-Fifteen minutes earlier-

“Master, please don’t kill them. Let me try to talk this out. Please.”

The dragon could hear one of those damned deathbounds say something from above, but he couldn’t make it out over his rising fury. Fuming was an understatement. Kinsoriel could scarcely keep the anger out of each breath. Not that he wanted to, but self-control was a virtue he prided himself on. In this case, he had enough of it to process what his student had pleaded of him.

He had no idea why this was being asked. Had he not been asked to slaughter bandits not even a week ago? Pests though they were, they hadn’t done anything to him personally. But what of those ‘heroes’ up there? They attacked him without any warning like cowards and had he not partially rid himself of his curse, they’d have killed him right there. If anything, he was obligated to return the gesture.

With that in consideration, this was still the strange little man he had come to know over this short time. For how deranged he tended to be, he had surprised him time and time again. Even if he couldn’t immediately see or even understand why he wanted to do this, Benjamin had proven worth taking a chance on before. For that reason and that reason alone, he would stay his wrath for a while longer. Kinsoriel gave his permission with a head motion.

With a thankful nod, his student called out, “Alright, let’s go about this in a nice and peaceful-” The sudden stop was immediately of notice.

Searching around, he realized that one of those who had attacked him was missing. A very faint smell tickled his nostrils too late. A rat. Despite not being able to see it, Kinsoriel realized what they had done as soon as Benjamin was seemingly jerked into the air. Before he could do anything, an enchanted item had been activated. “Blink Step” was said before his student was whisked away without a trace.

Normally quick to react, the experienced dragon couldn’t help but stare at the spot where Ben had once stood. These foul mortals dared not only to set their weapons upon him, but to take what was his? In front of him no less?! The pain he had was nearly forgotten as he grappled with their audacity. Feeling his eyes strain as he looked at the soon-to-be dead, he let out a roar loud enough to rend eardrums.

Though they shook slightly at the sound, the three that were visible stood defiant.

“You shall hide behind your thrall no longer!” The armored one raised its blade in his direction. “Cease your cowardice and fight!”

He scowled. Calling him a coward when coming at him in numbers was a lie even if they believed it. Hollow accusations like that wouldn’t make him attack blindly. He’d been around for far too long to fall for simple trickery like that after all. That didn’t mean he would let them continue any longer, however.

With an archer capable of piercing his scales, he needed further protection. Condensing mana into his wings, he focused on the feeling of the breeze and the sway of the heavy winds. The image of blowing a leaf away with his breath came to mind. “Gale Cloak,” he said to himself as his wings were surrounded by protective winds. It was always that much more difficult to cast with his wings, but the subtlety it could provide made it worth learning.

In the time that he had spent casting his spell, the trio had started towards him slowly. They must have realized that he wouldn’t take their bait.

The one that wore the large hat turned quickly to the archer, who had already let loose an arrow. It flew towards him at a nearly unperceivable speed. Of course, nearly wasn’t good enough. Bringing his left wing in front of him, Kinsoriel’s spell slowed it down enough to bounce off without harm.

The mage as they often called the big hat wearers spoke up. “Listen closely everyone, this dragon can use magic! Remain vigilant. Nela, cover us for a moment while I attempt something. Chedwick, give me those arrows.”

Furrowing his brow, Kinsoriel set his sights on that deathbound in particular. Not only did he seem to be their leader, but he was able to sense that a spell had been cast. A very hard-to-detect spell at that. A spellcaster experienced enough to do that was a genuine danger to him. He must be dealt with first.

He began circling them looking for an opening. The armored one followed his movements and put herself between him and his primary target. They had the disadvantage of being bipedal on uneven terrain like this, yet she never stumbled.

Just behind her, he could see the mage reading from his tome, enchanting their archer’s arrows. The brazen nature to do so in the middle of a battle infuriated the dragon to no end. A Depriving Net would just go to waste with them close enough to get it off of him. He could try and scorch them with his fire breath, but he’d used so much against the worm that he didn’t have much left in him.

