5th Dragon Stable (1)
After his private audience with the Surpuk Duke, Owen spent a few comfortable days in Bris.
Three days later, an official order arrived from the duke's office.
Owen read it silently, while the illiterate Ben peered over curiously.
"Young master! This old servant wants to know what it says too!"
"Ah, well... "
When Owen explained the order's contents, Ben's face crumpled.
"What did you say?"
"Just like I said."
"Aigoo! This old servant just can't believe it!"
"It's not your ears playing tricks on you."
"Young master!"
The order assigned Owen to manage the 5th Dragon Stable.
"In the world! What's a dragon stable?"
"It's simple—even you know that? Or are you pretending? Horses live in stables. Dragons live in dragon stables, right?"
"What a slapdash name. Anyway! Going there means you'll be shoveling dragon shit. How can they treat you like this? Who is our young master?!"
Ben flew into a rage, hopping mad from head to toe.
"Calm down, Ben. It's not a bad thing."
"How ain't it?! Aigoo, no way! This old servant's gotta go yank that Surpuk Duke's beard!"
"...You couldn't say a word to his face, but talk big from afar."
"Still, this ain't right!"
Ben's outburst was understandable.
Compared to the great deed he'd done and Bobert Count's recommendation, it felt like shabby treatment.
At least he was put in charge of management—that was a relief.
"Ben, I'm the captain of the 5th Dragon Stable, aren't I? Not so bad."
"Aigoo! Young master, you're too good-hearted—this old servant can't die early! If you get tricked tomorrow, who knows where you'd get fleeced!"
In truth, Owen stayed calm about the assignment for a reason.
He knew the duke's peculiar way of handling talent.
The Surpuk Duke had a quirky habit: when he found someone promising, he'd throw them the harshest jobs first. It was his way of testing endurance.
There was a famous story about summoning a famed imperial swordsman and making him guard a side gate all day.
After four days, the swordsman stormed off in fury and later caused trouble in another territory because he couldn't control his temper.
Considering that, managing one dragon stable was relatively lenient.
"Bobert Count said it'd be tough at first too. Don't get downhearted, Ben."
"If young master says so, then alright."
But the next day,
Owen arrived at his new post, the 5th Dragon Stable, and felt his optimistic outlook shatter to pieces.
"Block it! Uwaaaah!"
"Save me!"
Screams echoed through the massive dragon stable.
The stone building was like a small fortress.
The workers, all in safety gear, gripped iron bars with U-shaped ends.
Boom!
Then a side door burst open violently, flinging a man out.
"Keeeaak!"
A calf-sized small dragon followed, baring vicious fangs.
The workers shouted desperately.
"Block it! Shove it back in!"
Especially a burly bald man bellowed.
"You bastards! If you don't put your backs into it, I'll snap your limbs myself!"
"Hah! Hah!"
They strained with all their might, pushing the small dragon inside with their bars.
Some yelled and bashed its head.
Thud! Thwack!
The dragon didn't budge, only raging more fiercely.
"Keeeeeak!"
It didn't take Owen long to grasp the 5th Dragon Stable's situation.
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He could only grimace sourly.
"...Might as well guard a side door myself."
The 5th Dragon Stable was packed with sick dragons and ones too unruly to handle.
In other words, it was where problem cases were dumped.
Owen glanced at the order's bottom line and sighed.
-Normalize all specimens in this stable.
Easier said than done. Owen could already imagine the mess without seeing it.
He'd hoped for something light, but the duke had thrown him a tough one from the start.
"Argh! Damn it! Anyone hurt?"
"I'm fine. This guy's arm got scratched up."
"This shit's unbearable. For real."
Having barely shoved the rampaging small dragon back, the workers sprawled about, lamenting.
One spotted Owen and spoke up.
"Hey, pretty young master there—who might you be?"
Maybe because of Owen's fair skin and youth.
The tone dripped with condescension.
Naturally, Ben, following Owen, bristled with his white beard quivering in fury.
"You scum! How dare you ask who this lord is with that attitude?!"
Skinny old Ben had no dignity to speak of, but his sudden roar carried real menace.
Even the workers flinched.
"Wh-who are you?"
"This old servant will explain, so clean your ears! This is the rightful heir of House Leire, the proud dragon knight who crushed Austin, that punk from House Russell, in the dragon match—Sir Owen Leire!"
They tilted heads at "House Leire," but recognized the Austin match.
"Oh, that guy?"
"Yeah, folks on the walls were yapping about him all day."
"Wait, why's someone like that here?"
Owen stepped forward, unfurling the duke's order.
"By His Grace's command, from today I am Owen Leire, in charge of the 5th Dragon Stable. Assemble all personnel now for inspection."
