Chapter 26: Overload

Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Overload

As Michael’s fist inched closer, Grolm’s remaining thoughts tumbled through his mind in slow confusion.

’How... did he get in front of me that fast?’

His mind struggled to make sense of what his ears and instincts were telling him.

Michael had been strong.

Fast, too.

But not this fast.

Even after taking that beating, even after being thrown through walls and slammed into the floor, the young man shouldn’t have been capable of moving like this.

Unless...

Grolm’s pupils shrank.

His mind drifted toward that creepy sensation he had felt moments ago.

That strange, oppressive power...

A sudden realization struck him with enough force to make his blood run cold.

’This kid... Is he even human?’

The fleeting thought was the last thing Grolm registered before Michael’s fist drove straight into the center of his face.

Cartilage and bone gave way with a wet crunch.

The giant’s massive body crumpled, slumping to the ground under the force of Michael’s descending punch.

Michael breathed heavily as he pushed himself to his feet.

A pool of blood covered his fist, dripping steadily from his knuckles—his own blood mixed with Grolm’s.

He shook some of the blood from his hand, his face twisting in mild disgust.

"Damn... There’s so much blood. I really hope I don’t catch any STDs from this."

He tilted his head, eyes glassy and half-lidded from exhaustion and lingering pain. Then he pointed at a random man near the bar.

"Hey. You. Get me something to drink. I don’t feel like bullying weaklings anymore."

The pointed-at man bared his teeth and charged. Half a dozen others followed in a ragged wave of steel and fists.

For a single, stretched second, the world around Michael seemed to slow.

Small and large red dots bloomed across every attacker’s body—gaps in footwork, overextended shoulders, unguarded ribs, the exact angle where a neck joined the collarbone.

Although he had been using Dragon Intuition before activating his dragon bloodline, it had never been like this.

Previously, it had been close to having a sixth sense. It heightened his sense of danger, guided his instincts, and helped him react to attacks before they came.

But now, it was something entirely different.

It didn’t just warn him where danger was.

It showed him exactly where to strike.

Every flaw in his attackers’ movements was laid bare before his eyes like an open page.

’Sloppy.’

That was the only comment he had for the analyzed footwork and techniques the men were using.

His eyes widened slightly at his own tone and comment.

It wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t warm, either.

It was simply practical.

Inhumanly practical.

’So this is what it feels like to have the intuition of a dragon, huh?’

Truthfully, the reason Michael hadn’t tried using his dragon abilities before was because he wasn’t one hundred percent sure how they worked, despite having a rough idea of what triggered them.

Back in the Astral Space, he had thought over his current abilities several times, especially his innate True Treble Physique.

At first, he had assumed it simply allowed him to carry three bloodlines inside his body.

But after giving it more thought, that explanation had started to feel incomplete. If that was truly all the Physique could do, then why even name it?

Even regular Awakened could gain three bloodline abilities from Gene Runes, so long as their total saturation didn’t surpass one hundred percent. So how was he special?

That was when the thought had hit him.

What if... the Treble Physique didn’t just allow him to have three separate bloodlines, but allowed each of those three bloodlines to reach its full, independent saturation potential—as if each one were the only bloodline occupying his body?

It sounded crazy.

However, what had happened now confirmed his suspicions.

His Human, Dragon, and Incubus bloodlines could each reach one hundred percent saturation.

That meant he could grow stronger through each one independently, switching between them according to the situation.

And perhaps, one day, he could even combine them.

The possibilities sent a shiver through him.

Combining the Qi and intellect of the Dragon, the skill-hoarding potential of a Human, and the insane growth curve of an Incubus...

The excitement barely settled before the world snapped back to normal speed.

The first blade aimed at his chest came thrusting forward.

Michael immediately stepped inside its arc, his eyes snapping back into focus as he drove a knuckle strike into the soft gap between the man’s lower ribs.

Air left the attacker in a choked wheeze as he crashed hard to the floor.

The next came with a wild haymaker. Michael slipped into the blind spot behind the shoulder and chopped the side of the neck.