Feeling the coarse sand under his claws gave him an idea. Grabbing at the sand beneath him, he flung it at the heroes and rushed towards them. Pouncing high, he prepared to snuff out the arrogant mage with one slice.

“Shelter!” shouted the armored one from the cloud of sand. A see-through dome of viridian suddenly appeared between him and his prey. Smashing himself against it, the surface violently pushed him back along with all the sand he had thrown.

Huffing and puffing aside, he managed to land on all four feet. All the scales that had touched it tingled with an imposed weakness. Shamefully, he couldn’t deny that they had gotten the better of him with that.

A snarl emerged from his mouth. Who could take pride in fighting like this? He was greater than every single one of them in every way, and yet here they were enchanting at leisure! Had he tried to do something like that, he’d have been relentlessly attacked for it. But they could get away with it because of their numbers? What a farce.

He had to consciously stop himself. This wasn’t the time to lose himself in such thoughts. Spiraling down how unfair it was would only get him hurt, not the other way around. Keeping a sharp focus and making fewer mistakes is how he would even the odds.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this spell, though it was the first he'd seen it as an enchantment. From what he could remember, its origins were in mortal camping. It would keep the users safe from animals while siphoning the mana of more violent ones to further bolster it. Dragons had no such need for that since most knew not to disturb their slumber. Wailing on the dome would just further weaken him. It may end up absorbing a spell if he tried to cast one on it.

The one flaw he could immediately exploit in it was how it diffused air. It would be terrible if campfire smoke couldn’t get out and air couldn’t get in, so those ideas were integrated into it. As a result of that decision, the opposite was true as well.

Holding a hand up above his head, he fluttered his fingers, imitating the form of smoke. That scratchy, tainted air would soon fill that pathetic bubble. It would rip apart their lungs with every breath. With his image fully realized, he brought his hand back down and opened his palm towards the heroes. “Smog!”

Thick black fumes billowed from his hand and towards the deathbounds. Just as he had hoped, the wall of the spell did nothing to stop it from invading. Though obscured, he could see their forms start to move about. Either they let the shelter drop or they suffocate right now. Either way, they would perish shortly.

A deep pain bit into his right hind leg. Kinsoriel faltered, stumbling over himself as the act of standing became harder. Smog sputtered once his concentration had been broken. That offensive smell assaulted his nostrils again; the rat had returned. He tried thrashing around where he had been stabbed, but it had already left.

“Phew, looks like I got’ere just in time. What would you fellas do without me?” Once what remained of the smoke dispersed, the mortals still stood in the same place, joined by the now visible ratman.

Everything continued to grow more and more sour. Kinsoriel’s back leg couldn’t take much pressure and this was on top of the injuries he had already sustained. He couldn’t keep up an image of invulnerability like this. Those savages would swarm him the moment he limped. His only option was to fly, even if his wings were also hurting. At least he would be able to better hide his weakened state.

Pushing the ground away from him with as strong a hop as he could, he started flying. The arrow still lodged in his chest throbbed with every flap, but he swallowed the pain. His anguish right now was temporary; theirs would be permanent. This thought helped him to continue on.

Below him, the mage handed the archer his arrows and took a drink of some blue drink. A mana potion, or in his eyes, yet another tool worthy of scorn. Fine, let them grow reliant on such things. He’d drop them and their shortcuts into a grave with actual skill and mastery.

Since they’re all so keen on keeping their eyes on him, why not give them something to look at? Quickly moving a great amount of mana into a closed hand, he opened it towards them while moving his face away and yelled, “Flash!” Light pulsed from his hand for a moment before flooding the world around him and the heroes below.

“Don’t look!” cried the mage. Even not looking directly at it, the sudden light would still leave them stunned for long enough to strike. He swooped down like a hawk, attempting to get the troublesome mage. The mage might not have seen him, but he had heard him. All he got for his troubles was the deathbounds overly large hat as its owner dropped to the ground. Flinging it to the winds in annoyance, he turned back to make a second run when he heard something.

“Pierce!” Another arrow made its way towards him. He briefly shielded himself with his wind-enhanced wings reflexively before realizing what had been called out. The enchanted arrow pushed through both his Gale Cloak and wings, penetrating his flank. His wings went limp long enough for him to careen back to the sandy ground below.

