School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 107 --Stanbeck’s Verbal Incantation Technique
Correspondingly, the shadowy giant wielding a colossal blade approximately twenty meters in length came into full view.
Grasping the sword firmly, Stanbeck aimed at the abyssal maw of the black protodragon and made a swift, diagonal slash downwards.
In an instant, the head of the black protodragon was cleaved in two, the lower half thudding heavily onto the ground.
Owen’s pupils contracted sharply in shock.
Boyd, who had once again positioned himself beside Owen, jumped in alarm: "What just happened? How could the black protodragon be so easily defeated?"
"It’s not that the black protodragon is weak," Owen replied.
"It’s that Stanbeck has become incredibly powerful."
"But with the black protodragon dead, what happens to us? Are we to be buried along with it?" Boyd questioned with a hint of fear.
Owen’s eyes, sharp and discerning, shook his head slightly and explained, "There’s no blood; he must not be dead. Besides, it’s merely an artifact spirit. Only time can bring its demise."
True to his words, the severed head of the black protodragon emitted smoke, quickly regenerating a new jaw.
The chopped-off parts transformed into a black liquid, rolling back and reintegrating into its body.
Unquestionably, the confrontation between the black protodragon and Stanbeck was akin to a ferocious clash of fire and thunder.
The two engaged in a horrific battle for survival.
The black protodragon desperately attempted to devour Stanbeck, who, in turn, fought back with even more brutal and domineering force than before.
Stanbeck’s body radiated a brilliant blue glow, the deep blue patterns on his cheeks pulsating rapidly, revealing the full glory of the Neptune race.
Emboldened by the white light, Stanbeck seemed almost invincible, reducing the black protodragon to pieces twice over.
The latter, however, rapidly regenerated, its vitality and combat strength seemingly inexhaustible.
Surrounding demon apes, leopards, and strange birds harassed Stanbeck, only to be swiftly annihilated, shattered into fragments by his immense power.
Unlike the black protodragon, these creatures lacked the resilience to reform from such a state, thus permanently ceasing to exist.
The scene was surreal.
Logically, Stanbeck’s use of the Neptune race’s phantom should have exhausted him within seconds.
After all, this was the legacy arcana of the Neptune race, and its sustained duration was inherently limited.
Yet, there he was, unleashing his power for the second time, more vigorous and fierce than in the first round, undoubtedly a result of the white light’s influence.
Owen, however, harbored no envy.
He saw this power as akin to drug use: exhilarating in the moment, but likely followed by terrifying aftereffects that one might not be able to endure.
Another round of battle ensued, with the black protodragon being torn to shreds once again.
"Too weak," Stanbeck commented, his sword tip touching the ground.
"It wasn’t worth the trip."
Owen, listening to his tone, perceived genuine disappointment, not mockery or sarcasm.
Yet, something puzzled him.
What exactly was Stanbeck disappointed about? Disappointment stems from an imbalance between effort and reward.
Wasn’t their goal the Heart of the Ocean?
With the Heart of the Ocean right before them, why would Stanbeck feel this way?
The black protodragon, rather than being angered, laughed heartily.
"I can battle for years. Can you?"
After regenerating, it summoned demon apes again and quickly charged towards Stanbeck.
Endurance and stability were key.
No matter how formidable the opponent, there were limits to their time and strength.
A borrowed body, battered and tattered, with poor foundations.
Time and victory, it seemed, were ultimately on the side of the black protodragon.
Stanbeck narrowed his eyes and bit his fingertip, drawing three blue blood runes out of thin air.
His movements started swiftly and smoothly, but as he progressed, his hand seemed to be hindered by some invisible force, slowing down to a tedious crawl.
It was only when the black protodragon had fully regrouped and charged towards him again that he managed to complete the drawing of the blue blood runes.
Then, Stanbeck let out three thunderous roars, each utterance distinct in its syllables.
These syllables were unlike any human language or common tongue.
Their tones were bizarre, yet they succeeded in activating the blood runes.
As the three roars ceased, the blood runes transformed into beams of blue light, hurtling towards the black protodragon.
Suddenly, three blue chains, cold as ice and resembling spectral shadows more than physical entities, appeared around the black protodragon.
The beast seemed to be weighed down by invisible mountains thousands of meters high, crashing heavily onto the ground.
Each step it took caused the earth to tremble, demanding far more effort than before.
Boyd stood frozen in bewilderment, "What is this?"
Owen, a regular in the library, harbored a lingering obsession with the adage from Grand Magus Academy that one could attain divinity by thoroughly reading its collection.
He was well-versed in various magical tomes, often indulging in folklore and tales of the supernatural when weary.
This technique was somewhat familiar to him.
"Verbal incantation technique, an ancient art," Owen murmured softly, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Overhearing this, Stanbeck slowly turned towards Owen, a look of regret in his eyes: "Indeed, this is the verbal incantation technique, corresponding to the effects of heaviness, sluggishness, and fatigue. I didn’t expect anyone in this era to still be familiar with it."
