Chapter 45: Lord Warden
Because Jett didn’t use Cerven to boost his strength, the dragon slipped free and resumed his assault. A flurry of razor-sharp claws swept toward Jett, but he deflected each swipe with precise slaps. Over time, the beast shook off his rust and grew faster and deadlier, sharpening Jett’s focus as he danced around him.
His regeneration is off the charts. No wonder dragons are so revered and hunted by humans.His wounds heal almost instantly, and he’s adapting to close combat. Soon I won’t be able to just parry and evade him—but damn, this is fun.
The moment Jett dreaded arrived.
The dragon reared its massive claw and brought it down in a brutal arc. Evading or blocking that sweep was impossible, so Jett braced himself, coating his forearm in pulsing blue lightning—Iebo. The talons met his arm, but not a shred of his white suit tore, nor did a scratch appear. Instead, the dragon’s force rebounded back as brilliant lightning spears that seared his own arm, leaving it numb and dripping blood. Sensing his chance, Jett drove a punch into the exposed flank and crushed the dragon’s cheekbone with a sickening crack.
"First punch," Jett said, brushing dust from his sleeve. "Two more—and then you’re done."
"Mortal!" the dragon roared, voice shaking the clearing.
"Also," Jett continued casually, "your arm won’t heal anymore—tough luck."
The dragon recoiled, gouging two deep trenches in the earth as he stared at the jagged cuts—still bleeding and stubbornly unhealed—his eyes bulging with disbelief. Then fury took hold.
"You’ve employed that dragon-slaying sorcery, knave! How many of my kin perished so you might hone this accursed art? I shall see thee rent limb from limb!"