"Sold to Mr. Pendragon!" Delaney's announcement rang through the room, confirming that the third dragon had been claimed by my brother Arthur without any challengers.
I marveled at the unprecedented display of dominance in an auction filled with some of the wealthiest and most influential individuals from across the realms.
Yet, there stood Arthur, unfazed and triumphant.
His strategy of opening the bidding for the third dragon at an astronomical 100 million had effectively extinguished any desire among the other attendees to compete. The sheer audacity of spending such a sum on a single creature, even one as magnificent as a dragon, bordered on the absurd.
However, as I gazed at my brother from across the room, I couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration for his bold move.
"Unbelievable," Azazel muttered beside me, shaking his head in disbelief. "Where in the world is Arthur getting all this money?"
A smile tugged at my lips as I turned to face my elder brother. "This is what I've been telling you, brother. Arthur's success knows no bounds. In fact, every time you purchase the latest issue of those comics I recommended, you're contributing to his ever-growing wealth."
Azazel nodded thoughtfully, his eyes alight with curiosity. "I never imagined that buying cheap entertainment like Batman and Superman comics could amass such a fortune."
I couldn't help but chuckle at his revelation. "It's not just the comics, though. Arthur's films and TV network are also major sources of his income. And let's not forget his genius inventions—the Barcode System and the Computer."
Azazel's expression shifted to one of awe as he considered the implications. "I've heard about the potential impact of those innovations. They could reshape the future of entire realms."
A heavy sigh escaped my lips as a pang of regret settled in my chest. "Father made a grave mistake by casting brother Arthur out."
Azazel nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on Arthur as he accepted the Pocket Vault containing his newly acquired dragons.
Amidst the joy of witnessing my brother's triumph, a sobering realization dawned on me. "We haven't secured a dragon for ourselves," I mumbled, my voice tinged with disappointment.
Failing to obtain a dragon meant that Father would not relent on the arranged marriage he had planned for me. The thought alone sent a shiver down my spine.
Azazel, sensing my distress, placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Apollonia. We'll find another way."
His words offered a glimmer of hope, but it was his next suggestion that caught me off guard.
"Perhaps we could ask Arthur for one of his—"
"No!" The word burst from my lips before he could finish his sentence.
Azazel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why not? Even if he's been exiled, that doesn't mean we can't seek his help, especially for your sake."
I shook my head vehemently, my resolve unwavering. "Brother Arthur has endured so much, and when he needed us most, I wasn't there for him. It wouldn't be right to ask for his help now, not after everything he's been through."
Azazel attempted to reason with me. "We could explain that it was Father and Mother's doing, that they prevented you from visiting—"
"It still doesn't feel right," I insisted, cutting him off. "Especially now that he's no longer a Morningstar."
Azazel hesitated, his expression filled with reluctance, but after a heavy sigh, he finally let go.
Arthur couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he gazed at the two pocket vaults nestled in his palm. At last, he mused silently, with these dragons, I can kindly request their participation in my films.
Beside him, Firfel and Shafel peered curiously at the pocket vaults, catching faint glimpses of the miniaturized dragons within, their tiny forms roaring in defiance.
Firfel's brow furrowed with concern as she turned to Arthur. "Are you certain you can contain them in those pocket vaults for an extended period? I've heard that ancient containment requires immense magical power."
Arthur waved off her worries with a confident smile. "Fret not, Firfel. Everything will be fine." With that, he slipped the pocket vaults into his pocket, just as Delaney's voice rang out from the stage, announcing the commencement of the after-party.
As the attendees rose to their feet, the venue underwent a stunning transformation. The seats flattened and rearranged themselves, morphing the space into an ideal setting for the festive gathering.
Witnessing the seamless manipulation of the terrain, Arthur couldn't help but draw parallels to the Sanctuary Sphere he had acquired from the Divine Shop. The similarities were striking, hinting at the advanced magical engineering at play.
As the after-party kicked into gear, a band of musicians and a choir filled the air with their enchanting performance. The attendees, a mix of nobles, royalty, and elite figures, began mingling, eager to forge connections and solidify their influence.
The nobles and royals, their egos bruised by Arthur's successful acquisition of the dragons, approached him with thinly veiled disdain.
"Lord Pendragon," a haughty duchess remarked, her voice dripping with condescension, "I must admit, I find myself perplexed by your choice to acquire those dragons. Surely, a man of your... delicate constitution would find them quite unmanageable."
Another noble, a portly baron, chimed in with a sneer, "Indeed. It's not as if you could possibly form a blood pact with such powerful creatures. Why, the mere attempt would likely cause you to explode!"
The gathered aristocrats tittered with laughter, their mocking tones filling the air. They clearly believed Arthur, with his reputation as a weak prince turned filmmaker, had no practical use for the dragons.
Arthur, however, paid their insults no mind. He moved through the crowd as if they were nothing more than wisps of smoke, their barbs falling on deaf ears.
Amidst the sea of derision, Crown Prince Drakon of Wales approached Arthur, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. Arthur braced himself for another round of ridicule, but Drakon surprised him by extending his hand in greeting.
"Arthur Pendragon, I've heard a great deal about you," Drakon said, his smile genuine. "I am Drakon Wales, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Arthur clasped Drakon's hand, returning the firm handshake. "Likewise," he replied with a nod.
As they shook hands, Drakon applied extra force, testing Arthur's strength.
To his surprise, Arthur's grip remained steady, matching his own without so much as a flinch.
Drakon's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of intrigue crossing his features.
Releasing Arthur's hand, Drakon maintained his friendly demeanor, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.
"I hear you've made quite an impact on the sport of football," he remarked, smoothly changing the subject. "It's an incredible game. I've become a fan myself since I started watching the matches. In fact, I've been considering signing up as a player."
Arthur tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is that so?"
Drakon nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. And I must say, I'm a huge admirer of your films as well, particularly Lord of the Rings."
He launched into an animated discussion of his favorite scenes and characters, while the aloof nobles and royals looked on in disbelief. This text is hosted at novel⟡fire.net
They had hoped to find an ally in Drakon, someone who would share their disdain for Arthur. Instead, they watched as the crown prince engaged in friendly banter with the very man they sought to belittle.
Off to the side, Drakon's butler and little sister, Rika, exchanged confused glances. Rika leaned in, whispering, "I thought brother had declared his intention to persuade Arthur to relinquish the dragons. What's with this sudden display of camaraderie?"
The butler scratched the back of his head, equally perplexed. "I cannot say for certain, Princess Rika. Perhaps the prince has some hidden stratagem at play?"
Yet, as the minutes ticked by, Drakon made no move to broach the subject of the dragons. After a pleasant conversation with Arthur, he bid him farewell and returned to his bewildered entourage.
Before either the butler or Rika could voice their questions, Drakon spoke, his expression grave. "That Arthur Pendragon is far more than he appears. We would be wise not to underestimate him."
The butler and Rika exchanged another puzzled glance, their curiosity piqued by Drakon's cryptic words.
Unbeknownst to them, Drakon's mind was reeling from the revelation of Arthur's hidden strength. The simple handshake had been a test, one Drakon had entered with a touch of arrogance, only to find himself on the receiving end of a grip that left a lasting impression.
How could a filmmaker, a prince rumored to be the weakest in history, possess such formidable strength? Drakon pondered, his brow furrowing in contemplation as he reassessed everything he thought he knew about Arthur Pendragon.