Chapter 138: The Dragon’s Flame
The echoes of the magical starting signal drifted down, raining upon the cheering audience like fireworks. Prince Eric made the first move, walking toward us until he stood in the center of the battlefield. His companions began casting spells continuously, forming complex arrays of defensive and support spells to enhance their individual fighting styles.
Eric’s lip curled in a sneer. "Do you find yourself impressive, Slave Hero?" he spat, his words laced with venom. I know precisely who you are. A feeble, cowardly slut, clinging to the Sun Hero’s coat since the day they dragged you out of your cage."
His words cut deep, laying bare my insecurities. But I stilled my lashing tail and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze, firm and unwavering. Even if his words were true, my pain was my own.
The prince’s face contorted further, his twisted satisfaction desperate for a greater reaction. "Do you truly believe you can protect them? I might have fallen before the other hero, but to think a mere filthblood like you stands against me is an insult to the Dragon House’s pride. Why does the Sun Hero even keep you around? Are you particularly skilled at warming his bed?"
A murmur rippled through the audience, and I flushed red, glancing at Soltair. His eyes blazed with flecks of sunlight, a sure sign he was furious. Trithe frowned, but used the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, murmuring something in his ear.
A loud snort cut through the tension, and all eyes focused on Fyren. He leaned nonchalantly on his sword, an epitome of calm amidst the storm, and uttered, "Is this the best the esteemed Dragon House can offer? I didn’t think this university cultivated such pitiful degeneracy, but I can’t fathom what else would qualify you as their number one ranked house."
"The dog finally speaks," Sorre said, frowning. "Perhaps I should educate you."
Fyren grinned and spread his arms wide, daring her with his defiant stance. Sorre’s eyes flared with wrath as she unsheathed her longsword. Four blazing magic circles danced around her blade as she launched herself into the air, leaving a trail of flames in her wake.
My gaze shifted to Fyren, following her trajectory and expecting to see her materialize beside him. But the adventurer remained motionless for almost a second before seizing his sword. Glancing back, I found her only just arriving. Her figure only blurred at the last moment, when she swung at him.
Their swords clashed in a cloud of sparks. Fyren’s sword deliberately shifted upward, deflecting her magical technique into the air. She attacked from all angles, employing a barrage of spells but Fyren parried each one with graceful ease, barely shifting his stance even when she maneuvered behind him.
Her assault concluded after eight strikes, and she backed away, panting heavily. I glanced at Elise, but found her fixated on Fyren, her mouth slightly agape.