Alice in the Land of Steam

Is Chapter 1448 a pitiful fellow?
Nidhogg made no move, handing over the power of counterattack to his opponent, seemingly having long since disregarded winning or losing.

Heraswalg was not surprised at all, because he had long known that Nidhogg was a proud fellow, proud to the point of being stubborn, stubborn to the point of being resolute, and ultimately, resolute to the point of being frightening.

But how can we admit defeat before the very last moment?
Although I look disheveled and have no strength left to fight back, as long as I haven't fallen, there is still a chance to win.

The colossal dragon on the ground suddenly took a deep breath. In the next instant, a chilling gale gathered in every crevice of the mountain range. It rippled through the creeping grass, weaved through the crevices of rocks, and lingered on the branches of ancient trees… giving new life to these things drowning in the darkness of the black hole. When the heavy black hole devoured everything tangible and intangible to achieve destruction, the wind quietly brought new life. It made withered grass turn green again, gradually mended cracked rocks, and allowed the gray ancient trees to stretch their branches. It even penetrated deep into the earth's deepest layers, stirring up the ancient magic buried deep within the strata.

And so, like a dormant volcano awakening, a surge of surging power erupted suddenly, transforming into a visible hurricane that swept across the land. The mountains beneath his feet rose, the earth lifted, and Hraswag's body remained stationary, yet continued to soar higher and higher, his bright, clear eyes telling Nidhogg: even without his dragon wings, he was still a dragon bearing the name "Heaven and Earth," the noblest and oldest bloodline among dragons, a descendant who inherited all the glory of the infinite dragon god Bahamut... and at the same time, his unique pride.

The gale-force winds lifted the earth and mountains into the sky—is this the true power of Hraswalg?
Nidhogg had never underestimated his opponent from the start, so he showed no surprise and spoke slowly, his voice a mixture of bloodlust and the howl of the wind: "Very strong, Heraswalg."

“You’re not bad either, Nidhogg.” He addressed Nidhogg by his full name again after many years.

This time, however, the latter no longer felt offended and said calmly, "Let's see who will emerge victorious."

As the words fell, the swirling black holes were abruptly frozen, drawn away by time. Thousands upon thousands of black holes clung to Nidhogg's outstretched dragon wings, like countless dim meteorites attempting to challenge the sun's majesty. The collapse and shattering of space were halted in an invisible breath, and everything around fell into deathly silence, except for Nidhogg's voice, which remained clearly audible: "This is the forbidden principle of infinity, boundlessness, and limitlessness, a forbidden power that can only be used by those who contain boundless darkness, endure boundless solitude, and control boundless rage."

“I see.” As the Earth and Mountains rose higher and gradually reached the same height as Nidhogg, Heraswalg smiled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. This move of mine doesn’t have a special name or a remarkable origin. It’s just a miracle I achieved after pouring all my strength, spirit, and will into it.”

Although he spoke modestly, he referred to the power he used as a "miracle," clearly showing his confidence.

“I think,” he said, his eyes shining, “that miracles should be able to overcome destruction.”

"Then let's give it a try!"

As Nidhogg's words faded, the earth and mountains beneath Hraswold's feet rose to his height, swallowing half the light and rendering the dragons within Adras's royal city unable to see anything, only able to guess the battle's progress through sound. Almost simultaneously, the solidified black hole beside Nidhogg suddenly plunged back into the vortex of time, beginning to rotate in the opposite direction, its previous absorption transforming into a breath of energy. The destructive power, transformed from the shattering of tangible and intangible matter, rained down upon the world with the roar of a ferocious beast, twisting and coalescing like steel into jet-black arrows, destroying everything in their path with a pure desire for destruction. These arrows, trailing heavy black holes at their ends, struggled forward as if mired in quagmire, yet to Hraswold, they moved with illogical speed, arriving before him almost instantly, directly facing the arrows' sharpness, so close he could almost feel the coldness and emptiness within the black hole. Herathwalg felt no fear, but rather a strange excitement. The burning blood within him urged him to make the bravest move, commanding a fierce storm to sweep across the land. The rising earth and mountains connected with the sky, and the surging soil and dark rocks, like a tide, were swept up by the storm and surged toward the black arrow.

In an instant, time stood still, space froze, and the sun overhead lost its light, as if plunged into eternal darkness. With a deafening roar that seemed to cleave the heavens and earth, Nidhogg and Hraswag streaked across the sky like two black meteors, their paths crossing for a fleeting moment in the darkness unseen by any dragon, before they were separated in an instant.

What followed was endless explosions and roars. The void shattered, the tangible earth cracked, the mountains shook and were about to collapse, the royal city of Adras almost collapsed, the dragons were terrified, but the dragon king on the mountaintop remained calm and composed.

"The victory or defeat has been decided."

Bahamut said softly.

That was the predetermined ending of time, and it would not change in the slightest; otherwise, it would not have been enough to usher in the destiny that followed.

……

Another battle has come to an end.

The Countess's figure, like a streak of silver light, pierced through the endless dark ocean and the dragon skeletons of Nidhogg, appearing behind him. All destructive and devastating forces were shattered, falling like ashes after a fire had burned out, and a gray rain began to fall from the sky. Yet the dragon in the rain remained unmoved, while the vampire demigod, after an initial silence, suddenly staggered, and then a stinging trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

Her aura rapidly waned, like a shooting star that shone brightly before fading into darkness. To combat Nidhogg's forbidden power, the Countess had exhausted all her magic. Her current strength was hardly greater than that of a novice who had just entered the extraordinary world, perhaps even weaker. If it weren't for her innate bat wings still instinctively supporting her wounded body and preventing her from falling, she would have struggled to even maintain her last shred of dignity.

