#11 Clash with the Bearded Dragon (4)
The fine sword Magnus had given him was no ordinary blade.
It was sharp enough to pierce even the thick hide of most dragons.
There might come a moment when the dragons tangled and pressed close, giving him a chance to thrust it in.
"Eung... eung..."
Owen hurriedly fitted the saddle onto Grenville, who was whimpering softly.
Click. Click.
The sound of the clasps locking into place echoed through the quiet barn.
He had done this countless times in his previous life.
Finishing the task with practiced speed, Owen leaped up to mount in one fluid motion—then paused, sensing something off.
"Oh..."
He realized Grenville was terribly tense.
Emotion State: Tension
The words floated up, but even without them, Owen's vast experience told him all he needed.
This would clearly be Grenville's first fight against another dragon.
Stroking its neck, he felt the muscles rigid with strain.
The intruding dragon must be no ordinary beast.
"It's alright, Grenville."
Owen stroked the dragon's head reassuringly.
"No matter what happens, I'll protect you."
He pulled it into a full embrace, rubbing his cheek against its scales, and Grenville's tension began to ease.
"Eung, eung, eung!"
Its cries quickened, as if confidence was returning.
Grenville even nudged Owen playfully with its snout.
But then, something unusual happened.
New words appeared.
Intimacy level rises.
Sensory sharing unlocked.
"What?"
Owen could only tilt his head in confusion.
"Sensory sharing?"
Even with all his lifetimes of experience, he had no idea what that meant.
But soon, Owen underwent an astonishing experience.
Suddenly, it felt as if a new sensory organ had awakened within him—one he had never possessed before.
His perception expanded unbelievably, rippling outward like waves.
It stretched beyond the barn, encompassing the farmhouse grounds, pushing through the wheat fields, and reaching the nearby woods.
It was like viewing the area from a third-person observer's vantage.
"...What in the world?"
Startled at first, Owen quickly realized this was the dragon's senses.
This was undoubtedly how dragons perceived the world—far beyond human limits.
It felt like ascending to a higher existence, surveying the land with transcendent awareness.
"Grenville, this is incredible!"
He couldn't help but marvel.
Thanks to the rising intimacy, the power from the black dragon Tanares now allowed him to share senses with his mount.
Lick, lick.
The dragon sampled the air with a specialized organ on the roof of its mouth.
As a Tokay dragon, Grenville's senses were far keener than average, detecting scents up to two kilometers away.
Even Owen could vividly sense the sluggish intruders approaching from afar.
The scent particles scattered in all directions, making them hazy, but he could roughly gauge their numbers and directions.
"Twelve? Fifteen?"
The intruders advanced in three separate groups.
They weren't bunching up because of the dragon.
If they clustered and it charged, it would be a massacre.
Typically, against dragons, groups split up and converged on the attacked side.
These intruders crept along the paths between wheat fields.
Yet the dragon itself evaded detection.
"What's this?"
Narrowing his focus, Owen soon picked up something massive from the opposite direction.
The farmhouse fronted wheat fields, the rear a small wood.
Beyond that wood, a hulking presence crouched.
It flickered faintly in and out of his senses—likely because the trees obstructed perfect detection.
'Definitely a medium dragon. No wonder Grenville was so tense.'
Even as a variant Super Red, a small Tokay like Grenville wouldn't easily handle a medium dragon.
The silver lining: unlike the stealthily approaching humans, the dragon held its ground.
'Probing with humans first, saving the dragon for later?'
Owen doubted these were mere thieves after petty goods.
Who would deploy a dragon to rob a fallen knight's rundown farm?
One suspicion nagged at him, but capturing them would confirm it.
Owen decided to crush the intruders immediately.
Though outnumbered, he was confident.
"Let's go, Grenville."
Mounting up and taking the reins, Owen watched as Grenville nosed open the barn door.
Dark wheat fields stretched ahead.
Clouds briefly veiled the moon.
Visibility was nil, but Grenville's senses pinpointed the enemies perfectly.
They approached slowly from about a kilometer ahead.
"Grenville, stay low. Move quietly."
Gripping the reins, Owen directed, and Grenville slithered forward almost silently.
Tokay dragons had low builds.
Short legs.
Shoulder height about that of a grown man.
Like an alligator with slightly longer legs.
Perfect for stealth.
Despite ten-meter lengths, they could hide mostly even in wheat fields—true hunters.
"Left. We'll hit the leftmost group first."
Pulling the reins left, Grenville understood and darted swiftly.
Moving without a sound, like shadows of the night.
"Gek... gek..."
Perhaps from hunting excitement, Grenville let out very low growls.
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Sweeping wide to the left, the pair locked onto their first prey.
About fifty meters ahead.
A group of five crossed a path between fields slowly.
They occasionally glanced sideways at the other groups.
"Down here."
They had already crept to a low embankment dividing wheat sections and hidden.
"Eung."
Grenville replied softly and flattened fully to the ground.
Thud, thud.
Footsteps approached the hidden pair from ahead.
Lick.
Grenville extended its tongue for finer details, sharing them instantly with Owen.
Tension made them sweat heavily.
Rust on their armor gave off a strong iron tang.
Swords coated in sheep oil against rust.
Leather boots on cautious feet.
All discerned by scent alone, sight unseen.
Soon, the foes closed right up.
Utterly unaware of the dragon beyond the embankment.
"Hup."
Grunting softly, several crested the dirt mound.
The leader descended carefully to avoid tumbling.
Rustle.
Soil trickled down the embankment.
They wore masks, armed to the teeth.
Bandits, plain as day.
Owen wasted no time.
"Bite."
Crunch!
Grenville's massive jaws snapped shut on the frontmost man.
The masked foe had no time to scream.
