Chapter 39: The Duel for the Verdant Vale

  The battlefield was death itself, yet Garett still stood.

  The Reckoning’s bombardment had left the landscape unrecognizable, a scorched ruin where a city once stood. The sky still burned, plumes of smoke rising into the heavens like the funeral pyres of an entire civilization. And yet, through the destruction, a single figure remained—a lone sentinel standing against the abyss.

  Galatine.

  The divine knight stood firm, its colossal frame unmarred by the devastation around it. Its greatsword was embedded into the ground, spectral cape billowing as they absorbed the last remnants of the obliteration meant for them.

  Garett exhaled sharply from within the cockpit, his hands still gripping the controls. He had summoned it just in time.

  Leona’s voice came through the comms, hoarse but steady. "That mech… you summoned it?"

  Garett gave a grim nod. "More like it called to me."

  She exhaled. "Then you better pray it’s strong enough to handle what's coming."

  Her words were no exaggeration. Because beyond the ruined battlefield, the true storm was only just beginning.

  Above them, The Reckoning shifted.

  The moon-sized dreadnought pulsed with renewed energy, its presence a monument of impending destruction. The warship had finished its orbital bombardment. Now, it was moving on to the next phase.

  Leona’s gaze hardened. "That ship… I know it."

  Garett turned to her. "What?"

  She clenched her fists. "You know House Leonis once served House Draconis yeah? I was a little bit younger when I saw it, but I remember. That dreadnought… it belongs to Drakon Vaelinor Draconis."

  Garett’s mind raced. The name was familiar, one of the warlords of House Draconis.

  Before he could ask anything else, a violent shudder rippled through the battlefield. The ground trembled.

  Lyra was on her knees, panting. She had been trying to halt Mortivax’s advance, weaving spell after spell into the fabric of reality. But she was spent.

  Nyx hovered beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You need to stop. You’ll kill yourself."

  Lyra gritted her teeth, shaking her head. "If I stop, we all die."

  Leona reinforced her barriers around Lyra, casting her own fortifications to shield them. "Damn it, we can’t hold out forever."

  Garett’s mind whirled. Drakon. The Reckoning. Mortivax.

  "Nyx," he muttered, his voice low. "What are the odds of me and Galatine taking down a dreadnought and a dragon-mech?"

  Nyx tilted her head, as if genuinely considering the question. "With a little bit of training and acquiring some divine armaments... maybe."

  Garett blinked. "What do you mean divine armaments—"

  Before he could finish, the sky darkened.

  The Reckoning’s lower hangars split open, revealing the monstrous fleet hidden within.

  Cruisers. Destroyers. Drakeguard mechs.

  An entire invasion force descended from the heavens, their engines roaring as they prepared to purge the Verdant Vale completely.

  Leona clenched her jaw. "So this is it, then…"

  Garett tightened his grip on the controls.

  "No. Not yet."

  "Everyone, back off." Garett’s voice was sharp, commanding, leaving no room for argument.

  "What's on your mind?" Lyra asked.

  Leona's brows furrowed. She already knew what was coming.

  Garett let out a small breath, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're not gonna like this." His voice was calm, almost casual, but beneath it lay the weight of everything that had led to this moment.

  Leona, Nyx, and Lyra kept their distance from Galatine, making their way to a natural trench formed by the earlier bombardment.

  He raised his greatsword, its edge gleaming in the eerie light of the battlefield, and pointed it toward Mortivax. The challenge was unmistakable.

  "Drakon Vaelinor Draconis!" Garett's voice echoed through the comms, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Face me in single combat! Or will House Draconis only fight in great numbers?"

  Drakon's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white against the cold metal of Mortivax’s controls. In his lap, Lyrius’ lifeless body rested, his blood staining Drakon’s gauntlets. His mind was a storm—grief, fury, and an emptiness he couldn’t name, all warring for control. His brother’s face, slack and cold, haunted him, burned into his vision like a cruel brand. He had failed him.

  And now, this nobody, this so-called Lord of the Vale, dared to challenge him?

