Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 137

Chapter 137: Dance of Dragons and Hunters

The dawn broke over Aethelgard like spilled gold across black velvet, the many floating islands catching fire in the morning light. I stood at my window, watching dragons wheel through air thick enough to taste, and tried to wrap my mind around what I'd promised Amelia.

The Arcane Tournament. Even thinking the name sent electricity down my spine.

Every century, the seven Arcane Kings gathered their chosen warriors for a contest that redefined the word 'legendary.' This wasn't some regional skirmish or political theater, this was cosmic selection, the universe's way of choosing who would shape the next hundred years. Winners didn't just get glory; they got the attention of beings who could remake continents with a thought.

And I'd casually declared I'd win it.

Brilliant strategy, Iskandaar. Challenge gods to impress a dragon princess. What's next, arm-wrestling the Demon King for Lilian's hand?

This regional tournament wasn't even the real thing. It was the appetizer, the warm-up act. The truly insane part? The Arcane Tournament was three years from now. By then, Amelia will be married off. My ignorant promise to her must have sounded so stupid.

The winners of the regional tournament would be lucky enough to earn three years of training under the Gold Dragons themselves, preparing for when the actual Arcane Tournament arrived. Three years to transform from 'impressive' to 'world-shaking.'

Most warriors spent decades preparing for a chance at the regionals. I'd stumbled in with a fake name and a prayer. 

I traced a finger along the window's edge, feeling the subtle thrum of magic that kept this small rock aloft. "Become someone even an Arcane King has to respect," I'd told Amelia. The words echoed in my mind, part promise, part challenge, and total foolish bravado.

Well, step one was winning this damn regional tournament.

My stomach growled, reminding me that even aspiring legends needed breakfast. I grabbed my common sword and headed for the communal dining hall reserved for tournament participants, where I'd agreed to meet the Valtherians.

The sprawling hall buzzed with energy despite the early hour. Warriors from a hundred different lands broke bread together, sizing each other up with sidelong glances that pretended to be casual. Power radiated from every table like heat from a forge. 

Fifth Ascension, Sixth, Seventh, the occasional Eighth. In any other gathering, they would have been the apex predators. Here, they were just the competition.

"SUNDER!" A voice like a landslide boomed across the hall. Every head turned to see Moui Valteria waving a massive arm above the crowd. "HERE! WE SAVE BEST SPOT!"

Subtlety clearly wasn't in the Valtherian vocabulary.

The Valtherians had claimed a corner table, and the sight of their breakfast spread made me question the structural integrity of the furniture. Plates piled high with what looked like half a cow, several chickens, and enough bread to feed a small village.

I navigated between tables, ignoring the curious stares. By the time I reached their table, Moui had already pushed aside an entire bench to make room.

"Morning," I said, sliding into the offered space. "I see you're making friends with the locals."

Yavanna grumbled, tearing into what looked like an entire roasted bird. "Lizard-people stare too much. Not used to seeing real warriors, maybe."

"Real warriors know when to keep voice down," Gralani said quietly, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. The most reserved of the four, he reminded me of a still mountain lake, calm surface hiding unfathomable depths.

Royua, the youngest of the cousins, slapped a heaping plate before me. "Eat! Strength needed for glory!"

“Yes, yes,” I slowly sat down amid this weird gathering.

"Why you so late, Sunder?" Yavanna waved me over with a turkey leg. "Thought you turn into one of those prissy mages who survive on tea and philosophy."

"I'll have you know I'm very philosophical about my food." I grabbed a plate and started loading it. "I think, therefore I eat."

Gralani snorted. "Terrible. Even Royua tells better jokes."

"Hey!" Royua protested through a mouthful of eggs. "My jokes very spicy! Remember the one about the dragon and the sheep?"

"We trying to forget," Moui said gravely, then looked at me. "Eat well, Sunder. Today we feast like warriors, tomorrow we feast like champions."

"Confident." I let out a laugh to match them. "I like it."

