Chapter 114: The Small Statured Giant Dragon—Archibald Belief

Dragonborn are the descendants of ancient dragons and humans. However, through generations of intermarriage and reproduction, the vast majority of dragonborn have come to resemble humans—like Oscris of the Isolda family. Many dragonborn are not even aware that true dragons exist in this world.

Those who exhibit atavism or have retained their ancient bloodlines, however, possess distinct physical features. They are immensely strong, agile as cats, and possess an unnervingly high resistance to magic. Ordinary wizards are no match for them; they must be treated as elite threats. If you were to be cornered by one, a single blow from their axe would split a person in two. Such powerful warriors cannot be easily subdued by wizards. In any confrontation, they always stand a chance of turning the tide. Even at the Holy Oak Academy, these brutish figures are rarely provoked; before a prank spell can even be cast, the caster would likely be punched into the ceiling.

Yet, at this moment, these fierce dragon-kin stood like timid lambs, heads bowed, enduring a lecture from a goblin in the passenger seat. The small goblin stood on the hood of the car, his back to the crowd. He sported a slicked-back hairstyle and was puffing on a cigar. When he turned around, cigar dangling from his lips, Kate and the surrounding gentlemen and ladies felt a jolt of shock at the sight of the jagged scar running across his eye.

It was Archie Belive.

How had he come in person? Wasn't the Storge Group headquarters located in Italy?

To many nobles and commoners with no dealings with the group, the name simply evoked images of the gladiatorial arena. But for those nobles involved in the dark underworld, they instinctively covered their faces and prepared to flee—these notorious thugs were surely here for a turf war. These people were capable of anything, regardless of whether their target was a noble, a commoner, or an official.

Legend had it that during the most chaotic era, a prominent councilman was riddled with bullets by a group of thugs passing by in a car with a "Chicago typewriter" right inside a county town hall. The culprits were eventually identified as foreign extremists retaliating against the councilman’s oppressive policies toward their people. However, those in the know understood it was the work of the Storge Group—the councilman’s subordinates had seized a load of Storge contraband. Those with even deeper knowledge knew it was a blatant warning from the new Queen, delivered through the Storge Group, to those who had been opposing her.

Kate’s face turned pale. She noticed the small man with the slicked-back hair staring in her direction with a mocking smile. Her father’s Seventh Fleet was struggling with funding; the Sorondo Kingdom owed the Hammer of the War God a massive sum for munitions, but the Ministry of Finance refused to authorize payment. Her father had been forced to take out a large loan, but he had no capital to cover the shortfall, threatening the very existence of the fleet. Was he here for her? Did he intend to kidnap her to force her family to pay for the fleet?

Kate felt a surge of fear and anger. Ever since her father stepped down as governor, his power had waned, and his years of political neglect had left them vulnerable to such bullying. But surely this was too grand a display? Kate suddenly calmed down—they were likely just trying to intimidate her.

"Ah-Long, that's him!" The man with the slicked-back hair pointed at Louis and Kate. The terrifying, massive Dragon-man jumped down, grinning and cracking his knuckles. As he walked over, his tail, thick and heavy as a hammer, swung and smashed into a vintage four-wheeled car, caving it in and flipping it over. The gentlemen nearby scrambled to put distance between themselves and Kate.

Kate’s mind reeled. She pulled Helen and the young Yordles behind her, pointed a trembling finger at Archie, and lashed out, "You are too arrogant! Under the very shadow of the Royal Capital, you dare—wait?"

Before she could finish, Louis tossed his coat to her, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and walked forward. He recognized this guy—he was the champion who had been trash-talking him in the newspapers. Kate felt dizzy and wanted to warn Louis to be careful, but halfway through, her expression turned strange.

Helen cheered excitedly, "Beat him up, Louis! Tell him you're the real champion!"

"Go, boss!" The young Yordles were equally thrilled. This Mr. Ah-Long, who had once slaughtered a fire dragon in the wizarding arena, would prove that their boss was the most suitable pilot for the Son of Lant if he could take him down. And this great patron—the one who could convince the Witch Queen—wasn't he right here? So, this was who the boss meant when he said he was treating someone to dinner. The Yordles knew exactly why Archie had come today: he had made a wager with the King, and now his neck was in a noose. If he lost, it wouldn't just be a matter of tens of thousands of gold galleons—it would mean losing three years of maritime trade rights.

That would effectively cut off Archie’s primary source of income—shipping and smuggling. It would be the end of him.

"Louis VI! You beardless whelk!" Ah-Long lowered his head, staring at the small figure approaching him. His voice was so loud that the display windows in the hall rattled. "You aren't even fit to be called—"

"I told you, I am a wizard!"

Before Ah-Long could finish, the spectators saw the man half his size leap up with eyes blazing, delivering a vicious hook. There was a sickening crack of breaking bones, and the massive dragonborn was launched like a rocket, crashing into the ceiling twenty meters above. With a thunderous boom, Ah-Long’s head smashed through the dome, leaving him dangling and swaying from the rafters.

A deathly silence fell over the hall. The gentlemen and ladies stood agape, staring at the colleague of Her Highness Oscris—Mr. Louis, the Magic Knight. A few gentlemen wearing rouge seemed unable to handle the shock and fainted with a soft thud. Conversely, the ladies and young misses flushed deep red, fanning themselves as they unabashedly examined the man's physique.

The Yordles were equally stunned, their mouths agape. They hadn't expected their boss to take him out with a single punch. This was the champion of the Storge Dragon Arena! The champion who had decimated over a dozen adventuring parties with wizards in their ranks!

With a creak from the dome, Ah-Long fell back down. He shook his head, eyes bulging as he looked at Louis. "Warrior..." Before he could finish, he let out a hiccup and passed out—though he certainly lived up to his reputation for durability.

Seeing Ah-Long punched into the ceiling and then crashing down, 'Archie' stared open-mouthed, craning his neck for a long moment. Then, he leaped onto the roof of the vintage car used as a centerpiece, dancing and shouting wildly.

"Louis VI! You really are the best! My God of War! In this world, aside from that 'Augusta' counting flies at the bottom of the Magic Prison, you are the most—"

Before he could finish, Louis slapped him on the back of the head, knocking the cigar from his mouth. Then, Louis grabbed him firmly by the collar.