The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 60

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Azel suddenly kicked off the ground and retreated several meters.
His movement clearly indicated he was preparing something rather than launching an attack.
Moreover, Yggdra sensed that this “something” was no ordinary matter.
If it were merely swordsmanship or magic, he wouldn’t have acted this way.

As proof, Azel hadn’t even touched the hilt of the longsword hanging at his waist.
Instead, he raised his right hand high into the air.
Yggdra exhaled softly.
It had been a long time since he’d seen a human neither flee nor hesitate to counterattack. Just moments ago, it was Yggdra himself who had been wavering between flight and battle.
Yet now, this young human stood boldly poised to meet him head-on.

(Brave one, I shall kill you, devour your flesh, and reclaim my pride!)

But Yggdra poured even more Magic Power into the breath he was about to unleash.
For a strike that could potentially harm even Yggdra himself, a strike delivered with his entire being.
Azel clenched his raised right hand tightly, preparing to swing it down as if about to unleash a downward slash from a high stance.

But Azel held no sword.

The longsword remained sheathed at his waist, swaying in the wind, yet he showed no intention of drawing it.
Yggdra frowned momentarily, then caught the faint movement of Azel’s lips.

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“Holy Sword, manifest—Fiat Lux!”

The instant those words left his mouth, particles of light began converging around Azel’s right hand—no, from the palm itself.
The grains of sand and pebbles around them trembled faintly, followed by a ring of magical radiance rising from the ground beneath Azel’s feet.

(A Holy Sword?!)

A clear wariness crept into Yggdra’s eyes.
The wielder of a Holy Sword—that means…

(A Hero. Just when I thought I’d escaped the Demon, now I have to face a Hero?)

However, Yggdra no longer had the option of retreating.
He believed that if he killed the Hero and devoured his flesh and bl00d, he might even be able to defeat the Demon Hein.

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What is light?
Mages had tried to explain it through strange metaphors, calling it “a type of fire” or “a fragment of the gods’ breath.”
However, the phenomenon Azel is trying to summon through his chant is different from all of these.
In his past world, Azel had wielded this power countless times.
Of course, there was a price to pay.
Yet he must have concluded that he had no choice but to manifest it again here.
That’s because Yggdra is a dragon with such great power.

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Yggdra felt an illusion, as if his vision were distorting.
A dazzling light condensed in Azel’s hand.
Then, a beam of light shot upward from Azel’s right hand, piercing the sky.

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Yggdra involuntarily trembled.
His sixth sense as a Dragon sounded an alarm.
Run.
You’re going to be killed.
But now that it had come to this—

A breath of fire erupted from Yggdra’s draconic maw.
Thunder shattered the air.
Then came an even more blinding flash.

–And was engulfed by an even more blinding beam of light.

The Holy Sword flashed.
Its radiant blade, with the force to cleave heaven and earth, struck Yggdra down, obliterating both the incoming breath and the dragon itself.
This was the true nature of the Holy Sword Fiat Lux: an ultra-high-energy strategic weapon capable of exceeding 10,000°C.
Instinctively, Yggdra concentrated his Magic Power into his scales for defense, but they couldn’t withstand the torrent of light and heat for even a moment.

Before his eyes, the dragon scales, tougher than steel, melted away, exposing bone and raw flesh. These, too, were mercilessly incinerated.
A scream that could shatter the sanity of anyone who heard it echoed across the wasteland.
The scorching hot air created violent updrafts all around, blowing hot winds and kicking up sand and ash.
The sound of the air vibrating was difficult to distinguish between thunder and a storm.
As Yggdra’s brain was overwhelmed by the pain, fragments of his consciousness were torn away, lost forever.

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All that remained in the wasteland that had become a battlefield was dark smoke and hot, roasted dust.
Yggdra’s corpse was unrecognizable, reduced to a shapeless mass.
Scraps of his wing membranes and melted scales mingled with the charred remains, leaving no trace of the proud dragon warrior he once was.

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“Hah… hah…”

Azel gasped heavily, kneeling on one knee in the wasteland.
His cheeks had lost all color, gaunt and pale.
His lips were cracked, his skin parched, and sweat streamed down from his hair like a waterfall.
The immense cost of wielding the Holy Sword was that it drained not only his Magic Power but also his very life force.
The lifespan Azel had sacrificed with that single strike was likely far more than a mere year.
Five years? Perhaps even ten?

Even as Azel tried to breathe slowly, a searing pain gripped the depths of his lungs.
His breath came in ragged gasps, as if he were suffocating, and his head swam dizzily.
Still, Azel gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand.
He couldn’t afford to collapse here.
There was still work to be done.

“…But still… why would Yggdra…”

He muttered hoarsely, glancing once more at the decaying corpse of the dragon.
Azel had undoubtedly secured victory in this battle.
Yet something gnawed at his chest.
In his original world, Azel hadn’t faced Yggdra until two years later.
What had Yggdra been planning, venturing alone into this place?
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure it out.
Though the two worlds appeared similar, they were fundamentally different.
Suddenly, Azel’s thoughts drifted to the most glaring divergence between them—Hein.

(Hein… are you somehow… involved in this?)

He asks himself that question.
Of course, there is no answer.