One Person Single-Handedly Changed the Whole French Vibe.

"Snap!"

The blade was chipped, but the dragon scales remained intact.

The woman stared blankly at the deformed kitchen knife in her hand, then suddenly broke down in tears, crying out, "Can't you even take revenge?! Can't you even make it feel pain?!"

Next came the old father who had lost his son. He dragged his frail body and struck the dragon wing hard with his cane, but the cane broke, and Fafnir didn't even lift his eyelids.

Then came the young Blacksmith, who swung his forging hammer and smashed it wildly at the dragon's head. But the hammerhead shattered, and his hand was ripped open and bleeding. The dragon merely exhaled a breath that smelled of sulfur, as if mocking his futile efforts.

One by one, people filled with hatred rushed onto the stage, using every means at their disposal—swords, axes, stones, even teeth and nails—but Fafnir's scales were indestructible, and their anger and despair seemed so ridiculous in the face of such an absolute disparity in strength.

Gradually, the crowd's roar turned into low sobs.

"Are we... even incapable of revenge?"

"It killed so many people, yet we can't even make it shed a single drop of blood..."

"Is this... a dragon? Is this something we can never defeat?"

Despair spread like a plague. People knelt on the ground, some weeping with their faces covered, others staring blankly at the unharmed dragon, the anger burning in their eyes gradually dying down, leaving only a deep sense of powerlessness.

Fafnir slowly raised his head, a low gurgling sound emanating from deep within his throat, as if mocking these insignificant humans.

It simply couldn't understand why Mo Wang would make these humans do such powerless things.

Clearly, this is completely meaningless.

"You're quite pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

At that moment, Mo Wang's voice suddenly rang in Fafnir's ears, making it feel a chill run down its spine.

"Don't worry, I won't let you die so easily."

"What just happened was just a small appetizer."

"My real purpose is yet to come."

Fafnir stared incredulously at Mo Wang before him, and from Mo Wang's Hollow eyes, Fafnir once again felt an unimaginable fear.

What exactly does this man want to do?

"Alright, alright, everyone, I know you all really want to continue torturing Fafnir."

"But if this continues, no one will be able to have dinner in the evening."

"So! Please welcome our first chef! The Child of Light from Northern Ireland! Cú Chulainn!"

As Mo Wang's voice rang out, Doggy walked over with a complicated expression.

"What the heck? When did I become a chef? This isn't how the script works!"

As soon as Cú Chulainn stepped onto the field, he couldn't help but start complaining.

However, seeing Mo Wang's expression at this moment, Cú Chulainn wisely chose not to say a word, because Mo Wang's eyes were simply too frightening.

"Oh no, if he targets you in this state, you're really going to die."

Cú Chulainn's powerful intuition as a spearman told him that if he dared to say another word, what awaited him would be a hell far more brutal than Heracles's amusement Paradise!

"Never mind!"

"The Evil Dragon Fafnir, huh? In that case, let my Hound of Culann test whether you are truly as powerful as the legends say!"

At the same instant, Fafnir also sensed a tremendous crisis.

"Damn it, if this guy's attack hits me..."

Fafnir tried to break free of the surrounding chains, but the golden chains bound its body tightly.

"Pierce—GáE Bolg (Gáe Bolg)!"

Cú Chulainn's crimson spear suddenly erupted with a dazzling red light, its shaft twisting into a spiral and emitting a piercing shriek as if it were alive. Fafnir's golden vertical pupils contracted sharply as it struggled frantically to avoid the fatal blow, but the golden chains tightened abruptly, pinning it firmly to the spot.

"Boom--!"

The magic spear pierced precisely through the weakest scale on Fafnir's left breastplate, blasting open a bloody hole the size of a bowl. Dragon blood gushed out like boiling lava, splashing onto the stone platform with a hissing, scorching sound. Fafnir let out a deafening wail, the entire plaza trembling with the sound waves, its body twisting wildly, the chains rattling loudly.

"Still not dead?" Cú Chulainn raised an eyebrow, looking at the still struggling Evil Dragon, his demonic spear glowing red once more. "Then let's try again—"

"Stop it, you fucking bastard!!!"

