บททั้งหมดของ Bankrupting the Alpha: Crowned by the Dragon King: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The sand was cold beneath my boots as we circled the center of the Great Arena. The silence of the crowd was a suffocating weight of expectation. I could feel Maxwell’s gaze from the stands—burning with a mixture of pity and spite. He expected the girl he broke to crumble under the weight of a Dragon’s aura. Then, the King’s hand dropped. "Begin!" The air exploded. Instead of the standard pairing, I veered left, my speed blurring into a silver streak as I intercepted Marcus. Simultaneously, Pamela lunged right, weaving like a shadow to confront Sol. The shift in tactics worked perfectly. The Princes, expecting a traditional Alpha-to-Alpha matchup, hesitated for a fraction of a second as we "crossed" our targets. It was all the opening I needed. The Dance of Dust and Scales Marcus was a mountain, but mountains were stationary targets. As I closed the distance, he let out a laugh—a deep, booming sound that shook the sand.

The walk to the first class was an exercise in power. We weren't just students moving through a hallway; we were a parade of apex predators. The King and Alpha Linus led the way, their presence so overwhelming that other students—including several Alphas from the lower towers—literally backed into the walls to clear a path. As we neared the hall for Shifter Legacies, Marcus leaned over toward Pamela, a competitive glint in his eyes. "Hey, Beta," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "That spar in the arena was too short. I want a real fight. No holds barred. I want to see how I’d actually fare against you when the sand isn't flying in my face." Alpha Linus let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. The sound echoed off the stone walls like a localized earthquake. "Don't waste your time, boy," Linus rumbled, not even looking back at the Prince. "She’d pummel you into the dirt before you could even finish a shift. Pamela was holding back against Sol in that arena; if sh

The Academy was silent, the stone corridors lit only by the flickering glow of ancient torches and modern security beams. At precisely 22:00, the heavy iron doors of the Sovereign Training Chamber groaned open. The air inside was different—colder, pressurized. Linus stood in the center of the massive, reinforced arena, his arms crossed over his chest. Sol was already there, stripped to his combat trousers, his bronze skin glistening under the gym’s halogen lights. "Tonight, we stop dancing," Linus rumbled. "The Eclipse doesn't fight in human skin. They fight with teeth and fire. Shift. Now." I didn't hesitate. I didn't need to strip or prepare. With a surge of heat that radiated from my core, I called to the wolf. Usually, a shift is a violent, garment-shredding affair, but the High Alpha line had its perks. My clothes didn't tear; they simply vanished into the shift, merging with my essence. In a flash of blinding violet light, I stood on four paws. I heard Sol’s breath hit

Two months had passed since the cafeteria incident, and the hierarchy of the Imperial Tower had shifted permanently. Amelie had leaned fully into her "victim" persona, limping through the halls and wearing silk scarves to hide bruises that had long since healed. She whispered to anyone who would listen about the "savage rogue," but her audience was shrinking. The other Alphas weren't stupid. They saw me in the training pits with Linus every night. They saw the way I handled the most complex economic simulations in the Sovereign Track. They didn't see a rogue; they saw a threat they couldn't calculate. Maxwell, however, was crumbling. His grades in Tactical Leadership were plummeting, and his performance in the arena was erratic. He spent his nights at the campus bars, loudly blaming his failures on "Dragon interference." He couldn't accept the simplest truth: he was a big fish from a small pond, and he was finally out of water. The midnight sessions with Linus had become the highli

The arena was a theater of carnage. Maxwell stood on the sands, his chest heaving, his wolf pushing so hard against his skin that his eyes were a constant, unstable amber. Sol stood opposite him, calm and immovable. Before the first blow was struck, Pamela stepped onto the lower ridge of the stands. Her voice, amplified by the stone acoustics, cut through the cheering like a diamond saw. "Before this 'honor' duel begins, let’s talk about honor," Pamela shouted, pointing toward the VIP box. "I see the collar you're wearing, Amelie. But I also see the mark beneath it. Maxwell has marked you, hasn't he? Without a fated bond. Without a ceremony." A shocked gasp rippled through the heirs. "In the High Code," Pamela continued, her eyes locking onto Maxwell, "an Alpha cannot mark a chosen mate without Council approval. Aella had to undergo months of intensive tactical and psychological sessions at fifteen just to prove she could handle the Luna's burden. Amelie, did you pass those tests?