of that adversary still lingered within her magic, and he sensed a powerful threat approaching. But the vampire demigod's offensive was so fierce and swift that he had no time to consider a countermeasure, and his inner pride would not allow him to retreat or hide at this moment.

After all, in his eyes at this moment, the countess was exactly the image of his destined rival.

Should he bow down to Heraswalg and expose his cowardice and fear?
Absolutely impossible!

Without hesitation, he charged headlong into the twilight, and into the dragon flowing with noble blood. Its pale, decaying claws shot out, aiming for his vitals, attempting to gain an advantage from the very start of the duel. But the Hrasvalg he saw in the illusion wore a confident smile, completely unfazed by the attack. The next moment, the twilight tide engulfed Nidhogg's upper body, plunging him into a deep sea, creating a hollow, weightless sensation. His outstretched claws became stuck in an endless swamp, unable to move an inch.

It was like trying to fight against raging waves with physical strength—utterly futile. Instead, Nidhogg's body was shaken by the twilight, momentarily frozen. The vast shadow, large enough to cover the entire abyss and bring fear and panic to countless lives, remained frozen like a background embedded in a canvas. Meanwhile, the crimson tide, flowing with the Countess's magic, swept across, engulfing the colors of heaven and earth, leaving only a deep twilight.

Herraswalg—

Caught in the twilight tide, a chaotic soul surfaced a vague memory, seemingly traversing millennia, blurring the lines between reality and illusion. He struggled to pull himself from the tide, standing silently on the wasteland, leaving an indelible mark on the exposed black earth. His withered dragon wings maintained his balance; this colossal, unfathomable skeletal dragon, reaching into the clouds, oppressed the masses on the ground with its shadow, just as it had always done.

Under the oppressive aura of the dragon's remains, the Countess had to exert all her strength to maintain her magical output. She didn't know what Nidhogg had seen that made him suddenly stop in his tracks and stay to fight her. But since he wanted to fight, the Countess would respond with a fight.

call--! ! !
Nidhogg heard the wind howling.

But where does the wind come from in the frozen twilight tide?
Therefore, this gust of wind did not originate in the present, but rather from thousands of years ago.

Rivals from the same fated destiny.

……

"Heraswalg!!!"

With a roar, the dragon's claws tore through the void, but the colossal dragon of heaven and earth easily evaded them. It didn't consider actively dodging an opponent's attack humiliating, so even its retreat was casual and unhurried. It flapped its platinum-gold wings, the shimmering scales whipping up howling winds that cascaded down from the highest point of Platinum Mountain to its lowest point. The entire mountain range was enveloped in the dragon's breath, allowing it to look down upon Nidhogg, still resting on the ground. It unleashed a sharp dragon breath, the wind splitting into countless tiny blades that became visible to the naked eye, like a waterfall cascading from the sky, cleansing Nidhogg from head to toe, leaving even more intricate wounds on its already scarred body. The continuous pain traveled from the nerves in his body to his brain and was received by his soul. Nidhogg glared at Hraeswalg, who was trying to distance himself, and a surge of anger burned fiercely in his eyes.

"Do not run away, Heraswalg!"

He too took flight, chasing after the colossal dragon of heaven and earth, closing the distance while enduring its dragon breath, roaring, "Face me! Fight me!"

“That’s a bit much to ask, Nidhogg.”

Unmoved by his provocation, Hraswalg remained calm, flapping his wings and whipping up gusts of wind to interfere with Nidhogg's movements, while simultaneously retreating, further increasing the distance between them. This scene astonished and disbelieved the dragons watching below. Although the entire mountain range would be the arena for the final selection ceremony, meaning Hraswalg wouldn't be disqualified regardless of whether he flew out of the arena, why... why did he flee? Why did he hand over the power of attack to Nidhogg? Why didn't he use his strongest offensive from the very beginning to suppress or even defeat Nidhogg?

