Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius had seen Gold-Rank pure Martial Classes in combat...

Weaponmaster Bannok of Kasydon. Samurai Garock Heartrender of the Screaming Silence. Avenger Justus of Leopardon.

...Pathfinder Quies of Sol Invictus.

...and that man's son, Spear Hero Pale.

Each of them were monsters in their own right... able to fight against literally hundreds of men without fatigue... able to shrug off all but the most severe injuries without slowing their murderous rampages.

For some of them, Tycon had served as a personal witness.

However, the man known as King... his abilities far surpassed theirs.

He was a man who could fight against angels and gods and not necessarily be disadvantaged.

Worse still, that fellow was likely still holding back.

Such arrogance was typical of all Elven Ancients.

Granted, the same was likely true of Yanaba, the Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe.

The woman used the momentum from King's heavy cross slash to somersault backwards and create distance.

She turned her head, spitting swiftly to the side... allowing a thin trail of blood to run down the corner of her lips. Then... she grabbed onto her right shoulder and whipped her body to the side while grunting in pain.

...The woman had been beaten severely if she had to relocate a limb in the middle of a fight.

"I'm gonna twist off your stupid f*cking head and sh*t down your GODS-DAMNED THROAT, YOU SONUVA B*TCH!!" She shrieked, "⌈SUCK ON MY FAT, VEINY HORSE C*CK,⌋ MOTHER-FFFF*CKER!!!!"

The mana in Yanaba's aura rose dramatically, visibly colored black and gold.

Her screaming was distorted with rage and violent mana.

Rocks and debris began to float around her.

Its visual activation was that of a Skill...

The mana, flowing easily and forming subtle spell circles around her were also indicative of a Skill...

It just...

"That..." Tycon pointed while turning to Notaku, "that is NOT a Skill! Why? Why would she say that?"

"(That...)" Blood had drained from Notaku's tanned face as he stared in disbelief, "(I... My sister-- she has never revealed such POWER!?!)"

Tycon twisted his lips into a grimace.

Powerful duelists always held a 'trump card' in reserve. That her brother was not aware of Yanaba's conveyed the stark difference between their abilities.

Personally, Tycon utilized his Skills and enchanted equipment at first reasonable opportunity, rather than having his hand forced. He found it foolish to reserve a 'trick' that may or may not prove useful.

If Yanaba had used... whatever it was she was using-- earlier in the fight, she wouldn't have fallen to her current pitiful state.

The sands rose around the Elven Chieftain, enveloping her fully... The earth below her tore open with a series of painfully loud cracks and groans... and two massive, sand-scaled arms emerged. It heaved and pulled itself out, as if hatching from an egg.

In place of the lithe elf stood a long-necked sand-creation with a flared crest. It steadied itself on four claws limbs, towering some eighty fulms tall, before loosing an earth-shaking roar.

Disgust pooled in Tycon's gut as he glared at its revolting shape.

⟬ Adamantine-Rank Brass Lizard Construct ⟭

Notaku grit his teeth, "(A... sand... dr... drake...)"

Tycon shut his eyes.

Yanaba's choice of summon was... reasonable.

A mana-constructed drake would not be weak. The base creature was known for having impressive physical strength and a troublesome breath weapon.

If its shape were that of a giant elf, it would be more aesthetically pleasing... but would suffer a remarkably lower mana-to-effective-power ratio.

Still... due to the construct's image, Tycon was tempted to intervene and destroy it.

However... he was uncertain of his ability to.

Tycon had defeated giant lizards in the past. On his adventures in the Kingdom, he had taken down an injured red with the combined support of his tribe-- err... his guild.

On an island off of the coast, he had defeated a bone lizard by cunning and guile. He'd served as a distraction while a dashing ally blasted the damn thing using a half-ton of Orkish Sugar and countless cannonballs. In those exchanges, though, Tycon suffered severe damage to his right arm... an injury he had only recently recovered from.

The sand drake, even as a theoretically unnatural construct, was at that level. Such beings could easily defeat opponents of higher ranks, relying on overwhelming power rather than Rank-sharpened perception and reflexes.

King allowed himself... a disapproving grimace.

Tycon was mentally preparing a dialogue to present to the Elven Chieftain... Depending on how he worded his request, it was still possible for him to save himself and Guild Metal Wolf.

With the power Yanaba displayed, it would be dangerous to use Notaku as a hostage... though he might prove useful if he were to vouch for Tycon's character.

He hoped to deal with the half-step Ancient relying on cordiality and professional respect. Failing that, he could still fall back on his wealth and status... if such things could mollify her.

Ah. Tycon also needed to request whatever remained of his friend's corpse. A proper burial would be appropriate, considering their relationship.

The Elven Ancient known as King... performed a standing leap. Using his peculiar ⌈Wind Walk⌋ movement technique, he continued to rise while stepping on mana-created footholds.

Upon reaching the sand drake's roaring maw, he plunged his blades into its snout... and stared into one of its ruby eyes, "⌈Submit.⌋"

Tycon crossed his arms. He was going to be very upset-- all things considered, if King were to survive.

The mana-construct trembled... almost imperceptibly at first.

Then, its full form began to quake, sand spilling from cracks in its sides as it fell apart...

Empty night.

Tycon released an exasperated sigh. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, pulling up his collar to cover his eyes and mouth... then he took a deep, preparatory breath.

The deluge of sand washed over him... lasting several seconds before ceasing.

Tycon exhaled for the duration, cursing in his mind as he lamented his choices.

He could have withdrawn to the fortress... He could have been seeking the favor of a beautiful Divine Armor pilot.

Instead, he chose to remain on the field... and be rewarded by feeling every granule of sand make their home in the insides of his clothing...

Tycon... was a fool.