The Extra Can't be A Hero-Chapter 168: The Sword Saint (6)

[Dragon Form.]

Amon's trump card that he obtained after absorbing Yval's second blessing.

A surge of divine energy erupted from within Amon, shaking the very air around him as ancient power awakened in his blood. It was the mark of the Golden Dragon Sovereign—the sacred blessing he had once received in a moment of fate, now fully unleashed.

His bones cracked and reshaped with thunderous intensity, muscles expanding with draconic strength as his frame grew larger, broader, and more imposing. Golden scales, radiant yet fearsome, erupted across his skin in a cascade of shimmering armour, each one glowing faintly with the fire of celestial might. Amon's eyes burned with vertical pupils, reptilian and unblinking, and jagged horns curled from his brow, completing the visage of a warrior no longer entirely human.

Where once stood a man, there now loomed a dragon-born avatar of war—majestic, terrifying, and utterly transformed. In embracing this form, Amon chose to deny his humanity. He had embraced power to evolve into a greater form—something monstrous, yet divine.

And yet, Amon wasn't done.

'I learnt this from Grandpa Alrock, and it's not complete, but…'

Amon's soul ignited ablaze.

The Seven Suns answered his call, moving in perfect harmony with his will. They spiralled around him like celestial sentinels before collapsing inward, bathing Amon in their divine radiance. Golden-white flames erupted across his body, not to harm, but to transform—consuming him in a blaze so pure and intense that the very air shimmered and buckled under its weight.

The ground itself became a canvas of fire, each inch scorched by the sacred heat. The pressure that followed was suffocating, crushing—an oppressive force that could bring even the mightiest of Knights to their knees, choking on the sheer density of divine energy.

And within that inferno stood Amon, untouched by pain, reborn in glory. He had not merely embraced the Sun—he had become it. A dragon no longer bound by the earth, but elevated, incandescent, transcendent.

A Dragon that was the Sun.

"Embodiment of the Sun?!"

At this point, Malachi was beyond flabbergasted.

The Embodiment of the Sun was the Solaris House's most advanced technique, a move that Alrock didn't master until he reached his twilight years. In the Solaris House, there were likely fewer than three people who had any degree of mastery in the final Solaris Mystic Art, making it the rarest ability ever to be witnessed.

Yet, Amon was performing it to the highest degree.

And not just that, to top it all off, he was currently in his dragon form, giving him an additional suppressive force.

Buzzing with raw energy, Amon loomed above Malachi, his gaze razor-sharp and devoid of mercy. An aura of white flames surged and coiled violently around him, each flicker radiating a pressure so immense it seemed capable of toppling mountains and turning the very air to ash.

His once youthful frame now exuded a divine, almost otherworldly presence—every muscle honed, every movement brimming with restrained power. Where there had been pitch-black hair, the hallmark of a Solaris, there was now a radiant cascade of white strands that shimmered like burning silver. Amon's golden eyes blazed with a sovereign light, not just glowing, but commanding, declaring his ascension and melting his mortal coil.

When Amon first showed this form to Yval, the Golden Dragon Progenitor, she beamed with delight.

For the first time in aeons, there was a human who could match up with the Dragons… for the first time… Dragons now walked the earth.

Within the mirror dimension, the Sword Saint was likewise in deep contemplation.

Kassadin knew all too well the formidable gifts bestowed upon the Solaris House. For decades, he had stood beside Alrock as both comrade and ally, battling Demons and extinguishing threats that dared to rise across the realm.

Through countless wars and blood-soaked campaigns, he had witnessed firsthand the raw, ancestral power that surged within the Solaris bloodline. It was no secret—nor could it be ignored—that those born of Solaris shared a deep, almost primal bond with their draconic lineage.

But Amon's transformation took it to another level.

It was as if he wasn't part of the human race anymore… but an ascended transcendent.

"Bawi… Observe… You won't get another opportunity to watch the peak of the Solaris bloodline."

"..."

The sword maiden didn't have spare space in her mind to consider her grandfather's words. Bawi's eyes were already locked onto Amon's majestic form, mesmerised by the awe-inspiring sight.

At the same time, Arya was slack-jawed as she witnessed the scene of her brother's transformation.

"I-is that… Amon? H-how on earth…"

Arya had always known her brother possessed immense potential. From a young age, it was clear that Amon was destined for greatness—a warrior born to ascend through the ranks and one day stand among humanity's most dominant champions.

But in her mind, that rise was still years, perhaps decades, away.

It was supposed to be a gradual climb, marked by experience and battle-earned wisdom.

Yet now, as she stood beneath the overwhelming weight of his transformation—the suffocating pressure of his unleashed power pressing down on her like a tidal wave—doubt crept in. This was no distant future. This was now. And for the first time, Arya wondered if even she had underestimated what her brother was becoming.

As for Yue… Amon's future wife…

"Hehehe… This is an S-ranked event!!! I have to record this for… research!"

Hovering effortlessly in the air, Yue had already summoned a swarm of recording crystals, each one angled to capture every dramatic moment of Amon's impending clash with the Apostle of the Demon Cult.

This was history in the making—and she wasn't about to miss a second. Her eyes sparkled with manic excitement, but her expression had taken a decidedly… less dignified turn.

