Starting the Strategy from Frieren

"Bluffing, are we?" The tall demon sneered, her eyes narrowing as she sensed Ivan's flickering mana—a faint, fragile presence, like a candle in the wind.

"Whatever you're planning, it won't matter. Overwhelming power wins every time. Attack!"

The two demons charged, tearing through the ranks of the exhausted adventurers like a storm scattering leaves. Despite their valiant efforts, the adventurers barely stood a chance.

As the demons closed in on Ivan, the ground beneath the Dark Dragon's corpse began to shift. It was as though the earth itself had turned into a swamp, dragging the massive carcass into its depths.

The demons' attacks struck only the dragon's hard scales, sparking harmlessly. Then, the unthinkable happened.

The decapitated Dark Dragon's body began to move. Slowly, it stood, its enormous frame swaying before firmly planting itself upright. With a bone-chilling creak, its claw reached down, retrieved its severed head, and placed it back onto its neck.

Elsewhere, in a quiet forest clearing...

"Flamme, you're daydreaming again."

"Call me 'teacher,'" Flamme corrected, her cold hands clasping Frieren's cheeks. The elf girl flinched, her dislike of the cold written all over her scrunched face.

"Yamete yo!" Frieren protested, but Flamme only grinned, her fingers mercilessly kneading her face.

"You resist, and it just gets more fun," Flamme's expression seemed to say.

Frieren sighed and shifted tactics. "You're worried about Ivan, aren't you?"

Flamme paused, a flicker of melancholy crossing her face.

"If you're so worried, why not go look for him?" Frieren pressed.

"Because Ivan can handle himself now. If I keep protecting him, I'll only hold him back."

Frieren tilted her head. "But growth only matters if you survive. Talent means nothing without life."

Flamme smiled faintly, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, I'm not worried about his safety. If anything, it's his enemies who should be afraid. I'm just worried he'll grow… too wild without me. But if he does, I'll punch him back into shape. For now..."

She resumed kneading Frieren's cheeks. "This is more fun."

Frieren groaned. "Fine. Let the world burn."

Back on the battlefield...

To a necromancer, death wasn't the end—it was an opportunity. And a Dark Dragon's corpse? That was a treasure trove.

Ivan had hollowed out the dragon's massive body, creating a cockpit within its chest. The seat, though soft, reeked of blood, and the dragon bones reinforced the walls, offering unparalleled protection.

He emptied his spatial ring, dumping out the corpses of snow wolves. Some replenished his mana; others fueled the undead dragon. Soon, the zombified beast moved with uncanny agility, no longer a lumbering giant but a finely tuned war machine.

The adventurers, battered and bloodied, coordinated their attacks with Ivan. Despite their injuries—broken limbs and even near-fatal wounds—not a single one had fallen. They harassed the demons relentlessly, their teamwork growing sharper by the second.

Meanwhile, the undead dragon wreaked havoc. It no longer had a fatal weakness like its reverse scale, and its reinforced zombie state made it nearly invincible.

The blonde captain seized an opportunity, severing the shorter demon's hand as she swung her axe. The taller demon, too, faltered under the relentless assault. Her staff was swatted away by the dragon's massive tail.

Cornered and out of mana, the demons raised their hands in surrender.

"We're sorry! We'll never do it again! Spare us!" they pleaded, tears streaming down their faces. "We only followed orders! Deep down, we love peace!"

Their pitiful cries might have moved a kinder soul, but neither Ivan nor the adventurers were swayed. To them, a demon's pleas were as hollow as their promises.

Still, Ivan smirked. He had a soft spot for theatrics.

Using dragon bones, he fashioned a rifle mounted on the dragon's forelimb. Pointing the weapon at the demons, he said, "Even though you've given me no useful information, I'm feeling generous. I hate tears but love smiles. If you can smile to my satisfaction, I'll let you go."

The shorter demon hesitated before contorting her face into a grotesque grin.

"Not even close to Serie's smile. Unqualified."

Bang.

A mana bullet pierced her forehead, and she crumpled to the ground.

The taller demon composed herself, flashing a radiant, seductive smile.

"That's much better than Serie's smile," Ivan said, feigning admiration.

For a moment, hope flickered in the demon's eyes.

"But," Ivan continued, "I can't allow a demon to exist with a smile better than Serie's. Unqualified."

Bang.

The second bullet found its mark, leaving her lifeless on the ground.

With the demons dispatched, Ivan stored their corpses in his spatial ring for later use. As a bonus, the shorter demon had carried the Dark Dragon's broken horn. Reattaching it completed the dragon's fearsome appearance.

The scene the Dark Dragon had likely longed for in life—dominating the battlefield—had finally been realized in death. Surely, if its spirit could see this from the heavens, it would be pleased beyond measure.