Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights Chapter 363: Stronger Resolve

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Previously on Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights...
The knights fought valiantly to defend Godfrey from Damascus, but many fell. Solstice, Tempest, Lament, and others sacrificed themselves to buy Godfrey time, but Damascus pushed through their defenses. Enraged by the slaughter of his summons and the glimpse of a dire future, Godfrey unleashed his hidden madness. He attacked Damascus with renewed ferocity, overwhelming the lycan and driving him back.
A colossal humanoid wolf, enrobed in dark armor and sporting a flowing mane, scraped a slightly curved blade across a desolate landscape. Mountains lay in ruin, the ground was scarred with fissures, and countless trees had toppled into the deep chasms. "Damascus... is deceased?" the wolf rumbled, its voice thick with suppressed fury. For the moment, it could only endure, but vengeance for its regent's killer would be swift and absolute. *** Meanwhile, as the ancient deity stirred, Godfrey knelt, his head bowed low, sweat cascading from him in thick rivulets. His eyes held a vacant, weary gaze. He had often pondered the profound chasm separating the powerful from the weak, their seemingly detached demeanor. In bygone days, he'd believed sheer strength was the sole differentiator. Now, he understood the inadequacy of that notion. Ascending to greater power brought its own unique set of burdens; it revealed truths and evoked sensations the ordinary could not comprehend. The harsh realities, invisible to the feeble, were laid bare, stark and unyielding. One was forced to either accept this grim truth or stand against it, risking utter annihilation. Indeed, power did not eradicate one's troubles; it merely reshaped them. Godfrey ultimately succumbed, collapsing. Dirge, Ballista, and Goliath vanished the instant his last iota of mana was depleted. His gaze drifted upward, slowly narrowing as he fixed it upon the sun. 'The sun... shouldn't it radiate heat?' he mused, finding only a faint warmth against his skin. What Damascus had unveiled was his predetermined future: his demise during the Ruination Stage. This grim prophecy meant that in approximately two months, perhaps less, perhaps more, death awaited him. Thus, why persevere? Why continue the struggle if his fate was already sealed with an inescapable end? Was it peculiar that he found himself yearning for the simpler times of school, a period defined by dominance over the less fortunate and shallow emotional entanglements? Godfrey had grasped this earlier, but the realization now struck with piercing clarity. The events at Manhattan Summoner's High were merely the visible tip of the iceberg, a manifestation of the deep-seated cruelty that had festered within this world. They originated from families who had already instilled their rigid doctrines into their offspring, congregating in an academy where instructors trembled before the potential wrath of their students' parents. The powerless had no one to champion their cause, and as this cruelty festered and grew, they would eventually attain strength, perhaps through the mystical mana tree, only to subjugate those who had once oppressed them. And so, the cycle relentlessly repeated. A select few, like him, endured relentless physical and emotional torment until they, too, transformed into reflections of the world's harsh nature. Perhaps he should have remained an ordinary human. But was that genuinely an option available to him? When his entire life trajectory had been meticulously charted from the very beginning? It felt as though every step forward was met with the savage tearing away of any semblance of joy from his very being. The world seemed to relish his sorrow. Its intent was to plunge him into utter madness. "Who would have guessed the strong also endured pain?" Godfrey managed to sit up, his voice raspy. "I suppose they merely showcased their summoned beasts and extraordinary skills, withholding the true cost they paid. All I witnessed back then was Isolde's formidable summons, not the agony she endured." Or perhaps, he couldn't even claim that mantle. He couldn't truly consider himself strong. Godfrey's steadfast resolve faltered for the very first time. Deep within, he knew the revelation Damascus had imparted was an unalterable truth. According to his destiny, his existence was to be extinguished during the Ruination. Like countless other Chosen Ones and myriad worlds before him, he was destined to fail. It wasn't an unprecedented outcome... was it? Godfrey let out a weak, hollow laugh. What was the source of his profound anguish? What inflicted such deep wounds upon his heart? Was it the memory of his mother, or the brutal realization that death was his inevitable fate, a truth now laid bare before him? "The old man spoke the truth. I suppose those who possess greater strength also bear greater pain. Perhaps if I were weaker, I would have rationalized it as insufficient strength. But I stand at the pinnacle of the Titled God Tier, the zenith of all existence at this very moment, and you claim I am still powerless?!" His head drooped in resignation. 'Chosen One? What a hollow mockery. It would be more fitting to label me the Doomed Fates One, if all I am destined to receive are pronouncements of a bleak and darkening future.' He scowled, his eyes hardening with newfound resolve. Then, Godfrey pushed himself to his feet, his body swaying precariously. 'Is this world truly this cruel, or is it merely my perception? I once yearned for greater strength to protect my mother. Yet, she is but an embodiment of the very source of this suffering. However, the mana tree manifested as a woman solely to birth a child, a child upon whom she placed the weight of a centuries-old mandate, destined to be sacrificed to her Favored One to fulfill her own ambitions.' Even she harbored doubts about his capability to achieve the goal, placing greater hope in Cain. Naturally, she had intertwined the mandate with him; should he falter, she intended to merge him and the mandate with Cain. This meant two Chosen entities serving a single Favored One. How utterly compelling. 'Barely nineteen years old, yet I feel as though I have traversed a century. My mind is burdened, the path toward my objective grows increasingly obscured, but my will remains unbroken. I shall cling to it fiercely, even unto my last breath; though my body be torn asunder, my grip shall never loosen. I shall still ascend. It seems only fitting that I should bear this immense burden that offers hope to others. Is that not the intrinsic weight of the crown?' Three years. It had been merely three years since his awakening, and his life was now teetering on the precipice of extinction. Was death the only inevitable conclusion? No! It could not be! These beings—Cain, the mana tree, and whatever deity schemed in the shadows—possessed power, and that power inflicted pain upon him. It conveyed everything he needed to comprehend. The path to his ultimate goal might be extraordinarily brutal, yet he was determined to reach it. It mattered not if no one placed their faith in him; their skepticism and machinations held no significance. As long as the dawn broke, his ambition would ignite with greater intensity. Perhaps, merely perhaps, he would uncover that which he sought in a place no one had ever set foot. Even with his breath ragged and shallow, his gaze solidified with fierce determination. Godfrey refused to succumb to despair. All this agony he endured was a form of profound transformation; he was evolving into something greater. He likened himself to being within a blacksmith's forge, subjected to the smith's relentless hammering and the searing, unforgiving heat of the flames. Indeed, his destiny foretold his demise within the Ruination, but now, he possessed awareness of this fate. A significant portion of knowledge regarding the Ruination resided within his mind. Godfrey had the gift of foreknowledge, and such knowledge equated to an advantage; it signified that the future was not irrevocably fixed. As long as he strategized, it could be altered. He dropped to a single knee, clutching Damascus’s core, and then noticed a purple core shimmering in the sand a few meters distant.