The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 316: Scaled Woeng Tribe

A shriek split the cold air, high and fierce and filled with recognition. He looked up.

Jolthar’s heart lifted as he spotted the familiar silhouette diving from the clouds above.

Maelruth’s wings caught the wind as she spiralled down, her scales gleaming crimson in the sun light. The drake was magnificent in flight; power and grace combined in a form that spoke of ancient bloodlines and wild freedom.

She landed before him with earth-shaking force, her talons carving grooves in the ice as she fought to contain her excitement. The low rumble that emerged from her throat was pure joy, a sound that resonated through Jolthar’s bones and reminded him why he had missed her presence so keenly.

”Alright, alright,” he laughed, staggering backward as Maelruth’s enormous head butted against his chest.

”I missed you too.”

The drake’s rough tongue scraped across his face in enthusiastic greeting, nearly knocking him from his feet. Her happiness was infectious.

”Easy, girl,” he murmured, running his hands along her neck scales. ”You’d think I’d been gone for years instead of weeks.”

That’s when he noticed her neck felt long for him.

A frown appeared on his face as he moved back, and saw her once again, taking in her total view.

”What in the...” he muttered, surprised by the size she had grown into. Everything about her changed drastically – her scales, wings and body; she had grown at least three to five times her original size.

”What happened to you?”

Maeluth looked at him, as she was confused. He looked around the mountains; he could see the faint traces of the chaos lingering in the air, especially around the cave area.

Was she also influenced by Chaos? Jolthar wondered.

The drake was too happy to see him.

Maelruth’s rumbling response suggested that any separation was too long for her liking. She nuzzled against him with surprising gentleness for such a large creature, her contentment radiating through their bond.

The reunion was perfect in its simplicity—no demands, no expectations, just the pure joy of companionship restored.

But their moment of peace was short-lived.

Maelruth’s head snapped up, her nostrils flaring as she caught some scent on the wind. Her posture shifted from joy to alertness, then to something approaching hostility.

A low growl rumbled in her chest as she turned toward the eastern sky.

Jolthar followed her gaze and saw them—four shapes approaching through the cold air.

At first glance, they might have been birds, but as they drew closer, their true nature became clear.

Dragons, though smaller than Maelruth, bore riders whose forms seemed somehow wrong against the sky.

”What is it, girl?” he asked as he patted her.

Maelruth’s reaction was answer enough—whatever approached was not friendly.

The riders descended in formation, their mounts’ wings beating with synchronised precision that spoke of military training.

As they drew closer, Jolthar could see that the riders were indeed not human. Their forms were elongated, their features sharp and angular in ways that suggested draconic heritage. Half-dragons, perhaps, or some other breed that mixed human intelligence with reptilian ferocity.

Maelruth’s grunt of anger reverberated through the ground as the four riders landed in a rough semicircle before them.

Their dragons were sleek and dangerous, built for speed and combat rather than the raw power that Maelruth embodied. The riders themselves wore armour that seemed to blend scales and metal, and their weapons were clearly designed for aerial combat.

One of them dismounted and stepped forward, his movements carrying the grace of a predator. His features were sharp and angular, with eyes that held vertical pupils and skin that showed hints of scales along the jawline. They had four hands, unlike anything Jolthar had seen before.

When he spoke, his voice carried an accent that Jolthar couldn’t place—something that spoke of distant lands and old bloodlines.

”Are you the owner of this beast?” the rider asked, his gaze fixed on Maelruth with obvious assessment.

”Yes,” Jolthar replied, his tone carefully neutral. ”And who are you?”

The rider’s smile revealed teeth that were slightly too sharp. ”I am Voriack, lieutenant of the Scaled Woeng tribe.”

Maelruth’s growl deepened, and Jolthar could feel her tension through their bond. Whatever these riders wanted, she sensed threat in their presence.

”The drake is not for sale,” Jolthar said flatly. ”If that’s what you’re here to discuss.”

Voriack’s laugh was cold and measured. ”Sale? Oh, young one, you misunderstand completely. We are not here to purchase. We are here to collect what rightfully belongs to our masters.”

The other three riders spread out slightly, their positions becoming more obviously tactical. Their dragons shifted restlessly, eyes fixed on Maelruth with predatory interest.

”Your companion is a fine specimen,” Voriack continued, circling slowly to get a better view of the drake.

”Strong bloodline, well-trained, bonded to a rider with... interesting heritage. Yes, she will serve admirably in the fighting pits.”

Jolthar’s blood ran cold. ”Fighting pits?”

”The arenas of Drak’tarra,” Voriack explained casually.

”Where the strong survive and the weak become entertainment. Your drake will bring great glory to her new masters... assuming she proves worthy.”

”She’s not going anywhere,” Jolthar said, his voice carrying the edge of steel.

Voriack’s expression didn’t change, but his hand moved to the weapon at his side. ”I’m afraid you have little choice in the matter. The tribe company has claimed this territory for hunting purposes. All suitable creatures are to be brought to Drak’tarra for evaluation.”

”By whose authority?” Jolthar demanded.

”By the authority of those who have the power to take what they desire,” Voriack replied.

”You may come willingly and perhaps find service in the arenas yourself, or you may resist and provide entertainment of a different sort.”

Maelruth stepped forward and raised her head, breathing in a lot of air, and blew.

Maelruth’s roar shook the air between them, her fury finally finding voice. The smaller dragons backed away instinctively, recognizing the challenge in that sound. Their riders, however, seemed unimpressed by the display.

”A spirited one,” Voriack observed.

”The crowds will love her defiance... until it is broken.”

Jolthar had his swords kept in the Strodem, so he was not carrying any weapons now. He didn’t need a weapon to deal with them; he knew that much. His eyes began to glow with inner light, and the air around him seemed to shimmer with barely contained energy.

”Last warning,” he said, his voice carrying harmonics that spoke of divine authority. ”Leave now, and we need not shed blood.”

Voriack’s smile widened, revealing more of those predatory teeth. ”Ah, the young ones are quick to rage. How delightful. The arena masters will pay handsomely for one such as you.”

He gestured to his companions, and all four riders began to advance, their dragons moving with them in perfect coordination.