Chapter 7: Always Bet on Dragons
In this world, all manner of living organisms walk, crawl, burrow, and soar.
From microscopic creatures hidden beneath the damp soil to magnificent apex predators ruling the depths of the forest and the vast expanses of the sea, life devours life in an endless, unyielding chain of survival.
Yet far above them all, there exists one singular entity. The undisputed apex of the animal kingdom. The absolute sovereign of fang and claw. The walking, breathing calamity before which even the most powerful kings of men must kneel.
Ask not the sparrow how the eagle conquers the sky. If you seek to comprehend absolute supremacy, do not turn your attention toward those who have never once stood at its summit.
These beings are not merely subjects of nature—they are its primary authors.
The rest of the animal kingdom does not rule beneath them; it exists solely because they allow it the space to do so. They bow to no mortal law, no royal crown, and no cosmic god. None possess the power to bind them. To them, mankind is not a rival. Not an equal. Not even a nuisance.
Humanity is, quite simply, livestock.
Colossal reptilian titans, wingspans that darken the sky, iron-hard scales, stone-rending talons, steel-splitting fangs. Yet even this description captures only their most common shape, for not all are built from the same base components.
Some command the destructive body's of flame. Some command the chaos of the storm. Others manipulate shadow, metal, poison, or lightning—primordial forces that mortal magic actively struggles to contain.
They are designated as the strongest creatures alive.
In a strict, unassisted one-on-one battle, a dragon will always achieve total triumph. On land. Across the vast sea. Within the endless skies. Among all living structures, they stand firmly at the peak.
And yet… in this present age, they are spoken of by the populace as mere myths. Bedtime tales designed to frighten disobedient children. Fading legends whispered around dying campfires.
But in certain dark corners of the world, among those rare individuals who remember the old truths, they are called what they have always fundamentally been:
The natural enemies of humanity.
Dragons.
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On a narrow, isolated mountain peak where the freezing wind howled like a living, predatory thing, two distinct figures stood framed against the gray sky.
One towered—vast, iron-scaled, and ancient. The other moved with restless, energy.
Metalicana's heavy claws embedded deep into solid bedrock, anchoring his massive weight to the mountain as though his body were a natural extension of the stone. The rock groaned faintly beneath his mass.
"Iron Dragon Slayer Magic is a specialized branch of Dragon Slayer Magic," the dragon rumbled. His deep voice carried the dense weight of buried mountains and the age of rusted empires. "It grants its wielder the power and physical properties of iron." His massive, armored head tilted slightly, his black eyes watching the boy practicing a few paces away.
"You will learn to turn your living flesh into iron. You will not mimic it. You will not merely shield your skin with it." His talons tightened, cracking stone like dry ice beneath them. "You will become it."
The wind shifted violently.
"The iron your body produces will not resemble the brittle metal of human forges. It will be stronger. Denser. Significantly closer to my own scales than anything crafted by mortal hands."
The dragon lifted one massive claw and dragged it lazily across the mountain's surface. Sparks hissed violently as solid stone parted like soft butter.
"With this power, you will reshape your physical form into weapons of war. Spears. Clubs. Shields. Whatever the situation demands." His tail swept behind him, striking the ground with a thunderous crack that split the mountain path. "You will crush your enemies in close-quarters combat. And if distance stands between you and your prey… iron does not require flesh to remain lethal."
Fragments of pulverized rock fell away from the cliff face.
"This magic grants you the core traits of an Iron Dragon. You will command metal born directly from the earth. Bend it. Call it. Dominate it."
A few feet away, the steady, aggressive rhythm of deep breathing cut through the howling wind.
Gajeel punched the empty air—once, twice—adjusting his stance and lowering his center of gravity to balance. His movements were rough and unpolished, but completely relentless. A heavy kick followed. Then another. Soon, his small fists and feet blurred together in sharp, aggressive combinations.
He was panting heavily, sweat dripping from his chin, but his pace never faltered.
"And like all true Dragon Slayers…" Metalicana continued, "…you will feed upon your chosen element."
Gajeel froze mid-motion, his fist hovering in the air. He wiped his brow with his forearm and squinted up at the colossal dragon.
"Feed?" he repeated, his brow furrowing. "You're telling me I can literally just eat raw iron, old man?"
Metalicana gave a single, firm nod of his heavy skull.
Gajeel blinked. "So if I'm in a tight spot during a fight… I can just bite straight into an enemy's sword to recover my stamina?"
"Do not attempt to be clever with my explanations," Metalicana replied flatly.
"That wasn't an answer."
The dragon straightened to his full, towering height. His massive iron wings unfurled slightly, casting a vast shadow over the entire peak like heavy storm clouds gathering for war.
"This magic is not a parlor trick. It is not a convenience for a lazy child. It is a fundamental transformation." His metallic eyes hardened. "If you achieve mastery over it… you will not merely wield iron."
The dragon's voice lowered to a deep vibrate.
"You will stand as iron itself."
A heavy silence hung between them.
"Ohhh, I get it now," Gajeel said slowly, a feral, sharp grin stretching across his face. "You're saying that with your magic, I'll be overwhelmingly powerful, right?"
Metalicana did not deny the assertion. "Yes."
