The First Legendary Dragon Tamer

The silence of the infirmary weighed heavily on Draco once Frost Winister departed.

The echo of the man's last words—"I'll be watching you"—still rang faintly in the room, lingering like frost clinging to glass.

Draco exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tightness in his chest.

The glow of the hovering System windows hadn't faded, their luminous letters flickering like cruel reminders: Gain Jet Ashborne's trust. Never lose again. Repair your image.

Quests that bound him tighter than any chain.

He pressed a hand to his chest, over the faint bandages wrapped around his ribs. The ache in his body was nothing compared to the storm brewing inside his mind.

There were too many things he had to think about.

"Luke…" Draco muttered under his breath.

He had Luke's memories—fragments of another life that bled into his own. He remembered the pressing issue that his counterpart was facing on Earth at the moment: the Nine Headed Dragon Association.

From what he'd glimpsed, they were dangerous.

Not just powerful, but calculating, like serpents coiled in the dark.

And Luke… Luke was caught in their web.

That meant Draco didn't have unlimited time to sit idle in this Academy. If Luke's body—or the pod that contained it—was compromised, then what would happen to the System?

Would it vanish?

Would all of Draco's progress be erased, his memories swallowed by nothingness?

The thought alone made his blood run cold.

He clenched his fists. "No. I can't let that happen."

The only way to safeguard Luke—and himself—was to get stronger, fast. He had to complete these Quests, cement his place in the Academy, and seize every opportunity to grow.

Only then would he have the power to protect what was his.

But there was a problem.

"These aren't tasks I can finish in a day… or even a week."

Gaining Jet Ashborne's trust? Impossible to rush. Jet's hatred was obvious, burning in every glance he threw Draco's way. Trust would only come through time, through actions that couldn't be faked.

Never losing again? At least until he became a Prime Student? According to Frost Winister's words, he wouldn't be able to seize that position from Jet until the Hunting Games, which was still months away.

—Months!

'Looks like he'll have to stay logged in for a while… there's no helping it.'

Draco sighed.

"Somehow," He silently muttered. "I'll also have to find a way to protect my secrets."

After all, during his stay in this place, there was no doubt that Frost Winister's silver eyes would be on him.

'That man…'

The Instructor unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Frost wasn't just observant—he was sharp, dangerously so. He'd seen through Draco's deliberate collapse when no one else had noticed.

That alone made him a threat.

If Frost discovered his Legendary Class… if he uncovered the truth of the System… Draco couldn't predict what would happen.

He couldn't even guess.

'I'm supposed to keep it hidden, and the failure for that is death. If I slip up and he finds out, the best-case scenario is that he misunderstands and thinks I'm a freak, or maybe he sees me as a Dragon. But all of those are still worse than me failing the System's imperative and dying.'

Draco felt like he was walking on a thin rope.

Any small mistake, and he was sure to meet certain doom.

"This entire situation is dangerous," Draco whispered to himself, narrowing his eyes. "I'll have to stay cautious."

It meant masking his strength, concealing his growth while still showing enough progress to maintain appearances—a delicate balance.

One misstep could expose everything.

But then again…

Draco let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "I've been walking on knives since the day this began. What's a little more?"

For a moment, he closed his eyes and let his body sink deeper into the cot. The scent of herbs, the hum of healing arrays—it was all strangely comforting.

This was the Dragon Hunter Academy.

The place he had dreamed of entering since childhood. The place where legends were forged, where ordinary youths honed themselves into warriors capable of slaying the beasts that had plagued mankind for millennia.

Despite everything—the Quests, Jet's stolen glory, Frost's probing eyes—Draco was finally here.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I made it."

He allowed himself that joy, even if just for a fleeting moment.

No matter the burdens weighing him down, he couldn't ignore the truth: this was the first step toward his destiny.

Once he graduated from here, he wouldn't just be a student. He would be a Dragon Hunter—recognized, armed, and ready to fulfill his mission: to exterminate all the Dragons pf the world!

'I don't care what method I'll have to use. Whether by binding them as subordinates or cutting them down where they stand… it makes no difference.'

As long as their terror was vanquished, the burning rage in his heart would subside.

"When I can move again," Draco murmured to himself, quickly remembering something else of equal—if not greater importance.

"I'll have write to Mother."

He pictured her face, the quiet determination in her eyes. He wanted her to know he'd made it inside, even if not as Prime Student.

The thought stung, of course.

Jet had stolen that title—the recognition, the cheers, the honor of being seen as the strongest. But Draco exhaled slowly, shrugging inwardly.

"So what? Titles mean little. Strength is what matters. And in the end, it'll be me standing at the top." The Prime Student position was just a stepping stone. What mattered now was survival, growth, and progress.

For now, he could find contentment in one thing: he was here, alive, and still moving forward.

**********

Elsewhere in the Academy, a grand chamber stirred to life.

It was vast, its ceilings high enough that even a wyvern could have spread its wings within. Columns of black marble lined the room, carved with runes that shimmered faintly. At the far end stood a long table of obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen.

Seated around it were the Instructors of the Dragon Hunter Academy.

Men and women of renown, each radiating power and authority. Some were stern, others relaxed, but all bore the aura of those who had faced Dragons and lived to tell the tale.

Among them, Frost Winister sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, his silver eyes glinting faintly in the torchlight.

He leaned back in his chair, the very picture of elegance.

At the head of the table, a massive figure shifted.

His presence filled the room before he even spoke.

Dagon Heartfield—The Headmaster of the Academy.

His hair was streaked with gray, his jaw square, his shoulders broad enough to seem carved from stone. Scars traced across his forearms, reminders of battles long past.

When his gaze swept across the gathered Instructors, silence fell like a hammer.

This man was a legend!

He was once a member of the Royal Sentinels. Regarded as the most elite force in the entire Southern Territory. The number of Dragons he slayed in his prime was staggering, and even now his authority was yet to fully diminish.

He placed both hands on the table, the wood groaning faintly under his grip.

Then, with a weary sigh, he spoke.

"It's time," Dagon rumbled, his voice deep as distant thunder. "Let us begin the meeting."