Clash with the Bearded Dragon (6)
A voice filled with malice echoed through the night.
"You snot-nosed brat! Gonna run away again this time?!"
The bandit knight Malton, who had fallen behind, spotted Owen and bellowed.
"Hm?"
But his eyes soon widened in shock.
He had caught sight of the silver lance blade glinting under the moonlight.
"D-Dragon Lance? No way! What the hell?!"
He couldn't believe it.
This weapon, capable of piercing dragon hide, was something Malton had only heard about in his lifetime.
And now this punk kid was wielding it out of nowhere.
Amid his panic, a realization struck him.
"Ah! It's Sir Leire's!"
His shock was short-lived.
Greed twisted across Malton's face.
"Heh heh heh! Perfect! Just perfect!"
He figured he could kill the brat and snag the Dragon Lance while he was at it.
The Dragon Lance was certainly intimidating.
Even Malton had flinched for a moment.
But he was a veteran of countless battlefields.
He wasn't about to cower just because some rookie had a fancy spear.
Cackling, he slapped the back of the dragon he rode.
"Blockhead! When I signal, you dodge to the side quick! Got it?!"
Malton had no intention of clashing head-on with Owen charging straight at him, Dragon Lance aimed.
Of course, he was confident he could win even then—but toying with the enemy's weakness suited his style better.
The Dragon Lance is scary, but keep your distance and it's harmless. Dodge him, then head straight for the farm.
Malton planned to feint a head-on collision, then swerve at the last second. Ignore Owen and storm the farmhouse—done.
With all those buildings clustered, there won't be room for that long lance in a charge!
Bonus: Grab Sir Leire or someone as a hostage, and it'd be even easier.
The issue is how fast he turns around and catches up after we pass each other...
If he got caught from behind, things could go south.
But Malton quickly decided it wouldn't be a problem.
At that speed, lugging around a long, heavy lance? No way he turns nimbly!
The Dragon Lance's biggest flaw was turning mid-charge.
Dragons could pivot faster than horses, but with a long, heavy lance mounted, it was just as tough.
Even if Blockhead was a bit slower from his injured foreleg, it should be fine.
"Kuh hah hah hah! Fool!"
Malton's lips curled into a sneer.
Sneering at Owen barreling toward him with terrifying speed.
"A Dragon Lance is great on the battlefield, but in a one-on-one? Full of drawbacks. I'll teach you a brutal lesson, brat!"
Owen charged in a straight line, Dragon Lance gripped tight.
To the eye, he looked like he was caught up in the momentum, blindly barreling ahead.
But that was just the facade.
Owen despised entrusting his fate to passion or luck.
Even at this blistering speed, he'd already scanned the battlefield and calculated every possibility.
If Malton collides head-on, it's over right there. But he won't.
The guy was cunning.
Owen anticipated he'd feint and swerve aside.
He could circle me and pepper me with crossbow bolts, but his dragon's leg is hurt—too slow for that. So...
The alternative: Blow past and seize the farm.
He must figure I can't catch up after turning.
Thus, Owen had pierced the enemy's intentions completely.
He hadn't earned the title of Empire's greatest Dragon Knight for nothing in his past life.
After partnering with the black dragon Tanares, he'd focused on aerial combat, but his ground dragon skills were top-tier, acknowledged by all.
Owen decided to use the windmill standing ahead.
"Good."
To him, Malton was already as good as dead.
But outwardly, he played the brave yet reckless young knight.
"Malton! I'll end you!"
"Come on, brat! Kha ha ha ha!"
As they closed for the clash, Malton suddenly yanked the reins right.
Blockhead, already in on the plan, hopped sideways nimbly.
Perfect timing.
Owen's Dragon Lance sliced only empty air.
"Ah!"
Even Owen, who had anticipated it, couldn't help but admire the dragon control.
"Kha ha hat! What're you stabbing at?!"
Malton cackled, convinced his plan had worked.
By the time the brat wasted time turning, he'd slip into the farm—over.
"Sir Leire first!"
But his glee turned to shock, eyes bulging again.
Owen, having missed, was barreling straight into the windmill.
Is he insane?
A flurry of thoughts hit Malton in that instant.
Even the tale of a mad knight charging a windmill thinking it a giant.
Glancing back as he rode, his jaw dropped this time.
Owen's dragon hopped mid-stride and stuck to the windmill's wall.
Crunch!
A heavy crack echoed as the building fractured.
The momentum and weight bent the Dragon Lance sharply as Grenville halted against it.
"Kragh!"
Owen gripped the handle with veins bulging, straining.
Ting! Ping!
Metallic clangs rang out as parts popped from the lance's mounting mechanism.
And in the next moment—
Grenville used the wall as a springboard, pivoting perfectly.
Rumble! Boom!
The windmill, serving as the dragon's foothold, collapsed entirely.
But before the dust could engulf them, Grenville shot forward like an arrow.
Malton, still glancing back, choked in astonishment.
"Mi—insane!"
Even to a battle-hardened veteran like him, that maneuver was unprecedented.
Chills raced across his skin, prickling.
Snapping out of his daze, he realized he was in deep trouble.
Owen had turned flawlessly and was closing in fast, Dragon Lance ready.
"Damn it all!"
