Dromos 24, Imperial Year 1644
The Cinder Peaks – Dawn
The mountains were named for the black volcanic scree that covered their slopes. No trees grew here; only twisted shrubs and patches of sickly grass. The air smelled of sulfur and old ash. A thin mist clung to the ground, curling around the boots of the hunters.
Vlad had positioned the class and the Black Knights along a ridge overlooking a wide bowl‑shaped depression. At its center, a cave mouth gaped like a wound. The lesser earth dragon was inside, sleeping after a night of hunting.
"It will emerge at sunrise," Vlad said. His voice was low, amplified by the mask, carrying the unmistakable cadence of a man who expected to be obeyed. "It is territorial. It will circle the bowl once before returning to its lair. That is when we strike."
Elara crouched beside him. "How do you know its habits?"
"I watched it for three days." Vlad did not elaborate. He turned to the others. "The class will form a semicircle at the bowl's edge. When the dragon appears, you will make noise – shout, throw rocks, wave torches. Draw its attention. Do not engage. Do not get close. Just keep it in the open."
Roderick tightened his grip on his sword. "And if it charges?"
"Then you run. The Black Knights will cover your retreat." Vlad gestured to the rifle, already assembled on a tripod. "I will have one shot. I will not miss."
Kaito had been staring at the rifle since they arrived. Now he stepped closer, his eyes wide. Daiki followed, his tool belt jingling.
The weapon was unlike anything in this world. The barrel was nearly four feet long, a seamless tube of dark, oiled steel, its bore wide enough to fit a thumb. A massive cylindrical receiver sat behind it, etched with fine grooves and a serial number that meant nothing here. The stock was a skeleton of polished walnut and aluminum, folding into a shape that seemed to defy the laws of physics. A bipod, jointed and spring‑loaded, anchored it to the rocky ground. The scope was a masterpiece – crystal lenses in a brass housing, its turrets marked with numbers that Kaito recognized as windage and elevation.
"That's a twenty millimeter," Kaito whispered. "Maybe larger."
Daiki crouched beside him. "The receiver is reinforced. Look at the locking lugs. It's designed for pressures that would blow a normal rifle apart."
"The barrel is free‑floating. No contact with the stock except at the receiver." Kaito shook his head. "Whoever built this knew exactly what they were doing."
Vlad watched them without moving. "Admiration is acceptable. Touching is not."
Kaito pointed at the muzzle brake – a wide, slotted device at the barrel's end. "That's to redirect gas and reduce recoil. For a round this size, the recoil would break a normal man's shoulder."
"It would," Vlad said.
Daiki looked at the folded stock, the compact tripod, the scope's sunshade. "It must be heavy. Twenty, maybe thirty kilos."
Vlad's masked face turned toward him. "It is light. Very light."
He lifted the rifle with one hand, holding it parallel to the ground, as if it weighed nothing. The knights did not react. The class stared.
"Twelve point seven kilograms," Vlad said. "Including the scope and bipod. I designed it that way."
He set the rifle back on the tripod with a soft click.
Kaito swallowed. "You designed it."
"Yes." Vlad's voice was flat, but there was a hint of something beneath it – pride, perhaps, or the pleasure of a craftsman showing his work. "Now. The dragon."
The sun crested the eastern peaks. The mist began to burn away. From the cave came a sound – a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the stone.
The lesser earth dragon emerged.
It was not the majestic beast of legends. It was a brute – twelve meters from snout to tail, its body low to the ground, covered in overlapping plates of grey‑brown bone. Its legs were thick, clawed, muscled like tree trunks. Its head was wedge‑shaped, with two small eyes set deep under bony ridges. A frill of spikes ran down its neck.
It moved slowly, its weight crushing stones. It circled the bowl, sniffing the air, its tongue flicking.
Vlad adjusted the scope. "Now."
The class began to shout. Miku threw a rock. Roderick banged his sword against his shield. Rin sent a bolt of lightning crackling across the bowl – not aimed at the dragon, but close enough to startle.
The dragon stopped. Its head turned. Its eyes found the ridge.
It charged.
The ground shook. The dragon moved faster than something its size should – a landslide of muscle and bone, its claws tearing furrows in the scree. The class scattered, just as Vlad had ordered.