The crash wouldn’t hurt much normally, but landing with three already injured limbs left Kinsoriel lying in agony. Hot blood soaked his scales around the new wound before finally sealing. They would see just how vulnerable he was and finish him off. If he didn’t get up right now, he would be as good as dead. Forcing his limbs to obey, he lifted himself back on his feet.

The heroes came into view as he got back up. They seemed to be in no rush to kill him, walking at a cautious pace with the armored one still in front. In all his years of slaying groups like these, never had he seen such honorless behavior. He tensed up, awaiting their next move.

Before he or they did anything, someone else appeared above the dune. Another deathbound, sprinting confidently towards the heroes. It produced no sound as it did so somehow, not even disturbing the sands. Was it reinforcement or a traveler of some sort? As this third party grabbed hold of the archer and took a knife to his throat, things got confusing.

“W-what is this?! Unhand me!” shouted the elven archer, his voice strained with the knife.

This sudden intrusion allowed Kinsoriel to move closer, splitting the heroes' attention.

The mage quickly sped through his tome before the hostage taker stopped him. “Close that book or I slit his throat.” With a worried look at the archer, the mage complied.

“Can you not see this beast? It’ll kill us all if you don’t let him go!” cried the female.

“Let’em go! We need him, and so will you, ya daft bastard!” demanded the ratman.

Kinsoriel crept even closer as they tried pleading with the hostage taker. The deathbound, a man it looked like, cast a sidelong at the dragon. After doing so, he lightly laughed.

“What’s so funny?” asked the archer.

“That ‘beast’ as you call it won’t hurt me. Call it a gut feeling.”

The mage’s eyes darted back and forth between Kinsoriel and the man. “And what makes you so sure of that? These things kill for sport!”

“Because,” the hostage taker replied simply, “I’ve got a gift for it.”

Without any further warning, the archer was thrown down towards Kinsoriel’s direction. It didn’t take long before the elf was driven into the ground by a great fist. Despite his weariness, there was plenty of strength leftover for that.

At the same time, the man tossed his knife into the forehead of the hapless mage. One smooth motion and the most dangerous of the heroes lay on the ground dead.

“God’s above. Nela, we need to get out of here!”

The armored woman either didn’t hear her last party member or ignored him. She chose instead to charge at the wounded dragon.

“Monster! You monster! I’ll cut you down, do you hear me?! I’ll kill you! Sever Edge!” Her longsword began to hum with energy, glowing a deep red along its edges. She swung it around wildly like a club.

Such unfocused attacks were wyrmling’s play to avoid. Kinsoriel backed away enough to give the mystery man some distance. This had the added effect of convincing this knight that she had the advantage. Once far enough, he took a deep breath. Her rage made her realize what was to come far too late.

“Shelt-” was all she managed to say before a short-lived shower of flames covered her being. Despite sputtering out of breath one second later, it had still done the trick. The knight rolled back and forth on the ground desperately trying to put herself out. With all the armor she wore, it was already too late. A vengeful part of him wanted to let her writhe in pain like he had, but he cut it short. A bit of applied pressure to her softened helmet and it was over.

A strange feeling seemed to fill the air around him before disappearing as quickly as it arrived. Perhaps it was a side effect from all the blood he had lost? Odd nonetheless.

“Do I have your permission to come closer, mighty dragon?” the voice of the mystery man asked from a distance.

Flattery and respect? Given how he likely saved him from a worse situation as well, how could he say no? Though not sure of his intentions, he bid him to come closer with a nod.

“For what purpose did you come to my aid, deathbound? Your kin spoke no lies of my own. Many of my kind would kill yours for nothing.”

The mystery man shrugged. “I had a contract out for two of them and they were distracted with you. Aside from that, it’s in my profession to save lives.” He shook a bag over his shoulder for emphasis. This brought the dragon’s attention to his garb.

“You’re a surgeon?”

“An aspiring one that is.” With a short bow, he added, “My name is Carthex. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

A small smile creeping along his muzzle, the dragon said, “Kinsoriel”