BLOOD OF THE DRAGON GOD

Chapter 4: Sparks and steel

Trust is a luxury that usually gets a man killed in the capital, especially when his bed comes with a free poisoned dagger.

Logan stood in the center of the dusty courtyard the next morning, his fingers wrapped tight around his practice sword. The morning air was crisp, but sweat was already stinging his eyes. Across from him, the other recruits were stretching, their shiny armor making a sharp contrast against Logan’s stained leather vest.

A sudden hush fell over the training grounds as the iron gates groaned open. Vivienne walked into the courtyard, flanked by two lower-tier scribes carrying heavy leather ledger books. She wore her official royal investigator robes, looking every bit the cold, calculating agent of the crown.

Gather around, recruits, Vivienne announced, her voice carrying a sharp authority that made the men instantly fall into a straight line. The high council requires a standard magical affinity assessment for all new entrants. Step forward when your name is called.

She moved down the line, her eyes scanning the faces until she stopped directly in front of Logan. She held up a small, clear crystal sphere that remained completely dark in her palm.

Name and rank, she said, her tone perfectly professional for the benefit of the guards watching from the upper stone walkways.

Logan, low-ranking vanguard survivor, Logan replied, looking straight into her dark eyes.

Vivienne tapped the crystal against his palm, leaning in just close enough that her voice wouldn't travel. You look terrible, Logan. Did you actually sleep at all last night?

It is hard to get a good night's rest when the bedding includes a hidden death warrant, Logan muttered back, keeping his face completely expressionless. I found a rather nice gift under my pillow. Dark steel, dipped in green slime. Very elegant.

Vivienne’s gaze hardened, though her voice remained smooth and detached. Fascinating. Your magic levels appear completely stagnant, recruit.

She turned her back to the upper walkways, pretending to examine the dark crystal, but her words became rapid and urgent. It was Eldon’s faction. The high mages are desperate. They know Alistair is using the knights to keep you out of their reach, so they are trying to remove you before you become a permanent fixture. You need to watch your back every second.

I am trying, Logan said, a dry smirk touching his lips. But it is a bit difficult when my supervisor spends five hours a day trying to cave my skull in with an iron broadsword.

Garrick is testing your limits to see if you will break, Vivienne said, turning back to face him with a sharp, witty glint in her eye. If you cannot handle a grumpy captain, you certainly cannot handle the people who actually want to skin you alive.

Is that your way of showing concern, Investigator? Logan asked, stepping a fraction of an inch closer. I am flattered.

Do not flatter yourself, peasant, Vivienne shot back, her lips twitching with a hidden amusement that vanished as quickly as it appeared. I just prefer my investments to stay breathing. If you die now, it makes my paperwork look incredibly sloppy.

She stepped away, raising her voice for the crowd. Clean bill of health. No magical residue detected. Next recruit, step forward.

By afternoon, the routine tests were replaced by the heavy thud of live combat exercises. Captain Garrick stood on the wooden viewing platform, his scarred arms crossed tightly over his massive chest.

Listen up, Garrick roared down at the courtyard. The capital does not need weaklings who only know how to poke at straw dummies. Today, we test your adaptability. Live steel, minor elemental enhancements allowed. Do not kill each other, but do not hold back either.

Logan stepped into the fighting ring, his boots kicking up clouds of dry gray dust. His opponent stepped out from the opposite side, and the surrounding recruits immediately began to whisper.

It was Julian, an upper-class knight from a prominent noble family loyal to the high mages. Julian’s silver armor was flawless, etched with delicate gold filigree, and his handsome face carried a sneer of pure aristocratic disdain. He carried a heavy steel longsword that already hummed with a faint, blue electrical current.

So, you are the lucky rat from the northern border, Julian said, twirling his humming sword with casual ease. The peasant who thinks he belongs in the royal ranks.

I am just here to do my job, Julian, Logan said, lifting his basic iron sword into a standard defensive guard.

Your job is to be a meat shield, Julian hissed, his eyes narrowing as the blue sparks around his blade grew brighter and louder. The high mages say you are an anomaly. I think you are just a fraud who hid while his friends died. Let us see how lucky you are against real noble magic.

Begin, Garrick shouted from the platform.

Julian lunged forward with terrifying speed, his sword slicing through the air like a streak of lightning. Logan parried the first strike, but the electric current jumped from Julian’s blade to his own, sending a sharp, numbing shock straight up Logan’s arms. Logan grunted, his grip slipping as he staggered backward.

Is that all you have? Julian laughed, pressing the attack with a vicious series of rapid overhead cuts.

Logan focused entirely on his martial training, using his footwork to dodge the heaviest blows, his iron sword clanging loudly against Julian's superior steel. The heat in his collarbone was beginning to flare, the dragon crest waking up as his physical body grew tired. He clamped his teeth together, fighting the urge to let the power burst free.

You are weak, Julian shouted, suddenly stepping back and holding his left hand high into the air.

The air in the courtyard grew heavy and hot. A massive circle of blinding white fire began to form around Julian’s hand, the heat so intense that the grass at the edge of the ring instantly turned to ash. This was not a minor elemental enhancement. This was high-tier, lethal fire magic, meant to incinerate an opponent completely.

Julian, hold your spell, Garrick bellowed from the platform, his hand dropping to the hilt of his own sword. That is a restricted class spell.

Julian ignored the captain entirely. His eyes were locked onto Logan, burning with a dangerous, fanatical light. Die like the rat you are, he screamed.

The massive ball of white fire erupted from Julian’s hand, tearing across the short distance of the courtyard like a roaring beast, scorching the earth in its path.

Logan looked at the incoming wall of destruction. His human muscles were too exhausted to dodge it in time. He had a split second to make a choice that would alter his destiny forever.

If he took the full force of the high-tier magical hit, his human body would suffer permanent, crippling injuries, or he might even die right there in the dirt. But if he unleashed even a tiny fraction of his forbidden dragon strength to shatter the spell, the secret would be exposed to the entire watching court, and the high mages would have all the proof they needed to execute him on the spot.

The white fire reflected in Logan’s wide eyes as the heat began to burn his face.