Dragon Tournament Team Battle (3)
Albert swallowed hard.
"What would you have me do?"
"First, meet this fellow. You're free to go if you like."
At Magnus's words, a sinister man emerged from the shadows of the underground tomb.
He rose like smoke itself—less a man than a ghost.
"Gah!"
Startled, Albert toppled backward, landing hard on his rear.
The man's eyes were simply too terrifying.
Arhana and Magnus, by contrast, remained utterly composed.
And small wonder: the newcomer was Luke, the mercenary whose body had been gruesomely modified by dark elves.
Once a capable soldier under Magnus's command, repeated failures had led to this grim fate.
The cheerful dandy of old was gone without a trace.
"Sir Albert, this is my capable subordinate, Luke. We aim to disguise him as a knight of the Albert main house. Lend us your aid."
"A knight of the main house?"
Albert, manager of the 2nd Dragon Stable, was Marco Elius Albert in full.
One of many sons from a family that had carved out considerable power in the East, he himself was merely a knight with a minor fief.
His desperate climb was all for a return to the main house.
Not as some lesser Albert, but a true one.
"Precisely. Though you're but an overlooked son of the main house, if you're willing, we can make it happen."
"Well, a little deception might do the trick... but why him?"
"Simple. We plan to enter him as a dragon knight in the team battle, disguised as an Albert."
"What's the angle?"
"Oh, yes. Heh heh heh."
Magnus chuckled, as if the mere thought delighted him.
Arhana, at his side, merely smiled with her eyes, saying nothing.
At last, Albert realized he'd stumbled into a den of madmen.
His hands trembled violently as he forced his mouth open.
"...What? That 'accident' you mentioned earlier?"
"Exactly. Amid the chaos of the tournament, Luke will strike at Owen."
"Hah! Planning to kill the brat outright, are you?"
"Music to your ears, no?"
It went without saying.
He'd picked the fight himself and fallen from grace—yet he blamed it all on Owen.
"Of course. But wouldn't assassination be simpler?"
"No."
Magnus shook his head.
"An 'accident' at the tournament is one thing. But if an assassination happens in the duke's own territory—especially to a promising youth he's watching—the Duke of Surpuk won't sit idle."
"I see."
"Assassination's no easy task to begin with. The boy's holed up in the 5th Dragon Stable, guarded by that foul-tempered beast around the clock. And besides..."
"Besides?"
Magnus spread his arms wide, grinning like a clown.
"If I must, I'd rather kill him in the arena. I was humiliated before all eyes. So I'll kill him before all eyes. My own brand of payback. Heh heh."
"Sir Magnus, I take your point. But even disguised as main house, entering the tournament's uncertain. Our family isn't known for handling dragons."
That was precisely why Albert had taken on dragon-related work to return to the fold.
Shining where the family was weak was sure to draw notice.
"No need to worry. A perfect team awaits. Know of Austin?"
"Russell's wastrel son."
"Yes. He harbors a grudge against Owen too. He's assembled his own team for revenge."
"Ah, I see."
"But without Count Russell's backing, he's struggling to recruit skilled dragon knights. With the tournament looming, he'll welcome any help."
"So the plan is to slip our 'Albert main house knight' into that team."
"Precisely."
"But... if we do this, it could harm the main house..."
Magnus burst into mocking laughter at Albert's lingering reluctance.
"Hahaha! You, who sides with humanity's foes, still fretting over that?"
"N-no! Forgive my slip!"
Albert didn't like it one bit, but he saw no way out now.
His mind raced all the while.
It's not orcs or demons, right? Dark elves. Not the worst.
Dark elves were loathsome, yet unlike other foes of man, some had infiltrated parts of the Empire.
Rare in the East, they were more common in the West.
Might even settle there someday.
Coerced and cajoled into submission, the thought sparked a glimmer of hope.
In the end, Albert steeled himself.
"I was a fool. No need to hesitate."
"That's more like it, Sir Albert. Your eyes have changed."
With cooperation secured, Magnus demanded more.
"That said, I hear you hide a remarkable dragon."
He stepped close, pressing down on Albert's shoulder.
The pressure was immense.
His gaze flickered with a murderer's madness; Albert couldn't meet it.
How does he know about my precious dragon?
It was his last ace—he couldn't yield it.
But when his eyes met Arhana's, he understood.
"Ah..."
He'd confided the secret only to her.
Suddenly, he grasped why the world called her the Black Widow.
"Sir Albert?"
Magnus called again; Albert could only bow his head.
"Very well. I'll tell you where I've hidden the dragon scroll."
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Bris had entered the full swing of festival season.
The feuding lords who'd clashed faces during council now clinked goblets in warm camaraderie.