All the dragons believed that Hrathwalg possessed the ability but deliberately chose not to, which puzzled them. Only the dragons of heaven and earth on the battlefield understood that these were merely unrealistic expectations placed upon him. They had ignored Nidhogg for too long, never considering the capabilities of this aloof and solitary dark dragon, even though he stood on the dueling stage through his own strength; they all believed it was merely luck. Hrathwalg, however, had been observing Nidhogg closely, even before their first conversation. Therefore, he was probably the dragon on Mount Platinum who understood Nidhogg best—besides their shared teacher. Nidhogg was undoubtedly powerful, or rather, formidable, a strength manifested in his physique. Hrathwalg's size surpassed that of his kind, but not by much, and because his power had reached its peak, his size would not increase further. Nidhogg, however, was different. His strength was constantly growing, and his size was constantly increasing. The terrifying brute force contained within his body could even be compared to that of the oldest race of giants. Horacevalg did not believe he could defeat Nidhogg in a physical confrontation, so he chose to first wear down his opponent's morale, which was the most appropriate strategy.

If Nidhogg and the other spectators fought as they expected, he would probably be defeated very quickly.

Of course, this is also because Nidhogg's power has not reached its peak. If he were in the same state as me, this strategy would probably not work.

So, why?

Heraswalg stared intently at the relentlessly pursuing dragon, puzzled.

What puzzled Hrascwalg was why Nidhogg chose to fight him at this time.

If he truly wanted to defeat him, the safest approach would be to wait for his strength to grow. Since his physique wasn't yet fully developed and his power hadn't reached its peak, the chances of winning in this state were only one or two out of ten. Once he was fully grown, while victory wouldn't be guaranteed, his odds would be significantly higher. Or perhaps he had some compelling reason to fight?

Herathwald suddenly realized the significance of this duel, but quickly shook his head, dismissing his own conjecture. Nidhogg had said that he wasn't participating in the selection ceremony for the Dragon King's throne, and Herathwald knew these words were true, for Nidhogg was a proud dragon who wouldn't utter a single falsehood.

So, it was aimed at me?
What merit or ability does he possess?
A bitter smile played on the lips of the colossal dragon, who momentarily lost focus, seemingly remembering something. This fleeting lapse in concentration was noticed by Nidhogg, who had been watching him intently, igniting an even fiercer rage within him. He was such a proud dragon; how could he tolerate such blatant contempt from his opponent in battle?
"Don't ignore me, you bastard!!!"

With a deafening roar, Nidhogg's dragon wings tore through the void, making a ripping sound as if tearing fragile paper. Huge cracks appeared in the sky where the edges of his massive wings had sliced ​​through, from which black storms surged, sweeping across the entire firmament, clinging to Nidhogg's body and scales, making him appear like a terrifying beast riding the darkness. Such overwhelming power, such resolute attack, was unprecedented in the countless battles Horace Varg had experienced, because he wasn't even fighting for survival, but for a certain obsession within his heart.

These black storms possessed a deep, somber aura, filled with a chilling sense of destruction and devastation. No dragon had ever been able to control such terrifying storms, not even Herasvarg. So when he saw a black wall rise from the steep slopes of the ancient mountains, sealing off the surroundings at an astonishing speed, even obscuring the sky and forming a sealed prison, a hint of astonishment appeared in his clear, pure azure eyes.

The unstoppable, thunderous black storm swallowed all light, plunging the dragons witnessing the duel below into darkness, making them wonder if night had fallen prematurely. Hrascwalg reacted swiftly, flapping his wings to retreat while simultaneously shifting his dragon breath towards the towering city walls surrounding him, attempting to break free of his confinement. But Nidhogg, as the initiator of the attack, was clearly faster. Almost at the same moment Hrascwalg reacted, Nidhogg burst forth from the black storm like a meteor rising from the ground, hurtling headlong into Hrascwalg without hesitation.

