Confrontation with the Bearded Dragon (5)
Malton was the leader of the bandit knights, the intruders' ringleader.
His impulsive nature had always gotten him into trouble, but owning a dragon had let him bulldoze his way out of it every time.
Still, this job felt a bit off.
He wouldn't have taken it if not for his ever-growing gambling debts showing no sign of stopping.
Damn it all! Just this one last job, then we bolt. That kid of Bobert Count's... could be trouble down the line.
The risks were real, but so was the payout.
Malton figured this was his chance to wrap up his life in the eastern Empire and head west.
You come too, Emptyhead.
Malton called his dragon "Emptyhead."
It was an old bearded dragon, its body covered in scars from countless battles.
One eye had burst and wouldn't open, and not a single foot had all its toes intact.
Even its tail was missing a chunk at the end.
It had weathered all sorts of storms, but the untreated wounds everywhere told a story of neglect.
Just the name "Emptyhead" said plenty about how Malton treated his dragon on the regular.
Why no answer, you stupid beast!
Malton kicked his dragon's leg for no good reason.
Thud!
Only then did Emptyhead lift one front foot slightly.
A sign it understood.
Hmph. Can't even talk, you dumb animal. A guy like me deserves a winged true dragon, not some ground-crawler like you.
Despite Malton's attitude, Emptyhead followed its master with simple, steadfast loyalty.
Even through all the wounds from his reckless orders over the years.
Where the hell are those guys? Signal should be coming any minute.
Malton was waiting for his men's signal.
The reason he'd sent them in first was simple: lure out the enemy's dragon.
They'll pull a dragon from the scroll to fend off the bandits. Then we nab it.
Dragon scrolls were handy, but they had a cooldown after each use.
Once it was out, game over—that was Malton's thinking.
He was actually more worried that this punk Owen might grab his scroll and sneak off.
Losing the prize would be a disaster.
Aaaagh!
Clang! Clang!
Screams and the clash of weapons erupted from beyond the forest.
Malton, who'd been slouched and swatting mosquitoes, shot to his feet.
What the—!
Plan was, signal fire first.
Then, when the target dragon popped out, fireworks as the cue.
But only screams? Malton knew something had gone wrong.
You idiot! Move it!
Malton scrambled into the saddle and cracked his whip.
Snap!
The recumbent bearded dragon let out a low rumble and heaved itself up.
Its massive height sent Malton soaring six meters in the blink of an eye.
Skirt the forest... no! Straight through! Smash anything in the way!
The narrow path between trees wasn't made for a beast this size, but Malton barreled forward like a bulldozer, using Emptyhead's bulk to plow ahead.
Coming in loud.
Owen scowled at the forest behind the farmhouse.
Crack! Crunch!
Trees toppled with deafening crashes.
Owen barked orders at the panicking servants nearby.
Get clear! You won't help in a dragon fight!
With a thunderous roar, the forest edge exploded, and a massive shadow burst forth.
Good lord... a bearded dragon.
Text floated right above it.
Potential E-rank
Low potential, sure—but as a full-grown adult, its sheer mass meant devastating power you couldn't ignore.
Owen gritted his teeth and gripped the reins tight.
Eung!
Grenville was tense too, rearing up and opening its jaws wide, lifting Owen higher.
Just then, Malton and Emptyhead spotted their prey.
Bite 'em dead!
Emptyhead charged without a second's hesitation at the command.
The hulking dragon rampaged across the farm, smashing everything in its path.
Boom! Rumble!
Fences crumbled; a barn smacked by its shoulder collapsed in a heap.
Emptyhead pulverized anything that got in its way, barreling straight for Owen and Grenville.
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Go!
Owen yanked the reins, ordering Grenville to flee.
Head-on against that size difference? Suicide.
The clever Grenville got it instantly, whipping around and bolting.
Thud-thud-thud!
Its short legs pumped furiously, carving a black line through the moonlit silver millet field.
The enormous bearded dragon thundered after.
Hey, punk! Not going anywhere! Think you can outrun me? Hahaha!
From his perch, watching the desperate rider below, Malton couldn't help but laugh.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Emptyhead charged with surprising speed for its bulk.
A much thicker line slashed over the first in the millet.
But Grenville was wickedly fast on the run—the chase dragged on without closing the gap.
Tch!
Malton finally drew his prepared crossbow.
The saddle bucked wildly, but his skilled hands could still fire in this mess.
Here's a gift, kid!
Whoosh!
The bolt from behind smacked Grenville's rear.
Eung!
Startled, Grenville leaped mid-stride.
But dragon hide shrugged off a crossbow like nothing.
Malton had aimed not for Grenville, but its rider, Owen.
Owen hadn't had time to don armor in the rush.
One solid hit, and he was done.
How long you gonna run!
As Malton loosed another bolt, Owen twisted, drew his sword from his belt, and swatted it away with flair.
Clang!
