As Arran looked at the dead dragon in front of him, he could not help but feel worried about the prospect of facing an adult specimen.
From what he knew, this should be a juvenile, barely a decade or two old. And yet, it had already been nearly impossible to kill, with hideous strength and astonishing toughness.
Even though the fight had been deceptively short, Arran had no illusions about how he would have fared in a direct confrontation. The damage the young dragon had sustained in its fall was well beyond anything Arran could inflict with either sword or magic, and even that had not been enough to kill the creature outright.
With just his own strength, there was no possible way to win a battle like that — not unless he could somehow convince the beast to let him freely stab its eyes with his sword, at least.
A few minutes after Arran slew the dragon, Crassus began to make his way down the cliff.
