Chương 74: Arrival of the Dragonkin

The Dragonkin's arrival had caught LANCE by surprise. He had been so busy with schoolwork, villager and classmate requests, learning and mastering a teleportation spell, and overseeing the construction efforts led by the denomination's supply ship, when the dragonkin flopped their all-mighty wings onto the beaches, no one was ready to meet them. Lance rushed over and talked the leader of the group — a golden dragon named Fang.

Lance bowed to the golden dragon and offered his apologies for not having more ready for them.

"I've been busy with church affairs. Getting the island ready for your arrival was at the top of my list, but I can only move so fast. Please, help us prepare the island for our exercises. Until you have a place to your liking, we shall not rest." Fang roared but did not seem angry.

"Rather accommodating, aren't you, human?" fang spoke mind-to-mind and with a refined accent he hadn't expected in the slightest.

"You are my guests while on this island," he told Fang.

"Why wouldn't I be accommodating?" As he and Fang spoke, the people around them had fled for mercy in the bushes, up the trees, any place which was out of sight from the dragons. Not that it would've done them any good, of course, had the dragons meant them harm.

"History, perhaps? Your kind, ever fearful of reprisals your violence inflicts, tend to scatter like roaches whenever one of my clans is sighted. Whatever the case, I respect your decision to speak face-to-whisker." It was then when Lance noticed that one of the dragon's long facial whiskers, something which would barely be noticeable, if so, on a normal day, had been touching him as they spoke. Was that the reason they were able to communicate?

Lance then strode on Fang's back — to the amazement of the humans, to the horror of the dragonkin — and together they sorted out where Fang and his retinue of warriors should make a home away from home. They settled in a modest cave system near the beaches; Lance gave the dragons temporary right of dominion over the area and forbade any human from entering the caves. Finding them shelter was only one element of the many problems their visit entailed.

The dragonkin had arrived just as he and the aid boat from his holy order wanted to build a church. Well, with the arrival of the dragonkin, that focused was to be changed to building a vast arena, one which took up nearly a third of the island. The arena was not a single enclosed structure. More like a long perimeter fence made of wood and stone.

Though humbler than a full-on stadium, the wood and stone fence still meant all of the island's inhabitants were to focus on building that instead of a structure which would better help them worship the Gods.

"I do not like this," Jon of the aid boat said to him, a leader among the crew.

"Our efforts were meant to bridge these men's lost souls to that of our deity. Not create a battle pen for dragons! This is practically heresy! Do you know what these beasts did to our ancestors?" Lance sighed.

"It is not heresy, brother Jon. It is an act of mutual cooperation between a species of creatures who will prove pivotal in the coming war against the Horror. Secondly, no, I do not know what these lifeforms did to our ancestors. Let me guess — the dragons eat our ancestors? Enslaved a number of them? Invaded human lands? I am aware of the histories of the world, brother. I am aware of the injustices perpetrated on us by the dragons and of the injustices we have perpetuated on the dragons in turn.

Our action today is not aimed at further an ancient blood feud. It is to do the opposite, rather, and help us bridge divides. If you have a problem with that, then kindly resign your post, and I will inform the Supreme Dean of your unwillingness to perform your sworn duty as a brother of Cannabus." Jon snarled on him and looked on the verge of punching him before he walked away.

"Old Ideology addled fool," Lance spat behind the man's back. And so, near the beach and through a substantial part of the island's inland territory, a border fence was built, the dragons being a great force of help during this process since they brought up great sums of lumber and rock and stone far easier than the already belabored humans.

With dragonkin folk helping to bring in lumber and stone, dig ditches, and even dig up foundations for the future of the town, including the church they were to build once the fence finished, progress went quick. A week and a half of furious labor done around the clock was all it took to finish the border-arena. Jon looked upon this labor as though his own honor was being impinged upon, but considering his backward views on things, he likely considered his honor was being impinged upon.

Not that Lance cared — imaginary honor issues were a Jon problem, not a him problem.

"Now this is a proper arena!" Fang snarled into the air, the rumbles of which came back to the ground and caused it to shake.

"Assemble the men you wish to train and let's begin!" Assembling men ready to train with dragonkin was another issue altogether. He had found such men, of course, but arming themselves into a militia, after their bandit days were over, wasn't something many were keen on doing. And yet, the situation called for drastic action, which the ex-bandits understood.

And so, after a little prodding from his many cajoles imploring them to take up the sword again to protect the innocent they failed to protect as weaker men, he had a dozen or more men across the former bandits and former slaves who agreed to join the 'draconic militia.' This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The first day's training was awful. No one knew what they were doing.

And though the dragonkin folk were patient, far more so than any of the humans expected them to be, after so many hours of bumbling, even the dragonkin lost their cool.

