Headed By A Snake 381 Looking For A Figh

As strong as the Vralkek Faction was, the Oni Faction was not something his own pack or any Warband would dare to offend. 

"⌈Blastback.⌋" 

Unable to hear Blacktooth's worries, the t.i.tanblood Prince smashed the wooden staff atop the dark mage's skull. A peal of thunder split the air, so loud that it deafened him in both ears. 

The ma.s.sive ogre dropped to the palace's stone floor so hard, its head literally bounced. 

The Prince had used a Second-Circle magical attack using a weapon as a focus. He was an Iron-Rank... and he was at the very peak of Iron-Ranks. 

Amba.s.sador Blacktooth very much wished he had not surrendered his weapon out of courtesy. Without it, he was shaking so badly that it felt he was going to shed. 

The Prince was so young! How did he grow so powerful? From what Blacktooth knew, only humans were capable of growing in strength in so few epochs of age...

The Prince did not stop, mercilessly felling the staff again and again. The ogre, unable to stand, helplessly covered the back of his neck with his five-fingered hands. 

"Who!!??? THE F*CK?!?!? Do you THINK??? YOU ARRRRE???" Dragan bellowed in rage, "I did NOTTTTT!!! Become. the PRINCE. of VRALKEK. just. to be called. DRAGANNN!!!"

Blacktooth gulped painfully. His mouth was so very dry. He thought fondly of his home... of his mate, his cubs, and his grandcubs. He hoped they were doing well. He wasn't certain he'd be returning to that place. 

Prince Dragan firmly gripped both hands upon the mage's staff and smashed it downward with the force and fury of the t.i.tans of ages past. It was enough that the mage focus shattered, emitting a purple flash of light, a pathetic pop, and inflicting magical third-degree burns. 

Dragan kicked the unconscious ogre in the side, flipping him over with the impact... then he got to his knees and began to strangle the amba.s.sador with his bare hands, "You. will address me. as PRINCE DROGHAN!!!"

The sounds of boots approached rapidly. Thankfully, the commotion was heard... Blacktooth had been too stunned to even think of calling for help. 

Eight t.i.tanbloods arrived at the scene, covered head to paw in the golden armor of Vralkek's Elite Guard. Though they all looked large and powerful... each of them was smaller and weaker than the Prince they protected. 

It was like the guards were Dungeon denizens that had to be defeated in order to gain the right to challenge Prince Dragan, the Final Boss. 

The guard with the largest crest on his helmet grimaced as he approached, "Prince... is there a problem?"

"Yeah, there's a f*cking problem!!" Dragan stood up, placing a boot on the ogre's face. "I want this pigf*cker hung up on my walls by his G.o.ds d.a.m.nED entrails!!"

A younger t.i.tanblood stepped forward, "But... Prince? This is an ogre mage from..."

The lead guard held out his hand to stop the cub, "The wishes of the superior are commands to his subordinates."

"Tch," Dragan stomped down with enough force to loose more than a few ogre teeth, "Get it done. I'll take responsibility."

""We hear you, Prince!!"" The guards saluted in tandem. 

"And hang him by his stick, while you're at it," Dragan tossed the broken pieces of the magical staff onto the ground, "Or jam it up his a.r.s.e. Whatever's easier, I don't care."

One guard picked up the remains of the staff and two picked the fallen ogre up to drag him away. 

The ogre quietly accepted his fate. 

Blacktooth's ears flattened, hoping deep down that the mage was already dead. Being hung by one's own entrails did not seem like a pleasant experience... nevermind the fate of their staff. 

"Sorry you had to see that, Amba.s.sador Blockteeth," Dragan grinned innocently, almost as if he didn't just beat a larger, stronger humanoid to death. "Seven h.e.l.ls! Some people can be soOoo rude, y'know? Not like the gnolls! I love the gnolls!" 

Blacktooth voluntarily raised his head, again revealing his soft, vulnerable neck to the powerful Prince. His wrist itched terribly and his palms were slick with perspiration, "Y-yes... Ehehe..."

...

Cillian, the youngest Warrior in Prince Droghan's personal guard, hurried to the outdoor training area, keeping well ahead of the Prince and the gnoll Amba.s.sador. 

"Brothers and sisters!" He yelled, "Look alive! The Prince will be here shortly!"

Immediately, everyone doubled their efforts, climbing the stones, pulling themselves up onto reinforced metal bars, wrestling in the pit. The Prince was always diligent with his own training, especially in front of his men. Slacking off would have grave consequences... though admittedly, it wouldn't be so bad as being made to hang from their own entrails. 

Vralkek's elite forces were varied compared to other parts of the Free Nation. In the training gym were orcs, minotaurs, other t.i.tanbloods like himself, and even humans. 

One human, however, stood out in particular. 

A lithe girl was training, wearing rough linen trousers, her muscled chest wrapped in cloth, and with her silvery hair styled into two high-pigtails. Like the others, she had just increased her training load, lifting and carrying a rough-cut boulder above her head. While the act in itself was no cause for alarm, the rock was as big as Cillian himself... which meant it weighed well over half-tonze. 

The human girl was a few years younger than Cillian, was barely above half his height, was far below half his weight... and was undeniably stronger than he was. 

Her name was Taree Kimura. She was a member of the legendary guild, Sol Invictus, just like the Prince, himself. And in the span of less than a year, she had solidified her status as one of the strongest hand-to-hand combatants in Vralkek. 

Definitely the strongest human, though. 

Taree tossed the weighty rock aside with impunity. The sound of it and the resulting dust cloud implied that it was even heavier than Cillian had initially judged. 

"Hey, Little Cill. 'Sup?" The cheeky girl grinned, "You look like you wanna fight?"

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