The Dragon No One Could Tame (2)
Solomon, Owen had figured it would be years before he got his hands on a dragon.
He'd only just reincarnated, wasn't even a proper knight yet, and his family's circumstances were hardly ideal.
Yet things had fallen into place in the strangest way.
"I'll do it."
As Owen nodded, the middle-aged man grinned with amusement.
"Excellent."
"Just one thing—tell me who you are, my lord. I can't stake my life on a stranger."
"Fair enough. Since you've got the resolve, I'll tell you. I am Bobert, trusted vassal to the Sun of the East, Duke Surpuk."
Bobert?
Owen couldn't hide his inner surprise.
He'd never met the man in his previous life, but Bobert was a household name.
In the eastern Empire, Duke Surpuk wielded immense power, and his most trusted retainer was none other than Count Bobert.
The man had held real authority for twenty years already.
As far as Owen knew, few in the eastern Empire could afford to ignore Count Bobert.
"Count Bobert, I presume? How do you know of me?"
"So many questions. I'll answer if you succeed."
"Understood."
It was foolish to test a high noble's patience.
Owen knew that better than most, so he decided to deliver results first.
He didn't even ask how the count had arranged his entry into the challenge.
"Any more challengers?"
The dragon trader's shout went unanswered as Magnus focused on his preparations, assuming no one else would step up.
But then Count Bobert strode forward.
"Right here."
The crowd, sizing up Magnus's odds, whipped their heads around at the sudden call.
"Who is that?"
"No ordinary fellow, that's for sure."
Curiosity lit every face. The newcomer screamed high status at a glance.
Even the dragon trader treaded carefully.
"And who might you be, my lord?"
"I am Count Bobert."
"No! Truly?"
The stunned trader leaped back.
The murmurs erupted.
The onlookers buzzed with shock at the unexpected heavyweight's arrival.
"To think you'd grace such a place! Forgive my lack of proper courtesy."
The trader bowed low and hurried over.
Bobert produced a chain necklace with his signet ring to confirm his identity.
Recognizing it, the trader bent even lower.
"An honor to behold your noble face."
Count Bobert merely nodded sternly, saying nothing.
Four swordsmen, his hidden escorts, had already stepped into view beside him.
Plain-faced but with piercing eyes that felt like stabs, they convinced the crowd this was indeed the count.
"Surely you're not challenging yourself, my lord?"
The trader ventured cautiously, and Bobert shook his head.
"Hardly. I'm no dragon knight."
"Then... one of your swordsmen?"
"No. This boy."
Count Bobert clapped Owen on the shoulder.
The trader gaped at Owen in astonishment.
"Heh heh! I don't doubt his noble blood, but is he already a dragon knight? He looks so young...."
"Not yet."
"Then I'm afraid that's a bit of a problem for me."
The trader was wary of offending Count Bobert.
Bobert, by contrast, was imperious—nothing like his demeanor with Owen.
"Your troubles are no concern of mine."
"Of course, I agree, but...."
"This boy is the eldest son of Dragon Knight Logan Leire. He's set to become a dragon knight of our house soon enough. What's the issue?"
With Bobert pushing that far, the trader couldn't hold out.
Plus, a dragon knight's son? No small thing.
But now another worry nagged him.
"Your words ring true, my lord. My error. That said, this dragon is exceptionally fierce. If harm comes to this young scion of an honorable house, I couldn't bear the responsibility...."
"I know your concern. No need to worry. I, Bobert, hold you blameless for the outcome. Right, Owen of House Leire?"
"Naturally, my lord."
Owen nodded.
In the end, the trader relented.
"Very well. I wish him luck."
Cheers exploded from the crowd.
"Woooah! Incredible! A kid like that!"
"Best decision coming today."
"Yeah, things are getting fun now."
But one man wouldn't stand for it.
"Esteemed Count Bobert."
A cold, clear voice rang out, silencing the area like a graveyard.
Famed Dragon Knight Magnus had spoken.
His words carried such dignity that the rabble shut their mouths on instinct.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed, handsome—a man who drew eyes effortlessly.
His voice was pure, his build robust.
As if the gods had showered him alone with every blessing.
Bobert barely suppressed a scowl.
Magnus the Baron was a villain beneath the facade.
Bobert longed to strip his title, but lacked cause.
"A pleasure, Baron Magnus."
"The honor is mine, Count Bobert. That aside, I must voice concern over your decision."
"And why is that?"
"The gap between knight and commoner is vast. I grant the boy has talent enough for your endorsement, but what if disaster strikes?"
In truth, Magnus was irked at anyone stealing his spotlight.
The boy's fate meant nothing to him.
His lands were littered with corpses.
One brat's life? Trivial.
Of course, he hid such thoughts.
He had to play the noble, dignified part.
His objection wasn't outright venom.
The polite demeanor made it harder for Bobert to counter.
'If he'd lost his temper, I'd have crushed him with authority. Clever bastard.'