A third swung a short axe. Michael caught the wrist, redirected the attack, and slammed an elbow into the exposed temple.

A fourth tried to tackle low—Michael’s knee met the descending face with clinical precision.

A fifth and sixth fell in the same fluid sequence, each finished by a single decisive blow aimed at the exact weakness Dragon Intuition had highlighted.

Twenty seconds.

That was all he needed to leave six Rank 9 Awakened sprawled across the floor.

Michael rolled one shoulder and looked at the remaining fighters.

"Should I continue?"

The scarred leader’s frown deepened.

""What?" He clenched his jaw. "Kid, I won’t deny you’re strong—by far the strongest Rank 9 I’ve ever seen—but looking down on—"

Michael raised an open hand, cutting the sentence short. "I wasn’t speaking to you."

Every head in the room turned toward the shadows, expecting some hidden powerhouse to step forward.

Nothing moved.

The silence that followed was thick and awkward.

Michael’s lips twitched as beads of sweat slid down his temple. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he angled his mouth toward the empty air and spoke just loudly enough for only himself—and whoever might be listening—to hear.

"Seraphine. Dean. Come on. If you’re still mad about last night, I won’t tease you like that again."

No answer.

The leader exhaled through his nose and allowed a thin smirk. "Looks like you can’t hold that form for long."

Michael’s eyes narrowed.

The man was right.

His control over the partial dragon state was still shallow, and his accumulated injuries were catching up with him fast.

However, that didn’t mean he lacked enough time to drop at least half the remaining fighters.

He lowered his stance, his guard rising, when—

CRASH!

The sound exploded from the upper stairwell.

The entire tavern went silent.

Then came another crash.

BOOM!

Wood splintered. Dust rained from the ceiling.

A woman’s irritated voice echoed down the stairwell, loud enough to shake the silence apart.

"Who is it?!"

The voice was groggy, but there was something underneath it—an unmistakable fury that made several of the remaining fighters instinctively glance toward the stairs.

"Who’s the bastard interrupting my sleep?!"

Footsteps followed.

Slow.

Heavy.

Not because the person walking down the stairs was particularly large, but because every step carried the weight of someone who had just been dragged out of bed and was in absolutely no mood to be here.

A short woman with vivid red hair streaked with black finally appeared at the top of the stairs.

Cat ears twitched atop her head.

Her golden eyes were half-lidded with sleep, and she scratched one ear lazily with a clawed finger as she descended.

Several other beast-kin followed behind her, all in various states of half-dressed alertness, looking equally annoyed at being dragged out of bed.

The moment she reached the ground floor, she froze.

Slowly, her golden eyes swept across the tavern.

The splintered floorboards.

The wreckage.

The unconscious bodies scattered across the room.

Grolm’s massive bulk lying among the debris.

And finally—

Kael.

Her sleepy expression vanished.

The change was subtle, but immediate.

The woman’s hand dropped from her ear, and her golden eyes narrowed.

"What’s going on here?" she asked in a surprisingly gentle tone, her eyes fixed on the scarred man.

"...Kael."

Her brows knitted slightly. "Tell me why half our men are on the floor?"

Kael opened his mouth, but before he could even speak, she raised one clawed finger.

"Before you start making excuses..."

Her gaze shifted toward Michael.

He was clearly not one of them—a stranger who had barged into their inn, probably looking for an audience with Her Highness. She had seen plenty of people like that before.

But not one who was still standing after facing so many men.

Her pupils narrowed.

"...tell me why the stranger is still standing?"

Kael dipped his head, his voice low. "Miss Raven... he appeared without warning, started provoking everyone, and the fight escalated."

Raven sighed, long and suffering. "And you just let him beat you senseless."

She faced Michael and raised one black-clawed finger. Before he could react, an invisible force slammed into his midsection.

Blood sprayed from his lips as his body flew backward and crashed into the far wall.

Fresh agony layered over every existing wound.

The partial scales along his neck and jaw began retracting.