Like last night, they were once again surprised seeing me eat so much. Given my special body, I neededthe food. "You eat like starving mountain cat," Moui observed approvingly. "Good! Small men with small appetite make small victories."

"Nothing about my victories is small, don’t worry," I replied with a mouthful of meat.

Yavanna barked a laugh. "Talk big now. We see in arena if mouth matches muscle."

"Speaking of the arena," I said between bites, "what's your read on the competition? Besides the obvious dragon advantage."

Gralani leaned forward, voice lowered. "Many strong. Few dangerous." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Most have power but no battle-wisdom."

"Dragons think birthright means victory," Moui added, his usual boisterous tone tempered. "They strong, yes. But strength without hunger is like weapon without edge."

"Confidence is just another weapon, but they over-confident," Yavanna said, tearing into her meat with disturbing efficiency. "What about you, Sunder? You use strange power yesterday. White flowers that cut through stone-skin. Never see before. Where you learn it?"

"Family secret." I reached for the bread. "Very hush-hush. I'd tell you, but then I'd have to marry you."

She laughed, a sound like boulders tumbling. "You couldn't handle me, skinny boy. I like my men with more scars and less smoky mystery."

"Pity, I had a big scar until very recently. But your loss. I'm told I'm excellent husband material."

"By who? Your mother?"

That made me and the others laugh. "Among others." I thought of Nebula, Lilian, Solara. "Though they might be biased."

Moui leaned forward, his expression growing serious. "The matches begin soon. Over a thousand warriors, ten fights a day. This be a long campaign."

"Good, very good," Gralani said, his analytical mind already working. "More time to study opponents. That Silver Dragon we saw training yesterday, did you see how he favored his left side? Old injury, maybe. And the twins from the Eastern Provinces, strange folks. They move in perfect sync, but I bet they fall apart if separated."

"Always thinking," Royua shook his head. "Can't we just hit things until they stop moving?"

"That your strategy for everything," Yavanna pointed out.

"It's worked so far."

"So has breathing, but I wouldn't call it a technique."

Their banter washed over me, comfortable and familiar despite knowing them less than a day. There was something refreshing about their straightforward approach to life. No hidden agendas, no political maneuvering. Just warriors being warriors. And although some might mistake their unrefined speech for a lack of intelligence, they knew what they were doing, always sure to gather enough intelligence.

"First match assignments are up," someone called from across the hall.

The room erupted into motion. Warriors crowded around the posting board, jostling for position. Gralani slipped through the crowd like smoke, returning moments later with a satisfied expression.

"Yavanna, you're first up. Drakmun the Golden Scale."

"A Gold Dragon?" Royua whistled. "On the first day?"

"Good." Yavanna's grin could have frightened demons. "I was hoping for a challenge."

"Drakmun's no pushover," I warned. "Level 135, pure-blood Gold Dragon. She'll have technique to match her power."

"So do I, Sunder. Don’t look down on me," she cracked her knuckles, the sound like breaking stone. "Time to show these scale-brains what Valtherian steel tastes like."

“Don’t get overconfident,” Moui warned. Yavanna punched Moui's shoulder, laughing at something he replied. Their easy siblinghood and camaraderie reminded me of Lilian and Solara, and a sudden pang of longing struck me. I missed my people. My weird, broken, beautiful family.

"Come," Gralani said, patting my shoulder and nudging me forward. "Watch Yavanna fight. Then you understand Valtherians."

Honestly, I was a little curious, yes. We finished breakfast quickly after that, the mood shifting from casual to focused. This was what we'd come for. Everything else – politics, promises, impossible goals – could wait.

****

The arena defied description. 

Calling it a colosseum would be like calling the ocean a puddle. The structure floated independently of the main city, a massive ring of crystalline material that seemed to exist partially outside normal space. From the outside, it appeared modest. But once inside, it revealed itself as vast enough to hold tens of thousands.

Imagine a colosseum built by gods with too much time and questionable taste in architecture. The structure itself seemed alive, walls shifting and reforming to accommodate different combat styles.

