Hoffmann Ironfist paced restlessly back and forth inside the castle.

A sense of unease had settled over him ever since he dispatched his guard captain to deliver the gold. It was an irrational, unreasonable feeling.

First, the infernal worshipers had no reason to attack the dwarves. They weren't fearless madmen; even if they liked stirring up trouble, they did also consider whether they would survive it.

They had already offended the elves. To offend the dwarves as well would only force the two races into unity, accelerate the end of the war, and cut off their own escape routes.

From a purely logical standpoint, it made no sense for them to do anything rash.

Their most reasonable option was to take the gold and run.

As a safety precaution, Hoffmann Ironfist had dispatched his own guard captain to head the delivery. Even if there were an ambush, a legendary arcane knight should be more than capable of escaping.

Besides, there were so many dwarven Ironguards with him. Even if they did run into a Hellgate, they should still be able to hold out...

Hoffmann Ironfist kept reassuring himself that nothing was wrong. If he were still a battlefield general, he would have rejected this deal without hesitation. War often demanded faith on instinct; surprise tactics thrived on being illogical.

But after becoming the King's Hand, Hoffmann Ironfist's way of thought slowly transformed into a politician's. Politicians could only think in terms of logic. Most of the time, they faced competing interests. He couldn't simply think about how to win a battle—he had to consider what victory or defeat would mean afterward.

And this time, Hoffmann Ironfist had miscalculated.

When a dragon's roar echoed from the horizon, he walked to the top floor of the palace in shock, wondering if he had misheard.

Then dwarf heads, splattered with filthy blood, rained down from the sky, dyeing the palace roof crimson.

Among them, Hoffmann Ironfist found the head of his guard captain. The man's eyes were wide open, still carrying traces of fear and unwillingness, as if whatever he had encountered had left him frozen in terror even in death.

A legendary arcane knight, along with dozens of dwarven Ironguards, dead just like that.

Above, a vast shadow circled in the sky, one that might swoop down on Hoffmann Ironfist at any moment.

Logic, interests, calculated gambits—all of it was meaningless against a group of crazed infernal worshipers who had killed the dwarven envoy for no meaningful reason at all.

Worse still, they had beheaded the dwarves and thrown the heads over as provocation. This was not strategy. It was sheer insanity, and pointless slaughter.

From the sky came a mocking roar: "Hoffmann Ironfist. You might as well change your name to Hoffmann Weakfist. You didn't even dare show your face! These trash died in your place. Haha, no wonder the dwarves are about to lose their kingdom!"

Hoffmann Ironfist clenched his remaining fist in fury. He could no longer afford to be cautious.

"You fool. You'll die by my hand!"

Air currents swirled violently around him as his body lifted into the air, shooting skyward like a hunting hawk.

This was no ordinary flight spell. It had been combined with a pugilist's fighting spirit.

Before becoming the King's Hand, Hoffmann Ironfist had been the greatest warrior of the dwarves, the only general capable of facing the armies of the Lyon Empire head-on.

Many years ago, he had ascended to the realm of legend as a pugilist.

A legendary pugilist could run along sheer vertical walls faster than others could sprint on flat ground and even leap through the air itself.

At that level of agility, a simple flight spell was little different from true flight.

Hoffmann Ironfist transformed into a streak of motion and plunged into the clouds, only to realize that what he faced was not some draconic half-breed, but rather a true dragon.

Its body was somewhat small, only five or six meters from head to tail, with disproportionately massive wings.

But it was unmistakably a dragon. No trace of humanity remained.

Had this monster evolved again since their last communication?

Hoffmann Ironfist didn't dwell on the situation. He kicked off the air itself and shot toward the young dragon like a cannonball.

As he closed in, two blasts of fighting spirit surged from his fists, taking the form of serpentine flames.

A pugilist's formless fighting spirit could manifest as tangible elemental attacks, akin to magic spells.

Hoffmann Ironfist's attack was so fast and so sudden that Geronimo, even as a full dragon, had no chance to evade. The flaming serpents bit into his neck.

Pain exploded through his body, making it convulse.

The heat alone could not damage his dragon scales, but the fighting spirit imbued within struck him like a massive hammer blow.

That was merely the opening strike. As soon as the blow landed, the winds around Hoffmann Ironfist intensified, his speed surging again as he flew straight onto Geronimo's body.

The dwarf's short legs clamped around the dragon's horns. His fists fell like a storm, hammering down on Geronimo's head.

A pugilist's fists were faster than an elven ranger's arrows.

A competent pugilist could throw six full-force punches in a second. A legendary pugilist could smash a dragon's skull within that same second.

Unfortunately, Hoffmann Ironfist had only a half-second window.

Twenty-six fighting spirit-infused punches crashed into Geronimo's head, shattering scales and cracking bone, nearly turning the brain within into pulp.

Under such catastrophic damage, the young dragon began to thrash wildly, its body rapidly shrinking as it transformed to human form mid-roll. Hoffmann Ironfist had not anticipated this. His legs slipped from the dragon horns as he was flung away.

Geronimo's transformation lasted only an instant. After shaking off his enemy, he transformed back into dragon form once more.

Shapeshifting was a spell normally used for disguise, but Geronimo had shapeshifted into a human so as to buck off Hoffmann Ironfist.

Not only that, the wounds on his head were healing rapidly. The sight made Hoffmann Ironfist frown deeply.

This dragon was abnormal. Dragons had been gone from the continent for many years, but Hoffmann Ironfist had never heard of one with such terrifying regeneration.

He did not attack immediately. Instead, he observed the dragon carefully. As Geronimo's injuries healed, Hoffmann Ironfist noticed that the dragon's bloated belly had visibly shrunk.

He wondered, "Did he stuff himself with healing potions?"

