Dragon King's Harem Chapter 456. I’ve Buried Kings With My Own Hands

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 456. I’ve Buried Kings With My Own Hands

I stepped into the shadows just as his blade came down. The stone beneath cracked from the sheer weight and mana packed into the swing.

I reappeared behind him, already mid-cast.

[Mana Weapon – Honor and Pride]

Two curved blades formed in my hands, flickering between molten steel and spectral light.

I slashed.

He spun fast—fast enough to deflect one sword. The second nicked his side—sparks flew as his armor blocked most of it.

He hissed. Twisted. Punched.

I blocked with my forearm. It still rang like a hammer on steel.

We broke apart, circling each other like wolves with grudges.

“I fought on the frontlines before you were even born,” he spat. “I’ve buried kings with my own hands.”

“Congratulations,” I muttered. “Want a medal?”

He lunged again, this time bringing his sword around in a sweeping arc.

I dodged backward, letting his blade slice past—then drove my palm into the ground.

‘Earth Spike.’

A ring of jagged stone erupted under him.

He flipped—flipped—midair like a war-honed gymnast and landed outside the radius, sword glowing now with raw elemental magic.

He came in again, feinting left—then pivoted. Sharp. Too sharp.

He was reading my stance.

Predicting my angles.

I had to change it.

‘Chronos.’

The world slowed.

That’s all I had.

I dashed left. Flashed behind him. My blade poised for his exposed back.

Time snapped forward.

I slashed—only to miss.

He knew.

He’d baited me.

His elbow slammed into my ribs. Followed by a shoulder bash that sent me skidding across the frost-etched stone.

[You got punched and lost 120 HP]

Blood touched my lip. I wiped it with the back of my hand.

“You’ve got skill,” I muttered.

“I am skill,” he growled.

He pressed his palm to the ground now—copying me.

“Glacial Eruption.”

The ground beneath me exploded in icy tendrils. They twisted like claws, shooting toward my legs.

“Glayze.”

I countered.

A pulse of my own mana froze the air around us into jagged pillars, breaking his tendrils mid-surge. Steam hissed into the night.

I leapt through the smoke and summoned another blade.

[Mana Weapon – Justice]

This one long lance. Piercing. Enchanted.

I thrust.

He caught it.

Bare hands.

His fingers trembled from the impact, blood trickling between them—but he still held the spear, snarled, and yanked me forward.

“Get over here!”

Then… He headbutted me!

[You got hit and lost 100 HP]

[Stun Resist – 80% Effective]

I staggered. My wings flared out, keeping balance.

He raised his sword again.

But this time, I went higher.

Wings beat once—twice—and I was airborne. High above him.

I clenched my fists.

Then raised them both.

‘Thunder Storm, Flame Pillar.’

Black clouds swirled overhead like a conjured god's wrath, coiling with rumbling menace.

A second later—Boom!

A pillar of fire erupted beneath Cedric’s feet, molten orange and gold, heat bursting skyward like a dragon's breath from the bowels of the arena.

He moved just in time. Slid to the side, his cloak catching fire at the edge. But he didn’t scream—didn’t stop.

Then the lightning struck.

A bolt as thick as a tree trunk split from the sky with a deafening crack and crashed into the stone where he stood a heartbeat before. It shattered tiles. Sent gravel and frost exploding outward like shrapnel.

Cedric snarled, rolled through the chaos like a cornered beast, and came up slashing in a wide arc.

He wasn’t done.

He wasn’t even close.

His aura pulsed—sharp, jagged frost spreading across the ground in veins. His foot slid into a combat stance that made my wings twitch instinctively.

Still, I could see it.

His mana flickered.

Like a candle in a storm.

Still burning. Still dangerous. But dimmer.

The sword in his hands—gleaming with runes carved by his dead king—felt heavier now. His swings were sharp, sure, but carried that creeping drag of fatigue.

He was strong. Experienced. Brutal.

But I’d been saving this one.

I descended from the air like a falling curse.

[Mana Weapon – Nightmare (Sword)]

It forged in my grip mid-drop, a molten blade curved like a devil’s fang, crackling with fire and shadow.

I roared.

He met me mid-swing.

Our blades clashed with a sound like thunder shattering steel.

-Crack!

The arena trembled.

Stone cracked outward in rings beneath our feet. Magic surged in wild currents around us—flame meeting frost, fury colliding with control.

We pushed against each other, blades locked, faces inches apart.

“You messed with the wrong tribe,” I growled, fire leaking from my mouth.

“Then I’ll bury yours beside you,” he spat back, ice crawling up his lips as his own aura surged.

We broke.

He swung left—I ducked. I swung low—he blocked with the flat of his blade. Sparks flew.

I flipped my grip and slashed upward, carving a molten line across his armored chest. The runes on his cuirass flared, absorbing most of it, but he grunted—felt it.

He retaliated fast.

Frost Edge – Triple Slash

His sword split into afterimages. Three sweeping strikes. I blocked the first, dodged the second, caught the third on my shoulder.

[You got hit and lost 140 HP]

Stone Skin cracked where the blow landed, but held.

I stepped into him, shoulder-checked him hard enough to knock him off balance, then brought my blade down.

He raised his to parry—too slow.

My sword scraped down his gauntlet and bit into the metal of his pauldron.

He cursed, mana flaring from his boots to leap backward.

I chased.

[Mana Weapon – Honor and Pride]

I reformed my weapons mid-dash, dual swords spinning in my hands as I pressed forward with relentless aggression.

Cedric blocked the first strike, then the second, then twisted his body and kicked me in the chest.

I slid back—but my feet stayed planted. Wings flared out again for balance.

He came at me full-force, sword raised, eyes wild now—not with rage.

But with that familiar glint.

Desperation.

And that made him dangerous.

Desperate kings don’t care about aftermaths.

Desperate kings just want to survive.

We clashed again—steel on steel, fury on fury.

This wasn’t about form anymore.

It was instinct. Will. Grit.

He ducked low, tried to slice at my knees—I leapt over him and kicked him in the back mid-air.

He staggered, but spun and jabbed upward. I bent my wings forward, catching the blow.

Then I drove my boot into his chest and pushed him backward again.

He skidded across the frost-cracked floor, blade dragging a thin trail through the stone.

We both paused for a breath.

Heavy air.

Scorched stone.

Magic buzzing like flies around a carcass.

This wasn’t a duel anymore.

This was a war in miniature.

And neither of us planned to die easy.