"Seats could be more comfortable," Royua complained, shifting on the stone bench.

"You want cushions, go watch theater," Moui replied, his eyes fixed on the arena floor. His expression was totally serious now, far from the easygoing one. "This is war."

I extended my Demonic Sphere carefully, mapping the space and cataloging threats. Thousands of spectators filled the stands—dragons in both forms, humans, elves, and races I couldn't name. The air vibrated with anticipation and barely contained power.

High above, separated from the common rabble, hung the Royal Gallery. The crystalline structure existed partially outside normal space and partially somewhere else, a pocket dimension where the truly powerful could observe without mixing with lesser beings. I didn't dare extend my senses there directly, but even from here, I could feel the auras within.

Two stood out like suns among candles.

One had to be Sahrazzakhan, for it was a power so vast it warped reality around it, making the air taste of gold and ancient magic. The other was harder to place but no less terrifying. Where Sahrazzakhan burned bright, this one was the space between stars, a darkness that didn't destroy but simply made everything else irrelevant. No, ‘darkness’ wouldn't be the correct word here. Pure power, perhaps Destruction.

The gravity of their power made me sigh.

Note to self. Maybe challenging beings who could unmake continents isn't the wisest path to romance.

A figure materialized above the arena floor, and conversations died like flames in vacuum. The announcer was everything a Gold Dragon should be—tall, imposing, with scales that caught light like individual suns. His voice needed no amplification, carrying clearly to every corner of the massive space.

"Warriors of all lands, welcome to the Gold Dragon Regional Tournament! I am Lorelus, Master of Ceremonies. Today begins your journey toward glory or disappointment."

The crowd roared approval. Beside me, Yavanna checked her weapons one final time.

"The rules are simple," the announcer continued. "Victory comes through surrender, incapacitation, or death. However—"

He proceeded to explain the tournament rules, which were both simpler and more complex than I'd anticipated. Victory meant advancement, obviously, but defeat didn't necessarily mean elimination. If the judges deemed a performance worthy despite the loss, a fighter could receive a "second chance" in later rounds.

Smart system. It prevented lucky victories from eliminating superior fighters and gave everyone incentive to fight their hardest even in defeat.

"This rule prevented the tournament from losing valuable talent due to unlucky early matchups," Lorelus explained. "However, the ultimate victor will receive the greatest prize. A personal audience with His Majesty Sahrazzakhan and the right to request any single item from the Arcane King's legendary treasure vault."

That sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. I kept my expression neutral, but my mind raced with possibilities. Any single item from an Arcane King's vault? The potential was staggering. Weapons that could split mountains, armor that could turn aside gods, or knowledge lost since the world was young.

"Without wasting any more time, let’s proceed with our first match. Yavanna Valteria of the Volcanic Islands versus Drakmun of the Golden Scale!"

The crowd's reaction was immediate and predictable. Dragons cheering for their own, everyone else muttering about barbarians and their chances against dragon nobility. I caught several bets being placed, and the odds weren't in Yavanna's favor.

"Show them volcanic fury," Moui told his sister.

"Show them proper technique," Gralani added.

"Show them your tits," Royua suggested. "Might distract her."

Yavanna punched him hard enough to crack stone, and turned to me. "Watch careful, Sunder," she said with a wink. "Maybe learn something." Then she vaulted over the barrier with a laugh. The arena floor cleared, leaving two warriors facing each other across fifty feet of spelled sand.

Drakmun was everything her name suggested. Tall, proud, with golden scales peeking through strategic gaps in her armor. She moved with the casual arrogance of someone who'd never met a real challenge.

She was a beautiful Gold Dragoness, nowhere near Amelia of course, but she must have been old. Amelia said they converted the dragon-to-human age for this tournament, but I didn’t know how exactly. How old was she, and how old would that make her in human years? 

On the other hand, Yavanna looked like what would happen if you carved a warrior from volcanic rock and gave it anger issues. She wasn’t quite feminine, but was gorgeous in her own way. She was in her early 30s from what I heard. Her obsidian weapons, a sword and axe combination, drank in light rather than reflecting it.

