The First Legendary Dragon Tamer

[Welcome back, Legendary Dragon Tamer]

<New Quests have been added for Tutorial (3/3)>

"Huh?"

The moment Draco's eyes snapped open, the air was already vibrating with noise.

A roar of voices, stamping feet, and the crash of fists colliding with flesh filled his ears. Dust swirled beneath harsh beams of magical light that illuminated the arena.

His heart jolted as his vision adjusted—he was standing inside a massive, circular coliseum.

The stands were overflowing with spectators, their faces indistinct blurs, their shouts pounding like waves against his mind.

But his focus wasn't on them.

It was on the man standing directly across from him.

Jet Ashborne.

His eyes burned with intensity, lips pulled back in a wolfish grin, sweat rolling down the side of his jaw. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his body honed to near perfection. The man radiated confidence, arrogance even, as though the entire arena belonged to him.

Draco didn't need to ask who he was—he remembered.

The second-best examinee in the Cave of Trials. A name whispered with respect and envy. And from the way Jet's eyes locked on him, sharp with hatred, Draco could tell this wasn't just another spar for him.

This was personal.

[Emergency Quest Activated!]

<Fight and defeat Jet Ashborne in this Ceremonial Royale>

"Draco," Jet spat the name like venom. "I've been waiting for this."

Draco tilted his head slightly, cracking his knuckles. His body was already moving instinctively into a stance—low, balanced, fluid. His breaths came even, steady, despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"You'll regret those words," Draco said calmly, though his voice carried across the noise like steel.

The referee—a towering instructor in silver armor—raised his hand.

"Final bout of the Ceremonial Royale!" he shouted. "Only two remain! Let the last warrior claim victory!"

The gong reverberated across the arena.

Jet lunged first.

WHOOSH!

He was fast. His fist cut the air like a spear, driving straight toward Draco's temple.

Draco twisted at the last second, the blow grazing past his cheek, and retaliated with a sharp elbow toward Jet's ribs. Jet blocked, absorbing the impact with a grunt, before countering with a knee aimed at Draco's stomach.

Draco slid back, sand kicking up beneath his boots, his eyes narrowing.

Jet was no amateur. His movements were precise, brutal, efficient. This was the kind of opponent who had trained endlessly, molding his body into a weapon.

Good. Draco didn't mind this.

'Before entering the Academy, this is another test… no, more like a ceremony. Even if an entrant lost this, they would still be accepted into the Academy….'

This exercise was only useful for one main reason: to test who among the students was the best!

The crowd roared, chanting Jet's name, but Draco drowned them out.

Jet advanced again, fists flying in a flurry—jab, cross, hook. Draco deflected, his hands moving like water, redirecting the blows without absorbing their full force.

A quick sidestep, and Draco lashed out with a low kick, cracking against Jet's shin.

Jet hissed, but didn't falter.

"You're fast," Jet muttered, circling. "But without your dumb luck or weapons, I have the upper hand here!"

He lunged again, this time aiming to grapple.

His arms shot forward, locking around Draco's shoulders, trying to drag him into a brutal clinch.

Draco allowed it—just for a second.

Then his knee shot upward, slamming into Jet's thigh, breaking his stance. In that instant, Draco twisted free, spinning behind Jet, and drove his fist into the man's back with bone-shaking force.

Jet stumbled, but caught himself, spinning with surprising agility. His eyes burned brighter now, his grin widening into something savage.

"Yes… that's it. Fight me seriously!"

The crowd screamed louder, the sound blending into a storm.

Dust rose around them as their movements became faster, sharper, each blow echoing like thunder in the coliseum.

Draco ducked under a wild hook, slipping close, and unleashed a rapid barrage of strikes—two punches to the ribs, a palm to the chest, then a rising kick aimed at Jet's chin.

Jet blocked the kick with his forearm, the impact sending a tremor through him. He retaliated with a brutal headbutt.

CRACK!

Draco reeled slightly, stars flashing in his vision, but he didn't give Jet the satisfaction of seeing him falter. He rolled with it, twisting into a sweeping kick that knocked Jet's legs out from under him.

Jet crashed onto the sand.

The arena erupted.

Draco didn't hesitate. He pounced, driving his knee into Jet's chest, his fist cocked back. The crowd held its breath—

Jet caught his fist mid-swing.

With a roar, he shoved Draco off, rolling to his feet with surprising speed for someone just flattened. Blood trickled from his nose, his grin unshaken.

"You're strong," Jet admitted, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. "Stronger than I expected. But you're not better than me!"

He lunged again, their fists colliding mid-air. The impact sent a shockwave through the arena, sand scattering in all directions. The spectators screamed, some chanting Jet's name, others beginning to shout Draco's.

Blow after blow, they exchanged. Neither yielding, neither showing mercy.

Draco could barely feel anything.

He was Level 15, so this fight wasn't really a challenge. The real challenge was limiting his physical prowess to human levels, so he could keep some semblance of fairness.

This was a purely physical match, so he had to adhere by the rules.

Unlike Draco, Jet could feel the burn in his arms, the ache in his knuckles, the sting in his ribs. But his mind was sharp, calculating every move.

Draco observed his opponent very coldly.

Jet relied on raw power and relentless offense, but that left openings. Tiny cracks in the armor.

And Draco intended to exploit every one.

Jet swung a devastating hook aimed to end it. Draco ducked low, twisting his body fluidly, and drove an uppercut straight into Jet's jaw.

CRACK!

Jet's head snapped back, his body staggering.

Draco didn't let him recover. He surged forward, fists flashing in a flurry—left, right, left, right—each blow landing with brutal precision. The final strike, a spinning elbow, crashed against Jet's temple.

Jet hit the ground hard, dust exploding around him.

Silence fell for a heartbeat.

Then the crowd erupted into chaos.

Draco stood over him, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles. He raised one hand high, not in arrogance, but in undeniable victory.

The instructor bellowed, voice echoing through the arena.

"Winner—Draco!"

The stands shook with cheers. Some cursed, others screamed his name, but all eyes were on him.

Jet groaned, rolling onto his side, his eyes bloodshot and filled with fury. He glared at Draco, hatred searing into his soul.

"This… isn't over," Jet spat, coughing blood. "I'll crush you next time… I swear it."

Draco met his gaze coolly, saying nothing. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes was enough—it said come try me, if you dare.

It wasn't like Draco didn't understand the frustration that came from loss, but Jet's fixation on him seemed obnoxious at this point. He chose to ignore it, though.

The crowd chanted, a wave of noise washing over the arena.

"Draco! Draco! Draco!"

It was pretty evident at this point that Draco had grown from the boy who wanted to slay Dragons all those years ago.

He had become a star.