The Bronze Dragon hovered elegantly, its emerald green eyes scanning the crowd.
It did not flap its wings, keeping them open at their full wingspan of over one hundred and thirty meters, its shadow engulfing everything below.
His rider's armor glistened in gold, emanating an aura superior even to that of the beast he rode.
Only a fraction of it was released, and half of the competitors fell to the ground.
A second wave of pressure, and the thousands were reduced to little more than a hundred.
The powerful expert barely paid attention to those who fell, merely waving his hand.
The bodies of the unconscious were swept toward the wide streets, where healers promptly took them away for treatment.
"Very good." His voice echoed, old yet noble and full of vitality.
He counted the remnants; about one hundred and thirty, of which only fifty would be chosen.
Obviously, even among these fifty, not all would become dragon riders.
