Dragon King's Harem Chapter 486. The Prince's First Hunt

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 486. The Prince's First Hunt

The wyvern roared as its wings unfurled wide, slicing through the clouds. The cold air blasted against our faces, sharp and cleansing, but Kaelen didn’t flinch—he leaned forward like a kid on the world’s deadliest amusement ride, laughter already bubbling in his chest.

We soared over the snowy ridgelines, past glimmering trees and frozen streams, the world below carved in white and slate. And yeah, I could’ve taken him deeper into the wilds, but let’s be honest—Kaelen was still a kid. A bold one. But I wasn’t going to drag him into high-level monster zones just to flex.

So I dialed it down.

We found a safe hunting ground just north of the collapsed watchtower—somewhere the mana pressure was low, the air was clean, and the monsters were dumb enough to chase after their own reflections in icicles.

Perfect for what I had in mind.

“Alright,” I said, pulling back slightly as we circled above a clearing. “See that cluster of moving snow near the rocks?”

Kaelen squinted. “Yeah… oh! They’re moving!”

“Frostpigs,” I confirmed. “Level 18 to 22, depending on how many berries they’ve stolen from the herb gardens lately. Good meat, thick hide, weak under the legs. You down?”

He nodded so fast I thought his head might spin off.

I smiled, pulled the reins.

The wyvern dropped low.

We landed with a thud that scattered snow into the trees, the beast growling softly under us.

I helped Kaelen dismount, then crouched beside him in the snow. “Alright. Lesson one.”

“Lesson one,” he whispered like he was in a sacred temple.

“Don’t stand directly in front of anything with tusks unless you want to become part of a tree.”

He blinked. “Noted.”

I tapped my knuckles gently against his forehead. “Second—range first. Then move. Always confirm the monster’s reaction speed before you commit to a frontal assault.”

He nodded, then formed a small glyph between his palms.

The pigs hadn’t noticed us yet. Still grunting and rooting around like chubby fools.

“Pick one,” I told him.

Kaelen pointed at the biggest one in the group. “That one!”

Of course he did.

I sighed dramatically. “You and your ego are gonna make me age prematurely.”

He giggled.

Then launched the spell.

A sharp streak of ice screamed from his hands, slamming into the side of the Frostpig’s shoulder. It squealed, high-pitched and panicked, spinning around in a spray of snow. The others froze. And then bolted.

But not the big one.

That one looked pissed.

It locked onto us and began its charge—hooves churning up frozen earth, tusks gleaming, body a blur of fat, frost, and fury.

I watched Kaelen tense up.

“Breathe,” I said calmly.

He nodded.

“When it’s ten paces out—move.”

He counted.

When it hit ten, he leapt to the side with an awkward roll, landing with a puff of snow.

The pig barreled past him.

“Now!” I called. “Underside!”

He raised both arms, launched a twin shard spell straight into its belly. It stumbled. One leg gave out.

I stepped in then.

One clean slash across the neck with Nightmare. No fuss. No dramatic flames. Just precision.

It dropped like a sack of meaty bricks.

Kaelen blinked. “I… I hit it!”

“You did.”

He beamed.

We hunted a few more after that. Always low-level, always controlled. I let Kaelen launch the opening spell, give the finishing blows. I told him the weak spots—under the jaw, behind the shoulder, lower spine. I showed him how to bait them out, how to step wide on ice without losing balance, how to listen for the pitch of a monster’s breath when it was about to fake-charge.

He listened to every word. Soaked it up like his life depended on it.

And he smiled the entire time.

“This is the best day of my life,” he said after we brought down the fifth pig. He flopped into the snow, arms wide, covered in frost and mana residue.

I sat beside him. “Seriously? Five pigs and that’s your peak?”

He turned his head toward me. “I’ve never gotten to do this before. Not really.”

I paused.

“Uncle Cedric never let me leave the palace. Not really. He said I wasn’t strong enough. That I’d die if I saw a real monster.”

I stared up at the sky for a second, then muttered, “He had no idea what strength really is.”

Kaelen was quiet.

Then he whispered, “Do you think I’m strong?”

I turned my head, met his eyes.

“I think,” I said slowly, “you’re just getting started.”

His smile this time was softer. Deeper. He didn’t say anything else.

But he sat a little straighter after that.

We gathered the kills and had the wyvern carry them back, strapping the pigs to its flank. The beast growled once but didn’t protest. I gave it a few chunks of meat to pacify it.

Before we flew back, Kaelen looked at me.

“Will we hunt again?”

I smirked. “Only if you promise to keep practicing.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

I ruffled his hair. “Good. Now hold on. Let’s bring dinner home—again.”

And we flew, the wyvern shrieking through the sky, our fresh hunt trailing below like proof that sometimes, just sometimes—the world made sense.

The snow blurred beneath us as we cut through the clouds, gliding on strong gusts of winter wind. Kaelen sat in front of me, tucked securely between my arms, his hair whipping back, his cheeks flushed from the cold and excitement. His laughter drifted back to me every time the wyvern dipped lower, catching an updraft like a beast born to fly.

I let him have that joy. That wild, untethered moment of freedom.

As we approached the palace, the air began to shift—less wild, more tense. Below, the battered city still wore its wounds like old bruises, cracked towers, half-sunken walls, ash-streaked roads. But amidst all of it… something new shimmered near the main gates.

Smoke.

But not fire.

Cookfire.

We circled lower, and I saw it. An open kitchen had been hastily set up near the outer gates, in the most wrecked quadrant of the palace perimeter. Long tables. Stacks of metal pots. Servants and volunteers in fur-lined aprons stirring massive cauldrons. The scent hit me next—simple, but real. Broth, roasted meat, herbs. Hunger meeting hope.