I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 750: Power of the Forgotten Hero Part III

​Malicia’s chest heaved, the heat radiating from her copper scales fluctuating violently. “That makes this worse, not better! If he understands what he is taking, then he understands the depth of the humiliation he is inflicting upon us.”

​”Yes,” Nexia replied, her voice flat, carrying no emotion, only absolute clarity. “He understands completely. This is intentional. This is a calculated plan. Ren Ryzard is demonstrating to every dragon here, to Typhoon himself, to the entire Dragon King’s domain, that your pride means nothing to him. Your centuries of accumulated dominion are irrelevant. Your wings, the foundation of your identity as creatures of the sky, are merely payment for wasting his time with your futile resistance.”

​Malicia’s scales flared, sparks of superheated plasma snapping off her crest. “Then we should fight! We should resist. We should die with our pride intact rather than live as crippled shells of what we were. Better to fall with honor than to crawl through existence wingless and broken.”

​Nexia turned to face her directly, her silver scales catching the dull light of the wasteland. “And what will that accomplish? Singe attempted to flee. He was bisected before he could escape. Khorne attempted to protest. He was shredded into hundreds of pieces. Every dragon that has chosen resistance has chosen immediate death delivered with absolute precision. Ren will not grant you honor through combat. He will grant you nothing but suffering and a corpse scattered across this barren wasteland for carrion to feast upon.”

​She allowed the weight of that statement to permeate their understanding of what resistance truly meant.

​”Survival requires acceptance. Survival requires acknowledging the reality that exists before us. We are no longer dominant creatures. We are prisoners, and our wings are the ransom demanded for the continuation of our existence. Fight if you wish. Die with your wings intact if that is what your pride demands. But understand that choice is an illusion. The only real choice is whether you will surrender and live to process what has occurred here, or resist and die immediately while your corpse fertilizes this wasteland.”

​Skatha finally spoke, her voice emerging as a low rumble that seemed to shake the stone beneath them. “How do you accept this so readily, Nexia? How do you stand here and counsel surrender without your voice breaking with shame? How do you not feel the weight of humiliation pressing against you like a physical force?”

​”Because I am a survivor,” Nexia replied, her voice absolute and unwavering. “Because I have lived for centuries by understanding when resistance is futile. Because my pride, while significant, is less important to me than my continued existence. And because I understand something, both of you are still struggling to accept: Ren Ryzard is not a creature we can defeat. He is not an opponent we can overcome through courage, strategy, or the sheer force of our collective will. He is something that transcends those categories entirely.”

​She turned her attention back to the silent, upside-down figure hovering before them.

​”Every moment we resist, every second we spend in negotiation or defiance, is a moment Ren allows us to continue breathing. That is not mercy. That is not compassion. That is patience, and patience has limits. Fight if you must. Die with your wings and your pride intact if that satisfies you. But know that you will die alone while the rest of us live.”

​Malicia and Skatha exchanged a final glance, a silent communication conveying the staggering weight of their submission.

Malicia’s breathing began to slow, the volatile heat leaving her scales as resignation took hold. Skatha’s talons stopped their frantic carving into the stone, her massive frame slumping into a posture of defeat.

​Nexia stepped forward first. She straightened her posture, extending her silver neck in a gesture of submission that transcended simple physical positioning. She lowered her wings, folding them against her body.

​”I surrender,” Nexia said, her voice carrying none of the protest or negotiation that had characterized the others. “I will forfeit my wings as payment for my life.”

​Ren’s gaze fixed on her. His expression didn’t change, but his katana moved with controlled, surgical precision. The spatial severance focused on the specific junction where Nexia’s wings connected to her body. The cut was a perfect bisection.

​Nexia’s silver wings fell, drifting downward on air currents before striking the barren wasteland with a soft impact.

She remained standing, her body no longer capable of flight but still intact, her consciousness processing the searing reality of the amputation.

​Malicia stepped forward next, forcing the primal instinct to incinerate her executioner down into the depths of her core.

She unfurled her wings one final time, exposing the vital joints beneath her collar.

​Ren’s katana moved with the precision of absolute mastery.

The blade cleaved through the space connecting her copper wings to her torso.

The severance was instantaneous. Malicia’s wings separated cleanly, trailing a heavy, smoke-scented mist of draconic blood as they slammed into the earth. She grunted from the sheer shock of the impact but did not break her submissive posture.

​Skatha followed immediately after, her dense, stone-like hide offering no resistance whatsoever to an ability that bypassed physical durability entirely.

She placed her massive talons flat against the ground, anchoring herself as Ren’s blade manifested exactly where the perfect slice could be achieved.

​The spatial line flashed, and Skatha’s heavy, armored wings fell away, crashing heavily into the dust like slabs of a fallen monument.

​The barren wasteland was transformed into a landscape of amputation, blood, and the remnants of dragon wings scattered across stone and earth.

The three remaining lieutenants were incapacitated, their capacity for evasion or any action beyond mere survival having been entirely subjugated by the entity that had just asserted complete control over their lives.

​Ren stood in the center of the de-winged trio, his katana still extended, his blue eyes maintaining their absolute flatness as he surveyed what remained of the Herald’s assembled force.

​The final severed wing settled into the dirt at the exact moment that Sapphira’s charred and ruined body crashed between the masses of the defeated lieutenants and where Ren stood.

​Her impact created a crater large enough to accommodate several dragon corpses, and dust exploded outward in all directions as her body struck the barren wasteland with force that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth beneath them.

The sound of her impact was deafening, a boom that resonated across the entire battlefield and seemed to hang in the air as testimony to the absolute power that Caligo had just demonstrated.

​The battle was over.

​The draconic convergence had been annihilated, de-winged, and reduced to creatures capable of nothing beyond survival.

The Herald was bleeding like a dog.

The rest of the lieutenants were dead.

And standing among the three survivors was Ren Ryzard, the Sovereign-rank entity from the Prosperity Kingdom, the being who had walked out of the Tartarus Spire with the blessing of the Soul Warden himself.

​The era of dragons underwent a fundamental transformation after his emergence.

The forthcoming developments would be shaped by forces that surpassed the comprehension of any being currently inhabiting this desolate battlefield.

Family vacation. I will still post chapters. TOD uncertain.