Dragon-Slaying Crossbow

Smoke from the demonic dragon's breath blotted out the sky.

The world seemed to be heading toward its end. The earth split apart, boiling lava gushed forth, and the air was thick with sulfur, as though hordes of demons would crawl from the cracks at any moment.

Countless spells flashed toward that enormous shadow, only to vanish without a trace. The spellcasters and paladins left behind at the camp were run ragged, but most of the forces capable of threatening the demonic dragon had been deployed against the three-headed Ladon. For a time, they had no way to halt the demonic dragon's march of destruction.

The officers responsible for receiving them hurriedly urged, "Advisors from our allied nation, Marshal has returned to headquarters to take command. Please follow us to the bomb shelter immediately!"

The Debon advisory delegation was still reeling. If the three-headed demonic dragon shooting down the airship had merely made them realize the importance of air superiority—

Then this demonic dragon was practically a trump card in the struggle between great powers.

Texas was merely a small overseas nation with a population of one million, not even worthy of being called a great power in the Middle Ages, yet it possessed such strength!

It was truly unbelievable.

The British army had not been unprepared for the demonic dragon's attack. They had set up many bomb shelters throughout the camp, each inscribed with various magic arrays that could resist intense heat to the greatest extent possible.

But artillery positions and transported supplies could not be kept in bomb shelters forever. Vast quantities of materiel were incinerated by dragonfire, and the resulting explosions sent blazing firestorms tearing through the camp.

Watching the dragonfire rage and swallow lives at will, General George felt as though his heart were bleeding. The