Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

Chapter4

Akka’s face drained of color as he stared at the golden dragon’s blade-like spikes, now less than a foot from his face. He had heard plenty of tales about the “s*******r Dragon” and its infamous bloodlust — but he had never expected it to come this close, or that Coin would actually consider killing him right in front of his own dragon.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Misel roared, flames flickering in his throat. The fire dragon had never liked Coin, and this was the last straw. Damn it, Misel thought, this moody, violent gold dragon almost just killed my rider right in front of me! Dragons should never have put gold dragons on the list of contractable species in the first place.

Misel spat out a blazing wall of fire, shielding his rider. The searing heat turned Coin’s extended metallic spike bright red, glowing like molten steel. Even Coin felt the sting — at high enough temperatures, even a gold dragon’s control over his metal body dulled.

Coin just gave a cold, contemptuous snort, retracted the blade, and lazily sprawled back down as if nothing had happened.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

The mocking voice came from above, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Morin, the dragon knight who might get killed by his own dragon any day now — and Akka, the would-be shadow-stalker! So this is where you two have been hiding. And look at this — two disobedient dragons fighting each other? What a disgrace to the entire Dragon Knight Legion!”

Morin and Akka both stiffened, their faces darkening. They looked up to see a young man in ostentatiously ornate armor riding a two-legged wyvern, swooping down toward them.

This was Grawne, son of Harrison, the Empire’s Minister of Civil Affairs. Thanks to his father’s money and influence, Grawne had gotten himself a wyvern, a mastercrafted suit of mithril armor, and a gorgeous cloak — and had even bought himself a fake title as a “Sky Knight” to join the Dragon Knight Legion. He spent most of his time chasing women and flaunting his status rather than fighting.

And now here he was, trying to earn himself some easy “military glory.” But with his over-the-top shiny armor and pathetic excuse for battle aura, he was little more than a flying bullseye — a man who would hang back while real knights bled on the frontlines, then swoop in to claim their kills and steal their credit.

There wasn’t much anyone could do about it. His father was one of the Four Grand Ministers — overseeing finance, law, civil affairs, and the military. The legion’s political officer, Count Mukory, was a shameless bootlicker and bent over backward to curry favor with Harrison. Even the upright, no-nonsense Legion Commander, Sir Rujer, had privately ordered every dragon knight to “look after” Grawne, give him credit when possible, and send him home in one piece before he got himself killed.

Morin and Akka exchanged a glance — they both felt like a single rat had just spoiled the entire meal.

“Akka, you’re a noble,” Grawne sneered, guiding his wyvern into a shaky hover. “Don’t hang around with common trash — you’ll lose your status. And you—” he pointed his spear straight at Morin “—you’d better kill ten enemies for me today and make sure the credit is counted as mine. If you don’t…” his voice dropped into a threat, “you won’t like what happens next. Know your place, peasant. Just because you became a dragon knight doesn’t mean you’re untouchable. You’re still a filthy commoner, and you should be grateful a noble like me even bothers talking to you.”

Grawn loved nothing more than lording his noble birth over knights from common backgrounds, bullying them, extorting credit for their victories, even stealing their loot.

Perhaps it was the will of the gods, but dragon contracts seemed to favor the common-born more often than the nobility — and Grawne was proof of that cruel irony. He had never once been able to resonate with a true dragon, not even a little, and had to settle for a pathetic wyvern bound to him by a forced slave contract. Even the few other knights who rode wyverns kept their distance from him, refusing to associate with someone so shameless.

Morin had been on the receiving end of Grawne’s threats plenty of times before. It was always the same — the spoiled brat was protected by his father and fawned over by opportunistic officials, which only made him bolder and more unbearable.

This guy was scum.

“Grawne, I’m not scared of you!” Akka exploded before Morin could say a word. His entire body flared with fire-aspected battle aura, heat radiating from him until the ground beneath his feet sizzled. His rage resonated with Misel, and the air around them grew stifling hot.

Seeing Akka truly angry, Grawne suddenly decided discretion was the better part of valor. He yanked on his wyvern’s reins, retreating to a safer distance. Even then, he shouted back over his shoulder, still trying to save face:

“Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re a dragon knight, Akka! You’ll regret crossing me — just wait and see!”

Then he fled, not daring to stay a second longer for fear Akka’s fists might actually reach him.

Wyverns simply couldn’t compare to dragons, and Grawne knew it — which only made him burn with jealousy.

“Morin, don’t let someone like that get to you. He’s not worth it!” Akka said through clenched teeth, glaring after Grawne’s retreating figure. “Next time I see that bastard, I swear I’m going to teach him a lesson. If we keep letting him get away with this, he’ll drag the honor of the entire legion through the mud. Damn it, running into him out here is like having a fly buzz around your ear in the middle of battle — so annoying! Morin, watch your back. This guy might not be able to fight, but he’s a master at causing trouble.”

“Let it go. When a dog bites you, you don’t bite back, right? I’ll be careful.”

Morin had grown up as an orphan on the streets. He’d seen the best and worst of people — noble and common alike — and had long since learned not to waste anger on those who weren’t a real threat to his survival.

Akka exhaled, visibly relaxing a little. Morin had always been the most cautious, level-headed knight in the entire legion — probably the only reason he had survived this long with a moody, murderous gold dragon as his partner.

Suddenly, both Coin and Misel snapped their heads toward the southeast. A blazing red flare shot into the sky, piercing the clouds and exploding into a fiery cloud.

Akka’s playful grin vanished. His expression went flat and grim.

“This is bad. The Texi Empire’s about to go all in.”

That signal was used only for the most urgent battlefield situations.

“Come on, Misel! Time to burn some enemies!”

Akka leapt onto the fire dragon’s back, suddenly eager to put distance between himself and Coin. Morin, he thought, must be insane to keep a gold dragon as his partner — surviving this long without being killed (or scared to death) was a record no one could ever hope to match.

Misel’s massive body rippled with fire, his wings stirring up a scorching wind as he launched into the sky.

“Morin! Hurry up — if we’re late, Commander Daor is going to blow a fuse!” Akka shouted back.

Morin turned to Coin with a crooked smile.

“Well? You coming, or are you staying here to nurse your wounds?”

“Shut up! Those Texi bastards owe me blood!” Coin roared. The memory of that level-nine spell still burned in his mind, and Morin’s taunt was the last straw.

Morin smirked, pulled on his helmet, and leapt off the rock face. Coin caught him midair with a wingbeat that cracked like thunder, then shot skyward, leaving a trail of sonic booms as he raced after Misel and Akka.

In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the two dragons reached the source of the signal. From a thousand meters up, the ground below looked like a black tide of ants swarming together, with only tiny patches of bare earth showing through. Both armies were pouring troops toward the center, forming dense, bristling formations that glittered with the cold light of countless weapons — like a field of stars reflected on black water.

Warm, wet air from the distant ocean pressed up against the snowy peaks of the Hailar Mountains, building into a thick, heavy ceiling of clouds that made the air feel suffocating.

“...Damn.”

Both knights and both dragons sucked in a sharp breath.

This was the largest massing of troops since the start of the war — a powder keg so overfilled that a single spark could set off a disaster beyond imagining.