The pain began to fade. Although the lingering aftereffects still left his entire left hand trembling, Sieg gradually managed to calm down.
"Rrrgh..."
A foul-smelling wind blew from behind him, carrying a roar that seemed powerful enough to shatter his soul.
Yet something else concerned Sieg more-without realizing it, his right hand had already closed around something. It felt like a sword hilt, but heavier and more substantial than the rapier Astolfo had given him.
Only when Sieg looked back did he realize that he was indeed gripping a sword hilt. Most of the blade beneath it, however, was buried deep in the ground.
He gave it a cursory look.
The blade was unremarkable, and so was the crossguard.
But the aura emanating from this sword was several times more powerful than that of the ornate decorative sword. It seemed he would have to draw it.
"If you want to defeat it, draw the sword."
The whisper came again.
The dragon was closer than Sieg had imagined. The sharp horn on its nose almost touched him, but he did not let fear stop him.
Sieg adjusted the angle of his wrists and gripped the hilt tightly with both hands, intending to pull it free in one go.
"Ngh-!"
No. It would not come out.
Even using every ounce of his strength, even concentrating magic power in his limbs to reinforce his body, did nothing.
It was as though someone underground had seized the blade and was playing tug-of-war with him. The sword remained embedded in the earth, utterly motionless.
But... if I don't draw this sword, I'll die.
Fear was a beast that sought out victims to devour. The moment you showed it your cowardice, it would kill you.
The collapse of the mind was not strictly tied to the