Humans kept killing until they grew weary.
Zote had witnessed Silver Dragons that were dozens of times larger than this one, the storms stirred by their wings could strip the earth of a layer of soil, yet even they were beheaded by the Emperor, spilling blood like a dam burst, dyeing the entire Old Aran Capital red.
There was no fear even with such a spectacle back then, let alone now with these frail creatures.
Today, I shall casually slay a dragon.
The Judgers, seeing there was work to do, all removed the black seals wound around their mouths.
"Don't you have that word spirit magic called Fallen Heaven? If you don't use it now, when will you?"
Zote urged.
The sound of the Judger's voice was quite ethereal, and Zote finally understood why they had to bind their mouths. Every word carried the power of word spirit magic.
Humans were always learning the sounds of the Dragon Clan, unable to control it as naturally as the dragons themselves.
