Soul of the Dragon Emperor Reincarnated to destroy

THE DRAGON FALL

The northern garrison was a skeleton. Lucas had stripped it after taking power, leaving only walls and ghosts. James arrived at dawn, lungs burning from the run.

Marcus was already there, doing pushups in the courtyard. He didn't stop when James approached.

"You're late," Marcus said between reps.

"The sun's barely up."

"Which means you're late." Marcus finished his set, stood. Sweat poured down his face but his breathing was steady. "Dragon Soul users don't sleep, boy. They cultivate. Every hour you waste is an hour Tega gets stronger."

James's stomach dropped. "He's still training?"

"Of course he is. His father gave him power, but Tega wants to earn Lucas's respect. So he pushes himself harder than any of his father's guards." Marcus grabbed a wooden practice sword from a rack. "Take one."

James picked up a sword. It was heavier than it looked, balance all wrong.

"Stance," Marcus said.

James positioned himself the way he'd seen soldiers stand. Feet apart, sword up.

Marcus moved. One second he was three feet away, the next his practice sword cracked against James's ribs. James hit the ground, gasping.

"That's what Tega will do to you in the first second," Marcus said. "Except his fist will punch through your ribcage and out your spine. Get up."

James got up. His side screamed.

"Again," Marcus said. "Stance."

James raised his sword. Marcus hit him from a different angle. James went down.

They did this for an hour. Each time James stood, Marcus found a new way to drop him. By the time the sun cleared the garrison walls, James was covered in bruises and couldn't lift his arms.

"That's enough," Marcus said.

"We barely started."

"You can't learn technique if you can't move." Marcus tossed him a waterskin. "Drink. Rest. Then we talk theory."

James drank. The water tasted like rust. "Theory won't help me in the arena."

"Theory is the only thing that will help you." Marcus sat on a broken wall. "Tega has the Dragon Soul. You don't. That means in a straight fight, he wins. So we don't fight straight."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you fight dirty. You fight smart. You make him angry, make him stupid, then you exploit the opening." Marcus pulled out a dagger. "Dragon Soul users have one weakness. Know what it is?"

James shook his head.

"Pride." Marcus smiled. "They're so used to being stronger than everyone else, they forget that strength isn't everything. Davis taught me that. He could've crushed most opponents with pure power, but he never did. He studied them, found their patterns, used their expectations against them."

"Did it work?"

"Until Lucas stabbed him in the back, yes."

James looked at his hands. They were shaking. "You really think I can win?"

Marcus's silence was answer enough.

"Then why are you training me?"

"Because dying with a plan beats dying confused." Marcus stood. "Come on. We've got two more days. Let's make them count."

They trained until noon, then collapsed in the shade. James's body was one giant bruise. Marcus ate dried meat and stale bread, sharing half with James.

"Tell me about Davis," James said.

Marcus chewed slowly. "Why?"

"You said he fought smart. I need to understand how."

"Davis wasn't just smart. He was relentless." Marcus stared at nothing. "I watched him fight a Dragon Lord once, years before Lucas's betrayal. The Lord was two realms above Davis. Should've been no contest. But Davis studied him for three days before the fight, learned every technique, every habit. When they finally fought, Davis won in under a minute."

"How?"

"He let the Lord attack first. Dragon Lords love showing off their power, making big displays. The Lord threw everything he had into his opening strike. Davis dodged by an inch, then hit the Lord's technique at its weakest point. The whole thing unraveled. Lord died from his own reflected force."

James tried to imagine it. The precision. The timing. The absolute confidence required to let someone attack first.

"Could I do that to Tega?"

"No," Marcus said bluntly. "You don't have the training. But you can do something similar. Make Tega overcommit. Dragon Soul users, especially young ones, they rely on power. They forget technique. If you can make Tega throw a full-power strike and miss, he'll be vulnerable for maybe half a second."

"Half a second?"

"It's more than you'll get otherwise."

They trained until dark. Marcus focused on footwork, teaching James how to move efficiently, how to read an opponent's balance. It was frustrating work. Every instinct James had said to meet force with force, but Marcus slapped that instinct out of him.

"You're not a warrior," Marcus said after James made the same mistake for the tenth time. "Stop trying to be one. You're a survivor. Survivors don't fight fair."

The next day was worse. Marcus woke James before dawn with a practice sword to the stomach.

"Tega won't wait for you to be ready," Marcus said. "Neither will I."

They drilled counters. Marcus attacked from every angle, teaching James how to redirect force instead of blocking it. It felt impossible. Tega would be faster, stronger, more experienced.

"Stop thinking," Marcus snapped during one sequence. "You think, you die. You have to react on instinct."

"I don't have those instincts."

"Then you'd better develop them fast."

By midday, something clicked. Marcus threw a strike, and James's body moved before his mind caught up. He redirected the blow, used Marcus's momentum against him, and for the first time, put the older man off balance.

Marcus grinned. "Again."

They drilled that counter fifty times. Then Marcus showed him three more. By sunset, James could execute all four without thinking.

"It's not enough," Marcus said as they rested. "But it's something."

"Will it work?"

"Depends on how angry Tega gets."

The third day, Marcus didn't teach him anything new. Instead, they repeated everything James had learned, burning it into muscle memory. Over and over until James's body moved in patterns independent of thought.

"Tomorrow's the duel," Marcus said as the sun set. "You'll enter the arena. The whole capital will be watching. Tega will be confident, probably showboating for his father. That's your window."

"To do what?"

"To make him angry enough to get sloppy." Marcus handed James a small knife. "Keep this hidden. It won't hurt him, but Dragon Soul users hate weapons. They think they're above needing them. Flash it, and he'll go for a kill strike. That's when you use the counter."