Drool dribbled from the corner of her mouth, and she struggled to contain a nosebleed as Amon's transformation shredded through his clothes, leaving his sculpted chest and chiselled abdomen fully exposed. Every flex of muscle seemed to short-circuit her brain, and despite the life-or-death stakes, Yue was having a very different kind of experience.

Amon couldn't see all of their reactions as he was outside the mirror dimension—not that it mattered.

His focus was on the Apostle of Subservience, the man known as the Bone Sword and one of the most powerful Knights on the planet. Just a moment of hesitation was enough for Malachi to take advantage and turn the tables in his favour.

But Amon's caution was overstated.

Malachi was having a somewhat internal crisis. The moment Amon revealed his new form, the Apostle hesitated.

'For a Knight who is barely twenty to use this power… the Prophet was right, he's the biggest threat to our organisation.'

It was never a matter of if Amon would become a threat to the Demon Cult—only when. Over the past three years, Eldorin had repeatedly crossed blades with the cult, dismantling their operations, halting their expansion, and throwing their plans into disarray.

Yet despite their efforts, the cult had failed to gain a clear understanding of Amon's true capabilities. He had remained an enigma—powerful, yes, but elusive in the scope of his potential.

That changed today.

For the first time, Malachi witnessed a glimpse of Amon's real power, and it shook him. The raw intensity, the terrifying potential—it wasn't just impressive, it was dangerous. In that moment, Malachi's estimation of the young warrior shifted dramatically, and his caution toward Amon multiplied tenfold.

'More so than Alrock… he has to be eliminated.'

Yes, the Solaris Lord was mighty. But he was an old dog fighting in a young man's war. At any time, Alrock may perish from old age, let alone a prolonged battle against the nigh-immortal Demon Cult troops.

But Amon was different.

At such a tender age, he was able to match Alrock. Perhaps he wasn't quite at their level yet, but he was already knocking on the door of the almighty.

And worse still… Amon hasn't unveiled all his cards.

The fragments of memories of Amon's lunar capabilities now dawned on the Apostle's mind, and as crazy as it might sound, the young Knight was still holding back. If Amon decided to use all of his power…

Malachi's mind solidified around a single, unwavering resolve. Even if he failed to eliminate the Sword Saint today—his original objective—he had to destroy Amon. The young warrior was no longer just a nuisance; he was a growing cancer that was eating away at their grand scheme of world domination. If left unchecked, he would become the executor who killed their ambitions. No matter the cost, Amon had to die.

And that gave the Apostle a painful realisation.

'We're not prepared for this raid.'

Malachi's objective for visiting Espadavale was to identify where the Sword Saint was and establish first contact. His task wasn't to kill the Sword Saint, but to win him over to the Demon Cult's side. Hence, the amount of forces he brought wasn't anything too comprehensive—just himself and a few loyal henchmen.

That force was far from enough to raid the Sword Saint's home, let alone take on Amon, who was now equally as threatening as Alrock.

And while Malachi didn't know the full extent of their relationship… if the Sword Saint and Amon joined forces, it would only spell the end of the Apostle and the invading Demon Cult's forces.

Therefore, with gritted teeth, Malachi sheathed his sword.

"Sir Amon… You win."

"... what?"

"I will retreat today."

Malachi's mana dissipated away as he ordered a retreat. Stunned by the sudden reversal, Amon stood frozen in the air as the Apostle gradually traced backwards.

"Kassadin! Our reunion will have to be postponed!"

Malachi shouted past Amon and into nothing. Though he couldn't see the Sword Saint, the Apostle knew that he was listening.

"Sir Amon, you are truly something else. I will have to postpone our rematch, but I hope…"

"Who said you're going anywhere?"

"Huh?"

Before Malachi could fully process Amon's defiant words, a torrent of golden-white flames erupted from the heavens, crashing down like a pillar of divine judgment. The surrendering Apostle was consumed instantly, incinerated without hesitation or mercy.

There was no pause, no breath wasted—Amon channeled every ounce of his Solar mana into Nyx, his blade radiating with blinding brilliance. With Malachi's guard lowered, Amon struck with lethal intent, determined to erase one of humanity's most significant threats in a single, decisive blow.

But the Apostle wasn't killed that easily.

Emerging from the soot and flames in burns that would kill a thousand men, Malachi struggled to his feet while demonic mana purged the holy fire from his body and remade his flesh. Spitting out blood, he cursed:

"I-I… surrendered! Have you no honour?!"

Malachi was seething with fury. His instincts as a Knight—honed through years of battle and bound by an unspoken code of honor—had led him to believe that Amon, a fellow distinguished Knight, would respect the sanctity of surrender. But instead, Amon had cast that notion aside without hesitation. With cold precision, he had launched a lethal strike, ignoring Malachi's submission and answering it not with mercy, but with fire and steel.

"Honour? I'm surprised Demons have honour."

"!!!"

Amon's words sent shockwaves throughout the Apostle's body.

That's right… In Amon's eyes, Malachi wasn't a Knight to be honoured—he was a Demon to be purged. A threat, not a comrade. It was a truth Malachi had long buried, or perhaps willfully ignored. He had crossed the line long ago. Whatever shred of humanity he once possessed was gone, replaced by the darkness he had embraced. He wasn't a man anymore—just another Demon marked for exorcism.

"That's right…"

Laughing coldly as something snapped within his mind, Malachi's demonic mana rose once more.

"I'm a Demon."