“… and in the last moment, he launched himself forward, taking the momentum right when that lazy-eyed bastard thought he was down!”

“He was fast and chose his moment well. His opponent let down his guard at the wrong moment.”

“Not just the wrong moment! He left himself wide open! For something so important as the last round, you’d think he wouldn’t do something so imbecilic, but he had to go and prove everyone wrong!”

“Not to take away from our man’s victory; it was won with skill and strength.”

“Hmm. Yes, he did. But his opponent was dumb. I’d kick his ass from here to Artorion if he were one of ours for making so basic a mistake.”

Leon smiled as Cassandra and Valeria enthusiastically—at least for them—told him about the last gladiator fight that they had seen that day. All-in-all, his fighters had acquitted themselves marvelously. They weren’t right at the top, but they’d won more than three times as many matches as they’d lost. Adamantios, however, cleared all of them; the Lion had won every single one of his matches, including the very one that his wives were so captivated by. Among his fellow sixth-tier mages, that record ranked him as one of the best.

Naturally, he had quite a few competitors. With so many people attending the Belicenian Games, and with so many Lords filling the competing ranks with their own people—glory won by their competitors was shared with the Lord, after all—there were thousands of people, if not millions, competing in every tier.

So that everyone had the chance to compete, the first few weeks were taken by round robin-style matches, with every fighter being given multiple opportunities to win glory. Rankings and further matchups were determined from those records, and once these preliminary rounds were over, the ‘true’ fights began. In those matches, everyone was paired off, and when the fight was over, the loser was disqualified and the winner moved on to their next opponent.

Though there were millions of competitors, with half of them being knocked out every round, the ranks were swiftly thinned. It would take only about a week to get through them all once the round-robin rankings were determined, given how many arenas there were for them to fight in.

As it was, Leon’s gladiators were doing quite well, with Adamantios performing particularly well. His chariot teams were less glorious but were at least above average.

“I wish I’d been there to see it with my own eyes,” Leon said melancholically. He was truly upset at not being able to see the fights himself, but he’d made his agreement with Anushirawan, and he wasn’t one to break such things without cause.

“Normally,” Elise said, “I’m not one for the bloodier sports, but I have to admit that the crowd got me worked up.”

“Oh, they were feeling it!” Cassandra almost shouted. “The fight could’ve gone either way! Adamantios nearly lost three times, and he nearly won five times before the last punches were thrown!”

“He has proven himself satisfactory,” Maia stated.

“Was that a question that was ever asked?” Valeria inquired, mild surprise lacing her tone.

“He caught the eye of one of my nymphs,” Maia explained. “I was skeptical of her choice. When we return, I’ll have fewer misgivings if she takes him as a mate.”

“Quite the reward,” said Elise, grinning teasingly. “Having a river nymph in one’s bed is nothing less than sublime.”

Maia cracked a rare smile, and Leon sensed a long night was beginning with the looks the two were sharing.

“She can give him a reward, if she so chooses,” Leon said, “but I would not dishonor someone who fought as my representative by forgoing recognition. What kind of weapon does he use?”

“Claws,” Valeria said with an appreciative smile. “Armored gauntlets with bladed fingers. Unusual, but he used them well.”

“It’s easy to see why,” Cassandra commented. “Such a weird weapon is hard to plan around. Could take a few bouts to get used to it, but in this tournament, you only get one try.”

“Good for him. I can work with that, though.” Leon concentrated, the image of what he wanted to make taking shape in his mind. The exterior would be elegant and beautiful, while the interior would be practical and powerful. Enchantments would be layered and strong, but before he could finalize anything, Elise took his arm, an understanding smile on her lips.

“Wind,” she said. “He uses wind.”

Leon used that information well, incorporating several wind enchantments into the final enchantment scheme. Though wind was hardly his primary combat element, he wasn’t unfamiliar with it—no surprise given his heritage and teachers.

With that in mind, he called upon his origin power and summoned the Mists of Chaos. He raised a hand, and mist seeped from his fingers, quickly taking the shape of gauntlets. They were translucent, as mist was wont to be, until Leon funneled his origin power into them, giving them substance and solidity.