A dark shadow flashed by, Mo Wang kicked Cú Chulainn off the execution platform. Ireland's Child of Light traced a graceful arc through the air before crashing into a haystack with a "thud," his magic spear, still in a throwing stance, nearly piercing his own backside.

"Damn it! Do you know how precious this dragon blood is?!" Mo Wang roared, pointing at the constantly leaking dragon blood, his heartbroken expression like someone mixing Sprite into Maotai. "At least twenty pounds have been lost in just a short while! Do you know how many True Magic potions twenty pounds of dragon blood can make?!"

Cú Chulainn, who had just crawled out of the haystack, looked completely bewildered. "Didn't you say you were going to massacre them—"

"Slaying a dragon is no waste!" Mo Wang lunged forward, grabbed Cú Chulainn by the collar, and shook him violently. "It needs to be precise! Efficient! Sustainable! Look at the hole you've made!" He pointed to Fafnir's chest wound, which was gushing blood. "If this spot were just two inches off, it would have been a blood channel to catch the dragon's blood! Now it's all dripping onto the ground!"

Fafnir weakly raised its head, looking incredulously at the humans who were furious about its excessive blood loss.

Cú Chulainn, seeing stars, cried out, "Wait, wait... I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll pay attention to the angle next time!"

"There's going to be a next time?!" Mo Wang suddenly pulled out a small notebook and quickly jotted down notes. "Based on the current blood loss, at least ten pounds of meat are unusable. Tonight, your dinner will have ten pounds less meat!"

Mo Wang roared at Cú Chulainn at this moment.

"Hey, why does this even include bookkeeping?!"

"Shut up!" Mo Wang slapped the notebook hard on Cú Chulainn's face, then turned to the audience and shouted, "Medical team! Quickly bring buckets to collect the dragon's blood! Logistics team, prepare hemostatic gauze! Oh, and—" he suddenly revealed a devilish smile, "Remember to sprinkle some salt on the gauze, it will stop the bleeding better."

Upon hearing this, Fafnir convulsed violently, puffs of white smoke escaping from his wounds due to the salt's irritation. The onlookers gasped in unison, several even instinctively clutching their chests.

"Truly, as expected of Mo Wang, I never thought that even torturing a dragon could lead to the development of a means of production reuse model."

Mashu looked at Fafnir convulsing in a pool of blood, then at Mo Wang, who was haggling with Cú Chulainn, and suddenly felt that her senior might be more of a "monster" than Evil Dragon. She silently hugged her shield tighter and began to seriously consider whether to apply for a transfer to the Chaldea kitchen department.

As Fafnir let out a painful roar, the next chef, carrying his cooking utensils, walked step by step onto the stage.

Upon seeing what the man was carrying, Fafnir's pupils immediately contracted.

At this moment, it finally understood what the Demon King meant by true hell.

Chapter 181 Single-handedly swayed the entire France art style.

"Ah, it really is you."

When the Doggy saw the next person to go on stage, he quickly showed an expression that said, "I knew it."

Red A, carrying a large number of Noble Phantasm, slowly walked up to Fafnir.

He glanced at the Doggy beside him and a contemptuous smile appeared on his face.

"Heh, a hero of Ireland, I never expected his dragon-slaying skills to be so weak."

"Sigh~ You've wasted so much precious flesh and blood. You're really something else."

"What are you so smug about! You dark-skinned bastard."

Cú Chulainn, of course, wanted to immediately refute Red A's taunts.

However, after being glared at by Mo Wang next to him, Cú Chulainn could only slink away to the side to reflect on his actions.

"Heh, leave professional matters to professionals. As for ignorant brutes, they should just stay on the sidelines and watch."

At this moment, Red A slowly walked towards Fafnir, which filled Fafnir's eyes with fear.

"Roar!!!"

(Don't come any closer!!)

Fafnir desperately wanted to roar at Red A, but bound by the Judas's Oath, it couldn't even move.

At this moment, Red A slowly placed his cooking utensils—no, his Noble Phantasm —under his body.

