Chapter 48: Training Plan - SSS Rank Dragon Tamer: Unleashed - NovelsTime

SSS Rank Dragon Tamer: Unleashed

Chapter 48: Training Plan

Author: NF_Stories
updatedAt: 2025-07-20

CHAPTER 48: TRAINING PLAN

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"I wasn’t thinking about the city." Arlen’s eyes tracked dust drifting through sunbeams. "I am talking about the Emberwood Forest. Three miles east of the molten aqueduct. Outer ring teems with low tier beasts, good for drills."

Zephyr asked, "What about Inner ring?"

"Inner ring? Don’t think about that..." He shook his head. "Even A-rank squads wouldn’t think about it. Void bears. Flare wasps. Alpha wolf, and countless more A rank or higher beasts live there. Stay outside."

Zephyr nodded. "Outer only. We’ll scout rogue beasts, test new drills. Star needs real prey."

Fenna crossed her arms. "I’m coming. Maybe I will find a beast worth binding. It is time for me to tame a beast."

"That’s a good idea. You can’t be a beast tamer without a beast." Alren said.

Arlen spent the next hour sketching maps: basalt crags like jagged spearheads; sulfur bogs coughing yellow steam; river fingers winding through black wood groves oozing amber sap. Noon shadows crept across the chart as the sun inched west, turning parchment gold.

Star dozed, eyelids fluttering, he was dreaming of flames, perhaps.

At last exhaustion weighed them down. Arlen rolled maps. "Two full days’ rest, non negotiable. Beasts heal only if they rest. I’ll pull supplies and update travel papers." He ruffled Zephyr’s hair like a father might. "And try not to punch anybody till then, eh?"

Zephyr exhaled. "No promises... but I’ll try."

Fenna barked a tired laugh. "If he doesn’t, I will."

Arlen’s boots thudded down the stairs, leaving a hush broken only by hawkers crying in the distant midday market, their voices filtered through heat warped shutters. Slowly the winter is going away. The summer is coming soon.

Zephyr perched on the pallet edge, rubbing Star beneath the chin till the drake rumbled contentedly. Fenna handed him a cup of water.

"Two days," she said, eyes bright in the slanted sun. "Then we march into a forest that burns from the inside. Are you ready?"

Zephyr met her gaze. "Not yet. But I will be."

Fenna pressed her forehead to his, a fierce, quiet vow. "Then so will I."

They lay back on the pallet. Sun beams crawled slowly across the rafters, sliding toward evening. Star curled at their feet, breathing like a gentle furnace.

In a distant infirmary, Ayan Vaelor sipped bitter tonic for his cracked jaw, broken nose, and nursed thoughts of vengeance. But here in the hush of Arlen’s attic, Zephyr let himself taste something rarer than victory: It was Hope.

Eighteen days. Plenty of time to turn sparks into wildfire.

Two days later...

The sun was still hugging the eastern ridgeline, casting a golden sheen across the upper stories of Emberfall city’s oldest forges, when Zephyr, Fenna, and Star stepped through the dye yard gates. Morning cold mist curled in lazy ribbons over the cobbled path, still damp with dew, and the breath of the mule fanned visibly into the air like smoke from a forge chimney.

Arlen stood at the edge of the yard, his frame stocky and firm as an anvil block. His apron was streaked with old weld marks and fresh cobalt spatters that hadn’t yet dried. In one hand, he held a half chewed stick of bitterroot; in the other, a folded parchment of forest markers. His brow creased, not from sun glare, but the weight of worry.

He’d packed them a sturdy two wheeled mule cart with everything a training camp in wild lands demanded. Smoked jerky wrapped in wax leaf and twine, three sealed kegs of coldwell drawn water, each layered with frost rune etching to keep the liquid pure, two canvas bedrolls waxed against damp, a half kit of alchemical burn salve, and a bundle of camp tools including iron picks, trip stakes, and a flint lantern carved with draconic flare wards. Most importantly, a fresh coil of pine-tar rope hung from the cart’s back, its scent sharp and nostalgic, a scent that said you’re going somewhere untamed.

"Outer ring only," Arlen reminded them for the third time, his voice low and gruff like coal cracking in the furnace. "You see a tree oozing orange, you backtrack. That’s ember sap. Cooks the skin off bone, fast as lightning and twice as mean."

Zephyr gave a firm nod, adjusting the cross-latch of his chest harness. He had tied his hair back with a strip of dyed linen, eyes clear, posture braced with quiet intent. Slung across his back was the short bo staff, oak-ironwood layered in hardened grain, laminated with silver runic bands etched by a monk-smith from the Emberpeak monastery. Its surface still carried the faint warmth of last night’s final polish.

[Ding! System Notification- Temporary Support Tool Acquired

Item Name: Emberforged Bo Staff (Support-Class)

Grade: Unranked (Crafted)

Status: TEMPORARY EQUIPMENT – Limited Use

Bound to: Zephyr Valorian

Durability: 62%

Material: Heat-hardened Oak Core | Ironwood Outer Layer | Silver Conductive Runes

Combat Role:

Non-lethal crowd control

Parry / deflection / striking

Tamer command augmentation (low-grade aura amplification)

Passive Traits:

Fire-Resistant

Shock-Absorbent Grip

Rune-lined for stable mana conduction

Minimal spiritual feedback for partner coordination

Compatibility:

Command Skills: Roar of Courage, Dominance, Focus Pulse (Lv.1+ only)

Training Patterns: Sync Combat Drill Mode enabled ]

Leather greaves buckled tight over his calves, darkened to a deep bronze from recent oiling. Fenna gave the mule a soft cluck of the tongue and flicked its reins. The beast was a gray nosed pack breed with steady hooves, snorted and started forward, iron-rimmed wheels creaking into motion.

Star perched lightly on the cart’s rear rail, tail curled around a crate, his wings tucked close to avoid jostling the pots. The young drake’s eyes shimmered black and blue, nostrils flaring as he drank in the wilds beyond the city smoke, stone, pine, and potential. Heat rippled off his scales in faint pulses, the echo of fire coiled beneath his skin.

Down Emberfall city’s eastern basalt streets they rolled, the cart echoing soft rumbles through the sleeping alleyways. Smithies had begun ringing again, the clear clang of hammer to blade bouncing between stone walls.

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