The dragon, bearing the title "Heaven and Earth," had no time to dodge this time. Nidhogg slammed into its chest, like two mountains colliding, producing a deafening roar. Hraswag felt a powerful impact directly on his body, so intense even through his thick scales, shaking his internal organs and leaving him dizzy and disoriented, unable to retaliate. As the one who inflicted the impact, Nidhogg's recoil was no less than his opponent's, but he withstood it with unwavering willpower. Without uttering a sound, he extended his two claws, gripping the wing bones of Hraswag's shoulder blades, restraining his wings. At the same time, he used the power of the storm to propel his opponent's massive body forward, finally slamming it heavily against the black city wall.

boom--! ! !
It was wind, an ethereal and intangible thing, yet when it coalesced, it was more solid than a real city wall, even approaching the hardness of cold steel. When Hraswarg's body was pushed by Nidhogg against the high wall formed by the storm, the weight of the two dragons was applied to it without reservation, but it did not budge the wall in the slightest. Instead, the mountains below shook violently, emitting mournful cries, ancient trees were broken, huge rocks fell, and dust rose up, spreading endlessly and obscuring the entire view.

The invisible wind, propelled by immense force, transformed into the sharpest sword in the world, tearing open the dragon's scales and leaving gruesome wounds. A sharp, piercing pain shot through his back. Heraswag had no idea how many bones he had broken or how much blood he had shed; he only knew that he had never been so wretched in his entire life.

I acknowledged my opponent's physical strength but overlooked his speed, which led to such a severe blow at the start of the duel. This is where my immaturity lies.

The colossal dragon of heaven and earth chuckled bitterly to itself, but didn't dwell on it too much. It opened its massive maw, and a scorching breath, transforming into a hurricane, erupted from between its ferocious fangs, instantly engulfing Nidhogg, who had been suppressing it. Nidhogg's reckless close-quarters combat paid the price. At near-zero distance, with no blind spots, he had no room to dodge and absorbed the full power of the dragon's breath. The dragon's breath, manipulated by Heraswalg, seeped into Nidhogg's blood vessels and even his bone marrow along the wounds inflicted upon him, causing him a sharp pain. Instinctively, he relaxed his grip on his opponent, and Heraswalg suddenly broke free, simultaneously sweeping his dragon tail across the area, sending the unresponsive Nidhogg flying and giving himself a chance to catch his breath. He quickly flew backward, creating distance once again.

Engaging this creature in hand-to-hand combat was clearly unwise; the pair of dragon wings, drooping against his body with broken bones, proved this point, and the excruciating pain still lingers. For dragons, their wings are perhaps the most prized part of their bodies, inextricably linked to their power, granting them the innate ability to soar through the skies, and serving as a unique symbol of their superiority over other mortal races. Therefore, whether their wings are damaged or completely lost, it is a disgrace for a dragon.

Heraswag's momentary lapse in concentration allowed him to experience this humiliation for the first time in his life. Nidhogg, the instigator, did not pursue him after being flung away by Heraswag's dragon tail. He simply wiped the blood from his head, the scar left from the impact with his opponent was so glaring.

He flapped his dragon wings, which were as withered as autumn leaves, and said to Heraswalg, "Now, we are equal."

Long ago, when Nidhogg was honing his will and skills in a bloody battle with a certain magical beast, his dragon wings were severely injured in its counterattack, almost torn off by the roots. Now the wounds have healed, leaving only gruesome scars. Nidhogg has long been accustomed to fighting with these tattered wings, his movements and postures fluid and natural. Without close observation, one might think his wings were born that way. Such dragons are not uncommon in the history of dragons, but their reputation is less than flattering; they are generally considered… deformed anomalies.

Nidhogg didn't care whether someone was an outsider or not; he only cared about one thing: who would gain and who would lose in this duel.

Therefore, what he has lost, Heraswalg will also lose.

　Give me some cats
　　(End of this chapter)