  Drakon’s breath came in ragged bursts, his rage a smoldering ember ready to ignite.

  Garett continued, his tone shifting, testing different insults, trying to prod at whatever pride Drakon had left. "Or is House Draconis so weak that even its warlords hide behind their fleets? Hiding behind their machines? Behind their men?"

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  No response.

  Garett gritted his teeth. "Or maybe your House was always like this—conquerors only when the odds are stacked in your favor."

  Still nothing.

  Then, Garett smirked. "I mean, you already failed to protect your subordinate. What’s one more failure?"

  A crack.

  Drakon’s entire body froze, his grip tightening so hard on the controls that the metal groaned beneath his fingers.

  "You think he was just a subordinate?" Drakon’s voice was low, dangerously quiet, seething beneath the weight of something raw. "You dare to speak of Lyrius like that?"

  Garett shrugged, pushing further. "All I see is another soldier thrown away by a commander too weak to protect his own."

  Drakon’s rage detonated.

  Mortivax’s claws raked against the earth, its stance shifting forward, predatory. "You want single combat?" His voice was hollow, but laced with something new—a dangerous edge. "Then come down from your throne, Lord Fenralis. Let’s see if you’re worthy of the challenge you’ve issued."

  Leona stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "I will bear witness to this duel."

  Drakon's eyes flicked toward her, recognition flashing across his face. "Leona Leonis... I remember you." His tone was lukewarm, neither hostile nor welcoming.

  Garett exhaled, cutting through the tension. "Then let’s discuss terms. When I defeat you—"

  "If." Drakon interjected coldly.

  A silence hung between them - no further words were needed: The fate of the planet itself would rest on this duel.

  Garett turned to Leona. "I need a weapon."

  She unstrapped her longsword from her belt and handed it to him. Garett tested the weight, adjusting his grip as he prepared to wield it with both hands. "Not your first choice, I imagine."

  Garett smirked, testing the weight. "It’ll do."

  Drakon discarded his gauntlets and reached for his weapons—a mace and shield, both crackling with arcane power.

  Before the battle commenced, Nyx, Lyra, and Leona gathered around Garett. Their healing magic washed over him, mending wounds but unable to restore him fully.

  Lyra’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. "Promise me… promise me you’ll come back."

  Garett looked down at her—at the worry in her hazel-gold eyes, at the way her breath hitched. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of pink hair from her face. "I’ll come back. No matter what."

  Leona crossed her arms, trying to mask her concern with her usual sharpness. "Keep your stance tight, watch his feints. He’s bigger, but you’re faster. Don’t be reckless."

  Nyx smirked, folding her arms. "And don’t die. It’d be a pain in the ass to find another Resonator so soon."

  Garett rolled his shoulders, stepping onto the battlefield.

  The duel had begun.

  Garett moved first. His stance was aggressive, pushing forward with a flurry of precise, relentless strikes, wielding Leona’s longsword like a two-handed executioner’s blade. Sparks shrieked as steel met steel, Drakon’s shield absorbing the impacts effortlessly. He did not strike back. Not yet.

  Drakon was watching him. Judging him.

  Garett grit his teeth. He knew this feeling—being evaluated, measured against a standard he could never meet. It pissed him off. He feinted left, then twisted into a downward cleave, aiming for an opening.

  Drakon deflected it with ease, stepping just out of range, his movements economical, precise. His golden eyes barely flickered with exertion. "Is that it, Lord Fenralis? All that bravado, only to fight like a cornered dog?"

  Garett’s frustration flared, but he forced it down. Think. Adapt.

  A spark of blue light crackled across his arm. If pure technique wouldn’t break through, then—magic would.

  With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a sudden burst of gale-force wind, aiming to disrupt Drakon’s balance. But Drakon anticipated it, countering with a flick of his own hand. A gravitational pulse slammed into Garett’s chest, sending him skidding back several feet.

  Drakon exhaled slowly. "You think you’re the first to try tricks? This isn’t a duel between apprentices, boy. This is war."

