The giant dragon plummeted from midair with a thunderous crash, nearly grazing Brando and Haruze as she fell. The blast of air flattened the surrounding forest in one sweep. Cooper and Count Orcons were sent flying, while the others fared somewhat better but were still thrown off balance. Only Brando remained unmoving as he shielded the Little Prince. Squinting through the mud and dust whipped up by the raging vortex, he saw only a flash of silver. The one who had fallen was none other than—or rather, none other than a dragon—Missril, who had led Malthus away the previous night.
Missril was in even worse condition than when Brando had seen her at her most wretched the night before. Her once beautiful, spotless silver body was covered in wounds of all sizes, and even her scales had lost their luster. The most serious injury was near her spine. Three gashes nearly ten meters long were spread across the area, their torn flesh horrifying to behold. Broken muscles and blood vessels were clearly visible within them, while dark-red blood gushed out endlessly like water from a fountain.
Brando understood at a glance that she had been clawed by someone, though he had no idea whether it had been Malthus or Modesti, who was currently above them.
Most people would have died from a fall from such a height, but Missril still seemed to have a breath left in her. She struggled to raise her head, and when her silver eyes saw Brando nearby, she could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. "We meet again, little fellow. I was almost beginning to think I would have to break my promise to a mortal."
Brando wondered if he had seen wrong. He had actually seen the corners of her mouth lift