They were always the first to die, the assassins.
With their thin daggers and false confidence, they crept close, certain that a sleeping Dragon was an easy target. They never got the chance to land a strike. They never learned. They always burned.
This one was no different.
An old man this time, black tangled hair falling across a face that was hardened by years of hunting. His boots made no sound as he glided across the rough floor of the crumbling flying ship. Kaedros’s ship.
If not for the scent of musty, dry, human, the Dragon would never have noticed him.
Kaedros kept still on his bed of scorched treasure, pretending to sleep. He masked the glow in his eyes and clutched his technique tighter in the depths of his mind. The moment the dagger glinted in the dark, coated in faint blue poison, Kaedros was ready.
As the blade slashed down, just inches from his jaw, he released the technique.
Mana tore through the air with thunderous force, blasting the old man back. He struck the flying ship wall with a sickening crunch, skull bursting on impact. Red mist painted the stone.
Kaedros rose slowly, red eyes glowing with irritation.
Shouts echoed from the entrance of the ruined flying ship. The rest of the Ascendant bounty hunters were charging in. Four now, missing their scout. A mage, a healer, a warrior, and a knight. Standard formation. Nothing surprising.
Ascendant. Always the same. Like cockroaches.
"They never leave me be," Kaedros thought bitterly, his voice silent inside his skull. "Every week, twice, sometimes more, they come with their shining weapons and prayers of gold, desperate to carve up my body for profit."
He bared his fangs, couching yellow light flickering in his mouth.
"All because I raided a few pathetic islands? They dare call this justice? This is my domain."
Even in exile, a Dragon had the right to collect trophies. What was a crumbled flying ship without treasure? What was power without the right to sleep undisturbed?
With a guttural snarl, Kaedros raised his fore leg, the air thickening with power. He unleashed a roaring gust of Dragonflare, twisting light and heat into a living storm of heat and sound.
The sonic wave slammed into the Ascendants just as the wizard raised her gauntlet. A green gem embedded in its center flared with light. Glyphs along its length pulsed with protection, focus, amplification. A transparent shield materialized, shielding the group just in time.
The fire hit the barrier with a thunderous crack, the shield shuddering under the pressure. Cracks laced across its surface, and the wizard’s face turned ghost-pale as sweat dripped from her brow.
Kaedros saw his chance.
He darted forward, his body a blur of motion, golden scale a streak as he moved faster and more fluid than any of the bounty hunters expected. With all the brutal grace of a predator, he slammed his legs against the barrier.
The warrior was already moving, sword glowing with light. He slashed.
Belialthorn twisted, avoiding a fatal strike, but the blade grazed his wings. Pain flared. His flesh sizzled. The glyphs on the weapon burned against his skin, anti-dragon etchings, expertly crafted.
He hissed, his fury rising.
"Foolish," he snarled inwardly. "I relied too much on my hide."
The warrior pressed forward.
Arrows flew. Kaedros dodged, closing the distance. He grabbed the warrior and hurled him into the archer. Both crashed into a heap. Before more could recover, Kaedros launched into them, claws bared.
The healer moved quickly, hands glowing, already patching wounds.
"They’re coordinated," Kaedros noted. "Annoyingly so. This will take longer than expected."
The bounty hunters regrouped behind the tank. Another wave of spells and steel surged forward.
Kaedros met them with his claws, his fangs, and fire.
His leathery wings spread behind him, flapping with fury. His purple eyes glowed with bloodlust, and the short horns on his brow shimmered under the glow of magic. A Dragon in full wrath.
They clashed. Magic lit the flying ship like a battlefield from hell.
Minutes felt like hours.
The bounty hunters lay sprawled on the floor, bodies broken, some twitching, others unmoving. Blood seeped into the floor, mixing with the ash and ruin.
Kaedros stood over them, panting, blood trailing down his scales and legs.
"Damn," he muttered, examining his injuries. His hide was torn in several places, leaking thick, dark blood. "This will take time."
A groan caught his attention.
The healer, barely alive, leaned against a wall. His legs were gone, shredded by claws, his torso marked by deep gouges.
"That’s... good," the man wheezed. "To think even I... would leave a mark on the infamous golden Dragon of the flying ship."
Kaedros tilted his head, eyes glowing.
That was the name they gave him.
He said nothing. With theatrical slowness, he twisted the healer’s neck until it cracked sharply.
The silence returned. Kaedros immediately felt the rush of energy that left the dead and rushed into him and to his core.
But just as always, it slid away the next instant.
Kaedros groaned aloud.
He’d been stuck at tier two for years, with no way of advancing. And now, he was wounded, seriously wounded.
Only two choices remained.
He could hide within the flying ship, tend to his wounds, and pray no more bounty hunters showed up.
Or... he could finally act on the plan he’d been shaping in secret, something very disgraceful for a Dragon.