Dragon Tournament Team Battle (6)
"Damn it!"
Owen was utterly flabbergasted.
The commoner riders' cleverness combined with the prince's team's arrogance had led to this mess.
He couldn't just stand by and watch any longer.
Owen spurred his dragon forward immediately.
The loyal Grenville charged without hesitation, despite the opponent's intimidating size.
Owen swiftly approached the frenzied black thorn-tail dragon and dismounted from his saddle. He lit a torch.
Just like before, his plan was to drive it off with flames.
"Grenville!"
At Owen's shout, Grenville belched out a roaring burst of fire.
Whoosh!
The flames erupted with tremendous force once more.
The black thorn-tail dragon recoiled in shock.
"Kuek!"
Having been burned by fire once already, it panicked in a way that belied its massive bulk—a true trauma.
Even though it was just a warning burst, the beast floundered in confusion.
"Kuek! Kuek!"
It forgot its rutting frenzy entirely, eyes bulging wide as it heaved for breath.
"Get a grip! Pull it together!"
Hewitt, riding atop it, desperately tried to rein in the black thorn-tail dragon's rampage.
But the situation only worsened.
Ting!
With a sharp snap, one of the long reins' metal fasteners broke free.
Snap!
It didn't stop there—the reins themselves tore apart.
"No!"
Hewitt lost all control.
He grabbed the secondary reins hastily, but the black thorn-tail dragon was beyond listening.
Without a pulley system, the backup reins relied solely on human strength, making control nearly impossible.
They were more hindrance than help, and the dragon now saw its rider as an obstacle, trying to shake him off.
It wanted to flee the flames, but Hewitt kept getting in the way.
"Kuaaa!"
Watching in horror, Owen shouted.
"Sir Hewitt! Jump off now!"
In its panicked state, the black thorn-tail dragon reared up a foreleg toward its shoulder, clawing for Hewitt.
This could turn into a disaster at any moment.
But the height made jumping impossible for Hewitt.
Leaping from such a massive dragon in full armor could be fatal.
Realizing this, Owen quickly maneuvered Grenville alongside and yelled.
"I'll catch you—hurry!"
"Oh, gods!"
Hewitt leaped.
Owen had Grenville extend its tail to cushion him.
Grenville's tail was quite thick, and cleverly, it curled it into a tube-like loop to catch the falling rider.
"Ack!"
With a short cry, Hewitt landed on Grenville's tail, bounced off, and face-planted into the soft ground.
"Are you all right, Sir Hewitt!"
At Owen's urgent call, Hewitt—face still buried—barely raised a thumbs-up.
Thankfully, no serious injuries.
Owen immediately ordered Grenville to breathe fire again.
They were pressed right against the black thorn-tail dragon's side; one wrong move and they could be trampled.
Whoosh!
With Hewitt safely down, Owen went for a real attack this time, not just a threat.
Flames instantly engulfed the black thorn-tail dragon's upper body.
Its mind went blank, fixated only on cooling off in the river.
"Kueeeek!"
It wheeled around and bolted from the arena without a backward glance.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The ground shook like an earthquake from the massive dragon's flight.
Their sole defender had fled, but at least the worst catastrophe was averted.
"I just lost ten years off my life. Whew..."
Owen wiped cold sweat from his brow and helped the fallen Hewitt to his feet.
Strictly speaking, directly breathing fire like this was prohibited.
But since it was against an ally in an emergency, disqualification seemed unlikely.
As if confirming Owen's hunch, no flags rose from the judges' side.
"Your Grace!"
In truth, the judges had been consulting the Surpuk Duke.
It was an ambiguous call.
The duke shook his head decisively, as if there was no question.
"Continue!"
"Understood!"
The area around the Surpuk Duke was in an uproar.
"Unbelievable! It actually breathed fire!"
"Duke Glendower was right after all. Super Reds can breathe fire."
"I heard rumors it did so at the fortress, but to see it myself..."
Owen's feat had left a profound impression on everyone.
A mere 10-meter small-type had chased off a 70-meter medium-type.
Even the Surpuk Duke applauded in admiration.
"Incredible! At this level!"
In the duke's mind flashed visions of dragonfire melting orc hordes.
Fire-breathing dragons were rare, but there had to be more beyond this Super Red.
The duke felt confirmed in his decision to resume dragon breeding.
As the crowd buzzed excitedly, Owen hurriedly discussed tactics with Alania.
"Sir Leire, it's 4-5 now—we're at a disadvantage. Sir Leon's attack is stalled too."
She was right.
The 2-2 skirmish against the enemy lines showed no sign of resolution.
If anything, they seemed to be losing ground.
"Impressive. A true master."
Owen admired Finn, the 3rd Dragon Stable leader, who was pressing Leon even with an old dragon.
At this rate, Leon would lose.
"We need to support him, Sir Leire."
"But look there, Lady Ventra."
The problem was, with the black thorn-tail dragon gone, three small-types hiding in the valley were emerging.
They crept toward Alania's flag.
Their dragons were ordinary, but their riders' skill was proven—Owen couldn't underestimate them.