"Barbarian," Drakmun's voice carried clearly. "Kneel now and spare yourself humiliation."

"Counter-offer," Yavanna replied. "You kneel, and I only break half your scales."

The crowd loved it. Even some dragons chuckled at the sheer audacity. Drakmun laughed too, as if Yavanna was joking. "Poor lizard has no idea," Moui chuckled from beside me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Your sister's good, Level 146, but that's a pure-blood Gold Dragon at Level 135. Even if she’s stronger, dragons are more than levels.

"So are we, Valtherians," Gralani said simply. "Watch."

"Begin!" Lorelus announced in a voice that boomed across the arena.

What followed redefined the word 'domination.'

Drakmun moved first, golden fire erupting from her hands in a wave that should have reduced anything in its path to ash. She never succeeded. Yavanna walked through it like it was a warm breeze, her weapons carving reality as she moved.

The dragon had technique, I'd give her that. Despite being born a powerhouse, decades of training showed in every movement, every spell precisely placed. But Yavanna fought like the volcano that birthed her weapons—raw, primal, and absolutely unstoppable.

"Impossible," someone murmured nearby. "How is she so fast?"

That was the question racing through my mind as well. Yavanna moved with speed and struck with force that should have been beyond her level, making me frown. Her technique was flawless, her battle instincts preternatural.

This wasn't normal 7th Ascension movement. Yavanna blurred between positions, her strikes carrying force that cracked the arena's reinforced stone. When Drakmun tried to take flight—a dragon's usual advantage—Yavanna leaped thirty feet straight up and brought her down with an axe strike that shattered golden scales like glass.

How? My mind raced through possibilities. She's Level 146, peak 7th Ascension, but this is beyond that. Some bloodline ability? Hidden technique? 

Each blow from her obsidian weapons sent cracks spiderwebbing through Drakmun's defenses. The dragon's confidence crumbled visibly, replaced by growing panic as she found herself completely outmatched.

"Guys," I muttered, my analytical mind racing. "How is she this strong?"

Moui laughed out loud. "Valtherian secret."

The fight ended with Drakmun on her back, Yavanna's sword at her throat. The dragon's beautiful face was marred by shock and something that might have been fear.

"Yield," Yavanna suggested, not even breathing hard.

"I... yield."

The arena exploded. Dragons sat in stunned silence while everyone else screamed approval. Money changed hands at a furious pace as bookmakers recalculated odds.

“THAT MY SISTER!" Moui bellowed, standing to applaud.

"Magnificent," Gralani agreed, pride radiating from every pore.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd missed something crucial. That level of power didn't come from training alone. Valtherians, huh? I looked at the word floating above their heads. Guess they’re more special than the rumors say they are.

The rest of the day blurred past in a parade of violence. A water mage who turned the arena into an ocean. Twin swordsmen whose blades sang in harmony. A beast tamer whose creatures seemed pulled from nightmares.a

Each of these fights taught me something about the competition I'd face. These weren't just warriors—they were artists of destruction, every one of them capable of reshaping battlefields to their will.

By day's end, patterns emerged. The dragons, for all their inherent advantages, relied too heavily on raw power. The human mages had technique but lacked stamina. The various beast-kin brought unpredictability but sometimes lost themselves to instinct.

The next day… It was my turn.

****

It was morning as I found myself standing in the arena's entrance tunnel, listening to the crowd's anticipation build like a physical weight. 

“Here comes Sunder, the Hand of the Dark Heavens!” Lorelus announced, and the crowd didn’t give much of a reaction. Level 100 wasn’t that cool in this place, after all.

I walked out of the shade and into the sun. The barbarians cheered for me, and I caught Valeria Nocturne waving at me from where she sat with the other demons. My eyes then flicked up at the Royal Gallery in the sky. Amelia must be watching.

"Next up," the announcer's voice boomed as the sun set, "Kethrax of the Bronze Flight!"