His vision swam.

His consciousness threatened to slip away.

Through the haze, he kept his eyes locked on the cat-eared woman as she barked orders at the others.

Then—

Seraphine’s voice cut through the noise out of nowhere—sharp, urgent, and threaded with genuine panic.

"Michael!"

As her voice hushed the noise, she quickly said something to them before rushing forward, her forehead sheened with sweat and her expression tight with guilt.

"My power cut out—I couldn’t leave the camouflage I put up. I’m so sorry, I—"

The rest of her words blurred as Michael’s eyelids grew too heavy.

A strange, quiet sense of safety settled over him at Seraphine’s presence, even as the floor seemed to tilt beneath him.

’Oh... So that’s why she never came out...’ A small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth. ’Idiot.’

Just before darkness took him, frantic System alerts flickered at the edge of his hearing—too muffled to make out clearly. Knowing the System, it was probably saying something about his body breaking down.

’Heh. No shit, Sherlock.’

However, just as his consciousness fully drifted away, his fingers twitched slightly.

His tired eyes, squeezed shut, suddenly snapped open.

A harsh red glow flooded his vision.

Warning! Warning!

[????? Current Rank: Qi Refining — Stage 1]

[Current Output: 100%]

Michael’s eyes snapped fully open, causing Seraphine’s eyes to widen.

’How can he still be conscious after...’

Her thoughts trailed off as she noticed the look in his eyes.

The warmth that usually filled them was gone.

Replaced by something flat.

Predatory.

Slowly, the whites of his eyes began darkening from the outer edges inward, blackness swallowing the sclera while the remaining fragments of his pink irises bleached to a pure, glowing white.

Raven’s ears immediately perked up.

The pressure rolling off the bloodied young man on the floor made her fur stand on end.

She moved on pure survival instinct—and sent one precise chop toward the side of his neck.

Gradually, as if his very body was fighting against unconsciousness, Michael’s body finally went limp.

Seeing this, Raven let out a long, shaky breath, her tense shoulders finally relaxing.

She raised her gaze to her liege, who was desperately tending to the young man. In all her years serving her, not once had she seen her treat any man—in fact, anyone—like this.

Raven clenched her jaw. ’What the hell did I just do?!’

She wanted nothing more than to cut off her own head and offer it as penance for her sins, but she knew her lady would never accept it.

So she dropped to both knees so hard the floorboards creaked.

Without warning, she began slamming her forehead against the floor in rapid, panicked succession.

"Your Highness! I didn’t know—I swear I didn’t know he was your guest! If I had known, I would never have touched a single hair on his head!"

Seraphine wiped a bit of blood from Michael’s forehead, exhaustion written across every line of her face. "It isn’t your fault, Raven. I’m the one who sent him here without confirming I still had enough power to intervene."

She turned around and scanned the room before glancing at Kael. "Don’t worry. I’ll cover the damages."

The scarred man bowed so low that his forehead nearly touched his knees. "This subordinate wouldn’t dare accept payment, Your Highness."

Seraphine sighed as her gaze returned to the unconscious young man. Blood still seeped from multiple wounds, his breathing shallow but steady.

She lifted her head and addressed the entire room.

"Is anyone here a healer?"

Silence stretched for several heartbeats.

The sharp-eyed woman Michael had struck earlier on her sensitive nipple stepped forward, one arm still pressed protectively across her chest.

Auburn hair framed a cute, freckled face that looked like it could do no harm. She was slim through the waist, but the rest of her was built to be used: heavy, full tits straining against the fabric even as her arm tried to shield them, the kind of soft weight that would overflow a man’s hands. Her thighs were thick for her frame, framing a round, perfectly shaped ass.

The woman offered a polite, professional smile. The contrast between that polite expression and her shameless internal thoughts was almost jarring.

"Your Highness. I am a healer. It would be my honor to tend to the young master."

’Yes... how could I let the bastard who did this to me simply die? Hehe, it doesn’t matter if he’s the lady’s guest. He’ll pay for every second of it.’