  Garett spat blood onto the dirt, rolling his shoulders. "Then let’s stop pretending it isn’t."

  His battle aura ignited. Blue energy flared around him, his grip on the sword tightening as he prepared to strike again.

  Drakon smiled, a cruel, knowing thing.

  Garett lunged again, his battle aura surging, enhancing his strikes with sheer force. Each blow sent shockwaves through the air, the ground beneath them cracking from the pressure. Drakon blocked with his shield, bracing against the relentless assault, his boots grinding into the dirt.

  A clash. A dodge. A counter. Drakon was fast—too fast for someone wielding a heavy mace and shield. He was testing Garett, letting him exhaust himself, his golden eyes calculating every movement, every mistake.

  Then, Garett struck true.

  Drakon raised his shield to intercept an overhead swing, but he had miscalculated the force behind it. The sheer impact—amplified by Garett’s battle aura—sent a deafening crack through the battlefield. The metal buckled inward, twisting under the pressure. A sharp edge tore into Drakon’s forearm.

  His eyes flashed with pain, but he didn’t so much as grunt. He tossed the ruined shield aside, golden energy pooling into his injured arm.

  The flesh knitted itself back together.

  Drakon rolled his shoulder, flexing his fingers. The air around him shifted—his golden irises burning brighter, his breath coming out in slow, measured exhales.

  Then, the transformation began.

  Scales rippled across his arms, curling over his flesh like molten gold. His muscles coiled, denser, heavier—his presence a weight pressing upon the battlefield itself. The very ground beneath him trembled as the ancient draconic power of House Draconis awakened within him.

  "You should feel honored, Lord Fenralis." His voice was deeper now, reverberating through the air with an unnatural timbre. "Only true warriors have seen me in this form."

  Before Garett could react, Drakon exploded forward.

  The clash of steel and raw force sent shockwaves rippling outward. Garett barely had time to raise his sword before Drakon’s mace came crashing down. He sidestepped, but the impact obliterated the earth where he once stood, sending debris flying.

  They were evenly matched.

  Garett’s blade danced through the air, his movements fueled by precision and power, while Drakon moved like a beast unchained—his attacks carrying the weight of something primordial, something unstoppable.

  Magic crackled between them—Garett unleashed torrents of wind and flame, while Drakon countered with gravitational pulses and searing draconic energy. The battlefield became a storm of raw power and will.

  Then, a single misstep.

  Garett lunged for an opening, but Drakon’s movements were too refined—he had baited him.

  With one swift motion, Drakon twisted, parried the longsword with his armored forearm, and slammed his mace into Garett’s wrist.

  Pain. A numbing shock ran up his arm as his fingers involuntarily loosened—the sword wrenched from his grasp, flipping end over end before embedding into the ground.

  Garett staggered back, chest heaving, unarmed.

  Drakon stood tall, his expression empty. Then, with an air of finality, he leveled his weapon at Garett’s throat.

  "It’s over."

  Lyra's scream pierced the battlefield. "Garett!"

  Leona turned away, jaw clenched, refusing to watch what came next. Even Nyx, always cold, cast her gaze downward. There was nothing left to be done.

  Above them, The Reckoning and its fleet loomed, its massive form and its swarm of ships and drakeguard mechs blotting out the sky, the final shadow over the Verdant Vale. The fleet hung in silence, waiting for Drakon's word.

  Drakon’s fingers tightened. He threw his mace aside and seized Garett by the hair, yanking his head up to meet his burning golden gaze.

  "When I have made you witness everything you built and love turn to ash, only then will I give you permission to die."

  Then—

  A sudden, sharp blare from The Reckoning’s comms.

  Drakon’s jaw tensed. He snapped his fingers, and a holo-display materialized before him, revealing one of his officers—his face pale, his expression tight with urgency.

  "Milord, a large object is approaching from warpspace. From the patterns of the reading… it's…"

  Drakon’s nostrils flared, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Speak."

  The officer swallowed. "It's another dreadnought, milord."