Published at 25th of August 2026 9:09 am

Volume 8, Chapter 88: This Is the Dragon Clan

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

The Red Flame Dragon Clan had never produced deserters; and the soldiers sent by the Void-aligned Homeland Front had no home to return to—Constantine had given them a place to live. So even facing an enemy they could not possibly defeat, not one of them chose to break and run. All the more since Constantine, as Dragon King, was not sitting in the rear to command; from the first moment he had been charging at the very front.

The absurd disparity in strength had not ground down their will. Since Hefei and the Golden Helm had already been moved to safety, Constantine now needed only to do what he loved and was best at fight. He blurred into a crimson streak and, in the blink of an eye, crossed a hundred meters to strike at Fuyuan. Even the Old City Lord was a little startled at the sight.

“So you really don’t care about the hostage’s safety at all... Ah. Of course—the most merciless are you dragons. Fuyuan, do it!!”

Mind wholly seized by the Demon Sword Shard, Fuyuan drew a broken sword from his waist—the personal blade broken from Orion’s side—and drove it hard at Orion’s throat.

Squelch!!

Blood sprayed; the snap of a broken edge punching through bone rang out. Orion squeezed her eyes shut, the hot splash streaking her face. And yet she felt no pain.

Orion’s eyes flew open—what she saw made her pupils quake.

“Lord Constantine...”

Constantine’s rush had not been to attack Fuyuan. He had simply caught the thrust with his left hand before the broken blade could hurt Orion, stopping it cold. The price of that stop was Constantine’s own arm. The broken blade had punched clear through his left forearm; searing dragon blood dripped from the shattered metal to the ground. Scarlet as blood, crystalline and bright. The wound was ghastly to look at—agony just to see. Constantine’s face didn’t shift. He lifted a leg and kicked Fuyuan square in the chest, booting him away.

Saved, Orion didn’t even stop to undo the magic-suppression rope on her body. She stumbled and slid through smeared blood to check Constantine’s arm.

“Lord Constantine... are—are you all right?”

Jaw tight, Constantine rolled his arm and then wrenched the embedded shard straight out. He only cast Orion a quick glance—once he’d confirmed she was unharmed, he turned his eyes to the Old City Lord not far away.

“Dragons, merciless? Then what did you mean by ordering Fuyuan to act just now? If I’d gone straight for Fuyuan instead of saving Orion, even if I’d killed him, I wouldn’t have been in time to stop my own attack. The end would have been nothing but dying together with Orion.”

He raised his blood-soaked left hand, pointed at the Old City Lord, and said, each word clipped:

“Of everyone here, only you... are the most merciless.”

Once, Constantine wouldn’t have tangled with “kindness of means” while fighting; but years of too many things had changed him from the pure battle maniac he used to be. He still loved battle now, but he minded what lay beyond battle. Feelings long sealed were waking with the years; he’d begun to care about his opponents, and to examine what kind of person he despised. Tracing back, perhaps it had been that fight with Leon that started to shift him. Pity not every opponent had the character Constantine could respect from the heart like Leon did. For example... the old man in front of him.

To Constantine’s challenge, the Old City Lord only sneered.

“Fuyuan is the weakest among the puppets I control. What do you think earned him the right to stand by me escorting Orion? Nothing but a token for the years between us. Without that, I’d have disposed of his long ago. So, I’d say I’m quite sentimental.”

“Disgusting.” Constantine cut him off, dead cold.

And he had no intent to waste more words on the old thing.

“Get this lady off the field,” he ordered the nearest soldier, low.

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

The guard reached Orion’s side and put out his hand to steady her, but she shook him off. She strode to Constantine’s side and stood there, voice unyielding.

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying to fight with you.”

Constantine frowned, wrestled with it a beat, then lifted his eyes.

“Orion, to be honest, this outcome was decided long ago. The legion of far-ancient peril-forms he controls is terrifyingly strong. My Red Flame Dragon Clan—including me—being slaughtered by them is a matter of time. I’m only here to buy enough time for the common folk withdrawing—and for Hefei. Leave now. Go find Leon and Rosvisser. They will...”

Orion slowly turned back and met his gaze, repeating, firm:

“I said I’m staying here with you. What’s hard to understand about that, Constantine.”

Constantine’s pupils shook. In silence he looked at her as she lowered her lashes and said softly:

“If I let you die here alone, I’d have no face to see Hefei.”

“She’s strong. You gave her enough fatherly love. Her childhood has gaps, yes, but they won’t mar her whole life. As long as she can live well, one day she’ll surpass both you and me, Constantine. So... let me stay and keep you company. Whatever the end is, we face it together. Please.”

She loved Hefei that much; she had said she would work to give the child the mother-love she lacked. Yet in this moment she chose, without hesitation, to stand by Constantine. Saying she’d have no face to see Hefei if anything happened to him was only one reason. The other part—Constantine saw the answer in her eyes.

After a long look, Constantine drew his gaze back.

“All right. Then together.”

