"Was that Dragon Force just now, a precursor to Dragonization?"
Back in the Team B lounge, Gajeel frowned deeply as he asked. Wendy and Laxus looked equally uneasy.
Besides Team B, Natsu, Lucy, the three Exceeds, and Fairy Tail's resident ghost-consultant Mavis were all gathered.
Happy tugged on Natsu's scarf anxiously.
"Natsu also did that dragon-scale thing before! Does that mean Natsu will turn into a dragon?!"
Mavis placed a thoughtful finger to her lips.
"In all my years of knowledge, there is no recorded technique called Dragonization. What we do know is that Dragon Force is a latent power within every Dragon Slayer, but it normally cannot be accessed at will."
She glanced at Rogue on the screen.
"Rogue must have some unique condition or trigger."
Rhodes sighed and added the part he personally didn't quite believe:
"According to Sabertooth, Sting and Rogue call themselves 'Third Generation Dragon Slayers.' Taught by dragons and implanted with dragon lacrima.
They also claim they… personally killed dragons."
The room froze.
Lucy was the first to recover, loudly incredulous:
"That's impossible! Even Rogue's power isn't as strong as...uh."
She suddenly caught herself.
Gajeel stared.
"Go on. Say what you were going to say."
Lucy flailed her hands.
"I-I didn't mean anything by it! Just a description! A description!!"
Mavis continued calmly:
"It's possible that bathing in dragon blood, or absorbing dragon essence, might be a factor in obtaining Dragon Force."
Rhodes paused.
For exactly one dangerous second, he wondered how many cold jokes he would have to tell the Ocean Dragon before it let him collect a jar of blood.
Then he wisely abandoned that idea.
Mavis spent several minutes explaining ancient Dragon Slayer history, much of which aligned with Zirconis's revelations from the dragon graveyard.
"The Dragon King Festival certainly existed," she said.
"But its true purpose has been lost. If Zeref knows, then his followers might know too. And if they intend to use the Grand Magic Games for a ritual or plot;"
Her expression hardened.
"We should stay vigilant in the coming days."
Everyone nodded.
After checking the repair progress of the ravaged arena, the teams went to lunch.
At around two o'clock, the battles resumed.
The first match: Kagura Mikazuchi of Mermaid Heel
vs Tyrant of Shining Sun
Tyrant, the muscular participant from Day 1's Hidden event, was not just brawny. He'd tricked numerous competitors with clone tactics and clever misdirection.
If only he had better movement techniques or used tools, he would've ranked much higher.
Still, facing Kagura made him visibly tense.
After the referee's signal, he even bowed with surprising politeness.
"Miss Kagura… please guide me."
Kagura, who always matched her attitude to the opponent's, nodded gracefully.
"Please guide me."
She placed one hand on her scabbard, the other on her hilt. Just this was enough to make most Magicians sweat.
Tyrant, refusing to be careless, opened his right hand, his Transformation Magic activated, and he produced…
A giant pencil.
A pencil taller than a Jenni or Wendy.
Lucy squawked from Team A's seats:
"That doesn't match his aura at ALL! Shouldn't someone like him be pulling out a spiked club or a huge battle hammer?!"
Everyone silently agreed.
But they also recalled Reedus drawing magic, so maybe this wasn't as weird as it looked.
Tyrant didn't hesitate.
The moment the pencil formed, he immediately dropped to one knee and scribbled something at high speed.
Kagura's eyes sharpened.
She charged.
Without even drawing her blade, she struck horizontally with the scabbard.
BAM!
Tyrant was blown backward, rolling across the ground.
Kagura landed lightly.
And the ground beneath her flashed red.
"A magic circle?" she murmured, leaping instantly.
A pillar of flame burst upward from where she had been.
Tyrant stood again, brushing dust off himself with sheepish pride.
"Ohh, just as expected!"
Another magic circle flared beneath Kagura the moment she touched the ground.
Two wind-ropes shot out, wrapping around her ankles. Two more snaked up and bound her torso and wrists.
Kagura's eyes flicked downward.
"Did he draw two circles instantly?"
She examined the terrain carefully.
"No… four.
Front, back, left, right. No matter where I dodged, I would have stepped on one. The flames in the center were actually the least dangerous part."
"The greatest purpose of this pen," Tyrant announced, still smiling despite the sweat forming on his brow, "is helping me complete my drawings."
He didn't take advantage of Kagura's momentary restriction. Instead, he sprinted, truly sprinted, circling the arena with surprising agility, dragging the long pencil behind him.
As he ran, the pencil's tip sketched furiously across the ground.
Magic circles bloomed in his wake like trap-laden landmines.
Kagura's eyes narrowed.
He was moving at full speed and laying down magic formations at the same time.
His technical skill was undeniable.
If this continues, he'll convert the entire arena into a field of traps.
With a twist of her hips, Kagura tore the binding wind ropes apart in one smooth motion.
She advanced, but she had to tread carefully.
The paths Tyrant had run through were already suspiciously glowing or unstable.
A misstep could mean stepping on fire, ice, lightning, or some entirely unknown effect.
Tyrant darted across the field like someone who had trained specifically for the Chariot event, constantly changing direction, creating new circles, cutting off Kagura's pursuit routes.
After a minute of this cat-and-mouse dance, Kagura suddenly stopped.
She evaluated the traced lines, the movement pattern, the positioning.
Her right hand tightened on her scabbard.
Tyrant's sprint faltered.
His next step grew sluggish.
Then, his entire body dropped into slow motion, as though someone had pressed a playback button on him.
A massive red magic circle unfurled across the sky, rotating with crushing majesty.
The ground shuddered, cracking beneath the weight of the descending pressure.
Tyrant's eyes widened.
"Gravity Magic…?"
The pen in his hand felt like it weighed several tons.
His knees nearly buckled.
He knew this sensation. But he had never felt it at this magnitude.
Before he could fully process the danger, Kagura vanished.
A heartbeat later.
CRACK!
She appeared beside him, and the massive pen snapped cleanly in half.
A delayed impact slammed into his torso, as if an invisible blade had cut across him.
He staggered, choking back pain, before he even realized Kagura was already standing on his other side.
He didn't fly away. He simply crumpled to the ground, overwhelmed, clutching his chest.
"H…how…?"
He gasped through gritted teeth.
"What kind of sword art… is that…?"
Kagura didn't draw her blade.
Her eyes remained calm, deep, solemn, and filled with an emotion most couldn't read.
"Regretful Blade: Unsheathed Style."
She stated it quietly.
In truth, what she had first inherited from her grief should have been Resentful Blade, the sword art fueled by the hatred toward those who kidnapped her brother.
The one she swore she would never draw until the moment she took revenge.
But Simon had returned. The festering hatred had dissolved with his return.
Yet the years they lost, the time they could never recover, remained heavy in her heart.
She distilled that lingering sorrow into a new technique:
Regretful Blade, a style born not from resentment but from the weight of a sister's lost years.
She had discovered, during her training, that there was another emotion, one opposite of resentment. And there existed a sword style opposite of the Resentful Blade.
She hadn't mastered it. She didn't even fully understand it yet.
So she kept that blade sealed, waiting for the day she would truly, completely draw her sword.
Tyrant stared at his broken item, face twisted with pain.
"Regretful Blade, huh…"
His voice trembled with reluctant admiration.
He let out a long breath, resigned and sincere: "I lose."
...
STONES PLZzz
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