Finally alarmed, Malton whipped Blockhead furiously.
Urgency burned in his chest.
"Run faster, you idiot! We'll both lose like this! You and me!"
The farmhouse was just ahead, but everything had gone to hell.
As Malton lashed wildly, Owen pondered too.
The enemy was desperate, but one solid hit with the Dragon Lance was guaranteed.
The question: Where to strike?
Flank? Rear leg?
The flank could be fatal.
High chance of ripping the belly and spilling guts.
The leg would stop it cold, but might prolong the fight.
But...
Owen pitied the dragon—what had it done wrong?
The villain was the bandit knight Malton.
Dragons just followed their rider.
Besides, when Grenville had pivoted off the windmill, parts had flown from the lance mount.
Clunk. Rattle!
It wobbled unsecured—couldn't pierce strongly now.
Owen's design was flawless, but the amateur modifications were the issue.
In the end, he targeted the pursuing dragon's leg.
"Grenville!"
A sharp call, and it understood instantly, surging full throttle.
Thud thud thud!
The gap closed. A flash—and the blade sank into Blockhead's thigh.
Squelch!
"Kreeeek!"
Blindly charging Blockhead felt the cold steel invade and toppled spectacularly, balance lost.
Rumble! Crash!
A 30-meter dragon falling was a sight to behold.
Like a building collapsing, it flattened a swath of millet field.
Malton flew from the saddle, tumbling head over heels.
"Aaaagh!"
With a final cry, he slumped unconscious, motionless.
Grenville soon halted too.
"Hoo..."
Owen exhaled deeply after felling the massive beast in one blow.
The Dragon Lance shaft—disposable—had snapped.
"Well done, Grenville."
"Heok! Hek! Gek!"
Panting, Grenville lolled its tongue, heaving.
"Rest a bit."
Owen drew his longsword and approached the fallen Malton.
From the farmhouse, Logan, Gunter, and the servants rushed over.
"Owen!"
"You did it!"
But they soon screamed and fell back.
"Aaaah!"
"Watch out!"
"Owen! Get back!"
The bearded dragon Blockhead had risen again, limping.
It puffed its cheeks hugely.
"Keeek!"
Threatening with its spine-filled jaws.
Its lower body sagged from the wound, but it struggled to protect its rider.
"Keeek!"
Facing the snarling bearded dragon, Owen couldn't help but admire it.
"...Impressive loyalty."
Clearly mistreated—no doubt from Malton's attitude and its condition.
Yet even wounded, it defended its master.
Owen realized potential wasn't everything in judging a dragon.
If loyalty had ranks, this "Blockhead" would top them all.
Pity to kill it.
"Move! It's over anyway!"
Owen thrust his sword forward, Grenville backing him up from the side.
"Eung!"
Roaring threateningly, spreading its legs to loom larger.
Any ordinary dragon might flee alone in this spot.
But Blockhead held firm.
"I said move!"
Owen shouted again, knowing it was futile.
No choice now.
A 30-meter medium dragon— no room for mercy.
One slip, and Grenville could die in its jaws.
Injured or not, head-on was suicide.
But Owen had one trick left.
He snatched the torch from his saddle, lit it with the igniter.
Whoosh!
Blockhead flinched at the flame.
"Keeek!"
Owen held it to Grenville's mouth.
"Breathe!"
On command, Grenville exhaled—and fire erupted forward.
Roar!
Blockhead shrieked in agony from the heat, thrashing its head.
"Kiiiek!"
Its muzzle charred black.
Owen hadn't aimed directly—that's why it survived.
Hoping it'd flee in terror.
But it shuddered in pain yet held its ground.
"Hmph..."
Owen steeled himself.
A Super Red variant could breathe fire twice a day on average.
No more mercy.
The poor bearded dragon would be roasted.
"Sorry. You'll go with your master."
Owen prepared the finishing blaze.
But then, the "unconscious" Malton sprang up and bolted.
"Think it's over, brat?!"
In the dark, he brandished a glowing purple dagger.
Owen recognized it—not iron, but crystal. And recalled something.
Dark elf!
Undoubtedly a sinister dark elf tool.
Dark elves excelled in alchemy and poison.
They'd devised vile dragon countermeasures.
That purple hue marked a berserk dagger for dragons.
The crystal blade's toxin ravaged the nervous system, inducing instant frenzy.
Dragons gained immense power briefly, but died after.
The catch: Couldn't penetrate dragon hide.
Needed injection like a syringe—but it wouldn't stick.
Not now.
Owen's lance had pierced, and Blockhead's thrashing had widened the wound.
Malton aimed right there.
You mad bastard!
Owen was appalled.
Blockhead fought for its master despite wounds.
And that master was dooming his own dragon to escape?
Unforgivable to Owen, who'd always treated dragons as comrades.
In that instant, he decided.
One fire breath left—but for Malton, not Blockhead.
Without its rider, it'd rampage.
But he'd handle it.
He'd tamed a man-eating Super Red.
A bearded dragon? Doable.
Besides, Blockhead was too pitiful to burn alive.
He'd save it somehow.
"Grenville!"
Owen thrust the torch not at Blockhead, but at the fleeing Malton.
Roar!
Crimson flames surged, swallowing Malton whole.