James tucked the knife into his belt. "And if it doesn't work?"

"Then you die. But you die fighting, and maybe that means something."

They parted at the garrison gate. James walked home through empty streets, mind racing. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd face Tega in front of everyone who'd given up hope in Dragon Nation. Tomorrow he'd lose. Tomorrow Emily would be dragged away.

Unless the counters worked. Unless Tega got angry. Unless James's broken, three-day training could match Tega's seven years of cultivation.

He reached home. His father was waiting, face drawn.

"So?" his father said. "Did your mysterious training work?"

"I don't know."

His father's shoulders sagged. "James. Please. It's not too late to run. Take Emily and go. I'll tell them you fled. They'll hunt you, but maybe you'll make it to the border."

"And live where? Dragon Nation is all we have."

"Dragon Nation is a grave. And you're digging your own."

James had no answer to that. He went to his room, lay down, tried to sleep. It didn't come. Instead, he lay there, going over the counters in his mind. Four patterns. Four chances. Against a Dragon Soul user who could shatter stone.

The odds were impossible.

But impossible was all he had left.

Dawn came. James dressed in the best clothes he owned, which wasn't saying much. Emily met him at the door, face pale but determined.

"I'm coming," she said.

"Em—"

"I'm coming." Her voice left no room for argument.

Their father said nothing. He simply locked the door behind them, and the three of them walked toward the arena where James would die.

The arena was packed. Thousands of people crammed into seats Lucas had built from the ruins of Dragon Nation's old library. At the center was a circle of packed earth, fifty feet across.

Tega stood in the middle, grinning.

James walked forward. The crowd's noise faded to a dull roar. All he could see was Tega. All he could hear was his own heartbeat.

"You actually came," Tega called out. "I thought you'd run."

James said nothing. He climbed into the arena. The referee, one of Lucas's officials, announced the rules.

"Fight until yield or death. No interference. No mercy."

Lucas himself watched from a raised platform, Vivian at his side. They looked bored. This was entertainment to them. A boy dying for their son's amusement.

The referee dropped his hand. "Begin!"

Tega moved.

James barely saw it. One instant Tega was across the arena, the next his fist was inches from James's face. James threw himself sideways, felt the wind from the blow pass close enough to ruffle his hair.

Tega's fist hit the ground. The earth exploded, cratering beneath the impact.

The crowd gasped.

James rolled, came up running. His mind screamed at him to fight, but he'd seen that punch. It would've liquified his skull.

"Running already?" Tega laughed. "This will be quick."

He charged again. James led him in a circle, staying just ahead. Tega's strikes got closer each time. James's muscles burned. He couldn't keep this up.

Flash the knife. Make him angry.

James pulled the small blade, held it up. "Need a weapon to make this fair!"

Tega's face twisted. "Fair? I'll show you fair!"

He blurred forward, moving faster than before. James saw the technique coming, the full-power strike Marcus had warned about. Everything Tega had in one blow.

James waited until the last possible instant, then executed the counter.

He didn't block. He didn't dodge. He stepped inside Tega's guard, redirected the force past his shoulder, and used Tega's momentum to throw him off balance.

For half a second, Tega was vulnerable.

James drove his knife toward Tega's throat.

It shattered against Tega's skin. The Dragon Soul made him nearly invulnerable. The blade might as well have been paper.

Tega recovered. His backhand caught James across the ribs. James felt bones crack, felt himself lifted off the ground and thrown across the arena.

He hit the wall. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

Tega walked toward him. "That was clever. Using my strength against me. Marcus taught you that, didn't he? I know he's been hiding in the slums. Maybe after I'm done with you, I'll kill him too."

James tried to stand. His legs wouldn't cooperate.

"Yield," Tega said.

James spat blood. "No."

"Then die."

Tega's fist came down.

James yielded. He screamed it, the word tearing from his throat. "I yield!"

Tega's fist stopped an inch from James's head. "Smart."

He started walking away. The crowd murmured. The duel was over.

Then Tega turned back. "Actually, no. You challenged me. You insulted my honor. Yielding isn't enough."

He grabbed James by the throat, lifted him. His other fist drew back.

"Stop!" Emily screamed from the crowd. "He yielded! The rules!"

Lucas raised his hand. The referee looked at him, then nodded.

"The duel continues," the referee announced. "Until death."

Tega's grin widened. "Father really does love me."

He beat James methodically. Each punch landed with precision, breaking bones, rupturing organs. James tried to fight back. His body wouldn't respond. Everything was pain and blood and the crowd's horrified silence.

Emily was screaming. His father was screaming.

Marcus was right. James was dying confused after all.

Tega dropped him. James lay in the crater, drowning in his own blood.

"Take the girl," Lucas said from his platform.

Guards grabbed Emily. She fought them, but they dragged her toward the palace. James tried to reach for her. His arm wouldn't move.

"You fought well," Tega said, standing over him. "For a peasant. Father, did you see? I've mastered the Dragon Soul's fifth form already."

"Excellent," Lucas said. "I'm making you Second in Command. Above all others except myself and your mother."

The crowd applauded. They had to. Anyone who didn't clap when Lucas commanded it disappeared.

James's father pushed through the guards, lifted James's broken body. He carried him from the arena while Lucas's people cheered Tega's victory.

James's vision faded. He heard his father crying. Felt himself being carried through streets that suddenly seemed very far away.

He was dying.

He'd failed.

Emily was gone.

And the last thing he saw before darkness took him was his father's face, twisted in grief no parent should ever know.