Thus, a creature afflicted by the verbal incantation technique would experience a heaviness of body, slowness of movement, and weakening of combat strength.
Stanbeck’s lips curved into a smile, a hint of mockery in his tone: "Aren’t you quite the fighter? Why can’t you break free from the verbal incantation technique?"
The black protodragon, silent and stoic, continued its relentless crawl towards him.
Stanbeck, however, raised his hands, his eyes blazing with fervent light: "If you can’t break it, then you are not the true master of this world."
Owen, squinting thoughtfully, mused to himself: "Even as the master of this realm, one cannot do as they please, right? Otherwise, why the prolonged struggle? Why not just squash them with a flick of a finger? What’s the point of this prolonged entanglement?"
Meanwhile, Stanbeck was lost in his own fervor, his expression one of wild excitement, as if he had touched a prize worth three billion.
Owen, however, felt a sharp pain in his head, a lingering effect of the white light’s invasion causing him significant harm.
It was time for him to consider an exit strategy.
Assuming Finn was dead, he spared no further thought for him.
The question now was, how should he proceed? Owen had no desire to battle Stanbeck in his current state.
Stanbeck was too powerful, and his mysterious techniques made a direct confrontation tantamount to suicide.
But if he managed to eliminate Stanbeck and Quincy, would the black protodragon honor its promise?
The most pressing issue, however, was the statue of the Goddess of Loka.
The black protodragon’s mysterious appearance above the statue couldn’t be a mere coincidence.
Owen found it hard to believe that these events were unrelated to the Goddess of Loka.
His gaze swept over the scene, unnoticed by anyone.
It was as if he wasn’t the saint of dragons, but rather a fish in an aquarium, waiting to be slaughtered.
...
Under the influence of the verbal incantation technique, the black protodragon’s movements were severely restricted, and its offensive capabilities were significantly diminished.
If it had previously moved like a soaring dragon, it now resembled a gigantic snail, its slow, laborious movements almost painful to watch.
Not just Stanbeck, even Boyd felt confident that he could take a few swings at the black protodragon under these circumstances.
The ancient art of the verbal incantation technique was indeed formidable.
Stanbeck thrust his long sword into the black protodragon’s head, then began to draw symbols in the air with his blood once more.
This time, he was writing a single character, but the task seemed excruciatingly difficult.
His fingers trembled, struggling to continue.
Had the black protodragon not been hampered, Stanbeck’s efforts would have been interrupted long ago.
Stanbeck’s face turned from red to pale and then red again.
Finally completing the symbol, he shouted forcefully, followed by vomiting a mouthful of black blood containing solid chunks of his internal organs.
Despite the physical toll, this verbal incantation technique had a significant effect on the black protodragon.
The struck area began to frost over, the frost spreading downwards from the head.
Wherever the white frost reached, that part of the black protodragon became immobile.
Stanbeck had evidently found a strategy to counter the black protodragon - freezing it.
Boyd, watching intently, chuckled, "Mr. Owen, do you think the deity just whispered the word ’freeze’?"
Receiving no response, Boyd turned to look and was startled.
The spot where Owen had been standing was empty, and even the unconscious Erin was gone.
In this environment, where danger lurked everywhere and no one was to be trusted, a deep sense of unease instantly enveloped Boyd.
Owen had disappeared.
With the deity handling the black protodragon, Boyd couldn’t help but wonder: would the deity’s wrath now turn towards him?
The question seemed rhetorical – the answer was almost certainly yes.
Boyd’s chest heaved with intense emotion, his eyes flashing with urgency.
The most pressing issue was that he had no idea where to search for Owen.
Nor did he know where to hide.
And even if he found a hiding spot, could he really hide forever? The thought of dying in this surreal world was unbearable.
With resolve, Boyd clenched his teeth: "Damn it, I’m going all out."
As he spoke, Boyd was already gathering arcanergy, his hands crackling with electric energy.
Being of the electric eel race, he was naturally adept at using thunder-based spells.
"The best scenario now," he thought, "is to prevent the black protodragon from dying at Stanbeck’s hands. If they continue their tug-of-war, I might just have a chance at survival."
A thick bolt of lightning surged towards the black protodragon.
Suddenly, Quincy leaped up, his bloodied face twisted in a grotesque and terrifying expression.
Boyd shuddered: "I forgot about this monstrous guy."
But his movements didn’t falter; thunderbolts, thick as pillars, shot out from his chest, striking Quincy squarely.
Quincy’s body crackled with electricity, his body numb, his eyes coldly fixed on Boyd.
His gaze seemed to convey a chilling message: "You’ll pay for this."
Bitterness filled Boyd’s heart as he summoned more arcanergy, releasing another hundred bolts of lightning from his chest.
This time, the lightning struck Stanbeck.
"I can only do so much."
