Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights Chapter 343: Legends Of The Golden Order Knights (2)

The ground shook fiercely, trembling like it couldn't support the Cyclops's immense bulk, though it was really the officers sensing the vibrations, their fears magnifying the creature's mass.

If that weren't bad enough, goblins dragged forth a second Cyclops. This time, the policemen stood frozen in terror as the beast bellowed furiously at them.

Goblins perched on its shoulders laughed wickedly, extending their lengthy tongues to slather saliva over their short swords.

Liam stumbled backward, clenching his pistol tighter while swapping to his final magazine. Sadly, his bullets ricocheted uselessly off the cyclops's tough hide.

Was combat even viable now?

Atop the building, Lysander gripped his axe firmly as the Cyclops clawed into the wall, determined to scale it and reach him.

Concrete crumbled away while its enormous fingers burrowed deeply.

"We never wanted to make an elf a Pathan knight," Lysander remembered the words from his talk with one of the Alchemists.

"Because of the king’s will, we thought of you as a replacement to the rebel who once wielded the axe for this order, but you, Knight Commander, are special. You’re what happens when compassion and sacrifice collide. You’re not stuck up in the traditions of the elven kind."

That voice echoed in Lysander’s thoughts while he observed the Cyclops tumbling from its own bulk. It let out a mighty roar, spraying spittle everywhere, its red eyes locked onto him.

All its fury proved pointless as Lysander held his ground, his hold on the axe growing firmer with every moment.

"You genuinely want to become a Pathan. To do so, create your legacy, Commander. It will accompany you for a long time."

With those words resounding in his head again, Lysander vaulted forward suddenly, his cloak billowing up to expose his red armor. Only his pointed ears, brows, and luminous eyes showed; the rest hid beneath crimson plates and dark chainmail.

Lysander whirled his axe twice, seized it two-handed, and brought it crashing down. The blade sank deep into the Cyclops’ spine, ripping it wide as the monster collapsed.

No blood escaped the gash, for Lysander sealed it with a blast of white mist that froze it solid. The Cyclops howled, lashing out with its hand in desperate fury, the swing dragging its body with the force.

Lysander blurred aside, dodging the strike. The powerful wind from the motion whipped his cloak violently, nearly tearing it free.

"My legacy?"

"You drank from the water of life by accident, so even at a thousand years, when elves of your type grow weary and old, you stand, young and vibrant. You have carried the pain of countless deaths because their lives were too short. A curse you lived in knowing you would also bury your daughter."

The Alchemist’s words echoed in his mind. That exchange with the enigmatic figures had burrowed deep into his soul.

With a fierce shout, Lysander heaved his axe skyward. His arm burned from the full-force swing. This was war; one error spelled doom. No reason to restrain himself.

That strike loosed a razor-sharp arc of ice, cleaving not only the Cyclops but the three-story office building too!

"In this order, that curse is weightless. You might end up as the oldest knight; you will become a walking archive of our culture, civilization, and myths of not just yourself but the Known King. Use this gift to serve the king. Claim your nobility and dream of royalty!" the Alchemist’s resolute voice boomed.

It felt just like reliving that dialogue.

"By your aid, His Majesty can become an Imperial!" As the Alchemist’s voice resounded, Lysander pivoted toward the other Cyclops. His boots gouged the pavement, shattering it as he launched himself at the foe.

To the fleeing policemen, he appeared as a red streak amid the chaos from the Cyclops. Spectators in their apartments barely registered until the second Cyclops’s head—and those of the goblins on its shoulders—tumbled to the ground, with ice erupting from Lysander at the center, encasing and impaling the surrounding goblins.

Right then, a colossal blind beast, resembling a hound yet dwarfing the Cyclops, burst from the dark portal.

Lysander lingered near the gate, already in range of the monster’s gaping jaws.

"Now... you cannot be killed for you are linked to the castle, but each time you die an unnatural death, it corrodes your soul. In the end, you’ll live long enough to become a hollow shell of a knight, so do not take your immortality as an advantage to be exploited. Serve and fight like a man who can die – just once."

Lysander propelled himself rearward, riding the surge of an ice pillar erupting from the soil. He flipped through the air... halfway through the flip, he hurled his axe upward.

By the moment he touched down on one knee, the axe finished its final rotation and plunged into the massive beast’s skull.

The axe’s fresh rune lit up brilliantly. Once Lysander let go of the axe, this rune increased its weight by more than a thousandfold from the original.

Immense pressure from the axe crushed the beast flat against the earth, nearly knocking it out cold. It shook off the daze fast and thrashed to yank the axe free from its skull, yet failed utterly.

Its claws ripped savagely into the dirt. The asphalt yielded like soft butter to their razor edges. Desperately it scratched and writhed, but nothing worked.

Lysander got to his feet, white mist swirling from his gauntlet-clad right hand, as a gigantic icicle exceeding three meters formed high above the eyeless monster.

"Let me end the suffering I’ve put upon you," he murmured, fist clenching tight. The icicle plunged down, skewering the beast—the top stayed frozen blue, while the shaft bursting out from beneath its belly gleamed crimson, forever soaked in blood.

Deep into the soil it plunged, looming before the black gate like some grand memorial.

With calm, deliberate strides, Lysander pried his axe from the beast’s head and passed through the black gate.

Liam’s "Thank you" never even registered with him.

Soon after, he reemerged hauling a goblin shaman—the evolved one responsible for summoning those abominations.

Lysander’s cloak showed multiple scorch marks, yet victory was his. He hurled the shaman down hard. Despite quaking in fear, the shaman screeched wildly in a language beyond Lysander’s grasp, though he sensed it spat nothing but foul curses at him.

One sweep of the axe tore the shaman asunder.

Incredibly, the gate turned blue again and dissolved away. It was sealed!