“As expected of… the legendary evil dragon…” Neville was unaware that Nidhogg, this infamous evil dragon, had not only fought a fierce battle with Italos, the owner of the fairy sword, but had also fought a close match with another powerful dragon during the Dragon King selection ceremony, casting a shadow over the entire Platinum Mountain. If she knew this inside story, she might have felt somewhat gratified, at least the progenitor of the Bloodfang Clan hadn't lost to an unknown figure. But since she knew nothing about it, only one thought remained in her mind: in the end, she had still lost this duel.

She was exhausted and had no strength left, while the dragon skeleton remained undeterred and handled the situation with ease.

So, did I ultimately win this duel?
In his mind, which was as obscured as a chaotic void, only this thought remained so clear, as if it had not sunk with the passing of a soul, but was forever etched into this pale skeleton—the instinct of life and flesh, the tiny colonies of bacteria that continue to wriggle and devour even in death. He felt an inexplicable itch, as if those invisible, ethereal insects were crawling on his bones, their countless pairs of tentacles gently yet cruelly sweeping across the corroded surface of his bones, an itch that was irresistible, like scratching an itch through a boot.

Nidhogg often felt this way, for example, when he gazed alone at the snowflakes on Mount Platinum, imagining when the snow would stop; when he dragged his wounded body back to his lair, silently licking his wounds; and... whenever he felt lonely.

But loneliness was neither a feeling nor a state for Nidhogg; it was more like a tangible enemy. He fought it with his fangs, his claws, and all the weight of life accumulated in his body. He once drove it away, but could not prevent it from suddenly returning at a certain moment, proving once again that the consequence of being an enemy of himself was nothing more than self-humiliation.

Time is finite, but loneliness is infinite.

Amidst the silent gaze of the beasts and the utter silence of all living things, the proud dragon skeleton slowly turned around, its movements as sluggish and stiff as if it were pushing an old millstone, the millstone having long since crushed its pride and anger into dust, burning it all equally. In this turn, time and space were turned upside down, and it found itself still standing in the arena of Adras. The sky above the Platinum Mountain was a mess, like a raging storm; the ancient mountains were broken in every direction, and the vast sea of ​​trees had been submerged by the tide. And what stood before it was so familiar, yet so strange.

Heraswald knelt before him, wounded and bleeding profusely. His expression seemed to indicate defeat, an admission that he had lost the strength to fight and that he might never again be able to defeat his destined enemy and defend his dignity. This was the scene Nidhogg had longed to see, the sole purpose for which he stepped into the dueling arena, but for some reason, seeing it in person suddenly left him feeling disillusioned.

He is not Herraswalg.

Heraswalg could be defeated, but he would never kneel down, much less bow down and admit defeat.

Because his pride cannot be taken away.

In the instant he realized this, the dead dragon seemed to briefly regain his senses, no longer a puppet controlled by the Holy Grail and resentment. To be precise, no one could make this proud dragon a puppet unless he agreed. Time and space reversed once more, and the scene before him shifted several times. Nidhogg saw that Herasvarg's shadow had vanished, replaced by an unknown vampire demigod, wounded and bleeding profusely, still looking at him with wary and cautious eyes, her brow furrowed with worry.

I see.

Nidhogg snapped out of his daze, realizing he hadn't truly defeated Herasalg, but merely the vampire demigod before him—or rather, a shadow that had lingered since the past, a persistent illusion clinging to his memories. To be immersed in memories, to have reversed time and space, to have inverted perception, to have ravaged one's spirit—how utterly ridiculous was such a thing? Everything in life was an illusion, but upon realizing this, the emptiness vanished. The dragon skeleton from the past stood on the desolate plain, letting out a long sigh—a sigh powerful enough to express all human sorrow and encompass the myriad solitudes of the world, yet it brought a profound sense of satisfaction.

Because he ultimately did not defeat Heraswalg, or rather, he no longer needed to defeat him.

“You’re a pathetic fellow, Nidhogg.”

A strange girl's voice echoed in the dragon's soul. She paused for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "But perhaps, this is what they call love?"

Those who are least likely to love, least aware of what love is, and least capable of loving are also the ones who most yearn for love.

As the words fell, the ancient dragon skeleton lost its power, untouched by the Holy Grail's corruption, and no longer possessing the unique power that separated it from time and space. It was destined to step into the river once more, to be cleansed by its waters, washing away its former loneliness and pride. Thus, the resurrected azure dragon was as if burned from the inside out by a ball of fire, gradually incinerating every bone into a raging inferno. It was a pure, pale flame, offering no warmth whatsoever, spreading from the tip of its tail towards its body, to its claws, to its torso, wings, and head… Every inch of resentment clinging to this skeleton was burned away, turning into countless mottled fragments, swept into the howling storm, becoming one with the frost and mist, dancing with the dust.

The towering wall that stretched before them, dividing heaven and earth, gradually revealed hole after hole, as if pierced by thousands of sharp swords, riddled with holes. Looking through these holes, the Atorica wilderness seemed to rush endlessly forward, chasing the mountain called "Platinum Mountain," year after year, day after day.

There lie the memories of the dragon's childhood there. Did those who lived there remember the less-than-pleasant story? Were the knots in their hearts ever untied? As his life drew to a close, did the aged third dragon king, Bahamut, stand atop that snowy mountain, gazing down with sorrowful eyes, searching for traces left by his former adversary? Were they enemies, or friends? Or were they simply two unfortunate souls, cruelly manipulated by fate, finding solace and comfort in each other's misery?
Everything fell like rain, drifting and swirling; it was also like snow, engulfing everything in a daze. The shadow that had covered the vast abyss dissipated without anyone noticing, and when everyone looked up, they belatedly realized that the sky had cleared, and the golden sunlight seemed to have draped the wasteland in a magnificent coat, splendid and dazzling.

Give me some cats