Thirteenth-tier mages could create matter almost at will—so long as they had power, of course—with the most noteworthy limit being that they couldn’t create magical matter. Leon couldn’t create Titanstone, Lumenite, or Aurichalcum; that much was known beforehand. Some tests done in the past couple weeks also taught him that all of the materials he’d created or acquired during his life were forbidden by the whims of the universe. So that meant no storm crystal, no cloud glass, no thunder wood, and certainly no thunder wood amber. In those cases, however, Leon carried with him a significant stock of his Kingdom’s strategic materials, just in case; it was no great effort to pop in a bit of amber and Titanstone to complete the new weapons.

“They’ll make wind blades,” Leon explained, “and insulate the wearer from hostile magic. A fitting prize for one who’s brought glory to the Kingdom, no?”

“He’d praise your name if you gave him nothing but eye contact,” Elise said.

“As he should!” Cassandra proudly declared.

“But,” Elise said a little louder, displeased by Cassandra’s interruption, if only slightly, “these are more than eye contact.”

“The Lion Tribe—” Valeria began, but a knock at the door cut her off, which she rewarded with a death glare so intense that Leon was almost surprised the door didn’t simply crumble into dust.

Leon opened the door himself, though from across the room using his elementless magic, and found Alix standing in the doorway.

“Your Majesties,” she said with great formality, “we have a visitor.”

“Who is it this time?” Leon asked, his exasperation mostly covered up. He’d received more visitors than just dragons and Elemental Kings over these past couple weeks, most of them being Strategoi and Despots in the Storm Lands. Archelaus and Gwarim also swung by for a while, helping Leon not to feel too cut off from everything that was happening on the plane.

Of course, none of those meetings came to much other than simple introductions, but in the long run, Leon just having met and been largely accepted by so many Storm Lords was a greater win than just about anything else that could’ve happened on Belicenion. Artorion in the Far West was an immense distance from the much more heavily populated Far East, so meeting now was the best and easiest way to meet these Lords—and like the only chance Leon was going to get, as he doubted he’d be attending the Games again, at least for a long, long time.

“He says his name is Ryker,” Alix said, emphasizing the name with a knowing look. “He’s brought a message from the Great Black Dragon Clan…”

Leon’s heart just about seized in his chest; the very man who had separated him from his mother so long ago, yet who had treated him relatively warmly just a few weeks ago, was now here? Sure enough, when he projected his magic senses, he noticed Ryker standing by Storm Herald’s main entrance ramp rather than the hangar that most others had used to enter and exit the ark.

“Bring him in,” Leon ordered. “And let my mother know. I believe she’s training with Red right now.”

Alix bowed and left to fulfill Leon’s order, leaving him alone once again with his wives.

“How do you want to play this?” Cassandra asked. “Grill him? Throw him over the fire, spit from end to end? Or maybe chop him up and serve him raw?”

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“Would you eat a bird raw?” Valeria asked.

“No, but I kind of thought that dragons are like fish, right? Fish with wings? And fish can be eaten raw… whatever, the metaphor’s not important. What’s our strategy for dealing with this one?”

“The dragons have been fairly cordial so far,” Elise said hesitantly, her green eyes flickering to Leon.

“My mother doesn’t like him,” said Leon grimly. “There are few in her Clan that she speaks of fondly. A couple of draconic servants, some of her more distant cousins who don’t have awakened blood… Not Ryker, not her father, not Fain.”

“If he’s come to grovel,” Maia growled, “then let him do so. Otherwise, let him speak, and give nothing away. They have kept you from your mother for too long; save courtesy for those who have earned it.”

“Not a bad solution,” Elise murmured. “Why don’t you let us take the lead, Leon?”

Frowning lightly, Leon replied, “I’m tempted. My mother might not agree; she might insist on being the only one to speak with him. Or she’ll demand he be thrown out on his ass. We’ll see…”

—

Ryker was not, in fact, thrown out on his ass. Instead, despite looking like she’d swallowed a crate full of lemons, Serana hadn’t made that big of a deal when he was shown in. Now, she glared at him across the room, her legs crossed and arms folded with such easy hostility that she made the relatively simple chair she sat in look as grand as Leon’s throne.

Leon sat next to her, sitting straight enough not to slouch, but he refrained from acting too formal so as to project confidence and control. His wives stood throughout the room, surrounding Ryker, who sat across from Leon and Serana. Despite the clear hostility, Ryker looked at ease, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a familial smile on his face.

“It’s not been long, cousin,” Ryker said, “but it feels like a thousand years. It’s amazing how quickly time flies, isn’t it?”

Impatiently, Serana demanded, “Why are you here, Ryker? For you? Or for my father?”

