The Grand Chamber of Nobles was in chaos.
Every five centuries, when the Demon King returned, the Hero had to be summoned.
And today, the 12 Noble Houses of Velbrath fought for the honor of hosting the ritual.
Ryle sat in the journalists' section, leaning back as he watched power-hungry nobles argue. He already knew who the real contenders were.
After hours of shouting, bribery, and political maneuvering, two names remained:
1. Dracarys – A powerful duchy known for its Dragon Hunting Ceremony. Land Of Dragon Hunter.
2. Elden – A newly recognized Noble House, led by Seraphina Elden. Land Of Warrior
Ryle clenched his jaw.
He hated Dracarys.
Long ago, Dragon Mountain was forced to pay tribute to Dracarys.
It wasn't gold or land they demanded—
They demanded dragons.
Wyverns, considered low-intelligence dragons, were sacrificed yearly.
Even now, after Dravenith's revolution, the practice should be continued.
Ignilth had once stopped Dracarys' tributes.
But after his death… they returned.
Ryle tapped his pen against his notebook, holding back his fury.
These people butchered his kind, year after year.
And now, they wanted to summon a Hero?
The final vote came.
Dracarys was chosen.
Seraphina had no real allies.
The nobles refused to trust her, despite her title.
Dracarys, with centuries of power, won effortlessly.
And to make things worse—
The Dragon Hunting Ceremony was scheduled soon.
Later that evening, Ryle walked through the cold, stone halls of the Velbrath Castle.
He was on his way to see someone important.
As he entered the dimly lit chamber, he spotted Dravenith.
The dragon sat in human form, his dark robes flowing as he examined a golden chalice.
By his side, Sylvaris smirked.
"You're late, Ryle."
Ryle sighed. "Had to watch nobles fight over the Hero Summoning like it was a game."
Dravenith didn't look up. "And?"
Ryle exhaled. "Dracarys won."
Dravenith's grip on the chalice tightened.
A third voice echoed through the room.
"Oh? And what an honor it is."
Ryle turned.
Standing at the doorway was a tall man with crimson eyes.
Duke Xander Dracarys.
He stepped inside, his noble attire pristine, his demeanor calm—yet venomous.
Xander smiled at Dravenith.
"Dravenith. I never really talked to you, Am i?"
Dravenith's golden eyes darkened. "Well I don't really wanted to talk to you."
Xander laughed. "You wound me. I only came to discuss our arrangements. After all…"
He tilted his head, smirking.
"The usual wyverns aren't enough this time."
Ryle's blood ran cold.
Xander's voice was almost mocking as he continued.
"We require higher-class dragons this year. Wyverns are… disappointing, wouldn't you agree?"
Dravenith remained silent, his hands clenched.
But Xander wasn't done.
His red eyes glinted as he smirked at Dravenith's human form.
"And really, Dravenith… walking around like this?"
He gestured dismissively. "A dragon is a dragon."
Holding Back a Storm
Ryle's vision turned red.
His claws twitched, threatening to extend.
This bastard.
Xander mocked Dravenith's form—
Demanded stronger dragons for his hunting games—
And acted like it was his right.
Ryle's rage boiled.
But before he could move, a small hand grabbed his wrist.
He turned.
Thea.
She shook her head, her grip firm.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Ryle exhaled slowly.
But his eyes never left Xander.
After a moment, Ryle spoke.
"I want to attend the Hero Summoning Ceremony."
Xander raised an eyebrow.
"The World's Strongest Journalist wants a front-row seat?"
A smirk crept onto his lips.
"Sure. Why not?"