"How can you expect us to work in these conditions, human?!" Fang roared in the bad way.

"If these are you folk, then you are clearly a demi-god among men! Only you, capable of fighting Lord Grunge has any potential!" Lance kept his cool. Losing his chill wouldn't help anyone, least of all him and his island.

"I hear your words, General Fang. I do. I agree, in the broadest sense. These men do appear hopeless. They appear bumbling and like fools with too much ale in their livers. These men have committed heinous acts, too, in their before life. Yet I still feel they are as good a fit to help fight the Horror as any. Besides, if anyone is able to whip these men into fighting shape, I know it is you dragons. Or am I wrong about your legendary abilities?" Another massive roar came from Fang.

"Wrong?! You Humans are wrong about many things, but not about the ferocity and battle-hardened qualities of my beasts!" Fang glanced here and there, head tilting as he appraised the humans.

"Very well! Consider your challenge up taken!" And so, Fang began the training of the humans. Lance kept the humans and dragons' company. As leader, it wouldn't behoove him to skedaddle during such pivotal training. He spent long days and longer nights with his men grinding alongside each group all hours of the day; perhaps it was because of their exhaustion, but none of his men asked how he was able to continue his practice despite the regular men collapsing after five hours.

The training involved a lot of endurance work. Of running, dodging dragon attacks, learning how to ride a dragon, and the repetitive motions of withstanding mock attacks as dragons 'punched' the defending men with their paws and claws. Fang told him that, eventually, they would progress to more demanding mock battles and even war games where the dragons and men were divided and fought for control of the arena. Lance liked the idea and continued to suffer with his men.

Problems did not arise until the third week when Jon — who spent all his free time in sowing discord among the aid ship's denizens — rose up in a micro-rebellion and demanded the dragons go. This time, Lance cared not for the man's hysterics and punched him square in his oh-so-punchable face. Jon and the ground met in holy matrimony.

"Anyone else wish to disobey their holy orders? All of you understood the situation when you volunteered for this mission. A mission which remained the same — so please, if any of you believe yourselves above that of your holy orders and oath, let it be known, so I can count you among those who will share Jon's fate in the holy tribunal!" Jon's tiny rebellion ended then and there, he still unconscious on the ground.

Later the following day, though, as Jon was in his own ship's brig, the captain of the ship took Lance aside and said, "Lad. I understand the situation is tricky out there, but you need to understand something. The men are only riled up because they think you are kowtowing to the dragonkin. If you want to win their hearts instead of just their minds, you need to show them you are in control. Capiche?" He told the captain he understood. Was he kowtowing to dragons?

He didn't think so; he showed them reverence, sure, but only because they were allies with less than amazing history with his people. Honor was what they needed to be brought into the alliance. But maybe he had gone too far one way? If the captain was right and his perception was seen as too subservient, then that would certainly cause problems. How to solve the problem, then? The only way he knew how. By fighting.

"Fang!" he told the leader of the dragonkin group.

"Our joint training has been going well, but I confess a problem. My men, you see, believe I am being too soft on you dragons. They think me the top dog, so to speak, and wish for me to take the mantle. Are you up for a wound of fists?" Fang chuckled though it came out more as booming roars.

"I accept your challenge, Human! Prepare to be my dung slave until our training concludes!" Being a 'dung slave' was not part of the agreement, but if that was what it took to convince Fang to fight him, so be it. It wasn't like he was going to lose, so why argue? The rules of the game were simple: each of them takes turns punching the other. Though, because of his status as a human, Lance was given four punches to every one of Fang's own.

Each thought that was a fair trade off, considering one pawed punch from Fang hit with way more power than several from him. Fang thought himself invincible. Lance was going to show him just how wrong he was... The competition began: Fang started out with a soft punch, something which still made him take a couple of steps back despite blocking with both his arms crossed over his face.

"Not bad, dragon-face!" he spat.

"Now, try me on for size!" Lance reared back and injected all his mana into his fist. He unleashed his punch with all the might he had and slammed his fist directly between Fang's eyes, where his hardest scales presided and showed as pure blackened gold obsidian. His punch sent out shockwaves and pushed everyone back a few paces, including a couple of dragons. Fang reeled back as several cracks — hairline fractures — spread over a single scale. A wicked smirk spread across his face.

"Still think it was fair to give me four punches per?" Fang roared in defiance and settled himself back into position, his nose snorting like a pig's as his eyes narrowed with rage.

"I regret nothing, Human! One crack is nothing! I will give you six attacks per one of mine! Come at me and show me your best!" About to do so, Lance had reared back for another attack when he felt an incredible aura signature. He and Fang twirled around together and saw, who else, but the Omni-Wizard himself, Warhol, his father.