“There are multiple reasons,” Ryker replied. “Is it so distasteful that I wanted to see you?”

“Given what we’ve heard,” Elise said, beating Serana to the response, “you had many chances before the Games, and squandered them all. It strikes me as opportunistic to come and visit my mother-in-law now, after she has reunited with my husband, when you had not made a habit of it before when you lived in the same palace for centuries.”

Though Ryker was the focus of the conversation, Leon spared his mother a long, subtle glance, and smiled shallowly at the look of mild surprise that graced her face.

“Yeah!” Cassandra exclaimed. “And on top of that, you waited for weeks! Weeks! Why does it take that long to visit your own blood after something this monumental happens!”

“That delay is part of the reason why I was sent here by my Patriarch,” Ryker said, ignoring how Maia stood behind him, not quite over his shoulder but close enough to impose with her aura. He was a tier above her, though, so Leon hadn’t been expecting her to debilitate him overmuch.

“He’s waited this long, too,” Valeria hissed. “His daughter leaves for weeks, and it takes him so long to respond? My own father calls me weekly, and would do so even more often if I didn’t insist he focus on his work—and he doesn’t even think I am in much danger.”

“It is in a dragon’s nature to wait for the world to come to us,” Ryker stated. “It is the consequence of power. Those who ignore the reality of power are often cut down before their time. But… I think there was some part of him that wanted my dear cousin to enjoy her time with her son after so much time apart.”

“Ah, so it was arrogance that saw him wait?” Elise asked, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “Or was it love?”

“If he was so concerned,” Valeria said, “then he could’ve sent our mother-in-law to us sooner instead of keeping her locked up.”

“I’m aware,” Ryker stated. “He sent me here to pass on a message, not to defend his honor. He is a dragon; he’ll defend himself.”

Despite the fairly high tension, Leon snorted in amusement. He even sensed his mother grinning for less than a second.

“Let us hear it, then,” Elise imperiously commanded. “His words that were so important that he sent you, but not important enough to send three weeks ago.”

“He demands that Serana and Leon come to War Cry,” Ryker stated. A long moment passed as everyone waited for Ryker to continue, but he quickly did away with the need for silence when he said, “That’s it. No other message.”

“None…?” Serana whispered in disbelief.

“After all this time, only a command?” Elise asked more directly. “Is this what we are to expect from the dragons, whose might and familial kinship are legendary?”

“It is what you might expect from a man terrified of his own shadow,” Ryker stated, a degree of venom in his voice that took not only Serana but also the entire room by surprise. Without missing a beat, Ryker continued, “It’s spoken of in quiet corners of the Clan, far from where our elders can hear: our Patriarch has grown weak. Perhaps not physically or magically, but a man who accepts the death of his wife is no man at all. Such is the talk, anyway.”

“What…?” Serana whispered, her anger rising rapidly, and she rose from her seat at the same time. “Who dares—”

“Few dare whose opinions matter,” Ryker assured her, “but there are some who are looking for… solutions.”

“Straighten your tongue,” Leon demanded, joining the conversation properly.

“Are you one of these solution-seeking people?” Cassandra pointedly asked.

“I might be,” Ryker stated. “As I said to you before, Leon, I regretted deeply not taking you with us when we left Aeterna. On a purely practical level, we couldn’t afford the loss. On a more personal level, I hated what it did to my family, and I hated the idea of you being raised by backwards barbarians, the more I thought about it. So… here I am, speaking candidly. Mostly.”

Serana stalked over, any patience she had for letting Leon’s wives take point apparently gone.

“You speak of treason, Ryker,” she said quietly.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “drastic action is necessary. No one wants any of our Clanmates to die, of course, but new leadership is needed when current leadership grows stale. I know that you, dear cousin, would find no shortage of support—”

Serana silenced Ryker with a sharp slap across the cheek. “I hate my father for what he did to me,” she said. “But I also love him. He is my father, and for all the mistakes he’s made, he can’t erase the good times we had when I was younger. More than that, I will not accept a position won by blood, duplicity, and insubordination. Leadership of our Clan is won by strength, not by assent from the elders. It is taken, not graciously given.”

With an audible scoff, Serana returned to her seat.

“I would hear no more of this, Ryker… except what you have done already to tip the scales.”

Ryker had reeled from her striking his face, though given their respective power, Leon felt confident that it was more from the shock than it was from pain. Still, it took him a moment to compose himself and respond, and when he did, his response initially came through clenched teeth.

