But the horror didn't end.
Not yet.
The Dragon Lord stood there, still, his body refusing to fall.
For a heartbeat, it looked like he might lunge again.
But then,
A clean, perfect line appeared.
Starting from the crown of his head.
Cutting downward.
Through his face.
His chest.
His waist.
All the way to the earth between his feet.
Wet.
Silent.
The two halves of his body slid apart.
Slow.
Heavy.
And collapsed onto the broken arena floor with a twin, sickening thud.
Blood pooled out in thick, sluggish rivers.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
The entire stadium froze, trapped in a stunned silence so deep it swallowed even the wind.
The only thing that stirred was Leo.
Or rather, the weight of him.
His presence stretched across the audience like a tidal wave.
Crushing.
Suffocating.
But not hostile.
Warm.
Steady.
Like standing at the edge of a roaring bonfire in the dead of winter.
The pressure lingered for a few long seconds.
Then,
It began to fade.
Slowly retracting back to him.
Leo's halo flickered.
His golden mantle fluttered once more, then unraveled into a rain of soft, golden-white motes.
They drifted upward like fireflies escaping a dying flame.
The heavy emerald glow in Leo's eyes dulled.
Until,
[System Notification] Race Change Scroll (Elf) has expired.
The message hovered, clear and cold, across the broken sky.
Leo's eyes shifted back.
From brilliant emerald to their natural dark shade.
He lowered his sword.
And in that stillness,
The Dragon Lord's blood steamed in the cracked dust.
And Leo,
Leo simply stood there.
Unmoving.
Unshakable.
The storm he had unleashed,
Gone.
Leaving only the aftermath.
[System Notification] Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 8.
[System Notification] Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 9.
[System Notification] Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 10.
A number of notifications appeared, but they were instantly shadowed by the next events.
A strange sensation rippled through Leo's body.
A faint pulse.
A heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Subtle at first, like a whisper scraping the back of his mind.
Then came the tug.
Slow.
Inevitable.
Draining.
His limbs turned heavy, as if iron shackles had clamped down on his joints. The power inside him, once blinding, flickered like a dying candle in a storm.
Leo's fingers slackened.
The Astral Sword slipped from his grasp.
But it never touched the ground.
It dissolved mid-air, shattered into fine dust, swallowed by reality.
The draining grew worse.
Deeper.
He could feel something pulling from inside his bones now.
Leo raised his hand, trembling.
A mist coiled around it. Dark, oily red.
It thickened, roiling like smoke caught in a glass jar. Slowly, the mist condensed into the back of his hand, burning itself into his skin.
The pain was quiet but sharp, like a hot needle dragging through his nerves.
A sigil etched itself into him.
No grand fanfare.
No light.
Just a sinister carving, blood-red and malevolent. The lines twisted unnaturally. Sharp, jagged, like a wound that refused to heal.
The mark pulsed once.
[System Notification] You are now cursed by the Blight of the Vanquished.
[System Notification] Overall power is reduced by 80% for 50 years.
The audience didn't dare make a sound.
Leo stared at the mark on his hand, dazed.
Then,
His knees buckled.
The world tilted.
The battered ground rushed up to meet him.
He crashed down, still staring numbly at the cursed sigil.
Darkness licked at the edges of his vision.
Amanda's scream ripped through the void, wild and broken:
"Leo!"
It was the last thing he heard before everything went black.
The Astral Sovereign stood at the edge of her seat.
No, hugging herself.
Shivering.
But not from fear.
From something far worse.
Exhilaration.
Her heart raced, her pupils wide with raw, feral excitement.
She thought of it all, the chaos, the death, the spectacle.
A fight that hadn't bored her. The shattering of her precious Paradise, now confirmed to be Leo's doing.
The downfall of the tyrant Dragon Lord.
And now,
She inhaled slowly, deeply, savoring the moment like fine wine.
And exhaled.
A living System User.
Branded under the legendary curse, Blight of the Vanquished.
Her smile twisted.
Things were about to get interesting.
The Dragon God moved.
Silent. Measured.
His boots crunched lightly over the cracked ground as he approached the broken body of the Dragon Lord.
He stood there for a moment, staring down at him.
No hatred.
No sadness.
Only a low, almost thoughtful murmur:
"Your greed led you here."
His voice was calm, stripped bare of any pity.
He shifted his gaze sideways.
To where Amanda now knelt, cradling Leo's unconscious form against her chest, her hands trembling as she shielded him instinctively from the world.
The Dragon God's eyes narrowed slightly.
He could see it.
The mark.
The curse.
A legendary brand.
A brutal price.
He watched for a breath longer, then straightened, dusting nonexistent dirt from his hands.
He turned toward his side, locking eyes briefly with the Astral Sovereign.
"I thank you for your invitation," he said, voice carrying cleanly over the stunned arena. "But there's nothing more for me here."
Before the Sovereign could reply, a colossal burst of darkness erupted behind him.
Black dragon wings. Vast, ancient, unfurled from his back, shadowing half the arena.
With a single effortless flap, the Dragon God shot skyward.
The arena trembled under the force of his departure, and a hollow boom echoed across the place as he vanished into the clouds.
The Winter Warlock stepped forward next.
Her staff clicked softly against the ground as she walked.
She stopped in front of the Astral Sovereign and dipped her head once, a respectful, if curt, gesture.
"I must report this to the King," she said, her voice low, the words frosting the air between them.
The Astral Sovereign smiled thinly.
"Of course."
Nothing more needed to be said.
The Winter Warlock raised her hand.
Her staff floated upright, hovering in the air.
With practiced ease, she mounted it sideways, like a rider settling onto a steed, and shot into the sky.
Frozen beads of mist rained in her wake, sparkling like tiny stars before vanishing into nothingness.
Near the mouth of the arena, Burdado was already leaving.
He didn't bother with a farewell face-to-face.
Just a lazy wave thrown over his shoulder.
"Thanks for the show," he called out, voice carrying even from a distance, soaked in that same mocking amusement.
The Astral Sovereign's sharp eyes caught the small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
A great spectacle indeed.
The Astral Sovereign stood alone now, the heavy silence of the ruined arena pressing around her.
But her heart raced.
Alive.
Vibrating with possibilities.
And far below, an adventurer burdened by a curse slept on, completely unaware of the storm he had just unleashed into the world.