I wasn’t surprised, I’d seen the matchups earlier. But yes, of course. Of all the possible opponents, I got the one dragon with a personal grudge.

Across from me, Kethrax emerged from his own tunnel, bronze scales gleaming with barely contained satisfaction.

[Kethrax, the Bronze Flight, Level 119]

"It's you, that arrogant demon," he said, loud enough for the audience to hear. "Ugh. I wanted to be matched against those barbarians, but I suppose you'll do fine."

I smiled, the expression all teeth and no warmth. "Sorry to disappoint. I'll try to make it memorable."

"Oh, you will." His hands began to glow with bronze fire. "One way or another."

The announcer raised his hand, ready to begin the match. Above us, I felt attention from the Royal Gallery focus like a dark weight. Somewhere up there, Amelia was watching. Somewhere up there, her father waited to see if I was worth his daughter's interest.

No pressure.

"Let's see if demons bleed bronze," Kethrax snarled.

"Let's see if dragons can dance," I replied.

The announcer's hand fell. "Begin!"

****

"Here comes Sunder, the Hand of the Dark Heavens!"

Amelia Duskleaf sat with perfect poise in the Royal Gallery, ignoring the intricate crystal throne that held her mature frame. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the armrests as Iskandaar walked into the arena's blinding light. Even from this distance, she felt something tug inside her chest when his gaze swept upward, searching the gallery.

Searching for her.

Foolish man, she cursed him. Brave, beautiful, foolish man.

Her expression remained carefully neutral, the mask of the Gold Dragon Princess firmly in place. The Royal Gallery housed the most powerful beings in Aethelgard, and even a flicker of weakness or emotion could be noticed and exploited.

The match announcement continued, introducing the bronze dragon Kethrax. Level 119. Strong enough to crush mountains, not strong enough to pose any real threat to Iskandaar. Amelia knew that, having seen the height of his powers. Despite that, a nagging fear refused to leave her.

Not fear for his safety—fear for what he might reveal. What he might become in the heat of battle. What her father might see.

"So that is him, that boy?" a young voice asked beside her.

Amelia turned, maintaining her serene expression despite the sudden racing of her heart. Sahrazzakhan leaned forward in his throne, golden eyes narrowed with interest. 

His chosen form never failed to unnerve visitors who expected the Gold Dragon King to appear as some ancient, bearded sage. Instead, he preferred the appearance of a dark-skinned boy no older than twelve, slender and deceptively delicate, with shoulder-length black hair that seemed to catch invisible light. 

Only those who knew him could see the ancient intelligence in those golden eyes, the power that had reshaped continents held casually within a child's frame. The power that resided in the thin, black crown that was almost hidden in his fluffy hair. Anyone worth their dime in this would never not notice it. 

Amelia didn’t reply. For her father's question hadn't been directed at her.

It had been aimed at the figure seated beside him, a human male so massive that even the reinforced crystal throne looked like a child's chair beneath him. Red hair cascaded down shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of empires. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, as if reality itself recognized his significance and adjusted accordingly.

"Yes," the mountain replied, his voice resonating through the gallery like distant thunder. "That is my grandson."

Amelia's heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. She forced herself to breathe normally, to keep her face composed despite the shock that threatened to crack her carefully maintained facade.

By all the stars, just why is the Titan here?

Who didn’t know Sikandar the Great, the Titan of Erebia, the man who had stopped two Arcane Kings from destroying the world? The war hero who had chosen duty over family, whose name was spoken with equal parts reverence and fear throughout the realms.

How did he find out Iskandaar is here?

Her father's childlike face wore an expression of amused curiosity. "Interesting,” he said, his eyes flicking to her. “Most interesting." Amelia’s eyelid twitched even as she tried to remain composed.

The arena bell rang, signaling the start of combat, but Amelia barely registered the sound. Her mind raced with implications, with dangers she hadn't anticipated.

How could her poor Iskandaar survive if his grandfather decided to capture him?