"You... can you defeat a dragon?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The room fell into an eerie silence, as if the question itself had a weight that suffocated the air around us. The Old man's eyes narrowed, his weathered face revealing the depth of his contemplation. Time seemed to stand still as he delved into the recesses of his memories, searching for an answer.
"Hmmm... A dragon?" he murmured, his voice filled with a cautious curiosity. His response seemed to awaken a dormant power in the room, intensifying the tension that hung in the air.
Dragons were mythical creatures, revered for their immense power and feared by all. The mere mention of them carried a sense of awe and danger.
With a pause that stretched into eternity, the Old man finally broke the silence, his voice resonating with a quiet confidence. "If it's an adult dragon or a dragon in its adolescence stage, I can defeat it," he declared, his words tinged with a subtle pride. It was as if he had faced these formidable creatures before and emerged victorious, carrying the scars and stories of his battles.
Dragons. The word itself conjured images of awe-inspiring creatures, the epitome of majestic and formidable beings. They were the pinnacle of all life forms, revered for their absolute power. Legends whispered of their status as the arbiters of magic, beings that existed on the edge of godhood. Throughout history, not a single dragon's death had been recorded, a testament to their unrivaled might.
It was unfathomable for common folk to comprehend the sheer majesty of a dragon. The devastating force of a single breath from an adult dragon had the potential to reduce a bustling city to smoldering ruins. If it weren't for their inherent arrogance and solitary nature, dragons could have easily dominated the world.
Yet, despite their incredible power, the Old man claimed he could defeat them.
It made me wonder how powerful he is, I knew it would be far above my imagination but I couldn't help but be awestruck at his words.
Hope sparked within me, reflected in the fleeting smile that graced my face. But it was short-lived, fading as quickly as it appeared, shattered by his next words.
"But, if it's an old dragon..." he trailed off, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
I couldn't help but interject, a tinge of desperation lacing my words, "Will you not be able to defeat it?"
Dragons possessed three stages of growth, with adolescence lasting a hundred years before they transitioned into adulthood. However, the concept of an "old dragon" defied conventional notions of age. It was a distinction reserved for those who had surpassed the thresholds of power and magic, but the criteria for achieving such a status remained elusive, a mystery to all.
But what everybody knew was that the old dragons were the pinnacle of power and magic in the world. The absolute beings that must never be messed with.
The fire dragon, Ugram, that our pendragon family is caring for is an Old dragon who had lived for countless decades and centuries. I haven't seen it in person, not in my past nor in the current life either.
It was rule in the pendragon family that only those above the age of 18 were allowed to see the fire dragon, Ugram. The reasons were unknown but everyone followed it, it was also the reason why I never got to watch the dragon in the life. I was yet to reach the age of eighteen when the fire dragon, Ugram went insane.
It was imperative to ascertain whether the Sword Saint, Aralion Stormblade, held the capability to confront such an ancient force.
The Old man's response plunged me into further uncertainty. "I have never fought with an old dragon, so I can't say for sure," he confessed. His admission left me bewildered. Had he truly battled against adult dragons then? The Old man's admission that he had never faced an old dragon left me bewildered.
If he had indeed battled adult dragons, the implications of his statement were astounding. Yet, there was little time to dwell on these thoughts as he redirected the conversation, his movements imbued with urgency.
"It seems as if you are not sure of what to ask from me yet," he remarked, perceiving my internal struggle.
Of course, if he was capable of defeating an old dragon, I wanted nothing more than asking him to kill the fire dragon but if he can't. I would just be throwing out this incredible opportunity.
"It's okay," he reassured, his voice laced with a sense of calm assurance. "When you are sure about it, ask Zephyr to call for me. I may not be able to come immediately upon your call, but I will undoubtedly lend whatever assistance I can."
"Now then, leaving that matter aside," the Old man redirected the conversation, rising from his seat with a purposeful air. "I have something that I need to ask you." The urgency in his voice mirrored his movements, drawing my attention completely.
"Zephyr told me that you were ready to sacrifice yourself, but when I watched your eyes in the exile, it didn't seem like you were thinking about his well-being," the Sword Saint said, his gaze piercing and unyielding.4
Caught off guard, I felt a bead of sweat forming on my brow. Has my true intentions been revealed?
"wh...at....?," I stammered, my voice betraying a mix of surprise and apprehension. The weight of his scrutiny bore down on me, as if he possessed an uncanny ability to unravel the depths of my emotions.
If he fell like I was a threat to his disciple then there was high chance of his sword to be pressed against my neck, just thinking about it gave me chills.
But contrary to my thoughts, his expression softened slightly, a glimmer of understanding flickering in his eyes. "Your gaze was filled with hate... no, to be more precise, you seemed to despise Zephyr for some reason," he continued, his voice laced with a somber tone.
His words struck a chord within me, a reminder of the conflicting emotions that had churned within my heart. The Sword Saint's keen perception unnerved me, as if he could unravel the tangled web of my motives. It was as if he could read my mind.
"But yet, you didn't mean any harm to him."
Yet, to my relief, he acknowledged that I had not intended any harm to befall Zephyr. It was the truth, although I hated Zephyr, it was not to the extent that I wanted him dead.
"I don't know what your intentions were," he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of empathy, "but let me tell you this." His gaze bore into mine, conveying a sense of urgency. "Zephyr, he is a poor kid. Don't hate him too much."
His words echoed in the recesses of my mind, their weight sinking deep into my soul. A mixture of guilt and longing welled up within me, forcing me to confront the conflicting emotions that had plagued me since that fateful day.
Deep down, I knew that blaming Zephyr alone was a simplistic response to the complexities of our shared past. If anyone was at fault, it was me, for allowing myself to be manipulated and paying the price for it. Forgiveness didn't come easily, especially for someone who had caused so much pain in my life.
He had taken advantage of me when I was at the lowest point of my life, which had led to me being kicked out of the academy, which became the source of all my suffering in my past life.
One thing led to another and a disastrous fate befell upon me. The pains and suffering that I had experienced was something that I couldn't forget even if I am reborn.
So, I couldn't forgive him easily.
It was something that I just couldn't do even if the sword saint ask for it himself.
But before I could utter a word in response, the Old man abruptly turned, his countenance grave and resolute. "That was all I wanted to say," he declared, striding purposefully down the hallway. His figure gradually disappeared from sight, leaving me to grapple with the weight of his words and the tangled emotions that swirled within me.
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