I Only Tame Dragons-Chapter 215: The Queen’s Gambit

Lydia clenched her fists, frustration bubbling over. "Not again!" she shouted, her voice barely cutting through the roaring crowd. Read latest stories on novelbuddy

"How much longer is this going to continue? It’s obvious they’re cheating right in the open!" Her glare burned toward the Elven officials overseeing the event. "Aren’t you going to do something about this?!"

But her words were lost in the deafening cheers and chaos. The audience, blinded by spectacle, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The battlefield was in turmoil, and all they saw was another dramatic twist, another battle to feed their entertainment.

Above them, seated on her high throne, the Queen of the Elves slowly rose, her emerald gaze sweeping over the elders sitting beside her. Unlike the frenzy around them, she remained composed, regal, as if she had already foreseen this outcome.

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"I see you’ve been busy," she murmured, her voice carrying effortlessly through the royal chamber.

The elders stiffened. A few averted their eyes, suddenly engrossed in nonexistent distractions. One elder coughed, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. "Whatever do you mean, my Queen?" he asked, feigning innocence.

The Queen’s expression remained unreadable, but there was an undeniable weight behind her words. "I know that you’ve been distributing artifacts to certain players behind my back."

The elders exchanged wary glances. They weren’t foolish enough to believe they could deceive their Queen. Not truly. The moment she had spoken, they knew—she had been aware all along. Yet, for some reason, she had allowed it. That was what unsettled them.

Still, they weren’t concerned. Most of them were loyal to the Second Prince, Eryndorath, and he had made it clear—Nyx Guild had to lose. The Queen may have held the throne, but in the political court, she was little more than a figurehead. They doubted there would be any real consequences.

One of the bolder elders leaned forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "If I may ask, my Queen," he began, measuring his words carefully, "if you knew we had been handing out artifacts, then why did you not stop us?"

The Queen’s answer was calm, almost amused. "Because it wouldn’t be considered cheating if it simply leveled the playing field."

A ripple of confusion passed through the elders. "What do you mean?" another inquired hesitantly.

The Queen delicately smoothed the fabric of her sleeve, her voice never rising, yet commanding absolute attention. "My son, Von—you remember him, don’t you? He has a level of control over the darkness inside him that makes him far too powerful against ordinary players. And his friend aren’t normal players too. Especially that Horizon? Even a single one of his summons could wipe out a competitor with a stat range of 500 in mere moments."

Silence.

The elders knew she was right.

They had seen it for themselves—the overwhelming disparity in power. Von, Horizon, and their guild weren’t playing by the same rules as the others. Their abilities alone set them leagues above the competition.

The Queen allowed a small, knowing chuckle to escape her lips, her demeanor still as refined as ever. "That is why I let you do as you pleased. After all, who would want to watch a match that was already decided before it began?" Her gaze flickered to the battlefield below, where the storm of dark energy continued to swirl ominously around Travis. "But, of course," she added lightly, "those artifacts will be deducted from your salaries. I trust that won’t be an issue? Unless of course you wanted to rot in neverjail?"

Neverjail. A place whispered in hushed tones, feared even by those who reveled in cruelty. Hidden deep within the endless, ancient forest of Eldrasil, it was neither a prison nor a grave—it was something far worse.

The deeper one wandered into the heart of Eldrasil, the less the world obeyed natural laws. The trees grew too tall, their canopies blotting out the sky, leaving the land beneath in an eternal twilight. The air was thick, damp, and carried an unsettling hum, like whispers slithering through the leaves. The path to Neverjail was never the same twice, twisting and shifting like a living thing, ensuring that none who entered ever found their way out.

No walls contained Neverjail, no iron bars held its prisoners. Instead, it was a labyrinth of living roots and vines, ancient and unyielding. The roots pulsed like veins, wrapped around the bodies of those condemned, holding them in a state between life and death.

Some were suspended in midair, tangled in branches that stretched unnaturally, their eyes wide open but unseeing. Others were buried waist-deep in the earth, their mouths frozen in silent screams, unable to move, unable to die.

The creatures trapped here did not rot. Their bodies remained intact, their flesh untouched by time. But their minds . . . their minds lost.

Neverjail was not merely a prison of the body—it was a prison of perception. The deeper one was pulled into its grasp, the more reality twisted. Time had no meaning here. A second could feel like years. A lifetime could be stolen in a blink. Shadows whispered secrets that were never meant to be heard. Visions plagued the mind—memories that weren’t their own, screams from prisoners long lost to insanity. Some saw loved ones calling to them, only to wake and realize they had clawed their own eyes out in madness.

But the worst part . . . the worst part was the Forest’s Judgment.

Eldrasil itself was alive, ancient and hungry. Those who had wronged the world—murderers, betrayers, those who had drawn too much blood—were swallowed whole, not by soil, but by something deeper. The roots would tighten, pulling them downward, deeper and deeper, until they were lost in the earth, where they would feel every second of their slow, eternal decay.

The voices of the damned echoed through the roots, pleading, wailing, cursing, yet not a single word ever left the forest.

No one had ever escaped Neverjail.

No one even knew how long its prisoners remained aware.

Some said that the roots fed off their suffering, keeping their minds intact even as their bodies became one with the forest. Others claimed that the souls of the condemned became the whispers in the trees, forever luring new prey into the prison that had no doors.

Neverjail was not a sentence.

It was a fate. A punishment beyond death.

A visible shift passed through the elders as their smirks faltered. Their arrogance gone with the wind, replaced with the realization that, though they might have controlled the court, they had never truly outmaneuvered their Queen.

She had played them all along.

The elders groaned inwardly, but none dared to voice a protest. Neverjail was a scary face, and they would chose death over it anytime. Paying for the stolen artifacts was a small price.

On the battlefield, the vortex of darkness fully took shape, and Travis stood at its center, his eyes burning with newfound power.

The real fight was about to begin.