Day 190. Evening. The Viscount's Study.
The blueprints for the Steam-Crawler lay scattered on the oak table, weighed down by heavy iron bolts. Rian stared at them, his eyes burning with fatigue.
He ran the calculations again.
Weight of the engine block: 2 tons.
Fuel consumption: 10 barrels of crude oil per 100 miles.
Top Speed: 30 mph.
"It's not enough," Rian whispered, dropping his charcoal stick. "Even if Borin casts the cylinders perfectly... even if the tracks hold... 30 miles per hour isn't fast enough. The snowdrifts in the Bandit Pass will slow us down to a crawl. We will miss the deadline by a week."
He looked at the Royal Edict. The gold seal seemed to mock him.
Thirty Days.
To cross a continent. Through a blizzard. Hunted by magical assassins.
"I need a jet," Rian muttered, rubbing his temples. "I need to fly over the trap."
But he didn't have aluminum. He didn't have jet fuel. He had iron and mud.
Ding.
The sound was sharp, cutting through his despair. It wasn't the usual low chime of the resource report. It was the high-pitched, urgent ring of a Strategic Opportunity.
[Ding! System Intelligence - Fauna Analysis]
[Location: The Spire of Winds (10 miles North of Blackiron)]
[Subject: Migration Pattern Detected]
[Target Species: The Zephyr-Drakes (Sky-Kings)]
Type: High-Altitude Predator.
Speed: Can ride the Jet Stream. Cruising speed exceeds 150 mph.
Behavior: Extremely Aggressive. Territorial.
Current Status: Nesting. The Alpha Female is injured.
Taming Probability: 0% (For normal humans).
System Solution: The Alpha is suffering from 'Scale-Rot' (a fungal infection under the wing). If treated, the beast will owe a Life-Debt.
Rian stood up slowly.
Zephyr-Drakes.
Legends said they were the mounts of the ancient Dragon Riders, but they had gone extinct—or so the Empire thought. They lived so high up that no Knight could reach them without freezing.
"Varg!" Rian shouted. "Pack the medical kit. And the climbing gear."
"We aren't building a tank. We are climbing the Spire."
The Ascent of Death
Day 191. The Spire of Winds.
The Spire was a needle of black granite that pierced the clouds, rising four thousand feet above the valley floor. The wind here was a physical weight, trying to peel Rian and Varg off the rock face.
They were three thousand feet up.
Varg slammed a steel piton into a crack. Clang.
He clipped the safety rope. His face was pale.
"Boss!" Varg yelled over the gale. "This is suicide! The Drakes eat wolves for breakfast! If we get to the nest, they will tear us apart!"
"They won't!" Rian yelled back, adjusting his snow goggles. He carried a heavy pack filled not with weapons, but with chemicals: Sulfur powder, Alcohol, and Antibiotic Salve (made from mold cultures Rian had grown in the lab).
"Just don't look down!" Rian pulled himself up the next ledge.
The air grew thin. Breathing became a struggle. Rian's lungs burned, but his mind was focused on the Intel.
The Alpha is injured. She is vulnerable. This is a negotiation, not a fight.
They crested the final lip of the rock.
The summit wasn't a peak; it was a flat, hollowed-out crater, sheltered from the wind by high rock walls.
And inside... were the Kings of the Sky.
There were three of them.
Massive, reptilian beasts with wingspans of thirty feet. Their scales were a shimmering iridescent blue, blending perfectly with the sky. They didn't have the bulky bodies of ground dragons; they were sleek, aerodynamic, like living fighter jets.
SCREEEE!
The nearest Drake—a smaller male—spotted them. It let out a shriek that shattered the icicles on the cliff edge. It crouched, wings flaring, ready to pounce.
"Hold!" Rian ordered Varg, who was reaching for his sword. "Do not draw steel. They see metal as a threat."
Rian stepped forward, his hands empty.
The male Drake hissed, smoke curling from its nostrils. It wasn't fire; it was a freezing vapor.
Then, the Alpha moved.
She was massive, twice the size of the male. But she didn't attack. She lay huddled near the back of the nest, her left wing awkwardly splayed out. She let out a low, pained warble.
Rian used [Zoom Vision].
He saw it. Under the joint of her massive wing, the scales were gray and flaky. A patch of white fungus was eating into the muscle.
Scale-Rot. It was agony. It prevented her from flying. In this weather, if she couldn't fly, she couldn't hunt. She was starving.
The Surgery of the Sky
Rian walked past the hissing male.
"I am not food," Rian said calmly, keeping his eyes lowered to show submission. "I am the Doctor."
The male snapped its jaws inches from Rian's face. The wind from the snap blew Rian's hair back.
But the Alpha let out a sharp bark. The male retreated, confused.
The Alpha watched Rian with intelligent, golden eyes. She smelled something on him. Not fear. Medicine.
Rian knelt beside the massive head. He could smell the ozone and raw meat on her breath.
"This will hurt," Rian whispered.
He opened his pack.
He took out a bottle of High-Concentration Alcohol.
He poured it onto the infected wound.
HISSSSSS!
The Alpha roared, her body convulsing. The pain was blinding. The male Drake screamed and prepared to dive-bomb Rian.
"Varg! Shield!" Rian shouted.
