Little Oil Lamp, Are You Trying to Strike Me Dead?!

A wave of heat splashed across his face.

That thrust carried the young military officer's full weight, along with the force of his charging run and leaping attack, driving deep into the dragon's chest and belly:

It paused slightly after piercing an inch deep, then surged forward with unstoppable momentum, burrowing ever deeper. First the half-foot spearhead went in, then the dark chestnut shaft. Blood streamed down the shaft.

The dragon let out a miserable, thunderous roar. The sound struck Shen Le's ears and left him dizzy; he had to raise his hands over them and circulate his power with all his might.

Even someone like him, who was merely inside the memory, was affected like this—let alone the young military officer who held the spear and had launched the frontal assault. Shen Le hovered beside the dragon and watched the young man's face turn deathly pale as he swayed on the verge of collapse.

Blood flowed down the spear shaft and onto the hand gripping it. The demon blood seemed intensely corrosive. He cried out in pain, and blisters immediately rose on his hand.

Just as he was about to fall, he let out a roar, flexed both arms, and swung himself up. He threw his whole body onto the spear shaft, using his weight to press it downward:

Drive it in!

Push it deeper!

Pierce straight through its heart!

The spear shaft let out a harsh, creaking scrape as it continued its difficult advance. The dragon roared with all its might, its entire body swaying back and forth.

It struggled without pause.

The tree trunk above broke with a sharp crack, snapping clean through. Just as the dragon was about to fall into the water, the young military officer lunged forward, drew the Steel Saber from his waist,