“Do you have so low an opinion of me that you believe I’m taking surreptitious actions behind the Patriarch’s back?”

“Yes,” Serana said without hesitation.

“Heh. You’d be right, I suppose, so long as we go with a measured and proportioned interpretation of ‘tip the scales’.” His golden eyes turned to Leon, narrowing with seriousness. “I told Bennu that you were requesting to meet with Serana.”

Serana flew to her feet again in a rage, but Ryker merely sat where he was, seemingly not caring that his wrathful cousin was about to rain down draconic wrath onto him. Leon supposed his confidence was warranted as he was on his feet and holding his mother back before she could get close enough to strike him again.

For his part, Leon understood Serana’s rage; he could feel it too, especially since Ryker had promised to help him the last time they’d spoken. Siccing Bennu onto him hardly felt like ‘helping’.

“You admit to being a traitor, then?” Elise asked skeptically.

“I am no traitor!” Ryker loudly proclaimed. “But… sometimes, a dramatic scene is necessary. Bennu is simple-minded and easy to predict: I knew he’d challenge you if I insinuated that you were pursuing Serana.” Serana gagged, but the ugly sound didn’t give Ryker any pause. “The Phoenix played his part well, as did you, Leon. You defeated him in spectacular fashion! And in doing so, you revealed yourself to the universe, as I thought you would! Uncle Fargrim was given no room at all to hide from his past shame! He was immediately confronted by our brother Clans; he was left with no choice but to acknowledge you! He’s been stirring in impotent anger ever since, unable to act without drawing the ire of the other Clans. Even our own Clan’s elders have been openly questioning him in these couple weeks. Without that internal pressure, he might have already attacked this ark!”

“Doing so would earn him the enmity of all of us, including his own grandson,” Valeria said.

“I’m sure if he put more thought into it, he would have cared,” Ryker said in a tone that suggested the opposite. “Regardless, that duel was easy enough to arrange, and in the end, we all get what we wanted: the other Clans and our own Clan’s elders have to reckon with our Patriarch’s weakness, our Patriarch is forced to acknowledge you, Leon, and your connection with Serana, and to cap it all off, our Clan member defeated a member of the Phoenix Clan in single combat! When the Phoenix arguably had the advantage! I won’t deny that I’ve felt quite pleased these past few weeks, but now, we have to move on to the second necessary action: my dear cousin, will you come to War Cry? You don’t have to say or do anything, but know that some of the elders would support you taking the role of Matriarch!”

“That would require my father to die,” Serana said quietly.

“Or retire,” Ryker pointed out. “Granthellion retired. So did Idri, Jocasta, and Grenmein. Why not add another name to that list?”

Serana finally regained control over herself and again slapped Ryker hard enough to launch him out of his seat.

“What little trust I had in you has been destroyed,” Serana stated bitterly. Without another word, she turned and left the room.

Once she was gone, Leon stared at Ryker on the floor, strained laughter suggesting a broken jaw.

Switching to darkness magic, Ryker asked Leon, [Will you come to War Cry? Your claim to the Patriarch title would be acknowledged, too. If it is power that you seek, then look no further than the Great Dragon Clan!”

“No,” Leon easily said. “If he wants us to talk, we can talk here, or not at all. Besides, I’m rather popular right now, and I have an agreement with the Sun King not to leave Storm Herald before the games are over.

“I’ll pass the sentiment along, Leon,” Ryker said, and he quickly followed Serana out the door. Leon didn’t stop him, seeing no reason to hold the man captive for even a modest length of time. As much as Ryker knew, Leon didn’t see the need to interrogate him.

Tense silence followed in his wake, until Elise finally let out a breath she’d been holding and all but collapsed into a nearby armchair.

“Well… that wasn’t what I was expecting,” she said.

“Me, neither,” Leon agreed. “For now, though… let’s prepare for the idea that the Great Black Dragon Patriarch is going to come here. Worst-case scenario is that he comes angry and in a fighting mood. We should prepare for any scenario, including violence.”

“I agree,” Cassandra said. “If this situation devolves, we’ll meet as we have with all other threats: head-on and with great violence!”

Leon nodded as his other wives expressed similar sentiments, including a more reluctant Elise.

‘Hopefully he shows up soon,’ he thought. ‘Or formally declines. I’d rather not spend all of our time here consumed with worry…’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep