A Dragonslayer’s Peerless Regression

Chapter 2

Zeke walked down the desolate hallway, heading toward the circular arena where the year-end evaluation would take place.

As he moved, he glanced around.

“It’s exactly as I remember. Claustrophobic as ever.”

Shields adorned with the Draker Household crest were hung at intervals along the corridor.

The crest depicted a dragon with a chain wrapped around its neck and a sword piercing its heart—a symbol known as the Dragonslayer’s Emblem, the mark of the Draker Household.

Zeke frowned as he looked at it.

“To think I’d see this again while alive.”

For Zeke, the Draker Household was both a source of trauma and an unattainable ideal.

It was a wall he could never surmount. He had thought that by attaining the continent’s greatest power, he could finally erase the shadow of the Drakers. Perhaps that was why he had struggled even harder.

At the end of the hallway, Zeke shoved the door open with force.

Boom!

Inside the circular arena, children around Zeke’s age had already gathered. They were all wrapping leather straps around their hands in preparation for one of the year-end evaluation events: Pankration.

“Hmm…”

The gathered children began murmuring at Zeke’s sudden appearance.

Paying them no mind, Zeke surveyed the arena. It had been a long time since he had set foot in a Pankration arena, and it brought back memories.

“Ha, what a blast from the past.”

As a child, Zeke had absolutely despised Pankration. He was small and lacked strength, hardly what one would expect from a direct descendant of the Draker Household.

In the Draker Household, all young blood relatives—whether direct or collateral—began communal living at the age of seven. For five years, they endured strict rules, disciplined lifestyles, and grueling training in a place called The Cradle.

Before the Blessing Ceremony, the children underwent training in basic swordsmanship, martial arts, and physical conditioning. Among these, Pankration was one of the most important—and most brutal—training regimens.

Draker Household’s Pankration was an unrestricted, combat-oriented event that closely simulated real battles. Injuries were frequent, but the household kept top-tier recovery potions on hand, so no one worried about the consequences.

Such a training system was something only the Draker Household, with its unmatched resources, could implement across the continent.

“Phew…”

Zeke exhaled as he stretched his muscles, loosening them in preparation. His behavior seemed unfamiliar to the other children, who stole glances at him.

Then, it happened.

“Well, well, what’s this? You’ve decided not to run away today?”

Zeke turned his head toward the voice. Standing there was a freckled boy with fiery red hair.

Two broad-shouldered boys stood behind him, puffing out their chests with arrogant postures.

‘Who were they again?’

It didn’t take long to recognize the boy in question.

“Ah, it’s you. Leon Conrad.”

At those words, the red-haired boy’s face turned bright crimson, and he gritted his teeth.

Leon grabbed Zeke’s shoulder roughly and snarled menacingly.

“This damn recessive! Have you lost your mind?”

And then—

Thwack!

Zeke grabbed Leon’s wrist, which was gripping his shoulder, in an iron grip.

Crack!

Leon’s eyes widened in pain as he yanked his hand away from Zeke’s hold.

He glared at Zeke, shouting furiously.

“How dare you! Do you have a death wish, you damned recessive?!”

Zeke looked at Leon with calm, unperturbed eyes, thinking to himself.

‘Should I kill him?’

Before his regression, Zeke had wandered the continent, experiencing every form of hardship imaginable.

Killing a twelve-year-old who hadn’t even awakened his aura would be as easy as breathing.

As Leon panted angrily in front of him, other kids silently observed the tense situation.

Then—

Ding-ding-ding!

The bell signaling the evaluation rang out.

Watching Leon back off, Zeke clicked his tongue. Memories of Leon bullying him during their time in The Cradle and the academy surfaced in his mind.

‘Leon Conrad. That bastard was one of my cousins, too.’

Zeke had four siblings and over ten cousins.

Even excluding his direct relatives, whom he rarely met, most of his cousins were nothing short of nuisances—embodiments of the worst traits of the Draker Household.

As Zeke mulled over these recollections, the instructor stepped onto the training grounds.

At his arrival, the children swiftly formed a line in front of the circular arena.
Their quick movements were impressive for twelve-year-olds.

Zeke recognized the instructor immediately.

‘Pan Mark. He was the head instructor for this batch.’