Hound and Titan stepped forward, shields raised. "Hold the line!" Hound shouted.
The dragon veered toward them.
Vlad tracked it through the scope. The distance was shrinking – two hundred meters, one hundred fifty, one hundred. The dragon's head bobbed with each stride. The eye – the left eye – was a dark slit in the bone.
Wait, Vlad told himself. Wait for the rhythm.
The dragon opened its mouth to roar. The jaw dropped. The throat pulsed.
Vlad fired.
The 20mm round left the barrel at 930 meters per second. The sound was not a crack but a thump – a deep, percussive blow that hit the chest before the ears registered it. The rifle bucked against Vlad's shoulder, and a cloud of smoke obscured the muzzle for a heartbeat.
The bullet crossed the distance in less than a tenth of a second. It struck the dragon's open mouth, passed between the rows of teeth, and entered the soft palate.
Here, the description must be exact.
The bullet was a solid brass slug, weighing 120 grams, with a hardened steel core. Upon impact, the tip did not deform immediately; it punched through the mucous membrane of the palate, through the layer of cartilage that separated the mouth from the nasal cavity, and into the narrow channel of the pharynx.
The dragon's throat was a tunnel of muscle and blood vessels. The bullet tore through the carotid artery – a geyser of dark red that sprayed the inside of the mouth. It sheared through the trachea, collapsing the airway. Then it struck the base of the skull.
The skull of a lesser earth dragon is a composite of bone and keratinous plates, layered like plywood. The bullet encountered the first layer – a centimetre of dense bone – and shattered it. Fragments of bone became secondary projectiles, ripping through soft tissue.
The second layer was honeycombed, a shock‑absorbing structure. The bullet's steel core punched through, but the brass jacket peeled back, creating a wider wound channel. The third layer was the brain case.
The bullet entered the dragon's brain just behind the optic lobes. The pressure wave alone would have been fatal – a shockwave that turned the neural tissue to jelly. But the bullet kept going. It carved a tunnel through the cerebrum, through the cerebellum, through the brainstem. It exited the back of the skull, taking with it a cone of bone and brain matter the size of a fist.
The exit wound was not clean. The bullet, now tumbling, tore a ragged hole in the dragon's neck, just below the frill. Blood – not just red, but gray with shredded neural tissue – sprayed in a fan. A piece of skull plate, still attached to a strip of hide, flipped backward like a broken hatch.
The dragon's legs kept moving for three more strides. Its body had not yet understood that its brain was gone. The front legs dug into the scree, the claws scraping furrows. The hind legs pushed. The tail lashed.
Then the signal failed.
The dragon's front legs buckled. Its head, now a ruin of bone and gore, slammed into the ground. The body followed, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust and ash. The tail twitched once, twice, then still.
Silence.
The class stared. The Black Knights stared. Even Vlad, behind the mask, allowed himself a single breath.
Kaito lowered his hands from his ears. "That round… it went through the skull like it was paper."
Daiki shook his head. "The engineering alone. The metallurgy. The ballistics." He looked at Vlad. "You built that."
"Yes." Vlad began to dismantle the rifle, his movements precise and unhurried. "You have one hour to harvest the heart. The rest of the body – scales, bones, organs – belongs to my knights."
Elara approached the dragon's head. The eye – the right eye – was still open, still reflecting the morning light. The left side of the head was gone. She could see the inside of the skull, pink and wet.
"That was…" she started.
"Necessary," Vlad said. "Now move."
The class and the Black Knights worked together. Roderick and Titan rolled the dragon onto its side. Sparrow and Lynx cut into the belly with serrated knives. Rook cataloged each organ as it was removed. Hikari stood ready with healing magic, though no one was injured.
The heart was the size of a small barrel, still warm. Kaito and Daiki lifted it onto a stretcher.
"We have it," Elara said.
"Then go," Vlad said. "The girl is waiting."
The class left, carrying the heart. The Black Knights remained to harvest the rest.
Vlad watched the class disappear down the mountain.
One less monster, he thought. One more life saved.
He turned back to the dragon.
There was work to do.
End of Chapter Thirty‑Eight