Bobert clicked his tongue inwardly and replied.
"Isn't that his fate to face?"
"Well said. Yet boys are brave but lacking in foresight. He'll make a fine dragon knight someday—shouldn't we adults guide and dissuade him?"
Magnus's calm persuasion drew agreement from the crowd.
"Right, right. Too reckless."
"No need to scrape up a kid's corpse."
"Been bugging me from the start."
The masses swayed like reeds.
Those cheering moments ago coughed awkwardly and fell in line.
To seal it, Magnus added,
"His skills must still be raw. House Leire? They lost their dragon, as I recall. Hardly much for the boy to learn from."
Owen, listening, snorted inwardly.
'Yes, I've seen your type plenty at the imperial court.'
Magnus thought his act flawless, but Owen was a veteran of life's battles.
He'd faced this fake concern-turned-slander countless times.
Unaware, Magnus prattled on.
"The boy will be your house's knight, you say? A squire, then. Probably some hot-blooded pup who begged for this. Kind Count Bobert relented. But isn't disciplining foolish squires a knight's duty?"
Magnus's words were sly: no fault in Bobert, all on Owen.
Agreement rippled; Owen became the reckless fool.
Some dragon knights loyal to Magnus mocked him.
"Yeah, kid. Don't trouble the count—go suckle at mommy's teat some more."
"Don't cry about it, though."
Rude commoners laughed along.
Laughter boomed.
As Bobert geared to strike back, Owen whispered,
"May I take the stage from here, my lord?"
"You?"
"Leave it to me. I'm confident in a battle of words."
Bobert paused, then nodded.
"Very well. You've stepped up—own the consequences."
"Naturally. Would I without resolve?"
Bobert admired the boy's spirit.
'Just like his father Logan. Indeed.'
Owen decided to dismantle them politely.
'They came at us with words—words will send them packing.'
He'd planned a contest of skill, but his position demanded legitimacy first.
Owen glanced at Magnus's dragon, assessing.
Two glaring flaws.
"Sir Magnus, my thanks for your concern over this child."
Owen stepped forward with a courteous bow, drawing all eyes.
Magnus forced a paternal smile.
"Come now, no need for such words. Correcting a bold junior now and then is a senior's duty. Think nothing of it."
"How could I not appreciate it? That said, qualifications aside, one thing demands addressing with you, sir."
"Hm?"
Magnus's eye twitched in annoyance.
He'd expected the boy to back down meekly.
His composure nearly cracked.
"What demands addressing?"
"You said our house lacks a dragon, so I've learned little. But can one judge a man's learning so lightly? Fortunately, a dragon knight close to my father let me study dragons aplenty."
A dwarf earth dragon, worthless stuff—but Magnus didn't know that.
"Hmph...."
"You called me a hot-blooded squire. But first, mind your own squires. They've botched their duties entirely."
"What?"
Magnus's voice sharpened, restraint snapping.
"Got proof for that claim? Slander won't be forgiven."
"Of course. Would I speak without basis? I'm young, but not witless. Words aren't just anything spat out."
A jab at Magnus's earlier line.
He flushed crimson, grasping it instantly.
In an empty field, he'd have killed Owen on the spot.
Back home, he'd hanged backtalkers with their families.
But eyes were everywhere.
He held back.
"What proof do you have against my squires?"
"Simple. Your dragon's neglected. A pity. I've not lived long, but that's a first for me."
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Magnus's dragon lounged in the sun thirty meters back, utterly placid.
At Owen's point, eyes turned—but it basked on.
"Judge for yourselves. As you know, Sir Magnus's mount is a whip-tail dragon."
Whip-tail dragons were famed among medium breeds.
They whipped their tails like lashes—their signature.
Easy to handle, combat prowess high, full of merits.
Not without flaws, though.
Owen reminded everyone.
"Whip-tails have clear drawbacks matching their strengths: slow growth, hard to bulk up."
Unlike Owen's old black dragon Tanares, a true dragon, these wingless brutes fought up close.
Size was crucial.
Stuffing them relentlessly to grow massive was a sure path to victory.
But whip-tails resisted that.
The process was grueling, yet a big one was peerless.
Spines lined the tail—devastating swings.
"Yet yours is impressively massive, Sir Magnus."
"And that's a problem? Griping at a well-raised dragon?"
"Perish the thought. But why the jaundice around its eyes? The sclera's yellow."
Magnus faltered, composure cracking for the first time.
"Ha! Absurd. Jaundice?"
"Colorblind, sir? Can't see the yellow tinge?"
"Ridiculous! It's a 'Gerry' whip-tail. Yellow all over—that's the trait. Eyes too."
Onlookers debated.
"The eyes do look off...."
"Nah, it's yellow everywhere."
"No way?"
"What, you an expert on whip-tails?"
"Not exactly...."
Famous breed, but few partnered with them.
Little known, so knights bickered.
Owen turned to the crowd, as if offering the answer.
"Tell me—do you know why that dragon has jaundice?"
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