Orion nodded, bent, picked up the broken sword from the ground, then lifted her palm to rest lightly on Constantine’s wounded left arm. A wash of sea-green light passed; the wound closed and the bleeding stopped.

“It’s only temporary hemostasis. Be careful when you move and don’t worsen it,” Orion warned.

Constantine flexed his left hand.

“All right.”

The Old City Lord watched, eyes narrowed, and chuckled.

“So you clawed your way back to life and you’re not going to run. You’d rather team up to ‘punish’ me? Fine. I’ll oblige you.”

He raised his hand slowly and then slammed it down. In an instant, the peril-forms behind him surged out in full, a bursting flood rushing Constantine. The Red Flame dragons and Homeland Front fighters charged to meet them without a word.

In a blink the two sides were knotted in a brawl, and the ground before the Red Flame Dragon Sanctuary had become a massive meat grinder. Howls and wails ran on without end; even the heavy, black night couldn’t cloak the heat and blood.

Constantine, as before, was in the lead of everyone. He swung the flames in his hand. Firelight cut like steel, heat billowed, and ribbons of fire ripped out; the blazing silhouette that slew and slew again through the peril-form tide was a red rose in full burn in the night.

But dozens of peril-forms vaulted up, pouncing at Constantine from every direction at once. He couldn’t slip the reaction in time; he leapt, but in a blink the piled mass of their bodies pressed him down, deadweight.

“Constantine!!”

Orion cried out, charged with the broken blade, and hacked down several peril-forms along the way. Just as she was about to shatter the meat-mound crushing him, a gigantic bee—bloated and iron-heavy—came barreling at her.

The swarm walled her off. Through the gaps she looked toward Constantine.

“Constantine!!”

Boom!

Fire speared to the sky. A wall of murderous heat blasted out, in an instant burning that mound of bodies—and the bees before Orion—to absolute ash.

The scorching rush nearly forced Orion’s eyes shut. When the heat wind eased, she looked to where he’d been. Constantine was standing there, quiet, stray tongues of flame clinging around his body; at his feet lay only carbonized corpses.

Orion’s pupils widened slowly. She couldn’t help but breathe:

“So this is... the Red Flame Dragon King’s power...”

Before she could recover, Constantine raised dragonfire in one hand again, then dropped to a knee and slammed his palm to the ground. The dragonfire sank into the earth and slithered forward like a burning serpent. The peril-forms ahead seemed oblivious to the hidden strike and poured brainlessly toward him. When the fire-serpent reached the middle, Constantine flicked his hand. The serpent burst from the soil and, in an instant, scattered into countless fire-needles that pierced every peril-form around.

“Primordial Fire Magic · Red Serpent Needle Burial!”

“Heh. You’ve got some skill. Still not giving up, even now. Fine—let me see how long you last!”

The Old City Lord drove more far-ancient peril-forms forward. These were indeed elite; the weakest among them were quasi–Dragon King tier.

If Constantine hadn’t grasped the Primordial Force, he’d have been finished already. But reality was as he’d told Orion: the gulf between the two sides was immense. The Red Flame Dragon side were deathless warriors, but they couldn’t stand forever against the peril-forms’ crushing strength and numbers.

One against a hundred was nothing for Constantine. But a thousand? Ten thousand? How long could he hold out? So... death was a matter of time. All he wanted was to delay as long as possible, before he fell, to buy time for Hefei and the Golden Helm’s transfer. As more peril-forms surged in, Constantine began to flag. Staring at the endless flood of monsters that would not stop, he clenched his fist in secret. He scraped a boot across the spattered blood and began to gather magic.

A vortex of white fire formed in his hand, pure white lights flickering within. The power shock made the earth tremble; the far-ancient peril-forms, sensing the threat, went razor-alert. Sensing that this strike was unlike the others, they wheeled as one and rushed the center of the fire vortex.

Those closest, on instinct, struck Constantine at the same time—but he stood where he was, unmoving.

“Your Majesty!! Your Majesty, look out!!”

“Your Majesty, move!!”

“Damn... they’ve netted him in. How can he get out...”

“......”

“Constantine!!”

Against the onrushing horde, Constantine, at the very center of their kill-range, looked alone as a single man. No retreat—only a fight to the death! The fire vortex hardened in his hand. Through the gaps among the peril-forms he looked at the Old City Lord not far away, crimson pupils burning hotter still.

“Fine... then let me show you... what it means to be dragon!”

With the words, Constantine detonated the vortex in his hand. Super S-Class Fire Magic · White Flame Reversion!!

His strongest killing move in centuries—now fused with the Primordial Force. Its might could fairly be called the undisputed number one fire spell in the current magical system of the continent of Samael.

Blazing waves burst from Constantine at the center, surging out again and again; wherever they passed, all was burned to nothing. The peril-forms’ screams were drowned in the fire, and Constantine standing in the center was a star shining its last light.

He lit this heavy black night—and so had no regrets left.

From far off, Orion watched that surging radiance, that towering red silhouette, and it was as if she saw the sun they had long been missing.

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