Sigfried's greatsword, Saint George's sword, Sigurd's longsword, Heracles ' bow and arrows...

Wow, what a long list of weapons! Each one has a different dragon-slaying attribute, and each one will bring Fafnir a unique experience. (Speaking of which, it seems that Sigfried and Sigurd both killed Fafnir in the Moon, meaning that this guy was killed twice in the Moon world?)

Just looking at these things made Fafnir's scales stand up.

"Roar!!!!"

(No, no! Joan of Arc, save me!!!)

At this moment, Fafnir, seeing Red A slowly walking towards him, finally couldn't help but roar.

"Fafnir?"

Meanwhile, in the distant castle, Black Joan vaguely heard something.

"Joan of Arc, what's wrong with hiring you?"

At this moment, Caster Marshal, who was standing next to her, couldn't help but ask Black Joan a question.

"Oh, it's nothing. I think I heard Fafnir's voice. I guess I just miss it too much."

Upon hearing the Marshal's words, Black Joan shook her head again and turned to look aside.

Red A expressionlessly raised Sigfried's greatsword, its blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight. With a flick of his wrist, the blade precisely Fafnir the gaps in Fafnir's scales, and dark red dragon blood instantly gushed out.

"No matter how hard the dragon scales are, they are nothing more than a layer of skin under the sword of the Dragon Slayer slayer."

He said calmly, catching the dripping dragon blood and pouring it into a container that had been prepared beforehand.

"Dragon blood is an excellent alchemical material and should not be wasted."

Fafnir let out a low, mournful groan, but its struggles were futile. Red A's movements did not falter; he switched to Saint George's sword and slowly sliced along the dragon's spine, precisely separating the muscle from the bone.

"The back meat is best for grilling, as the fat is evenly distributed and the texture is tender."

He calmly explained as he cut the food, as if he were just handling an ordinary ingredient.

Fafnir's pupils trembled violently; it had never imagined that it would be dismembered in this way—not dying in a heroic duel, but being broken down bit by bit like meat on a chopping board.

Red A then picked up Heracles ' bow and arrow, and with a gentle flick of the arrowhead, precisely scooped out a piece of tender flesh near the dragon's heart.

"The meat near the heart is the most tender and suitable for eating raw or stir-frying."

He weighed the piece of meat in his hand, his tone almost cold and indifferent. "However, dragons are incredibly resilient; even so, they won't die immediately."

Fafnir's breathing grew weaker and weaker, and its vision gradually blurred. It could only see the figure of Red A) moving in front of it, picking up and putting down one dragon-slaying Noble Phantasm after another, while its body was being dismantled little by little.

Finally, when Red A lowered his last sword, Fafnir was on its last breath, too weak even to howl. It could only watch helplessly as its own flesh and blood were sorted and collected, while Red A, as if completing a routine task, lightly flicked the blood off his sword and turned to leave.

"Hey, you're not going to kill them all before you leave? What's the meaning of leaving them alive?"

Seeing that Red A was about to leave, the Doggy quickly called out to Red A.

"Isn't this normal? I'm a chef, not a professional butcher. How could I possibly go and kill people directly?"

At this moment, Red A calmly said to the Doggy.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Doggy was stunned when he heard what Red A said.

"Of course, it's because I shouldn't be the one who killed this dragon."

At this moment, Red A pointed behind him, and there came the last player up.

Fafnir was lying on the ground, barely alive.

After being divided by so many Noble Phantasm, if it weren't for the fact that it was a purebred dragon, it would have been dead long ago.

At that moment, it desperately wished someone would just stab it.

It doesn't matter who it is, as long as they can kill it.

"Is it painful? Is it regrettable?"

"This is nothing compared to what you people have done to the people of this country."

"But don't worry, the next person will be the last one this time."

"He will end your life completely."

At this moment, Mo Wang stood in front of Fafnir and spoke to it calmly.

Upon hearing Mo Wang's words, Fafnir's dragon eyes involuntarily turned to the side.

Then, the last contestant, accompanied by golden light, slowly walked up to it.

And this last person was Charlemagne.