what if I'm an undead! then so what?-Chapter 42: Solstice Spring underground event (3): Might of a Dragon; These fools could never make me sweat!

Chapter 42: Solstice Spring underground event (3): Might of a Dragon; These fools could never make me sweat!

The atmosphere inside the coliseum simmered with anticipation, the cheers of the crowd swelling like a tidal wave as the commentator’s voice rang out once more.

"And now, without further delay, let us proceed to the next stage of this unforgettable tournament!" the commentator bellowed, his voice infused with excitement. "We once again have a vampire—though this one hails from origins unknown!"

The gate on the right side of the arena rumbled open with a slow, deliberate creak. From the emerging fog stepped a tall, statuesque man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His long blonde hair cascaded neatly past his shoulders, framing a sharp, pale face with crimson eyes that glowed faintly under the arena’s magical lights.

He exuded an eerie calm, walking forward with the elegance of a nobleman. His attire was something out of a medieval tale—an ornate ensemble befitting the aristocracy of a bygone era. A blood-red cape billowed behind him, held in place by a silver clasp at his throat. The high-standing collar gave his silhouette a regal edge, but there was something surreal about his appearance—like a living cosplay character detached from reality.

"And now, facing him on the opposite end of the arena," the commentator continued, "we have a rare specimen—an extraordinary hybrid feared across continents! A Ryukar... otherwise known as a Half-Dragon!"

The left gate burst open with a thunderous clang. From the mist emerged a youth, no older than seventeen, with an air of audacious confidence. He moved with ease, his strides assured, as if the very ground responded to his presence. Despite his average build and unassuming facial features, there was an undeniable magnetism to him—an intangible energy that made onlookers lean forward.

His hair was a wild mess of scarlet red, like flames frozen in motion, and his eyes gleamed golden-brown with slit pupils, a dragon’s gaze veiled in human form. Small black horns curled from his head, not menacing, but oddly charming—almost mischievous in their design.

The two stood across from each other now, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of pride and superiority. The crowd quieted in anticipation, sensing that this battle might be unlike any before.

"And with that," the commentator declared, his voice rising to a crescendo, "the fourth round officially begins!" "While last battle was also tilted towards a fight for charisma, this time around it seems it’s pride that’s on the line, who would it be? the prideful Dragon race or the Noble Vampiric bloodline!"

In an instant, the silence shattered.

The two combatants surged forward like unleashed storms. The vampire’s movements were precise and practiced, his attacks flowing like an elegant dance honed over centuries. But the Ryukar was raw power incarnate—his blows heavy, direct, and relentless. Sparks flew each time their fists and limbs collided, the sound of impact echoing like thunder through the arena.

Within moments, it became clear—the vampire was on the defensive.

’Impossible... Am I being pushed back?’ the vampire thought, gritting his teeth. He raised his arm to block an incoming blow, only to be caught off guard by a feint—The Ryukar’s fist shifted into a spinning kick that connected squarely with his abdomen.

The sound of impact reverberated through the arena like a drumbeat. The vampire lurched, coughing up a spray of dark crimson blood. His body skidded across the ground, but he quickly caught himself, lips curled into a wry grin.

"Number one rule when fighting a vampire," he rasped, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Never let their blood touch your skin."

Before The Ryukar could react, the blood splattered on his hand began to hiss—then erupted into savage red flames, consuming his arm in an instant. The fire spread like a living entity, engulfing him in a wave of searing heat.

The Ryukar stumbled back, gritting his teeth as the inferno climbed higher.

"I warned you, kid," the vampire muttered through bloodied lips, placing a hand on his injured abdomen. "Damn... that kick hurt, but your ignorance will cost you more."

The flames intensified, roaring like a beast set free. The Ryukar’s screams pierced the air, sharp and agonized, as he fell to the ground and rolled, desperately trying to snuff out the fire.

"Aaahhh! It burns! Damn it, it burns!!" he howled, thrashing as the fire danced across his flesh.

The crowd erupted—not in panic, but laughter. The exaggerated display, to many, seemed like nothing more than a melodramatic act. Even the vampire tilted his head in confusion.