Gajeel's grin widened into something entirely primal. He clenched his small fist tightly, his knuckles popping in rapid sequence.
"Perfect!" He rolled his shoulders, a wild, unyielding confidence blazing within his crimson eyes. "I can't think of any other power in the whole friggin' world that would suit me better. With power like a dragon's—" His smirk sharpened to a dangerous edge. "There's no way in hell I won't be the strongest."
The wind roared over the peak.
"Gajeel." Metalicana's voice dropped lower than usual—less like thunder, and more like heavy iron beams settling into place.
"Hm?" Gajeel stopped staring at his hands and looked up. "What's up?"
"There will inevitably come a day when I am no longer resting at your side. That is not a tragedy. That is simply the progression of time."
Gajeel's brows pulled together tightly. "What are you saying, old man?"
"When that day arrives… and the weight of the world presses you to your knees… someone may eventually extend their hand to you,"
Metalicana stated, ignoring the boy's interruption. "Not because you earned their respect. Not because you bowed to their authority. But simply because they chose to."
The dragon's eyes narrowed slightly—not with cruelty, but with grounded honesty.
"You are abrasive. Reckless. Loud enough to wake sleeping mountain ranges. And your temper burns hotter than any forge."
A vein throbbed on young Gajeel's forehead. "Are you insulting me right now, or are you giving me actual advice?!"
A faint huff of air escaped the dragon's massive nostrils. "You make it exceptionally difficult for others to remain near you," Metalicana said plainly. "And yet… if someone chooses to stand there anyway… and offers you their hand despite all of those flaws…" The dragon leaned down slightly. "Do not mistake that gesture for weakness."
Gajeel didn't answer, his mouth snapping shut.
"Strength is not contained solely within the power of the fist, Gajeel. Take the hand offered to you. Or refuse it. Your ultimate path will be your own to decide." His wings shifted with a metallic rasp in the wind. "I am your teacher. I am not your chain."
He lowered his massive, armored head until they were at eye level.
"My magic is a gift. It awakens fully only when you understand exactly what—or who—you are fighting to protect." A massive iron claw tapped gently against Gajeel's small chest. "I will not raise you to function as an object. Nor as a mere weapon. I am raising you to be a human."
A silence enveloped the peak.
"…You're actually a pretty decent guy, Metalicana," Gajeel muttered under his breath, suddenly finding the dirt beneath his boots fascinating.
For a long moment, the great Iron Dragon simply observed the boy. Then, he let out a quiet, rumbling chuckle that vibrated the ground, lightly patting the child's head with a massive claw.
"Do not grow soft on my watch, whelp." The dragon stepped past Gajeel, facing the empty mountain range. "Pay close attention."
A cold, dense, silver aura gathered rapidly around Metalicana's colossal body. It did not flare wildly; instead, it clung tightly to his armored form—dense, heavily compressed, like molten iron packed into a mold.
"This will function as one of your foundational techniques. A primordial breath of the True Dragon Slayers."
The dragon inhaled deeply.
The air density around his massive form distorted violently, warping like heat rising above an active furnace. Loose fragments of metal ore and stone lifted off the earth entirely, hovering in the pressurized air.
"Iron Dragon…" An intense, orange light seeped through the tightly layered seams of his scales. The interior of his mouth glowed brilliantly, resembling molten steel fresh from the core of a forge.
"…ROAR!!"
Metalicana thrust his head forward violently.
A massive, dark silver-gray tornado erupted from his jaws, compressed into a highly concentrated, linear beam of destruction. Its spiraling, metallic winds rotated violently at hypersonic speeds as it tore through the sky. Within the roaring current, glowing orange thermal fissures split through the silver, pulsing with heat.
The beam narrowed, compressing its pressure into a pinpoint focus.
The air itself screamed in agony. The spiral tightened to an absolute limit—and for one split second, there was silence.
Then, the vortex imploded.
The attack detonated outward in a massive shockwave of solid metal fragments and hurricane-force winds, roaring across the range like a cathedral-sized iron gate slamming shut with the force of a meteor.
Gajeel shielded his eyes with both arms, bracing his legs as a violent gust of wind threatened to blow him clean off the peak.
"Gahahahaha!" Metalicana's thunderous laughter boomed over the landscape. "Well, brat? What did you think of that?!"
Gajeel slowly lowered his trembling arms.
The massive, towering mountain that had stood directly in the beam's trajectory several miles away was entirely gone. It had been erased from the land.
'So this… Gajeel thought, his wide crimson eyes staring blankly at the scarred horizon. 'This is the actual power of the world's apex predator.'
"I will teach you everything I know," Metalicana declared proudly, amused by the boy's shock. "Under my direct guidance, you will become one of the strongest wizards of your generation."
"Y-Yeah…" Gajeel nodded stiffly, his young brain still processing the scale of the devastation.
And in that precise moment, the young child understood an absolute truth as he watched the great Iron Dragon laugh beneath a sky scarred by the output of his own breath.
He finally understood why historical records called them the natural enemies of humanity. They were not standard villains. They were not mere monsters. They were primordial forces of nature—the literal embodiment of ruin and unyielding might.
Whether on land, across the wide sea, or within the heavens themselves, the location did not matter.
Because in a strict one-on-one battle…
Always bet on dragons.