Varg leaped forward, raising his shield just as the male struck. BANG. Varg was knocked back five feet, but he held the line.
"It burns because it's working!" Rian yelled at the beast.
He took a scraper. He scraped away the dead, gray scales.
Then, he applied the Sulfur Paste.
The yellow paste soothed the raw flesh instantly.
The Alpha stopped thrashing.
Her breathing slowed. The burning itch that had plagued her for weeks... vanished. Replaced by a cool, numbing sensation.
She turned her head. Her golden eye was the size of a dinner plate.
She looked at Rian.
She nudged him gently with her snout.
It was a terrifying gesture of gratitude.
[Ding! Taming Successful]
[Target: Zephyr-Drake Alpha (Queen of the Spire)]
[Status: Life-Debt Acknowledged]
Rian exhaled, collapsing onto the cold stone.
"Varg," Rian panted. "Put away the sword. We just got our ride."
The Saddle of the Wind
Day 192. Dawn.
They didn't have time to make leather saddles. Rian used climbing harnesses and ropes to lash himself to the base of the Alpha's neck.
Varg strapped himself to the smaller male (whom Rian named "Bolt").
"Boss," Varg said, his voice trembling as he looked over the edge of the four-thousand-foot drop. "I prefer wolves. Wolves stay on the ground."
"Wolves are slow," Rian adjusted his goggles. "Pull your scarf tight, Varg. At this speed, the air will freeze your tears."
Rian patted the Alpha's neck. Her scales were warm now, thrumming with power.
"To the South," Rian commanded, pointing toward the horizon. "Fly."
The Alpha crouched. Her powerful hind legs coiled.
BOOM.
She launched.
The sensation was not like falling. It was like being shot out of a cannon.
Rian's stomach dropped. The G-force pressed him flat against the scales.
In three seconds, they were diving.
Then, the Alpha opened her wings.
SNAP.
The canvas of the wings caught the updraft.
They leveled out, soaring at 200 miles per hour.
The wind roared so loud Rian couldn't hear himself scream. The world below—the castle, the walls, the forest—blurred into a smear of white and gray.
[Ding! Speed Analysis]
[Current Speed: 180 MPH]
[Estimated Travel Time to Capital: 3 Days (with rest)]
The Chess Game in the Clouds
Rian leaned forward, his face pressed against the warm scales to escape the wind.
He pulled out his map, which was flapping violently.
"System," Rian thought. "Show me the threat zones."
[Overlay Active]
Red dots appeared on his mental map of the Southern Road.
Zone 1: The Bandit Pass. (Shadowblade Ambush Point).
Zone 2: The River Bridge. (Mercenary Blockade).
Zone 3: The Royal Checkpoint. (Identity Inspection).
"They are watching the roads," Rian yelled to Varg, pointing down at the tiny, winding snake of the trade route miles below.
"Lydia expects a carriage. She expects a horse."
"We aren't taking the road!" Rian banked the Drake hard to the left.
"We are taking the Cloud Route."
They climbed higher. Into the Stratosphere.
The air became thin and biting cold. Frost formed on Rian's eyebrows.
But here, above the cloud layer, the sun was shining. A sea of white clouds stretched below them like an endless ocean.
No assassin could see them here. No arrow could reach them.
"Let them wait in the bushes!" Rian laughed, the sound snatched away by the wind. "Let them freeze on the road!"
"While they hunt a ghost on the ground, we will drop directly onto the King's doorstep."
The Descent
Day 195. The Capital Outskirts.
Three days of flying.
They slept in short bursts on high mountain peaks, eating cold rations.
Rian was exhausted, wind-burned, and stiff.
But below them... the snow was gone. Green fields appeared.
And in the distance, the glittering spires of the Capital City of Oland.
"Drop altitude," Rian signaled.
The Drakes folded their wings and dived.
The warm air of the South rushed up to meet them. It felt thick and soupy compared to the crisp Northern air.
"We can't land in the city," Rian shouted. "A dragon landing in the plaza will cause a panic. The Royal Guard will shoot us down."
He pointed to a dense forest, ten miles north of the city gates. The "King's Wood."
"We land there. We walk the last ten miles. We enter the city as travelers."
The Alpha flared her wings, slowing their descent.
They crashed through the canopy of the trees, landing heavily in a clearing.
The Drakes panted, steam rising from their scales. They were tired, but triumphant.
Rian unbuckled his harness. His legs were wobbly. He fell onto the soft, mossy grass.
He looked at the Alpha.
"Go," Rian whispered, stroking her snout. "Return to the Spire. I will call you when I need to leave."
The Alpha nudged him one last time, then launched herself back into the sky, disappearing into the clouds like a phantom.
Rian stood up. He brushed the leaves from his coat.
He looked at Varg.
Varg was kissing the ground. "Dirt. Sweet, solid dirt."
"Get up, Varg," Rian adjusted his lavender scarf. "We have ten miles to walk."
"And we have a Feast to attend."
Rian checked his pocket watch.
25 Days Remaining.
He had arrived nearly a month early.
"Lydia thinks I'm dead in a snowdrift," Rian smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Imagine her face when I walk through the front door before she even finishes her breakfast."
Rian began to walk toward the city of gold and vipers.
He didn't bring an army. He didn't bring a tank.
He brought himself. And that was enough.
End of Chapter 64