All The Skills - A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Book 2: Chapter 70: A Teachable Moment

Still, these pathetic humans dared to drag him into an empty chamber aside the king’s throne room and tell Brixaby that they knew better than him.

Who was the Legendary dragon here?

Brixaby longed to rip out their hearts and laugh in their faces as he absorbed them. That would teach these arrogant fools where the true power lay. That would teach them to keep Arthur away.

But the only magic left to him in this terrible place was that of his natural flying affinity. Even then, the skills he had worked so hard to attain were not available to him.

He could only imagine how Arthur felt.

Brixaby did not enjoy thinking from others’ points of view. It was an uncomfortable sensation. Case in point, every time he allowed himself to imagine what Arthur must be going through in that strange stone room where they had stored him... he saw red. It took everything he had not to fly into a whole new rage.

"My Dutchy has fertile fields," his would-be new rider prattled on, as if Brixaby cared. "Lands of fertile fields with livestock grazing upon them, fat from all the harvests. Whenever we visited, you could have your choice of the harvest. A cow? A pig? It would be freshly slaughtered and brought to you."

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his muzzle. He had let something about himself slip.

Penn Rowantree's eyes lit up. "Well, as you know, my family is well-regarded, and I can hire the best chefs for you. Whatever you desire will be on hand. Just like that." He snapped his fingers.

What Brixaby desired was for Arthur to make him a delicious plate of food. They had not had much chance for relaxation over the last few days while working on their various skills. But at one point, Arthur had taken a break long enough to visit the hive kitchens.

Brixaby had been working on pinpoint turns for trick flying. He had been surprised to see Arthur return with two plates both loaded with a dark brown meat Arthur had called ‘steak’.

"I cooked yours rare," Arthur had said, and pointed to a fluffy white cloud next to it with a well of brown sauce. “With a side of mashed potatoes and gravy. I'm not sure you’d like it, but give it a try."

Brixaby had liked it all. The meat was almost raw inside and the outside crust was delicious with salt and spices. The potatoes were odd but filling in a way that was similar to meat. And the gravy, Brixaby could smell, was created from other meat juices and fats, which he found quite delightful.

"You will make this for me again," Brixaby demanded, after he had eaten his fill. “I especially enjoy the… what do you call it?”

“Garlic.”

“Yes. You will double the amount of garlic tomorrow,” Brixaby announced.

“If we do that, we run the risk of people smelling you before they see you,” Arthur had then suggested other meals Brixaby might like as well.

But he had not gotten those meals because they had been summoned to see the king soon afterward. Then, this nonsense happened.

And now these half-wits dared to suggest — No, worse, insist—that Brixaby pluck out a card from Arthur's chest and hand it over to a boy that Brixaby had already refused?

“I would rather pluck out the card from your heart and give it to Arthur,” he snarled, coming to hover an inch from Penn's nose. “Then I would be certain it would go to someone who would do something useful with it!”

Brixaby had the pleasure of seeing Penn’s pulse jump in the big vein of his neck, but the idiot did not have the good sense to move away. He continued trying to convince him.

“Surely, you can see that this is the better solution for you. Arthur is a traitor to the kingdom—”

“Why do I care about that?” Brixaby snorted.

Lional spoke. “Because you are a dragon, a service-animal bound to our Kingdom.”

“I did not give you permission to speak, Rare-card,” Brixaby said, not bothering to turn his direction. “This is a conversation for your Legendary rank betters.”

The man reddened. “You dare—! I’ve pushed out turds bigger than you!”

Brixaby’s lips pulled away from his teeth in a draconic grin, “And yet here you are, begging me to take your son as my rider. Pathetic.”

“Father, that's enough! Brixaby... Honored dragon...” Penn turned to him, and Brixaby got the impression that he would be on his knees, literally begging if he thought it would help. It wouldn't, but Brixaby would like to see it, nonetheless. “What do I have to do to prove myself?”

“Nothing,” Brixaby answered with the greatest of satisfaction. “I have chosen, and I chose well. Go bother the next Legendary hatchling.”

“But that could be years from now,” the boy whined.

"I fail to see how that's my problem," Brixaby replied. He reached up to tap his bottom claws on his chin in thought – a motion he had seen Arthur do. "Switch out your card with your father, and try to trick a Rare to link with you. Maybe if you happen to link a useful one, and you please me enough, you may serve in my retinue."

Lional audibly ground his teeth. “This is useless. We should kill the traitor’s son. Then, if this beast survives, he will be desperate enough to take anybody."

"I will never be desperate enough to take him," Brixaby pointed his tail at Penn. "I would rather become a wild dragon and live off the land, than be in either of your presences.”

