The dragon with wings surged forward from Caspian's blind spot on the right as he knocked the spear aside to his left.
He dropped to one knee just in time.
A sword swept horizontally over his head, missing him by inches.
Caspian didn't hesitate.
From his crouched position, he thrust upward. The dragon was forced to leap back, barely managing to block the strike as she retreated.
For a brief moment, the spectators were stunned.
Caspian's control over the blade looked natural—as though he had wielded a sword for centuries.
When he moved, it was fluid and precise, like the effortless dance of a butterfly.
He darted between the two opponents, calmly holding his own against warriors decades older, more experienced, and at a higher evolutionary level.
It looked… easy.
Spinning between them, Caspian deflected a strike and slashed the spear user across the arm. The blow shattered scales and drew blood.
The injured dragon snarled, pride and fury igniting as he formed a fireball of intense heat. At the same time, the sword wielder conjured an ice lance, hovering sharply in the air.
They attacked together.
Fire and ice surged forward in unison, their combined power making the mana in the air tremble.
The spell wouldn't kill him—but if it hit, it would leave Caspian gravely injured.
He didn't move.
He simply watched as the attack closed in.
Yes… this is it, Vorgath thought triumphantly. He can't react in time.
Caspian smirked.
"This is more like it!"
His pure royal draconic lineage roared within him, demanding absolute victory—and he was more than willing to deliver.
Planting one foot forward, Caspian raised his sword with both hands.
As the fireball and ice lance converged only a few feet away, he brought the blade down in a single, brutal vertical slash.
The impact was explosive.
The spells shattered apart with a thunderous crack, a shockwave rippling outward and kicking dust into the air.
Silence followed.
"He just… destroyed them with pure physical strength?"
One soldier's voice wavered with disbelief.
"Incredible," another said, eyes wide. "Unevolved, and capable of that? He must be a genius—just like the Ember-Lord at his age."
Others weren't impressed.
They were alarmed.
Vorgath's thoughts spiralled.
No… how in all the hells did he do that?! He was a cripple this morning!
Caspian stood amid the settling dust, smiling with growing confidence.
"Let's see if this next skill lives up to its name," he said calmly. "Use every defensive spell you have. Otherwise, this might accidentally kill you."
Unease spread through the two dragons—and through the onlookers.
They didn't hesitate.
Defensive magic flared around them.
Too late.
There was no chant.
No warning.
Caspian snapped his fingers and whispered.
"Holy Fire."
Brilliant golden flames erupted around the two dragons, engulfing them instantly. The heat was savage, searing, utterly unforgiving—the name almost felt misleading.
Their screams echoed across the training grounds, making even hardened veterans pale.
[Host! Do not allow the draconic bloodline to dominate you. It is highly volatile—especially given the purity of yours. You must regain control.]
The system's warning cut through him.
Caspian frowned, unsettled.
He knew his draconic bloodline was amplifying his emotions—but this ruthlessness went deeper than instinct or heritage.
This was resentment.
Suppressed fury.
The emotions of the original Caspian—years of helplessness, humiliation, and silent despair—now being dragged to the surface and weaponized.
The old Caspian had understood the truth of this world better than anyone.
Weakness invited suffering.
Power was survival.
Caspian accepted that he would need to be ruthless. That dominance would be necessary.
But not here.
Not now.
These dragons didn't deserve it.
He had already made his point.
The factions watching would remember this day—not just his strength, but his willingness to cross lines.
An unevolved prince, freshly awakened from a coma, had shown power and cruelty.
And in this world, the latter mattered just as much.
Those who held influence within the household would understand one thing clearly.
Caspian was not a pawn.
He was a player.
Drawing on his willpower, Caspian reined in his bloodline and snapped his fingers once more.
The flames softened, shifting into a gentler gold. Their heat faded, replaced by a soothing coolness that mended flesh and restored the two dragons completely.
He dismissed the fire and turned away.
Walking calmly through the stunned crowd, Caspian returned to his quarters.
"That's one way to announce myself."