In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character
Chapter 52: No way out(6)

Chapter 52: No way out(6)

The sky over the battlefield was cracked with fire.

Ash rained down in black sheets, coating the splintered remnants of siege engines and the burned-out husks of armored war beasts. The earth was split and torn, huge trenches ripped across the plains where once, five years ago, Roan’s banners had marched tall.

Now, the banners lay in tatters, trampled under shattered helmets and broken spears.

At the center of it all, June knelt.

His once-immaculate black and gold armor was a ruin — plates scorched and warped, the right pauldron sheared clean off, the left gauntlet melted into his forearm. His head hung low, shaggy dark hair clinging to sweat and blood, his back heaving as each breath came ragged and strained. His fists pressed into the dirt, knuckles bleeding.

He couldn’t lift his head.

Not because of exhaustion, though exhaustion clawed at every nerve.

Not because of pain, though pain lanced through every muscle and bone.

No — because the sheer weight pressing down on him was beyond human comprehension.

Before him loomed Veldax, the Dragon Lord.

The beast’s scales shimmered a blinding gold and deep violet, each massive plate like polished metal edged with pulsing runes. Its wings stretched wide across the battlefield, eclipsing the burning sky, the tips curling with arcs of crackling magic. Each exhale from its nostrils sent waves of heat rippling across the ground, the air shimmering, the grass withering to ash.

Its massive, ancient head lowered slightly, eyes like twin burning suns fixing on June’s small, kneeling form.

You crawl well, little godling, the voice rumbled — not in the air, not through sound, but directly into June’s mind.

You crawl better than you command.

June gritted his teeth, forcing his trembling fingers to dig deeper into the scorched earth. His body shook violently, muscles spasming as he fought to rise — fought to move — even one inch upward.

But the dragon’s sheer magical presence pinned him.

Every time he tried to lift his head, his vision blurred, his heart screamed in his chest, and his limbs buckled under invisible pressure.

Around them, the battlefield was silent.

What remained of Roan’s warbands — his captains, his soldiers, his siege masters — were little more than broken shadows now. Scattered, dead, or fled. The mighty banners of his once-arrogant kingdom lay buried in flame.

Five years, Veldax’s voice echoed, slow and ponderous. Five years you lashed against the night, tearing through demons and spirits and kings alike.

June’s breathing hitched. Blood dripped slowly from the corner of his mouth as he forced one knee forward, his ruined leg armor scraping against the ground. His vision shook wildly, the edges darkening — but his teeth bared in a snarl.

I... am...

You are small, the dragon finished, voice deep as mountains shifting.

Small, and mortal, and temporary.

June’s arms gave out. His head crashed forward, forehead pressing hard into the blood-soaked dirt.

He gasped once. Twice. His chest heaved.

His mind reeled, flickering through everything — the rise, the conquest, the kingdoms burned, the enemies crushed, the throne taken — and now...

Here.

Before a beast that had barely moved to crush him.

Above, Veldax’s colossal body shifted slightly, massive claws digging into the earth, each one the size of a siege tower. Purple-gold magic rippled faintly along its horns, dancing in slow, deliberate pulses.

You will not die yet, the dragon rumbled softly. Not until you understand.

June’s vision blurred then sharpened with a sudden spike of raw, wild fury.

He dragged in a ragged breath, his cracked lips twisting into a faint, battered grin.

"...Make me understand, you scaled bastard," he rasped hoarsely.

Above him, the dragon’s burning eyes narrowed slightly and for the first time, it let out a low, rumbling laugh.

The battlefield trembled. The fires crackled higher.

And June, on his knees in the ashes of his kingdom, prepared to meet the god he had spent five years trying to defy

Ten years.

Ten long, brutal, grinding years

When June first knelt before Veldax in the burning wreckage of the Roan kingdom, he thought he had met his defeat. He thought the dragon would kill him or worse, destroy him in body and soul, erase his name from history and grind his legacy into dust.

He was wrong.

Instead, Veldax lifted June’s broken, bloodied body in one massive claw, pinned him under an ancient contract sigil, and reshaped his purpose.

"You will not die," the Dragon Lord had rumbled, voice like rolling mountains.

"You will serve."

And so June, once the arrogant king of Roan, became something else.

Not a slave.

Not exactly.

A general

A tool of war

The first years were a blur of pain and reshaping.

The dragon’s magic coursed through June’s veins, knitting his shattered limbs, reforging his bones, strengthening his human shell beyond its mortal limits. He became faster. Stronger. His senses sharpened; his resilience deepened. But there was a price.

June felt the changes claw at his mind. His anger became sharper, his patience thinner, his ambition... darker. Where once he had sought power for himself, now he sought power only because Veldax demanded it. He rode at the head of demonic battalions, stormed human fortresses, crushed rival warlords, led raids on elven sanctuaries and ancient dwarven fortresses alike.

He became legend.

The world whispered his name not as a king or conqueror, but as something else

The Ash General.

The Mortal hand of god

The Dragon’s Right Hand.

And over the ten years that followed, under June’s brutal, cunning campaigns and Veldax’s overwhelming might, the world fell piece by piece.

The demon kingdoms that once ravaged the outer realms crumbled before the dragon’s forces. Succubi queens and ghoul lords were dragged from their thrones, their palaces burned, their banners shattered. June stood over their corpses, his gold-lined black armor slick with blood, his sharp eyes cold as he gave the next set of orders.

The high elven cities, long proud and aloof, fell under relentless siege. Veldax’s magic ripped through their wards like paper. June himself stormed the capital, cutting down the last prince on the marble steps, his blade flashing once twice before the body crumpled to the floor.

The dwarven holds, hidden in the mountain depths, were rooted out one by one. June’s forces flooded their tunnels with fire, poison, and shadow until even the deep kings emerged to kneel or die.

Ten years.

And when it was done when the last great resistance broke, when the final alliance fell, when the map was drawn and redrawn under the dragon’s vast, coiling shadow June stood once more on a battlefield, his black armor shining faintly in the purple and gold light, his sharp grin twisting faintly at the corner of his mouth.

He had helped conquer the world.

Not as a king.

Not as a hero.

But as a general the right hand of a beast that had never needed his help, but had demanded his service all the same.

And somewhere, deep inside, June knew one truth:

He might have ruled once.

He might have worn a crown once.

But now?

Now, even if all the world bowed before him...

He would never be free