’Why... why isn’t he dead yet?’ he thought, watching as the flames continued to devour the boy’s body. ’These flames reach over five thousand degrees. No creature—even dragons—should be able to survive this. What the hell is he?’

Then, without warning, the tension cracked.

The Ryukar slowly rose to his feet.

His eyes were glowing, his skin gleaming—untouched.

"It burns..." The Ryukar said softly, grinning. "Just kidding."

The flames began to recede, curling inward like crimson ribbons, before vanishing altogether.

The vampire’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

"Imp... Impossible. That’s not possible. No one can survive that—nothing can! My flames burn hotter than hellfire itself! HOW?!"

The Ryukar stepped forward an evident look of pride in his face, brushing dust off his shoulder as if nothing had happened. "Such weak flames... couldn’t even tickle me."

He raised his arm, revealing flawless skin beneath his scorched clothing. Not even a burn mark.

"I am Vaelion. A being born of dragons. My skin can endure fire up to twenty thousand degrees. Your petty little inferno? Worthless. And even beyond that, my body is resistant to flames beyond that threshold. Your loss was inevitable."

The vampire’s eyes trembled with horror. His pride—his strength—shattered. With a heavy breath, he fell to his knees, lowering his head in surrender.

"I’ve... lost."

"Good," Vaelion said coldly, hands in his pockets. "You underworld vermin should understand your place. Be grateful I didn’t incinerate you myself. This is the might of the dragon race."

He turned his back and began walking toward the gate he came from. But before he could disappear from view, the commentator called out to him.

"Wait! Before you go, is there anything you’d like to say to the audience?"

Vaelion paused and looked over his shoulder.

"I came here to show the world the supremacy of dragonkin. Weakness is an insult to our legacy—it must be crushed. And next time... I expect real opponents. These fools could never make me sweat."

As he exited the arena, the audience roared in admiration, the name "Vaelion" already echoing through the stands like a battle hymn.

"Unbelievable!" the commentator exclaimed. "This competition continues to defy expectations! A Mikazuki vampire, a blind swordsman, a mythical creature, and now a Ryukar? Who will rise to the top?! Who will stand victorious?!"

High above the coliseum, in a private chamber lined with golden drapes and enchanted glass, four seats sat behind a long table, each bearing a small silver nameplate:

[Kenji Tsukigami]

[Michael Viremonthe]

[Takeshi Kuroya]

[Ryouji Daiki]

Unlike typical dignitaries, the VIPs were not aged aristocrats but four youthful men, each exuding a different flavor of overwhelming presence.

A boy with striking green hair and vibrant eyes leaned back in his seat, a smile on his face. "This is turning out to be the best tournament yet," Kenji Tsukigami said, his gaze flicking between the other three. "I’m starting to think the title might actually mean something this year."

"I agree," Ryouji Daiki said from the fourth table, resting his chin on his palm. "If I had to place my bet... it’d be on the swordsman. The precision he displayed... that wasn’t just talent. That was the work of a master."

Kenji nodded. "Naturally. You’ve always admired swordsmanship. Honestly, I think you might be right. He fights like a phantom."

Takeshi Kuroya chuckled softly. His raven-black hair was slicked back, his demeanor calm but observant. "You two are forgetting Vaelion. That wasn’t even half his power. I’ve seen beings bluff about their strength, but him? He wasn’t bluffing. He could’ve killed that vampire outright."

From the second table, a figure with pale skin and fiery red hair smirked, his crimson eyes twinkling with amusement. Michael Viremonthe stretched his legs out and crossed them, resting his chin on his hand. "Hmph. That dragon talks big, but I’m still placing my bet on the vampire... solely because I’m one too. Though... something about him bothers me."

"You recognized him?" Kenji asked curiously.

"I... thought I did," Michael replied slowly, narrowing his eyes. "His face and even his name seems very familiar however I can’t quite recall, the fact that he is a Mikazuki could mean maybe during a meeting or an event I coincidentally came across him, for now let’s just see how things play!"

The room fell into silence, each man deep in thought.

Below them, the crowd’s excitement grew louder with every passing second.

The competition was far from over.

Infact it was only just getting started.

"Now for the next round!"