Standing in the center of the arena, Pan Mark raised his voice.

“This year-end evaluation will, as usual, consist of pankration and swordsmanship duels.”

The children grew tense, their focus sharpening as Pan spoke.

Evaluations at The Cradle directly impacted the class assignments at next year’s academy.

After completing the blessing ceremony, cadets awakened their aura and entered the academy as Yellow-Rank Swordsmen.

The year-end evaluation determined their class placement, and the higher-ranked classes offered better opportunities to learn advanced Dragonslaying Arts.

The children naturally poured their efforts into securing the best scores.

Zeke clicked his tongue at the cutthroat competition he had to endure again after twenty years.

‘How did I even survive here before?’

In his younger days, Zeke had been both physically and mentally frail.

To him, The Cradle and the academy had been nothing short of hell.

As Zeke reminisced about his past, Pan Mark called out the names of the first evaluators.

“Aaron! Gota!”

Aaron and Gota stepped into the arena.

Gota was one of the broad-shouldered boys who had stood behind Leon earlier. Both boys had impressive physiques, making them appear evenly matched in terms of weight class.

Pan blew the whistle.

Fweeeet!

Aaron and Gota crouched low, glaring at each other.

Moments later, Gota lunged first, aiming to grab Aaron’s knee. However, Aaron swiftly shifted his position and grabbed Gota’s waist instead.

In one smooth motion, Aaron hoisted Gota off the ground and slammed him onto the arena floor.

Bang!

Gota crashed down hard but got back up, breathing heavily.

“You filthy commoner…” he growled.

Aaron maintained a composed stance, his expression unbothered.

Despite several more attempts by Gota to launch an attack, each was deftly countered by Aaron.

The match ended quickly with Aaron’s decisive victory.

‘Hmm…’

Watching the match, Zeke wore a bored expression.

‘Is it because they’re just kids? This is so unimpressive.’

As a child, he had despised pankration to the point of revulsion. But now, it seemed no more intimidating than a childish scuffle.

Zeke let out an exaggerated yawn, catching Leon’s murderous glare from across the arena.

After several more matches, Pan Mark called for the next participants.

“Zeke! And…” Pan hesitated for a moment before continuing.

“Leon! Step forward.”

Leon’s face lit up with excitement, suggesting he had likely orchestrated this match with the instructor in advance.

The Draker Household prided itself as a noble family of knights on the surface, but behind the scenes, it was rife with manipulation and scheming.

‘They always said you weren’t a true dragonslayer unless you could overcome even underhanded tactics.’

Leon stepped into the arena, pounding his fists together in a show of bravado. Zeke, meanwhile, trudged onto the stage with little enthusiasm.

Leon sneered at him.

“You’re dead today, you damned recessive.”

Zeke looked up at Leon and spoke flatly.
“Hey.”

Leon, who had been admiring his own fists, turned to Zeke.

“If you call me a recessive one more time, I’ll kill you.”

The cold, lethal intent in Zeke’s gaze made Leon flinch for a moment. Realizing he had faltered, Leon raised his voice in defiance.

“You filthy re—”

Whoosh!

Zeke’s fist tore through the air.

Bang!

Leon felt, for a moment, as though half of his face had been obliterated.

He collapsed to the arena floor, clutching his head.

“H-Hah… M-My face…!”

Leon whimpered, his hands covering his face in a desperate attempt to confirm it was still there.

Zeke recalled the message that had flashed across his mind the moment his fist connected.

[Skill: Critical Strike has been activated.]

‘So active skills trigger like this, huh.’

Fweeeet!

Pan Mark blew his whistle sharply, his voice booming at Zeke.

“What are you doing? The match hasn’t even started yet!”

Zeke stared calmly at Pan and replied, his tone laced with dry amusement.

“Who announces ‘Start!’ before stabbing someone on a battlefield? The one who strikes first wins, always.”

Pan was taken aback by Zeke’s rough tone.

‘This kid? The one who’s always running away? What’s gotten into him?’

At that moment, Leon staggered to his feet, panting with rage.

“Instructor! Start the match again! I’m going to kill that recessive bastard!”

Pan hesitated briefly before blowing the whistle again.

“Begin!”