"Hngh!"
A choked gasp—his final sound.
Crunch! Chomp!
Crack! Squish!
In the Tokay dragon's jaws, the man became minced meat.
Blood dribbled; midway, his bladder burst, spraying filth briefly.
Splat.
Grenville spat out the meatball-like lump.
The other intruders froze in shock, then screamed.
"Dragon!"
"Over here! Help!"
Shouts erupted, turning the wheat fields chaotic.
The other groups cursed and charged en masse.
"There!"
"Crossbows! Fire first!"
Meanwhile, Grenville rampaged, shredding the ambushed group.
Owen, from atop, stabbed at the panicking men.
Some swung weapons, but they bounced off Grenville's tough hide.
In seconds, four of five lay dead; the last crawled, gut spilling blood.
Owen yanked the reins.
"Fall back for now."
"Eung."
Grenville's form was now exposed under moonlight.
Incoming foes loosed crossbows.
Better to hit-and-run than clash head-on.
"Damn it! It's fleeing! Catch it!"
"Too big!"
"Call Sir Malton! We can't handle it alone!"
Seasoned warriors though they claimed, the bandits couldn't hide their dismay at Grenville.
"Supposed to be a five-meter small fry!"
"I heard small breed too!"
As they flailed in panic, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
Whizz!
Light flashed under the moon.
Owen knew instantly: arrowhead.
"Agh!"
A bandit shrieked, dropping his sword and toppling backward.
Shouts exploded everywhere.
"Arrows!"
"Fuck! Where from?!"
The bandits milled in confusion.
More arrows flew. A stern voice boomed, scolding the intruders.
"This is Leire family land! Who dares sneak in under cover of night?!"
It was Owen's father, Logan.
The battle-hardened veteran had sensed them even in the dark of night.
Then Gunter's voice rang out, his closest friend.
"Think old men are a joke, you whelps? Eat an arrow from this geezer!"
Sniping from the buildings, they pinned the bandits down.
Some charged with shields, but deadly arrows thudding into shields sent them sprawling.
"Fucking hell!"
"No good! Signal Sir Malton now!"
Seeing one pull fireworks, Owen spurred Grenville into a charge.
"Argh!"
He never ignited them—his skull caved in.
"Careful! It's Owen! Don't shoot the dragon!"
With servants roused and armed swarming out, Logan urgently warned them.
"Aaaah! It's back!"
"Dodge!"
Fighting spirit broken, the bandits fled.
Double the expected size dragon, arrows slicing the dark.
No contest.
"Fire! Don't let 'em escape!"
Arrows rained on backs crossing moonlit fields.
Some Owen pursued directly on Grenville.
Even desperate flight meant nothing against a dragon.
They were swiftly caught and mauled.
Others rolled wounded, clubbed by pursuing servants.
"You dare rob Sir Leire's home?!"
"Knock their teeth out instead!"
"Gold teeth are mine! I got him first!"
One remained.
Sprinting for dear life, he shrieked as a red dragon popped out.
"Aaaah!"
He tumbled forward, crawling and screaming.
"D-don't come! Agh!"
"Anyone'd think you'd already lost a limb."
"Stay back!"
As Grenville lunged to bite, Owen reined it in, drew his sword, and dismounted.
"Mess up more wheat and you're done."
The area was already trashed from his flailing.
Thrusting the blade close, Owen made him stop—strangely calming him a bit.
A human with a sword felt safer than the dragon, apparently.
"Who's Sir Malton?"
"M-mercy! I won't come back."
"Answer. Then we'll see."
"B-bandit knight! Leads us. Has a dragon too!"
He devolved into babble again.
Owen had his answer; no matter.
"Bandit knight, huh."
"I was forced in! Not my idea—"
Thwack!
Owen severed his head in one stroke.
The fine sword handled beautifully.
Grenville, watching, seemed pleased too.
"Eung!"
"Good work. All cleaned up."
Returning, Logan, Gunter, and servants clustered.
"Owen!"
"Father. Bandit knights. One dragon left."
"What?"
Not just Logan—everyone's shock showed.
"I'll handle it."
"No, what nonsense! Dragon fights are dangerous—you don't even know—"
Logan opposed naturally, but Owen calmly shook his head.
"I can do it. Don't worry."
His son's uncanny poise silenced Logan.
It felt... possible.
Owen asked steadily,
"Who else rides a dragon to face a bandit knight's mount?"
True, but Logan pressed,
"No fears. Can't capture it, but we can drive it off. No need to risk death. You must go to the capital."
"Father, my fate isn't there."
"Ah..."
As Logan faltered, Gunter intervened.
"Not the time. Ground's shaking. It's coming, drawn by the noise."
Gunter was right.
Sir Malton the bandit knight, hidden, realized failure and desperately spurred his dragon to charge.
"But!"
"Trust your son once. We must hurry too."
Logan finally nodded, shouting to old servant Ben,
"You! With me—fetch the dragon lance!"
"Yessir!"
Owen's eyes widened in surprise.
"Dragon lance?!"
The massive spear dragon knights wielded from mount.
Mithril tip to pierce tough hides.
A knight's ultimate weapon, but exorbitantly rare.
That long-retired Logan Leire owned one!
"Owen!"
Gunter called urgently.
"Yes, Sir Gunter."
"Sorry, buy us time. Assembling the lance takes a bit."
"Understood."
Even asking, Gunter looked grim.
Deep wrinkles etched with worry.
"Don't overdo it, boy! That rumble's no small dragon. Yours is a variant, but head-on? No chance! Just evade well! Got it?!"
Owen nodded, gripping Grenville's reins tight.
No special senses needed; the massive foe approached palpably.
The small wood behind the house shook like an earthquake.
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