They looked baffled but hurried to gather their comrades.
Soon, everyone except those with special duties assembled in the front yard: 52 in total.
True to their rough job, they were all burly men.
They scowled at their sudden young overseer.
"Pleased to meet you all. I am Owen Leire. From now on, this stable operates under my orders."
Owen spoke calmly, but soon a challenger emerged, eager for a power play.
Evidently seeing him as an easy mark due to his youth.
"Delighted to have you, sir. But this stable's work ain't for the faint-hearted. Haha! So why not let us keep doing it our way? Safer that way, no accidents."
The speaker was the burly bald man from earlier.
One who'd pushed the small dragon hard.
Tall and broad, with a thuggish air.
Several similar-looking men backed him.
"Accidents? I saw one right away—what're you on about?"
"Happens often in this job, sir. Nothing to fret over."
"So you want me to leave it to your methods?"
"Yes, sir. Easier for you—no need to see the ugly side."
The words had a bite.
Owen couldn't help but smirk.
"Amusing."
"Pardon?"
"Watching you lot subdue that small dragon was a sight. A bunch of grown men clinging and wailing like babies."
"Hey, young master—even nobles shouldn't talk like that!"
The bald man and his crew bristled.
The rest just watched to see how it'd play out.
Evidently, the bald faction didn't control everyone.
So Owen decided to crush their spirit first.
"Harsh? What's harsh is your skills. A small dragon like that? With the right touch, one man could handle it."
"Hah! Unbelievable! Don't you know better, sir? Look, young master—we know you're a dragon knight, but this ain't child's play."
Clearly, they saw Owen as a cocky kid who'd lucked into taming one dragon.
Time to show them, then.
"What's your name?"
"John, sir."
"Right, John. I'll prove your claim wrong right now. Open that door you just shut. Bring out the small dragon. I'll handle it alone."
"Pardon?"
John's eyes bulged in shock.
He hadn't expected this.
'Crazy bastard? Or just clueless from being young?'
John was in a bind.
He'd tried to assert dominance, but this was unforeseen.
If the noble brat got seriously hurt showing off, John would be in hot water.
He never dreamed Owen could handle a small dragon solo.
Their skilled team had barely managed it.
That beast's temper was nightmare fuel.
"Sir, you'll get hurt."
"John. Call me Sir Leire, not young master. Or manager, if you prefer."
"Y-yes, sir. But please reconsider unleashing that nasty one. It's mauled several men. Folks inside say we should put it down."
"That's for the manager to decide. I'll take full responsibility—no worries."
"Damn it..."
Owen first called over the man who'd been flung out.
He limped, but no major injury—lucky to have flown through the air unscathed.
"Something to check."
"Yes, sir?"
"Why'd the dragon attack? Describe the situation."
"Well... It's had no appetite for a month now. Got so skinny its ribs showed."
"And?"
"Told the dragon it was too thin several times. No choice, so I tried force-feeding by shoving food at its mouth..."
"Then it went berserk?"
"Yes. Half-dead wheezer—where'd it get that strength? Suddenly charged like a bull with its head. Next thing, I was rolling on the ground."
"I get the picture."
Owen was certain of his hunch.
The onlookers, however, looked baffled.
They murmured worriedly.
"Really opening the door?"
"Gonna have a body to haul today..."
"But he's a noble. If he says open, we open."
"John stuck his neck out and got cornered. Serves him right. Hate show-offs."
Owen rummaged in his belongings and pulled out a pouch of precious powder.
Propolis from bees.
A byproduct of beekeeping, mixed from tree sap and leaves.
No need to say it was pricey.
'This'll solve it.'
Confident inwardly, Owen nodded at the door.
"Open it."
"Sir!"
"I take all responsibility. You refusing orders on day one? John."
"Grr... Fine. Remember, I bear none. Lads! Open the door!"
At John's shout, most workers scattered in alarm.
Only some of his gang approached the small door, bars in hand.
Tense faces all around.
Obviously cursing Owen inwardly.
Planning to bolt once the door cracked.
All blame on the reckless noble boy.
Creak.
Unlocking and pushing the door, they fled like rabbits.
Some so panicked they dropped their bars.
"Young master!"
"Step back, Ben."
As everyone watched, Owen advanced alone.
The iron door creaked wider, revealing the foul-tempered dragon.
A calf-sized small dragon.
"A Murish dragon."
Murish dragons, calf-sized, were one common small type in the Empire.
Covered in spiky protrusions, large heads, fierce eyes.
Too small for riding, but versatile for guard or pursuit work.
The problem: filthy temper.
Even so, not rampage-level.
Something was wrong.
"Just as I thought."
Owen's eyes spotted it immediately.
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