SSS Rank Dragon Tamer: Unleashed
Chapter 45: A Punch!

Chapter 45: A Punch!

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Judge Bragg strode by, arms folded. He caught Zephyr’s eye and snorted. "Next time show up with a healthy beast, boy. Or you’ll drop lower than slag." He stomped off.

Judge Varis approached next, offering a polite nod. "Survive probation, mend your partner, you’ll rise quickly. The board watches talent."

Zephyr inclined his head. "Thank you for the advice, Judge."

Varis’s gaze softened. "Rest the Hollowback. Then prove me right."

At his side, Star gave a tired but defiant hiss, as though promising they would.

Zephyr turned from the board, the ranking token still glowing in his palm. The number 1,247 felt heavier than the bronze coin that had started all this. But it was a foothold, carved in blood and fire.

Somewhere beyond the archways, Ayan Vaelor would see these numbers and fume. That alone was worth the pain.

Zephyr let a slow breath out, placed a steady hand on Star’s neck, and whispered, "One step at a time."

Outside the Board Hall, the street was bustling across Emberfall, painting the forge smoke gold, as if the city itself were gilding a new name in light.

And the climb had only just begun.

System windows flickered:

[Victory Achieved – Rank Differential +1

Reputation +6 (Forge Arena) ]

The crowd in the Ranking Hall was still buzzing from the recent match results, whispers rolling like storm tide over slick basalt floors. Lanterns glinted off stone pillars carved with the names of ranked tamers, thousands of them etched in looping script from ceiling to base.

Zephyr’s name, freshly inked, glowed faintly near the very bottom of the western pillar..A mixture of cheers, shrugs, and chuckles erupted as the number flickered into permanence.

"Ranked below the blacksmith’s nephew, ha!" one old man cackled from the bleachers.

"Fought with a half-dead Hollowback hatchling, he’s lucky to get a number," sneered a slim young wealthy woman sipping grape elixir.

Two apprentices in dusty tamer gear were mock arguing near the board. "He got fire-burned and still won!" one defended. "He should be in the 1000s, at least."

"Pfft! His beast limped like a drunk goat. I’d put my bet on the Hollowback and won."

Their argument devolved into a comic display as one flared his coat like wings and charged in slow-motion, while the other rolled into a fake ball mimicking the Gravelback Pangolin. The crowd laughed.

Not everyone was amused.

Then suddenly a person came, Boots thudded against stone. Heat seemed to follow his steps like a shadow of brimstone.

Ayan Vaelor emerged from the corridor, emerald eyes gleaming with venomous light. He strolled with that loose arrogance only the truly cruel could perfect. His hands in pockets, teeth flashing like a knife before a cut.

"Little miracle worker," he drawled, stepping into the hall just past the board line. His polished vest gleamed, and a ruby fang pendant bobbed at his throat. "Couldn’t stay away, could you?"

Zephyr straightened, jaw tight, legs aching. Star hissed softly beside him, the drake’s eyes narrowed. The bandages on his flank still glowed faint from the burn stress of the bout.

Ayan stopped a pace away, smirk crooked. "Cute win. But Rank-E gloves are nothing. You want to survive here, you need... friends."

The way he said friends felt like the hiss of a whip behind a velvet curtain.

He leaned close, voice dropping into that same low whisper Zephyr had heard the night before, the tone that felt more like a knife than words.

"Send Fenna to my chambers tonight, pretty boy," Ayan said, voice coiled in honeyed malice. "Or next time I’ll put you in the pit against me. And I promise that your pet won’t limp out. If you do what I say, I will let you work for me."

Zephyr’s ears burned red. Fury pulsed white-hot through his skull. The world narrowed to that face, that voice, that smug gleam in Ayan’s eyes.

The system flashed a warning:

[Command Aura: Rage Spike Detected. Emotional Stability Dropping. Do you wish to activate cooldown techniques? Y/N]

"No."

Zephyr didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and threw the punch with all the fury boiling in his chest.

"Who wants to work for you?" he snarled. "Don’t put Fenna’s name in your filthy mouth!"

The blow landed with a wet crack, knuckles driving into the cheekbone. Ayan’s head jerked sideways, blood blooming from split lip to collar. The hall gasped in unison.

A cup clattered to the floor. Several bystanders froze mid step, jaws slack.

"Ohhh, he did it!" someone shouted from the back.

"He punched a Rank-D!" another gasped. "He’s dead!"

A gambler spilled his betting slate in excitement, coin markers scattering underfoot.

Ayan stumbled back, hand clutching his jaw. The expression on his face was disbelief, crumpling into rage. It was almost more satisfying than the punch itself.

"You rat bastard..." he spat blood from his mouth, and lunged.

Fists flew.

Ayan caught Zephyr with a shoulder slam, driving him into a support pillar. The force cracked the stone behind Zephyr’s back. Zephyr rolled aside just as Ayan’s second punch came, aimed to break bone. He ducked, drove a fist into Ayan’s gut, and the Rank-C tamer grunted as air hissed through his teeth.

They grappled for a moment, Ayan was stronger, but Zephyr was faster. Zephyr twisted, used his elbow to clip Ayan’s temple, but Ayan spun and threw him down.

The crowd had parted like waves, forming a ring around the fight, hooting and howling.

"Beat his teeth in, Vaelor!"

"No! Teach that snake how real men fight!"

Ayan’s eyes glowed faint green. His hands clenched at his sides and Zephyr’s instincts screamed too late. It was a burst of mana.

A thin ripple shimmered in the air.

From Ayan’s shadow surged a figure, low, lean, and rippling with obsidian muscle. A predator cloaked in darkness, its yellow eyes glowing like twin lanterns in a misted graveyard.

A Shadow Leopard. Rank-D.

The beast’s sleek body shimmered with mana distortion, its paws silent as whispers. Black mist curled around its fangs, dripping from its claws like oil smoke.