Kamish, the Dragon Overlord, rose from his throne like a divine executioner.
His body gleamed with molten gold scales, each one etched with runes of an ancient language long forgotten. His horns scraped the ceiling, his wings folded like blades of judgment. He gazed down at the intruders with amusement in his abyssal-black eyes.
Then he waved a clawed hand, a casual flick — as though brushing away a speck of dust.
"Prove yourselves worthy."
The words echoed through the cavern like the tolling of a final bell.
The team sprang into motion.
The swordsman, their leader, charged first, his blade wreathed in light, drawing Kamish's attention.
Beside him, Aelion darted forward, his movements wild but controlled — the rage of a berserker guided by honed instinct.
Behind them, the mages cast rapidly, single-target spells lancing forward in quick succession: fire, lightning, shadow. Without the space for grand incantations, they relied on precision strikes.
The healers focused, weaving barriers and buffs — fragile threads keeping death at bay.
But their hope shattered as the damage numbers appeared:
-1
-1
-1
The spells fizzled against Kamish's scales like raindrops on a forge.
The golden dragon paused.
He blinked. Slowly. Almost confused.
And then he laughed.
The sound wasn't just noise — it was force.
The cavern shook. Dust fell from the ceiling. A crack opened in the ground, splitting stone. Their knees buckled from the sheer pressure.
Aelion gritted his teeth, refusing to be cowed.
But Kamish's expression twisted into disdain.
His aura unfurled — vast, suffocating, alive. With but a thought, he directed it at the healers.
The first let out a cry as her barrier imploded, the energy consuming her before she hit the ground.
The second tried to run. She didn't make it three steps before her body crumpled, her staff shattering beside her.
The backline was gone.
The mages were next.
They unleashed everything they had — condensed spells, chain-casts, even forbidden runes.
Kamish barely moved.
His tail flicked through the air like a scythe of fate.
Both mages were sent flying. One crashed into the cavern wall with a sickening thud. The other screamed as flames erupted from his own mana backlash.
Only three remained: Aelion. The Swordsman. Kamish.
The swordsman growled, eyes blazing.
"Let's go out fighting."
Aelion nodded, jaw tight.
They launched into coordinated attacks — one striking low, the other high. They targeted his eyes, his wing joints, the gaps in his plated chest.
For the first time, Kamish bled.
92%... 85%... 73%... 59%...
It was working.
Until it wasn't.
Kamish roared — a true, ancient roar — and lashed out with renewed ferocity.
The swordsman blocked one claw. Dodged a second.
But the third caught him in the side, and with a cry of pain, he was hurled across the cavern, slamming against stone.
He didn't rise.
Now only Aelion stood.
Alone.
Breathing hard, blood dripping from his chin, arms trembling from strain.
Kamish stared at him. No malice. No hatred. Just… curiosity.
As if to ask: What will you do now, little warrior?
Aelion's grip on his axe tightened.
A wild grin spread across his face.
"…Screw it," he whispered. "I only have one chance."
He activated the one skill he swore he didn't reveal until now due to the trust issues.
[Skill Activated: Limit Break]
A blinding golden light exploded around him.
Power surged through every vein, every nerve, every bone. His muscles swelled with divine fury, his aura howled like a storm. His wounds began to close as his blade radiated raw energy.
Kamish lowered his head.
And the final duel began.
Aelion moved like lightning — ducking under claws, leaping from broken stone, spinning in midair as he slashed across the dragon's hide.
-4,315
-3,981
+2,200 (Bloodsteal)
For every blow he landed, he drained Kamish's life to sustain his own.
The cave became a whirlwind of golden light and draconic wrath.
Kamish struck back — fire, claws, tail — but Aelion danced between death and madness, every second pushing his body beyond its limits.
48%... 34%... 19%...
His bones cracked.
His vision blurred.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Kamish reared back, inhaling. His chest pulsed with molten light — his ultimate breath attack.
Aelion didn't hesitate.
He gathered every last ounce of strength into his next swing.
One step.
Two.
Leap.
He soared through the air, golden light trailing behind him like the wing of a fallen god.
"Fall—" he roared.
His axe met Kamish's throat just as the dragon released his breath.
Kamish had fallen.
The Dragon Overlord's massive form crashed against the cavern floor with a thunderous impact that shook the world.
His golden scales dimmed. The light in his abyss-black eyes faded.
For a long moment, there was only silence—followed by the soft crackle of dissipating magic and the echo of Aelion's ragged breathing.
Then it happened.
A surge of radiant gold enveloped him.
[System Notification: [Dragon Overlord Slain]]
[You have absorbed the final boss's legacy.]
[All stats: +300% (Duration: Permanent)]
[Title Unlocked: "Dragon Slayer of Myth"]
Aelion exhaled, slowly lowering his weapon.
A half-smile touched his lips as he felt the power flowing through him—a storm tamed in his veins, a future rewritten by his hand.
The air shimmered again.
There was only his name in the announcement.
Not the team.
Not the so-called "Dragon Slayers."
Not the swordsman who led.
Not the mages who looked down on him.
Not the healers who had written him off as expendable.
Only Aelion.
The system had recognized what they refused to.
He stood alone… but victorious.
The cave was still.
The contract that bound him to them—that forced servitude masked as cooperation—was void now. With the boss defeated, the agreement dissolved.
He was free.
And more importantly—he'd won.
Aelion turned from Kamish's corpse and began walking toward the exit, golden light still trailing from his form. The echoes of betrayal, humiliation, and silence were behind him.
He didn't need vengeance.
He would take his own vengence soon.