novelraw Chapter 10: Strength and Speed
Chapter 10: Strength and Speed
"Slacking off again? Get up and mine!"
Garoth landed before the two young dragons, lightly tapping their heads with his tail to wake them.
Yawning, the two hatchlings clearly hadn't gotten enough sleep.
"My dear brother Garoth, can we rest a little longer?" they pleaded in pitiful voices.
When brute force failed, even wicked dragons knew to play the family card.
"No."
Garoth coldly refused. He'd given them chances before to accept a kind elder brother, but they'd spat on his goodwill and challenged him instead.
They'd made their choice.
If they wanted a ruthless dragon brother, fine—Garoth would oblige.
Hmph! Red Dragon Sister snorted disdainfully before reluctantly trudging toward the mining tunnel.
As for Iron Dragon Brother...
Even after Garoth's refusal, the hatchling still wore that arrogant, disdainful smirk.
Infuriating.
Were it not for the fact Garoth knew his twisted mouth resulted from injuries rather than attitude, he'd have already disciplined him.
Under Garoth's glare, Iron Dragon Brother shrank back slightly. Then, maintaining his lopsided grin with drool dripping down, he staggered unevenly after Red Dragon Sister into the tunnel.
Glancing up at the fiery sunset, Garoth lowered his gaze to his right forearm.
A small patch of stone-gray discoloration marred his forearm armor—a lingering wound from petrification rays that had turned scales and flesh to stone.
Crack! Crack!
Garoth picked away the petrified scales and flesh, leaving a small pit in his forearm.
Though barely noticeable, Garoth could sense something peculiar about the regenerating tissue—subtle transformations occurring beneath.
Once new scales and flesh regrew, subsequent petrification attacks would affect him less severely.
Complete immunity would require extensive, repeated exposure—something Garoth currently lacked opportunity for.
The minor wound hardly mattered, not hindering his movements. Bathed in the blazing sunset, Garoth began experimenting with new training methods.
Haaah...
Exhaling slowly, the young dragon whipped his wings, flipping midair until balancing his entire weight on a single forelimb. Maintaining this one-armed handstand, he began controlled dips.
Soon after, he arched his tail against the ground, supporting his body purely through tail strength to exercise those muscles.
Other times, he'd tilt his head back, using his neck as pivot point to rotate his body.
............
One after another, specialized exercises—none found in standard draconic inheritance—manifested through Garoth's training.
This was strength conditioning.
But strength alone wasn't enough—speed training followed.
After some time, Garoth shot skyward, soaring through star-studded night skies where twin moons hung. Taking a deep breath, he extended his wings to their limit and began furious flapping.
Yet despite the violent wingbeats, instead of ascending, the young dragon began gradually descending—an unnatural sight.
——Dragonflight was inherently magical.
A dragon's mass and proportions made sustained avian-style flight impossible through wings alone.
In truth, when dragons flew, magical energy from their bloodstream channeled into their wings, creating levitation effects similar to the Float spell. Combined with quasi-spell skills and wing strength, this allowed true aerial mastery.
Hence why sky-sealing spells were essential anti-dragon measures among other races—they disrupted this levitation effect.
Garoth refused to become grounded prey whenever enemies employed such tactics.
He aimed to achieve true unaided flight—soaring through will and muscle alone.
Eliminating this weakness brought him one step closer to his millennium-spanning ambitions.
By suppressing his magical energy and canceling the levitation effect...
His draconic bulk became dead weight, dragging him earthward.
Garoth's wings strained, each beat generating gale-force winds—yet still insufficient for lift, merely slowing his descent into controlled gliding.
This brutal method placed tremendous stress on his wing structure.
Under such duress, searing pain lanced through his wings with every motion.
Particularly where wing membranes joined his torso—each flap felt like hot iron spikes driving into flesh.
No audience cheered his nocturnal struggle.
No encouragement came as the young dragon gritted his teeth against the agony, silently persevering through each wingstroke, seeking adaptation amidst torment.
Time crawled.
Only when the twin moons dipped below the horizon and dawn's first light pierced the clouds did Garoth complete his regimen—exhausted beyond even draconic endurance.
Every muscle screamed protest, especially his wings which felt flayed from his body.
His breath came in ragged, bellows-like gasps.
Yet beneath the fatigue, his eyes shone bright.
Because intermingled with the pain came faint tingling sensations—signs of cellular adaptation.
Each trial by exhaustion strengthened him further—toughening his frame, extending his limits, increasing his speed.
One day, true wing-powered flight would be his. No anti-magic field could ground him then.
As Garoth prepared to rest...
Red Dragon Sister and Iron Dragon Brother emerged from the tunnels, dust-covered, spotting their weakened sibling.
Exchanging glances, the hatchlings advanced with unmistakable malice.
"Dear brother Garoth, you seem... tired," Red Dragon Sister cooed with faux concern dripping venom.
"Hoho, we'll definitely win this time," Iron Dragon Brother sneered through his still-lopsided mouth, chuckling like some cheap villain as he closed in.
"Looking for another beating?"
Garoth stood impassive, his larger frame looming as calm eyes assessed them.
That single glance froze both hatchlings mid-step, uncertainty flashing through their eyes.
Years of accumulated dread outweighed Garoth's apparent vulnerability—they hesitated.
"Now that I think about it, it has been a while since I disciplined you two."
Taking one deliberate step forward, Garoth let predatory intensity blaze in his gaze.
The hatchlings instinctively retreated, their bravado wilting instantly.
"J-just joking!"
"Don't misunderstand, dear brother!"
Immediate surrender followed as they scrambled backward.
Garoth snorted, magnanimously letting it slide this time.
Truthfully, he couldn't afford confrontation.
His wilderness expeditions beyond the crater territory had exposed him to countless dangers. Emotional turbulence had driven him to overtrain, draining his last reserves. Currently, any real fight would see him overpowered.
But flawless composure and established dominance cowed the hatchlings.
They'd just missed their sole chance for payback.
"Next time, conserve some energy for emergencies," he mentally noted before lumbering toward one of his impact craters.
Without ceremony, he curled up in the depression, using his own tail as pillow while folding wings over himself like a living blanket.
Thus began Garoth's routine-filled days.
Between disciplined training and coercing hatchlings to mine, he frequently ventured beyond the crater territory—honing combat skills against wild beasts while scouting future habitats for independent survival.
And so...
A year slipped by unnoticed.