A scream of pain split the air as Elden's blade sliced through Dravenith's wing.
The young dragon crashed onto the rocky ground, his massive body sending up clouds of dust. He let out a weak, agonized roar, his talons clawing at the earth.
Ryle's vision turned red.
Something inside him snapped.
His hands darkened, glowing purple, his fingers stretching into long, curved dragon claws.
The wind howled as Ryle vanished from sight.
A sharp gust of air.
A blur of movement.
Then—Elden staggered back, clutching his shoulder, blood gushing from a deep wound.
The nobles gasped. Elden's confident smirk twisted into a snarl of pain and shock.
"You…!" he hissed.
Ryle's glowing yellow eyes locked onto him. His voice rumbled with barely contained fury.
"Thea. Take care of his friends."
Thea didn't hesitate. With silent precision, she melted into the chaos, weaving between the panicked nobles, her daggers flashing.
Elden exhaled, tightening his grip on his sword. "So… you were never on my side."
Ryle's dragon claws flexed, the air around them thick with tension.
He growled. "Let's finish this."
Elden launched forward, sword flashing.
Ryle met him head-on.
Blades clashed. Claws slashed.
Each of Elden's strikes carried precise, deadly intent. His swordplay was exceptional—swift, ruthless, and calculated.
But Ryle…
Ryle was a monster.
With every strike, his claws carved through steel, his inhuman speed forced Elden on the defensive.
Elden dodged left. Ryle followed.
Elden aimed for Ryle's throat. Ryle caught the blade with his claws, shattering it.
Elden leapt back, panting. "What the hell are you?"
Ryle smirked. Then—
Wings erupted from his back.
Massive, black wings unfurled, casting a shadow over the battlefield. His eyes glowed like molten gold.
His voice rumbled like a storm.
"Do you think this looks familiar?"
Elden's face paled. His grip on his broken sword trembled.
"A… dragon?"
Ryle didn't hesitate.
He vanished.
Then—a clawed fist crashed into Elden's chest, launching him across the field.
Elden hit the ground, coughing up blood.
He tried to rise, but Ryle was already above him.
With a deep inhale, his throat burned with raw power.
Then—he unleashed a massive dragon breath attack.
Flames erupted, engulfing Elden in a golden inferno. The earth shook, the heat searing the very air.
When the fire faded, Elden lay unconscious, his armor melted, his body motionless.
It was over.
Nearby, Thea stood victorious over the remaining nobles.
Her daggers dripped with blood. Around her, Elden's so-called friends lay defeated.
With Elden's army crushed, the fight was done.
Ryle hurried to Dravenith's side, kneeling beside his wounded dragon brother.
Dravenith let out a weak huff, his crimson eyes filled with exhaustion.
"Rest, little brother," Ryle murmured.
A faint glow surrounded Dravenith's wound as his dragon blood began the slow process of healing.
The nobles who survived the battle were forced to answer for their crimes.
Ryle, ever the journalist, calmly interviewed each one, documenting their confessions and uncovering the full scale of the dragon-hunting conspiracy.
Days later, his explosive exposé on the illegal Dragon Hunt rocked the kingdom.
The public was enraged.
The noble families were in chaos.
And most importantly—dragon hunting was permanently outlawed.
Yet, even after his victory, a shadow still loomed over him.
One evening, Ryle stood outside Seraphina Elden's chambers.
The room was dark. Silent.
He moved without a sound.
Then, in one smooth motion, he broke in.
The young noble girl startled awake, gasping.
"R-Ryle?!" she whispered, clutching her blanket.
Ryle leaned against the door, arms crossed. His piercing gaze pinned her in place.
"Elden's brothers are arrested. You're the only one left."
Seraphina swallowed hard.
"You're the new Marquis."
Her eyes widened. "W-What…?"
Ryle took a slow step forward.
"You're young," he said, his voice even. "But you have a choice."
"You can be like your Husband—a monster."
"Or you can be something greater."
Seraphina clenched her fists, her expression unreadable.
After a long silence, she exhaled, her small shoulders straightening.
"…Fine," she whispered.
Thus, Marquis Seraphina Elden was born.
Yet Ryle Couldn't Shake a Thought…
As he walked away from Seraphina's chambers, a lingering thought clawed at his mind.
He had won.
He had exposed corruption.
He had ended a vile tradition.
Yet something still didn't make sense.
The elves who attacked the nobles' castle before…
They were manipulated, yes.
But if they were simply being used—why did they massacre an entire castle?
Why kill innocent people, if their goal was just revenge?
Something deeper was at play.
Someone was still pulling the strings.
And Ryle intended to find them.