"Loguan!"
Dreyfus leveled his longsword at Charles, the entire blade wrapped in magical light, a beam lancing out from its tip.
Charles didn't even summon his Innate Armament; he simply caught it with his palm.
A beam that, in theory, could pierce anything was seized mid-flight by one hand and, as his fingers closed, crushed to shards.
Shaking off the glittering motes of light, Charles said, "Told you—like this, you can't bring out that magic's real power."
Dreyfus's brows stood on end; his already stern face grew even darker.
"Don't think this will shake me. My justice is unbending!"
Charles curled his lip. "Interesting. So you really have a sliver of your own consciousness left, or are you just too deep in character?"
The two possibilities he mentioned clearly targeted two different "people," and Dreyfus's tone hadn't sounded like an act.
Either way, it didn't stop Charles from laying into him.
Dreyfus had cranked his vigilance to the max, yet he still couldn't see Charles's movement.
His vision blurred—and Charles was already on top of him.
Because he wanted to be someone his son could be proud of, Dreyfus had never slacked in training. Even Meliodas had praised his swordsmanship.
Even with his body occupied, that swordcraft had fused into instinct.
Before he could even think, Dreyfus's knight's blade was already arcing for Charles's neck.
Charles moved at the same time, not retreating but closing in, driving an elbow into Dreyfus's chest.
The red armor, forged from a special metal, buckled on impact, and Dreyfus was blown back before his blade could fall.
He crashed through several walls before finally stopping, planting his sword and dropping to one knee, breath coming hard.
With Dreyfus's strength, controlling his breathing shouldn't have been an issue—but that elbow had been so heavy he had to force his lungs to steady.
Gritting through the pain, he stood and looked at Charles.
The Fraudrin inside him had lived since the time of the Holy War and seen countless mighty warriors on the battlefield.
Yet among those worthy of being called heroes, he couldn't think of anyone like Charles.
It had been only probing exchanges, but Charles's seamless, overwhelming strength left him with a powerlessness that rose from the gut.
Charles walked toward him step by step, flames spilling out to coil around his body.
Dreyfus gathered all his magic, his longsword keening as if it couldn't bear the load.
"Heaven-River Prison-Breaking Sword!"
It was essentially Dreyfus's ultimate slash, but as the huge, devastating blade of magic was just forming, Charles, wreathed in fire, rushed in.
"Who's getting hit by a move with a wind-up that long?"
With that, Charles's fist snapped up and slammed into Dreyfus's face, a tooth spinning away with a spray of blood.
Dreyfus's head snapped from one side to the other, a black ring blooming around his eye.
He raised his sword to counter, but Charles met him with a kick that sent him flying.
Though Dreyfus's magic was \[Break], skewed toward destruction, its essence was will—the toughness of his resolve didn't just make his strikes unstoppable; it also gave him a body of staggering resilience.
Even after several heavy blows, his aura hadn't fallen much. Yep… a serviceable punching bag.
Charles shifted his footing to press the attack when a massive explosion boomed to the side. A mushroom cloud rose from the city—that was Stella's "Dragon King's Flame that Burns Heaven and Earth."
From the feel of that strike, she was starting to get angry.
In the instant Charles's attention wavered, a spell gem appeared in Dreyfus's hand, and he hurled it to the ground.
Purple miasma spread. While Charles prudently slipped out of the poison fog's reach, Dreyfus vanished from where he stood.
Dreyfus wasn't a frontline brawler to begin with; he wasn't about to slug it out with Charles here.
Who knew how things were going on Hendrickson's side? With the plan at this stage, all they needed was Elizabeth's blood; the goal would be achieved.
Even if every piece in Liones was lost, it wouldn't matter.
What he needed now was a chance to get close to Elizabeth and obtain her blood—the key to unsealing the Demon Clan.
Unfortunately, there were more unexpected people around Elizabeth this time. Slightly inconvenient.
Still, his identity as Dreyfus might yet be useful—some room to maneuver there.
Charles ignored the fleeing Dreyfus and headed toward Stella.
The group escorting the king hadn't gotten far; he caught up quickly.
And the first thing he saw was a cluster of monsters besieging them.
Bloated bodies, uncanny skin tones. Huge frames, powerful magic churning within.
Most crucially, each had a person protruding from the chest up—exactly like Del before.
Yes, these were the New Generation Holy Knights who had drunk demon blood. Under Hendrickson's control, that blood had rampaged, turning them into this.
With fires breaking out across the capital and even the king rescued, the situation had turned dire. Hendrickson had no better option than to plunge the whole capital into chaos.
Facing these innocent people being puppeted, Stella and the others couldn't go all out.
That was exactly why Stella was furious with nowhere to vent it.
In terms of destructive power, Stella—who commanded a dragon's might—had grown even stronger after receiving divine favor. But in this situation, raw power wasn't a solution.
Hendrickson himself, meanwhile, was pummeling Meliodas and Ban.
And he looked nothing like his usual middle-aged self; only those familiar with him would recognize the man as his younger self.
His bare torso was covered in black markings—the power of the Demon Clan, unmistakably.
The New Generation was Hendrickson's research result, and his magnum opus was this body in which Demon Clan power had fully fused.
Perhaps Fraudrin played a role, but right now Hendrickson was no different from Meliodas in berserk mode—except he kept his reason.
Even after Elizabeth, pleading that she "just wants him to live," nudged Meliodas to drop his short staff and take up his more familiar short sword, Hendrickson still had him suppressed.
If Hendrickson were human, Meliodas would have chopped him into who knows how many pieces by now. As it was, even wounds that nearly cut him in half were racing shut as the black markings flowed to the gashes.
That regenerative power was how he kept Meliodas and Ban under his thumb.
While those two were locked in a desperate fight, the rampaging New Generation were attacking the Holy Knights who had returned to the king's side, along with Stella and the others—and even civilians were becoming targets.
A capital that had been peaceful was reduced to a chaotic battlefield in the span of just half a day.
(End of Chapter)
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