It looked like he had found Penn’s last straw. Balling his fists, he glared at Brixaby. “I should have killed the traitor myself when I had the chance. Well, I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll prove my loyalty to the king and you’ll have no choice but to link with me.”

Brixaby made himself a silent vow. If they hurt Arthur, then he was going to spend every minute of every day for the rest of his life taking down the Rowantree family. He would gut every man, woman, and child of their cards, one after the other, add them to his own power, and nobody would be safe from his wrath.

It was at that moment that the door to their chamber blew open. Brixaby buzzed straight up in startlement, and got the impression of a ghostly dragon head—narrowed with a delicate nose—snaking in with a long sinuous neck following. It was the king’s Mythic.

The Mythic spoke in a high voice like the wind. “Urgent summons have arrived for Duke Rowantree.”

“What?” the man barked. “What summons?”

“I am not your messenger,” the Mythic said. “Read them yourself.”

Brixaby snorted to himself.

The Duke remembered who and what he was talking to and hastily knelt.

Penn did too, though with a sour look on his face. He didn’t like kneeling for dragons, yet another flaw in a long list of flaws.

“Of course,” Lional said, “Please allow the messenger in.”

The dragon's head withdrew, and a startled-looking servant arrived, a scroll in hand. The man bowed and Duke Rowantree gestured for him to bring it over.

The man took a step and Brixaby zipped down and snatched the scroll. He didn't actually want the thing—though he was somewhat proficient at reading. Or he would be if he still had his skills.

Reading wasn’t why he grabbed it. Annoying the duke was.

"Give me that you overgrown bat—” The duke roared and snatched at him.

Dropping the scroll, Brixaby chose to latch onto the back of the man’s hand, instead, dragging all his claws down deep into flesh.

The duke howled, and Brixaby launched off, back through the still open door the way the servant had come.

Freedom! Now to find Arthur…

He didn't forget about the Mythic. He just hoped that it would not prove to be a problem. Unfortunately, like the rest of this rotten day, luck was not with him.

A ghostly dragon-hand shape he could not see wrapped around him, and Brixaby snarled again, biting at it. Not that it did any good. The scales were like steel.

The Mythic held him up and Brixaby felt like he was being examined.

“I take it that you were unhappy with your new rider?"

"He is not my rider! He was unworthy even before I picked Arthur,” Brixaby snarled, “Get me back to my true rider, and we will face whatever's to come together.”

The dragon laughed low. “I'm afraid you will get your wish if you push the Duke too far.”

“So? He is a mere duke. I am a Legendary dragon.”

The hand he could not see briefly tightened in warning. “And I am a Mythic dragon. Yet you have not treated me with courtesy.”

Shame tinged with resentment washed through him: shame that the Mythic was right. Resentment, also that the Mythic was right.

For the first time today, Brixaby stopped struggling. “Release me.”

Perhaps the Mythic sensed the change because the grip loosened. Brixaby crawled on top of the fist and, doing his best to guess where the head was that he could not see, bowed low, spreading all four wings. “I, Brixaby, greet and acknowledge Mythic...uh…” He wrinkled his nose. “My apologies. I don't know your name.”

“You have not been hatched long enough to be properly educated,” the Mythic sighed.

And then, to Brixaby's shock, it—she— became visible.

She was... unlike any dragon he had ever seen before.

Her head was pointed like an elongated spear, with two swept-back horns. Her body was indeed snake-like and coiled around the room in loops. She had almost comically short legs. Brixaby stood on one forelimb, and he saw how she had to raise the top part of her body to allow it. Her narrow wings were equally short, set somewhere in the middle of the body.

They looked like they should not be able to hold her weight, yet Brixaby knew they could because she was a gleaming, polished silver except for a stripe of bright blue down her spine.

This was a Mythic with a natural inclination to pure magic and water. And she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen.

Fully revealed, her power swept over Brixaby, making it feel as if he had suddenly found himself buried under a ton of boulders. He was pushed flat by her mere presence and lay on the side of her forepaw, trembling.

“I am Lung Bai. Now, you may rise,” she said, in a voice that was no longer a ghostly whisper. It, too, had become real.

The power lessened just enough for Brixaby to climb back to his feet, though his legs were shaking. The thought of the cards she must be holding made him want to salivate, but...to steal one would be unthinkable.

She regarded him for a moment. “Brixaby, you are becoming a pain in my tail.”

“I don't mean to,” he said. “But I have chosen, and he is a good, worthy rider. He is clever. And he is right for me.”

“From what I understand, Penn Rowantree has a combat card.”