Leon steadied his guard and charged at Zeke.

‘That lucky punch must’ve landed by fluke. This time, I’ll break every single limb he has.’

Despite his smaller frame, Leon was exceptionally talented in pankration. Even larger opponents had fallen prey to his combat instincts, often walking away with dislocated shoulders or worse.

His cruelty was infamous; even if his opponents tapped out, Leon wouldn’t relent until bones were broken. As a result, most kids were hesitant to face him head-on.

Reinvigorated with confidence, Leon lowered his stance and dashed at Zeke.

Yet, Zeke stood there, motionless, showing no openings at all. It was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor.

‘What the hell…?’

Then, Zeke’s left hand moved.

Thwack!

It wasn’t even supposed to reach, yet his jab landed squarely on Leon’s face.

“You little—!”

Leon charged again, only to be met with another jab.

Thwack!

“Argh!”

Though they were just jabs, Zeke’s fists were tightly wrapped in leather straps. Every punch tore at Leon’s skin and rattled his skull.

Grimacing, Leon adjusted his guard to shield his face and rushed into Zeke’s range, grabbing for his waist.

“Gotcha, you bastard!”

If he could wrestle Zeke down and crush his joints, the match would be over.

But no matter how hard Leon tried to throw him, Zeke didn’t budge an inch.

‘W-What the hell is this…?’

Leaning in close, Zeke whispered into Leon’s ear.

“I told you. If you called me a recessive one more time, I’d kill you.”

Leon, overwhelmed by a chilling sense of dread, instinctively tried to retreat.

Whoosh!

But Zeke, who was right up close, delivered a powerful kick to Leon’s thigh.

“Guh!”

It was an unexpectedly heavy blow for a low kick executed from such close range.

As Leon’s balance faltered, Zeke hooked his leg inward, tripping him to the ground.

Thud!

Falling alongside Leon, Zeke drove his elbow sharply into Leon’s ribs.

[Skill: Precise Stab has been activated.]

“Gaaah!”

Leon let out a choked scream as his ribs cracked under the impact, leaving him gasping for air.

Zeke swiftly mounted him, trapping one of Leon’s arms with his legs and pressing down on the other shoulder with his knee.

Now in a dominant mount position, Zeke clenched his fist and glared down at Leon. Without hesitation, he struck Leon’s face.

[Skill: Slash has been activated.]

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Zeke’s fists rained down relentlessly on Leon’s face.

“Guh—! Stop, stop!” Leon pleaded desperately, but Zeke’s punches didn’t cease.

Struggling feebly, Leon eventually succumbed to the relentless assault, slipping into unconsciousness.

It wasn’t until Leon was completely out cold that Zeke slowly stood up.

“Pathetic bastard dared to act up.”

The medics stationed nearby hurried into the arena, dragging the bloodied and unconscious Leon away.

Having turned Leon into a battered mess in mere moments, Zeke casually walked back to his seat and sat down.

The sudden, brutal transformation in Zeke’s demeanor left the other children exchanging uncertain glances.

Zeke’s voice cut through the silence.

“I can hear your little brains spinning, you idiots.”

Their gazes immediately shifted back to him, wary and alert.

Zeke smirked, speaking with a faint air of mockery.

“A bit of sweat clears the mind, doesn’t it? Helps me remember who’s who.”

Though his words didn’t make much sense to the kids, none of them dared to respond.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face. Stop darting your eyes around like fools.”

At that moment, a boy with sharp, hawk-like eyes raised his hand.

“Instructor,” he said, his tone measured, “may I request Zeke as my evaluation opponent?”

Zeke immediately recognized the boy.

‘Ah, I remember now. Jakenn Vardec. Another cousin.’

At Jakenn’s request, Pan Mark turned to Zeke.

“Zeke. What do you think?”

After a moment’s pause, Zeke stood up, stretching his shoulders.

“Why not? A little more sweat won’t kill me. But…”

He pointed at Jakenn with a faint smirk before gesturing to the boy sitting next to him.

“Liam Stone.”

The silent boy beside Jakenn raised his head, meeting Zeke’s gaze.

Zeke grinned, his tone almost playful.

“Both of you come at me together.”

A slow, deliberate smile spread across his face.

“That should even the odds a little.”