"Lady Ventra, it's 2-3, but manageable. We'll hold them off, then I'll back up Sir Leon."
"No."
Alania shook her golden hair, refusing.
"If we stay, Sir Leon falls. Then we crumble next."
"True. If that medium-type joins the attack..."
"Exactly. I'll hold them alone. Go support the attack now, Sir Leire."
"But it's 1-3!"
"What, you think I can't?"
Her tone brimmed with confidence.
Her mount was a medium-type Hosmer dragon from the imperial stables—25 meters, small for its class.
But it lived up to its imperial name with formidable combat prowess.
It could handle three small-types.
The issue was this wasn't straight combat—it was flag capture.
Lose the saddle-mounted flag, and it was over.
"Lady Ventra! In real battle, I'd leave you. But small-types are monkey-quick compared to mediums. You could get overrun!"
"I know. They'll circle instead of engaging directly, waiting for an opening. But I have a plan! Or do we just sit and lose without trying?"
"Understood. I'm counting on you."
Agreeing she was right, Owen spurred Grenville toward the enemy lines.
The three enemy small-types, sensing opportunity, charged Alania outright.
One small mercy: the 3rd Stable riders knew nothing of the imperial dragon.
Owen prayed for her success and pushed Grenville faster.
"Sir Leon!"
As Owen joined the assault and shouted, Leon's near-defeated expression revived.
"Oh! You've come!"
Finn from the 3rd Stable, who'd been dominating Leon, looked dismayed.
"Damn!"
He'd missed a crucial window.
He needed to break Leon before reinforcements.
Worse, Owen's fire-breather had forced him to pull back earlier.
No real damage, but flames in your face rattled any dragon's morale.
"Sir Leon! Let's push together!"
"Got it!"
Finn, the 3rd Stable leader, bore the flag—snatch it, and the match ended.
Owen exploited their fear of fire, making them hesitate.
Finn bit his lip as foes closed from both sides.
Damn! That small-type feels as threatening as a medium because of the fire!
But that was Finn's miscalculation.
Grenville could breathe fire only twice a day max.
No more in this match.
Finn didn't know, so he faltered under pressure.
His ally was locked in melee with the prince's Dento—no help there.
Only one choice.
Hold out somehow!
Three attackers committed.
He'd endure until they grabbed a flag.
Owen saw through it.
"Sir Leon! Body-slam again!"
Leon obeyed without protest.
Victory trumped pride now.
The rutting dragon fiasco had nearly caused chaos.
Losing like this would be unbearable.
Kuaaa!
Leon’s massive Savanna Dragon reared on hind legs, rising like a towering spire.
Finn countered, standing his dragon too.
No reason to refuse! If we tangle, that thing can't fire easily!
The two behemoths toppled toward each other.
Kuuung!
Standing, they grappled, exerting raw power.
The ground churned under the loser's slipping rear feet—a terrifying clash.
Even amid this, Finn gripped his saddle-mounted ballista firmly.
This match-legal version fired blunt arrows, devastating against small-types—one hit and they fled.
He'd swiveled it left toward Owen, guarding for ambush during the grapple.
But his eyes widened.
"Gone?!"
Owen was nowhere in sight.
He checked right—nothing.
Realizing he'd lost his foe, chills ran down his spine.
No clue where he'd gone.
Then, the grappling dragons lost balance and crashed forward.
Kwaaaang!
With a deafening roar, forelegs slammed the earth.
That instant, Finn spotted Owen.
Incredibly, atop Leon's Savanna Dragon's vast back.
Grenville's foot pads had countless microfiber-like structures, letting it cling to walls or other dragons.
Owen had used it to hide on the back when the Savanna rose.
Finn had stood his own in response, missing Grenville.
As forelegs hit ground, hidden Owen struck.
Thud-thud-thud!
Grenville dashed across the Savanna's back; startled, Finn struggled to swing the ballista left.
"Damn! Graaah!"
Gritting teeth, he strained—but Grenville leaped skyward, landing squarely on the massive ballista.
"Eung!"
Tough as it was, a 10-meter dragon's drop shattered it.
Kaaang!
Wood splintered; gears flew.
The impact nearly flung Finn from saddle, but he held—and counterattacked.
He drew a lance from saddle mount, thrusting at Owen.
"Hah!"
Impressive instincts.
In most cases, this could've unhorsed Owen for a reversal.
But Owen stayed cool.
His left gauntlet deflected the lance; Grenville snatched it in its jaws.
"Etung!"
"Grenville!"
Owen grabbed the lance from Grenville's mouth and hurled it downward.
Clang!
The blunted match lance struck Finn's armor dead-on.
Breath stolen, he released the reins.
"Hurk!"
Finn lost control of his dragon.
Perfect moment to seize the flag.
"Here I go!"
Owen instantly released his saddle harness.
Click!
The metal rings sprang free; Owen was unbound.
He drew his sword from his belt and dashed forward.
Precarious run across the bucking dragon, but he balanced with elven grace.
"Guh! You bastard!"
Finn, dizzy but raging, reached to grab Owen.
His hand sliced empty air cruelly.
Thwack!
The flagpole snapped under the blade.