Healing potions could indeed rapidly mend external wounds, but something seemed amiss. Even such potions had diminishing returns; chugging them in massive quantities would only reduce their effectiveness.

What Hoffmann Ironfist did not know was that Geronimo's stomach held not potions, but flesh.

The Dwarven Ironguards had been left with only their heads; Geronimo had swallowed the rest of their bodies. The arcane knight had tried to flee but was driven back time and again, forced into the hellfire, drained by countless demons, and finally eaten alive.

And dwarves weren't the only victims of Geronimo's appetite. Geronimo had devoured demons summoned through the Hellgate as well. After consuming the legendary arcane knight, his body had undergone another metamorphosis, allowing him to transform into a full dragon.

With that change came an even more intense hunger.

To a dragon, dwarven flesh and demon flesh differed only in taste. And there were far more demons than dwarves before him.

Geronimo slaughtered indiscriminately, devouring even the balors. Smaller demons were consumed in uncountable numbers. Even the demons themselves had not expected such madness: they were not beaten into retreat by an enemy, but eaten until they scattered in terror.

Some of that flesh became nourishment for his body. The rest was stored within him, ready to be digested later for rapid regeneration when he was injured.

"Hmph. Let me see how long you can keep up this healing!"

Hoffmann Ironfist stomped repeatedly through the air, using formless footholds to rebound toward Geronimo once more.

In midair, the pugilist moved with greater agility than the dragon itself, forcing Geronimo to turn and flee.

Geronimo was no match for Hoffmann Ironfist in close-quarters maneuverability. If Geronimo were caught again, Hoffmann Ironfist could swiftly beat him to death.

But in straight-line flight, Geronimo was slightly faster.

One chased as the other fled. The distance between them quickly widened.

Suddenly, Hoffmann Ironfist felt searing heat. It was as though the air itself were burning, choking his breath.

"Flame Aura? That's a balor's ability!"

The feeling was deeply unsettling. Nothing about this dragon was normal.

Just as he began circulating his fighting spirit to offset the damage, a brilliant red glow flared at the tip of Geronimo's tail. A flaming whip of pure magical energy extended from it and lashed toward Hoffmann Ironfist. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

What kind of absurd technique was this?

Hoffmann Ironfist had never seen anything like it in a lifetime of warfare.

The whip cracked through the air, its tip breaking the sound barrier as it struck Hoffmann Ironfist.

It seemed to hit, but his figure shattered like glass—only an afterimage.

Hoffmann Ironfist unleashed his fighting spirit again and exploded forward at terrifying speed in an attempt to catch his opponent off guard.

He failed. Immediately after the flaming whip came a Thunder Wave. The spell's damage was minor, but its knockback was immense. Hoffmann Ironfist was blasted away, his attempt to close the distance foiled once more.

"This damn dragon!"

He could clearly feel the dragon's combat technique was improving. Geronimo seemed to be able to sense the flow of his fighting spirit and had been reacting the instant Hoffmann Ironfist activated any ability.

In that brief lapse, the flaming whip lashed out again, nearly wrapping around Hoffmann Ironfist's body.

Fortunately, dwarves were small, making it easier for them to evade. He dodged the whip, but not the three consecutive arcane detonations that followed.

Crimson energy exploded against him. The damage was limited, but the knockback sent him flying even farther, widening the gap once more.

From that point on, the dragon quickly took the lead. Every time Hoffmann Ironfist tried to close in using his pugilist techniques, the dragon was able to detect it in advance.

The moment fighting spirit began to circulate, Geronimo would recklessly spam magic without concern for mana—Eldritch Blasts and Thunder Waves for knockback, Shields and Agate Armor layered tightly around himself.

Hoffmann Ironfist could find no opening at all.

He possessed fists that could shatter his enemy, yet he could not land a second strike.

Though the dragon couldn't deal serious damage to him either, the situation was dire all the same. His flight magic was limited in duration.

As that thought crossed his mind, Hoffmann Ironfist suddenly felt his body sink. The flight spell had ended prematurely.

"An anti-magic field? When did that happen?!"

He realized in shock that he was enveloped by an anti-magic field. The flight spell vanished instantly.

At that moment, he understood what had happened. The field had been deployed in midair long ago. The dragon had guided the flow of battle and herded him directly into the magical trap.

This had been a trap.

Without flight, even a legendary pugilist no longer possessed extreme mobility. Panic crept into Hoffmann Ironfist's heart. He had rushed out to attack the dragon out of sheer fury, but as true danger threatened him, he felt himself falter.

When was the last time he had faced death on the battlefield? Perhaps the day his arm was severed by a paladin of the Lyon Empire.

Since that day, he had left the frontlines and transformed from a general into a politician.

Perhaps his will had been cut down that day as well. Like a bone that had once broken, it remained fragile even when healed.

The moment his will broke, the fighting spirit flowing around Hoffmann Ironfist stagnated.

Geronimo sensed the change instantly. Seizing the fleeting opening, he lunged forward and bit down on Hoffmann Ironfist's body.

Several defensive enchantments automatically activated, but none could stop the dragon's fangs.

The teeth pierced straight through him. A pugilist, unable to wear heavy armor, was nothing but flesh once his fighting spirit failed.

Hoffmann Ironfist tried to struggle, but the dragon's bite seemed to be laced with venom. The instant it pierced him, paralysis spread through his body.

Claws tore him apart. Blood rained from the sky. Hoffmann Ironfist's eponymous silver-gray iron fist plummeted to the ground.

Geronimo devoured the legendary warrior in a frenzy, leaving not even his bones behind.

His body grew yet again, becoming more and more like a true dragon. His hunger intensified. "Not enough. Still not enough by far. I need to devour more legends!"