The Milf's Dragon

The arena fell deathly quiet.

Owen’s human form stood motionless. His hands were empty. His Sovereignties were silent and dormant within him. And across the cracked stone, Gorvax waited. No weapon. No visible power. Just that robed figure, featureless and patient.

No one breathed.

Owen rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers as he stepped forward. The air between them felt thick and charged.

Then He activated [Mana Sense]

The world shifted. He saw Gorvax’s energy not as the familiar mana he was used to sensing but as something more complex. The readings were fragmented and through his perception. Cosmic power. He couldn’t grasp it fully, yet. Couldn’t map its contours.

But he could see where it moved, barely.

Gorvax shifted his weight. A fraction of a degree. And Owen’s [Dragon’s Eye] caught it. A subtle lean, the tension in a shoulder that shouldn’t be tense.

Then he lunged forward.

[Momentum Shift]

The world blurred as Owen crossed twenty meters in a heartbeat, his fist aimed at Gorvax’s chest. No Sovereignty. No time manipulation. Just speed and precision.

But Gorvax moved, Not as fast but early. He was already sliding left before Owen’s fist arrived. The punch hit empty air.

WHOOSH!

Owen pivoted. His elbow came around, targeting the space where Gorvax’s head would be. But Gorvax ducked under it, His robe brushed the stone floor as His hand swept low, aiming for Owen’s ankle.

Owen jumped. Kicked off the air—[Momentum Shift] again, redirecting his trajectory mid-flight. He landed behind Gorvax, already spinning with his leg sweeping toward the Sower’s knees.

CRACK!

The kick connected.

But Gorvax didn’t fall. His stance didn’t break. The impact barely registered. He turned, slow and deliberate, and caught Owen’s next punch in his open palm.

PA-KAT!

The sound echoed across the arena.

"You’re fast..." Gorvax said. "...But you’re still thinking in mortal terms. Speed is not enough."

Then he pushed.

Owen flew backward, skidding across the stone. His Indestructible Scales— no, his skin which was still harder than skin, scraped grooves into the flagstones. He stopped himself with one hand, and then flipped back to his feet as warmth filled his chest.

[Dragon’s Breath]

Fire erupted from his mouth, not the full inferno from his adult dragon form, but a focused stream, white-hot, aimed at Gorvax’s chest. The Sower didn’t dodge. He raised one hand, palm out, and the fire parted around him like water crashing into a stone.

FWOOSH!

The flames splashed against an invisible barrier, scorching the stone behind Gorvax but leaving him untouched.

Owen cut the breath. He was already moving again, down low this time, sliding, his hand reaching for Gorvax’s ankle. [Dragon’s Aura] flared and a wave of pressure spread out. Owen meant to slow, to stagger, to buy even a fraction of a second.

But Gorvax resisted and stepped over the grab with His foot coming down on Owen’s wrist.

SNAP!

Not bone breaking but the stone floor. The flagstone beneath Owen’s hand cracked. Gorvax’s weight was immense, not through mass but through his sheer presence. Owen pulled free, rolled backward, came up with his other hand already extended.

Then attempted [Dragon’s Tongue]

"{Stagger}" he said.

The word carried mana, intent, reality-bending authority. Gorvax’s movement faltered, just a hitch, just a fraction of a heartbeat.

And Owen capitalized on that. He drove forward, his shoulder slamming into Gorvax’s chest. The Sower’s robe rippled as he took one step back.

One step.

Then his hand closed around Owen’s throat.

SHICKT!

"You have skill...very good" Gorvax said. "Your techniques are refined. Your instincts are sharp."

He released Owen and stepped back.

"But you lack weight."

"How about this for weight!" Owen didn’t wait. He attacked again.

Momentum Shift, faster this time, a blur of motion that would have been invisible to any normal observer. He feinted left, struck right, aimed at Gorvax’s kidney. The Sower blocked with his forearm. Owen switched angles, kicked at Gorvax’s knee. Gorvax shifted his weight, absorbed the blow, countered with a palm strike to Owen’s shoulder.

BOOM!

The impact sent shockwaves through Owen’s body. His Indestructible Scales—his skin—held, but the force drove him sideways. He caught himself, pivoted, and came back with a spinning backfist.

Gorvax caught it.

Held it.

"You’re relying on speed and power," the Sower said. "Those are just tools, Not a strategy. As a weaker being, you must improvise."

He pushed. Owen stumbled. Regained his footing.

Dragon’s Breath again, a wide cone this time, forcing Gorvax to move, to break his defensive line. The Sower stepped left. Owen followed, his fist already extended.

Gorvax wasn’t there.

He had dropped low, so low his robe brushed the stone again as His leg swept out, catching Owen’s ankles.

CRACK!

Owen fell. His hand hit the ground, pushed off, flipped backward. He landed in a crouch, already rising, already attacking.

"{Trip}"

Gorvax’s foot caught on nothing, an invisible snag, a momentary imbalance. Owen drove forward, his fist aimed at the Sower’s chest.

Gorvax moved inside the punch. His shoulder met Owen’s sternum.

WHUMP!

The air left Owen’s lungs. He staggered back, gasping. His Ultra-Regeneration kicked in, but there was nothing to heal, just the shock of impact.

"You’ve landed one meaningful blow..." Gorvax said. "In three minutes of combat. Against a defender who has not once attacked."

Owen’s eyes narrowed. "Then attack."

Gorvax tilted his head. "As you wish."

He moved.

His fist came forward, slow enough to see, slow enough to track. Owen raised his arms to block. Indestructible Scales now appearing at his forearms and hardening. His Dragon’s Eye traced the trajectory.

Gorvax’s fist didn’t glow with the exaggerated effect that mana usually had. It Didn’t blaze violently with a colour: there was no flare of light or surge of visible energy. The power that gathered around his knuckles was a translucent void that drank the light around and bent space inward toward his hand.

Then the punch landed.

CRACK!

Owen’s arms shattered.

Bones that had survived dragon fire, demon claws, the void between dimensions, splintered like glass. The force traveled through his forearms, through his elbows, into his chest. His ribs cracked. His sternum buckled.

He flew backward.

Through the air. Through the edge of the floating island. Through the stone and dirt and root that had held Drak’thar’s training ground together for months.

CRASH!

He hit the island below, the one with the gardens, the one where Odessa’s flowers bloomed. His body carved a trench through soil and petal and root. He came to rest against the trunk of a flowering tree, its branches raining white blossoms onto his broken form.

His Ultra-Regeneration kicked in as his bones began knitting slowly, his Ribs realigninh. Then he pushed himself up, spitting blood onto the crushed flowers.

Gorvax landed beside him effortlessly.

"You are skilled, truly." the Sower said. "Without your sovereignties, you can fight most Tier 5 threats and survive. Your SSS-rank skills are on the verge of breaking through, from mana-based techniques into true cosmic power."

He extended a hand.

"But you are not ready. Not yet."

Owen took the hand. Pulled himself up. His ribs were still healing, but he stood.

"Then, what now?"

Gorvax nodded. "I will teach you. Over the coming weeks, you will learn to sense cosmic power, To use it and manipulate as you wish"

He turned and flew back toward the ruined arena.

"And after that, When you are ready, we will leave."