Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 65 : I Come to Cut You Down

Patunasankus didn't care about the lives of Bluefin Bay's inhabitants, just as she had never cared about anyone's life before.
When she heard from Elaphia that Oz's Undead Scourge intended to raze this trading jewel to the ground, the evil dragon felt no ripple in her heart—if anything, she was mildly amused.
What did it have to do with her?
The people here should be grateful she wasn't taking advantage of the situation to plunder them.
At least, that's what Patunasankus thought.
Still, despite Elaphia's objections, she deliberately made her way up to the city walls. Due to the recent rampage of magic puppets in the city, there were few guards stationed there, allowing Patunasankus to wander as freely as if she were in her own home, with an ever-worried Elaphia trailing behind her like a shadow.
Like a little puppy.
That was how Patunasankus described her.
From the vantage point of the walls, the view stretched over a desolate wilderness. About a dozen kilometers away, Patunasankus spotted an army of the undead advancing slowly. Some clutched broken weapons, others wore shattered armor. Night had already fallen, and they marched toward the city with an ancient, eerie silence.
Clearly, the evil dragon wasn't the least bit concerned about these undead creatures.
She simply wanted to see what Loranhir planned to do—and how far she could go.
Her parting words had genuinely piqued her curiosity.
Patunasankus knew her curiosity was excessive. She also knew it made her annoyingly persistent, but she had no intention of changing.
For long-lived species like her, their extended lifespans didn't make evil dragons cautious or conservative. Instead, the tedium of endless years fueled an insatiable curiosity toward any change or conflict, driving them to constantly seek amusement.
In a way, evil dragons were like house cats—when they saw something unusual, they couldn't resist swatting at it a few times just for the satisfaction.
Their ways of expressing emotions could be either straightforward or oddly roundabout.
Two evil dragons on good terms might groom each other's scales, only to start biting midway, then escalate to clawing and kicking until a full-blown fight broke out—after which they'd laze around together again.
That was just how evil dragons were.
Patunasankus spotted a shadowy figure flying above the undead army.
The silhouette resembled a bipedal wyvern, though none of its former majesty remained. Its wings were tattered and pockmarked with holes, its flesh continuously rotting, chunks occasionally falling from its pale bones.
"A bone dragon?"
Patunasankus thought it was downright pathetic how far the wyverns—descendants of ancient dragons—had fallen, to be killed and reanimated by some eighth-circle lich.
"They're still letting refugees into the city," Elaphia pointed out nearby, her eyes instinctively searching for the hero's familiar, invincible figure—though she was nowhere to be seen. Who knew where that unreliable hero had gone off to this time. "Given the undead's marching speed, there's no way they'll make it in time."
If only the hero would act... if only the hero would act...
Elaphia couldn't help but think.
Patunasankus watched the long lines of refugees entering below, saying nothing. She was feeling a bit hungry.
She took out the little fish-shaped crackers belonging to that three-year-old girl, unwrapped the simple packaging, and began chewing slowly.
The crackers were really hard—hard enough to chip a tooth."So soft," the evil dragon muttered under its breath."Based on your understanding of Allen, how long until they arrive?" Loranhir asked Hedica.
"It depends. If he's not interested in your affairs, he won't come at all," Hedica replied.
"He will," Loranhir stated firmly.
Hedica didn't understand why the other was so certain—what basis did she have for being so confident in her allure over Allen? The magic net short message had been written by Hedica herself, and the only useful information it contained was the address and Loranhir's name. It didn't even mention the lich.
Why would Allen come for that?
If the message had mentioned the lich...
No, given Allen's tendency to prioritize major threats, he wouldn't care about some minor lich at all.
Hedica truly couldn't fathom where Loranhir's confidence came from, but she still gave an honest estimate.
"...If he uses a legendary scroll, the fastest possible time—from preparation to departure, then traveling—would still take at least two hours," she said.
"That's enough," Loranhir calculated the timing.
"To kill a lich, you need to destroy its phylactery, right?" Loranhir asked the former holy knight.
"That's the only way. As long as the phylactery exists, the lich will keep reviving within it," Hedica explained.
"Then we should move now," Loranhir stood up and walked toward the direction of the undead army.
"Move? Where?" Hedica couldn't follow her train of thought.
"Your fellow countryman hasn't made it into the city yet, right?" Loranhir glanced back at her. "No matter. Buying time is something I excel at."
When Loranhir appeared before the undead army, all movement ceased.
"Hero, was it you who destroyed my elite magic puppets?"
Oz's hoarse voice echoed from above—clearly, the great lich was using magic to communicate remotely.
After some thought, Oz had finally pieced it together. The inexplicable destruction of his elite magic puppets could only be the work of one person in all of Bluefin Bay with such overwhelming power.
Who else but the hero?
The vampire thrall by her side?
Impossible!
Surely not the frail princess either.
Absolutely not!
"Me? When?" Loranhir was utterly baffled. She had done nothing at all from start to finish. And judging by Oz's tone, there seemed to be an incredibly powerful presence in Bluefin Bay.
But she had never heard of such a person.
"Still pretending, are you? You tricked me with a mere letter of introduction. I almost fell for it," Oz was now convinced Loranhir was the culprit. "Why aren't you attacking? What are you waiting for?"
"...For my army," Loranhir gazed into the distance. According to Hedica's estimate, it should be about time now.
"Yours?" Oz was momentarily stunned. "What army? You only have a bunch of weaklings and cripples. ...Fine. Let's see how you fare against my undead legion."Just as Oz was about to order the undead army to attack.
It saw a silver-white cavalry approaching on the distant horizon.
Armored warhorses galloped ahead, their hooves tapping out the grammar of the wilderness, echoing across the open plains.
Both their armor and their steeds emitted faint, shimmering holy light.
This was an entire battalion composed solely of holy knights.
Leading them was, naturally, Allen.
The holy knight still wore his helmet, as he always did—did he really look that unsightly?
"Undead creature." Allen extended his slender, delicate index finger, pointing at Loranhir like a gun, and shouted.
"I've come to slay you!"