Lung Bai watched him solemnly. “You claim your rider is clever. I have not seen this yet.”

“He is, though he could use some polishing. That's where I come in,” Brixaby said.

“Hmm. You are arrogant, but think I we need arrogance for the trials that are to come. I will give your rider one more chance.” Brixaby's heart leapt. “If he impresses my king, I will not stand in his way. He is young, and so are you. Perhaps you will both take this as a teachable moment.”

Brixaby resented the chastisement, but if it meant getting out of Penn's presence and having Arthur back, he could swallow it. “My rider is an excellent cook. Have you ever had steak?”

Lung Bai cocked her delicate head. “Steak, as the humans eat?”

“It is delicious. My rider makes it. Perhaps, if you had some, you would understand why I am so loyal,” Brixaby meant this wholeheartedly, so he did not understand why the other dragon smiled.

“That may be the case, young Brixaby. Now, it seems that we have an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“The scroll.”

At that moment, she turned and went invisible again, releasing Brixaby from the last of her power.

Brixaby buzzed up into the air just as Penn and Duke Rowantree came into the room. The duke was clutching his freely bleeding hand to his chest, and from the stormy look on his face they had been discussing the scroll – and Brixaby.

They stopped short just in the room, perhaps sensing the Mythic dragon within.

“You have read the summons,” Lung Bai said.

“Bandits, it would seem,” the dragon seemed incredibly amused. “That conveniently needs someone with great combat power to stop them. How very unfortunate that this news should happen… now.”

Penn raised his arm. “Brixaby, come join me. I will show you my power and drive away these bandits.”

As loath as he was to admit it, Brixaby was mildly tempted. Not because he cared what Penn could do, but bandits might have juicy cards in their hearts.

It was with reluctance that he turned away. Arthur really owed him one. "Sort out your problems for yourself. I'm not your dragon.”

With a gesture of a barely visible Mythic hand, the door to the throne room swung open. One of the king’s men strode out as if he had been waiting for this moment.

“Return Duke Rowantree and his son back home,” Lung Bai said.The most update n0vels are published on NovelEnglish.net

Penn finally caught on. "Wait, no, I'll stay—"

His father pushed forward in front of him. “Honored dragon, my son will stay. We have strong men to sort out any bandit attack.”

"What a poor example you make to the king. Your dutchy should be your first priority,” she tisked.

Brixaby got the impression that the dragon was very much enjoying herself.

Penn looked at Brixaby. "Will we be able to return?"

He could tell that the Duke and his annoying son did not like the idea, but no one was going to countermand the Mythic.

The Duke tried again. "If I could speak to the king—"

That, it seemed, was a step too far.

"The king chooses when to speak to his subjects. Not the other way around. Wilber, open them a portal.”

In answer, the king’s man gestured and the sun ring portal opened. It led back to the library.

Brixaby thought that it was quiet outside for a supposed bandit attack.

"Bye," Brixaby said, then fluttered to the other side of the room, just in case someone tried to use a power on him to drag him through.

"No, I’ll stay," Penn insisted, but with a puff of air from the Mythic, he was pushed through the portal.

The Duke walked through under his own power, then turned around and opened up his mouth.

"Please send word to His Majesty—" the portal snapped shut.

Brixaby let out a huge sigh of relief.

“But not Penn Rowantree, right?” Brixaby asked.

She paused. “As I said, that is up to the King. Now, Wilber, if you please…”

The portal man—who Brixaby guessed was Wilber—once again opened up the portal.

A second later, Arthur stepped through. He looked pale and grim-faced, but very much in one piece.

And the next second, Brixaby slammed right into Arthur's chest.

“Oomph! Brix!” Arthur cradled him in one hand and looked around curiously. “Are you okay?”

“Those people were horrible! I cannot believe they’re your relations.” Brixaby crawled up to his regular shoulder perch where he made sure to curl his claws deep into Arthur’s shirt. Then, for extra effect, he twined his tail around the back of Arthur’s neck. He wouldn’t allow himself to be easily snatched off his shoulder again.

Leaning over, Brixaby spoke into Arthur’s ear. “You must speak to the king again. Mythic Lung Bai has given us a second chance. We have to do better this time.”

“Is that so?” There was some flatness in Arthur's voice Brixaby didn't understand or care about.

“Yes!” Brixaby said. “And you must be more clever this time. Tell me you spent that time working out a plan.”

In answer, Arthur turned. “Where is the Mythic now?”

Brixaby pointed with his head towards where he thought Lung Bai to be waiting.

Arthur turned and bowed to her. “With your permission, I would like to speak to the king. I have a… proposition for him.”