Dragon Hunt (End of Volume)

"First, we need to make preparations," Norn Cobain said.

He picked up a spear roughly six feet long and examined it repeatedly beneath the stark white lights of the hunting preparation room before slinging it across his back.

The last survivor of the Shatar tribe, the young boy, copied him and slung the repaired spear he had been holding across his back.

The time of trial had ended a month ago—everything had ended. It was as if the sight of the world collapsing had never happened. Over the past month, there had been almost no radioactive dust in the sky, and the sun always hung clearly in its corner, gazing mercilessly upon everyone.

But Imo of Shatar did not care about that. The only thing he needed to think about now was hunting a dragon.

His eyes gleamed. He had not slept properly for days, yet he still possessed such vigor. Ashen Hammers saw it, but for some reason, he no longer wore the friendly smile he had shown before.

Don't misunderstand—he was still smiling. It was simply a very complicated smile.

He picked up a shield, then nodded to the boy.

"Let's go."

They left the warband headquarters, which was still undergoing repairs.

In that disaster, both Fireborn strongholds had suffered extensive damage. That had been uncommon in the past; after all, these buildings, made from sturdy alloys and adamantium, would activate void shields like the shelter cities when the time of trial arrived, casting every threat away to somewhere people did not need to worry about.

But what was that saying again? Everything had a first time.

Yes, everything had a first time. Thus, many people stood outside the stronghold gates—construction crews, servants, and a red-robed priest. The priest was the most eye-catching among them, though that had