Sparks flew in the dark; the bolt shattered.
Malton's eyes bulged in shock.
Damn, kid's got moves!
Deflecting a bolt while mounted and fleeing? Impossible for him.
But running won't save you! Don't you know dragons can't sprint forever!
Tokay dragons like Owen's exploded short-range but lacked stamina.
Couldn't gallop like a horse for long.
But Owen's destination loomed ahead.
Grenville! Up there!
Eung!
Owen pointed to the massive boulder hill dozens of meters off.
Natural stone spires towered like a cathedral, this area's landmark.
Fifty meters high—plenty for Grenville to climb.
The rock face shot up steeply, near-vertical in spots, unclimbable for humans.
But Grenville hit it and scaled like flat ground.
Good boy, Grenville!
Wall-crawling was a Tokay dragon specialty.
Suction pads on their soles let them stick like glue.
That's why they shone in sieges.
Thud-thud-thud!
Grenville dashed up the sheer rock like a plain; Owen clung to the reins to stay seated.
The saddle had safety straps linking him for exactly this.
Euuung!
Grenville crested the top with a mighty roar.
Below, Malton arrived on his dragon, flipping the bird and cursing up a storm.
You bastard! Think climbing saves you!
Malton whipped; his beast leaped for the rock.
Pathetic "jump" for its size, but it somehow clung on.
Keeeh!
The bearded dragon gaped up at them, moonlit jaws a vision of terror.
Not called "bearded" for actual whiskers.
Spikes around its throat looked like one.
Enraged, they puff like frog throats to intimidate.
Kek!
Ferocious for something named Emptyhead.
Its maw brimmed with fangs—Grenville wouldn't walk away unscathed.
But the fat dragon couldn't beat its own weight and tumbled down.
Kieek!
Dust billowed as Emptyhead hit bottom, thrashing its head in fury.
Angry signal.
Malton lashed wildly in rage.
You moron! Almost got crushed! Get up there now!
Emptyhead rose and leaped again, climbing more deftly this time.
At this rate, it'd reach the top and chomp Grenville.
But Owen wasn't just watching.
Bite!
He ordered Grenville to clamp the outstretched paw midway up.
Ek!
Grenville sank teeth into the huge forefoot and whipped its head viciously.
Kek!
A shriek; startled Emptyhead flailed to pull free.
A few toes sheared off before it yanked away.
The jolt sent it tumbling down again.
Kek!
More dust choked the air below.
Owen seized the gap to bolt.
Stalling here wasn't smart.
Beating that giant needed a dragon lance.
He'd dragged it out this far to buy his father time to assemble one.
If Malton ignored him and looped back to slaughter the farm, disaster.
Owen steered Grenville down the boulder and retraced their path.
Run, Grenville!
Grenville blasted back to the farm at top speed.
You scum! Running again!
Raging Malton pursued, but slower now.
Limping from the bitten leg, it fell behind.
Damn you!
Malton's yells faded into the distance.
Owen whipped Grenville like the wind back to the farm.
Owen!
Logan and Gunter were drenched in sweat, finishing the dragon lance assembly.
Almost done! Just the handle mount left.
The spear stretched nearly six meters.
Tailored perfectly for Grenville's size.
Dragon lances were modular for that reason—easy length tweaks per dragon.
Six meters was spot-on.
Owen dismounted quick and inspected it.
Pro dragon knights' work: flawless.
Hand it over, sir. I'll secure it to the saddle.
Got it.
Logan and Gunter hefted the fearsome lance.
Meanwhile, Owen locked it into the saddle's mechanism.
Gunter watched, impressed.
Amazing. Your boy handles that lance like he's done it a thousand times!
Logan didn't know what to say.
Proud, yes—but worry won out.
Then a furious roar exploded from the millet field ahead.
Kuueeeek!
Malton and his dragon had caught up to the farm.
About four hundred meters off.
Dragon speed? That was breathing down their necks.
Owen finished coupling the lance in seconds, primed to charge.
Grenville's mass and velocity would drive it through bearded hide for sure.
But Owen risked just as much.
Miss, and that massive maw would chew him and Grenville to bits.
Owen!
Logan knew, calling desperately.
Flee on dragonback! Forget the farm!
Owen shook his head firmly.
A knight with a dragon lance needs only courage.
!
Logan flashed to a great dragon knight from the past.
Duke Owen Glendower, branded a traitor.
Fourteen years back.
The duke had saved Logan Leire's life on the battlefield.
Exact same spot.
Wounded at Logan's side, he'd said it:
A knight with a dragon lance needs only courage.
Ah...!
Logan realized his son's fate had slipped his grasp.
Maybe from the moment he'd named the boy after his savior.
He swallowed his heartbreak and bellowed.
Understood! Take your father's spear and charge!
Owen nodded and surged forward with Grenville.
The path to the foe was a straight shot through trampled millet.
Uncrushed stalks stood like spectators, watching the dragons clash.
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