Merchants reaped windfalls; common folk buzzed with excitement, darting about.
Many amusements filled the days, but the dragon tournament stole the spotlight.
Owen discussed it with the prince's entourage.
"Sir Leire, Bris is abuzz with team battle talk."
"Indeed, Your Highness. Twelve teams, they say. Larger than expected—I'm concerned it might irk His Imperial Majesty."
The prince stroked his goatee, then shook his head.
"It'll be fine. Father's aged; his grip has slipped. The capital nobles fixate on succession alone. With the court's intrigues in chaos, he won't meddle in Eastern frivolities."
If the well-informed prince said so, no great issue loomed.
Then the lovely knightess Alania, who'd been listening, chimed in.
"Sir Leire, I hear Russell's Austin is gunning for revenge against you. Taverns are full of it."
"Ah, Austin."
Owen smirked and recounted his first Bris encounter.
Alania shook her head in dismay.
"Can't even control his own dragon..."
"If he's plotting revenge, he's prepared countermeasures. Truth be told, trash like Austin's beneath notice this time. Word is, even the 1st Dragon Stable's entering. The duke's elite."
The stables housed small dragons, but their ranks included mediums—sealed in scrolls for size.
Tending the duke's mediums was the breeders' prime duty.
"The 1st... I've heard it's the East's strongest. My knights will gain fine experience here."
The prince nodded approvingly, clapping Owen's shoulder.
"Impressive as the 1st is, my knights hold their own."
"Quite so, Your Highness."
"You know joining my team has everyone talking?"
Owen knew full well.
A rising star like him on the prince's side? Prime fodder to hype the tournament.
"Undeserving as I am, it's embarrassing to be on people's lips."
"No need for false modesty. Revel in the march applause today—I'll watch from the dais."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Today, all dragons would parade grandly before the team battle.
Sixty in all, snaking along Bris's walls to flaunt their might.
A spectacle drawing crowds atop the battlements already.
Owen rode with the prince's knights—Alania, Leon, Dento, Huid—toward the walls.
"Wow, what a sight!"
Owen gasped at the reincarnation-first spectacle.
Dozens of dragons roared before the walls.
Common in his past war musters, but post-purge? Unprecedented.
The prince's knights shared the awe.
"Amazing!"
Alania couldn't hide her wonder.
At eighteen, born after the purge, it was her first.
A wistful pang hit Owen.
"They say orcs quaked when dragons mustered like this in the East."
"Why?"
"Tournaments were excuses to gather—and strike. They doubled as military drills back then."
"Oh. You know such history young, Sir Leire."
Owen could only smile bitterly.
He'd once turned such a muster into a real raid, torching orc tribes.
Yet reborn, humans were on the defensive.
Even Odessah's keep—human soil in his day—had fallen, per the Maltun papers.
"Owen Leire!"
A voice snapped him from reverie.
A man atop a scarf dragon caught his eye.
"Ah..."
Austin of Russell.
Owen urged Grenville closer; Austin followed suit.
"Not bad? Last time, you couldn't even move your dragon."
"Shut it, whelp!"
Owen's genuine praise sounded like mockery; Austin bristled.
After his humiliation, he'd trained relentlessly, finally mastering control.
Without his father's blessing, he'd scraped together a team for revenge.
No support meant hardship, but he'd persevered.
"Leire, last time I made a fool of myself."
"Oh? Admitting it outright?"
Surprisingly, the fool had grown from the ordeal.
"Shut it. This time's different. I've gathered real talent—brace yourself!"
Austin proudly gestured to his trailing dragons.
Fine specimens, all; veteran riders atop them.
Owen swiftly scanned the floating text above—then paused.
"Hm?"
One dragon stood out oddly.
Intimacy with Rider: -0
To his shock, intimacy read zero.
First such reading since reincarnation.
What? Is that even possible?
As Owen stared in confusion, Austin mistook it for awe, puffing up.
"Hahaha! You spotted that dragon too?"
"Similis dragon?"
"That's right!"
Austin beamed, all but begging praise.
Owen had fixated on the zero, but it was an exceptional beast.
Rare and mighty even in the Empire—worthy of pride.
Black and white coat, long neck and tail, elegant build.
Its bird-like beak was sharp; temperament touchy and fierce—not for amateurs.
A prickly sort.
"Took real effort to snag it. Impressed?"
Owen ignored the boast, probing instead.
"Which house's dragon?"
"The Alberts'."
"Hm?"
Something felt off.
By Owen's knowledge, past or present, Alberts shunned dragons.
Yet they had a rare Similis?
Suspicious...
He glanced at the rider.
No familiar face.
Luke's modifications made recognition impossible, naturally.
But Owen's instincts glued his gaze.
He's hiding something. Need to look into it.
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