Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse

Capítulo 524: In the Presence of Monsters

What exactly separates the battle instincts of a beginner from a master?

Or one skilled from another unskilled?

Or a newbie from a veteran?

Many would confidently say it’s strength.

Or ability.

Or even knowledge and understanding of the battlefield.

And they would all be wrong.

Because those are traits governed by normal, controllable logic—factors that can be trained, calculated, or measured.

Instinct, however, is different.

Instinct is raw.

It is something primal and unbidden, closer to an animal’s pulse than a scholar’s reason. It is the invisible hand of survival, carved into the soul by countless brushes with mortality—by skirting the very edge of oblivion again and again until the mind learns to see the unseen.

Instinct is like an unspoken contract with nature.

An inheritance from ancestors who knew, without understanding why, to flinch from the rustle in the tall grass.

Who knew, without needing to see teeth, that certain shadows carried death.

And such instincts are honed most by near-death experiences.

Painful, near-fatal, skin-singing experiences.

They become sharpened to a blade’s edge, able to cut through the veil of normalcy and detect what others cannot.

A true veteran doesn’t just observe danger—they feel it, in the marrow of their bones.

It’s the breath that catches without warning.

The sudden churn of the gut.

The racing pulse when the logical mind is still asking why.

A beginner might not recognize a monster even when it stands before them, smiling.

They lack the depths of memory, the scars to tell them when something is wrong.

But a master…

A veteran…

They would know.

And with that knowledge comes something else—something far beyond calm analysis or measured bravery.

With that knowledge comes fear.

A pure, instinctive, animal fear that whispers one undeniable truth:

Run.

All the guild members and Union officers could feel it.

It wasn’t just the oppressive heat radiating from Cinder, or the way Terra’s cold, analytical gaze seemed to peel back their souls. It wasn’t the quiet disdain on Alzuring’s face, or the casual bloodlust that shimmered off Silvyr like sweat.

It was something deeper.

Primal.

A truth that settled into their bones with all the subtlety of a falling anvil.

These weren’t just dragons.

They weren’t simply powerful beasts or fearsome warriors.

They were monsters.

Each one stood there with a casualness that made it all the more horrific—like predators wandering idly through a field of grazing cattle.

And every seasoned fighter in that hall—every guild leader who had spent decades refining their combat instincts, every Union officer who had survived the mists and mutant beasts—could tell with crushing certainty…

They didn’t stand a chance.

The gap in power was so vast it felt almost insulting.

Like trying to compare the flicker of a match to the eruption of a sun.

This was a force they could not stop.

The weight of that truth pressed down on them, smothering all bravado, until many of them felt frighteningly small—insignificant before beings who could end them all in a heartbeat.

Alister’s golden eyes swept across the chamber, his gaze sharp yet almost pleased.

“It gladdens me to see no one is opting to use force. Matters are… delicate right now. It would be most unfortunate if I had to view anyone here as my enemy simply because they were too reckless to understand the stakes.”

A visible shiver ran through the hall. Hands tightened on hilts, but no one dared raise their weapons. Even the distant Union officers who still had their guns trained on him seemed to reconsider, sweat beading on their foreheads.

Then, from the gallery of reporters near the back, a trembling voice broke the taut silence.

It was a young female reporter, clutching her holo-recorder so tightly her knuckles were white. She cleared her throat once, then managed,

“Sir… Dragon Lord—if I may—aren’t you concerned about how the public will see this? There were… many who believed in you at first. But after today… you’ve frightened a great many people.”

Alister’s eyes settled on her. For a heartbeat, she seemed to shrink under that gaze, but to her credit, she didn’t look away.

He let out a sigh, shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if disappointed yet patient.

“When a person is publicly branded a villain, what should he do? Smile politely, deny the charges, hope the words blow over? Or must he act—to clear his name by force of reality, not rumor?”

The reporter’s lips parted, but no answer came. Only a faint, uncertain noise.

Alister didn’t wait.

“The answer is that he must act,” he said softly, almost like explaining to a child.

His gaze flicked briefly to Aethel, still pinned beneath Draven’s boot, then back to the reporter.

“Aethel here was about to place a target on my back. Publicly. Officially. For my so-called crimes—most of which were merely me stepping in where your Union had failed.”

Then Alister raised his right hand slightly, palm outward.

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I am exactly the villain he claims I am.”

He snapped his fingers.

At once, golden portals blazed open all around the chamber. From them surged streaks of lightning and flame—dozens upon dozens of armored dragon knights, emerging with weapons drawn. Their eyes glowed with draconic energy, claws flexing on hilts, ready to spill blood at a mere breath of command.

A suffocating pressure descended on the hall. People stumbled back into their seats. Some dropped their weapons entirely. Whispers turned into frightened murmurs.

Alister then spoke.

“Attempting to have this meeting or even accommodate your opinions would be pointless when my forces could cut down any who stand in my way and seize authority. Yet here you all are, alive and unharmed. I’m sure that makes my intentions clear, miss reporter?”

From the guild seats, Arden, the representative of the Red Phoenix Guild, rose slowly to his feet. His usually jovial face was set in a calm, grave line.

“We understand your message, Alister,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of reluctant respect. “If you wished to use force… there is no one here who could stop you. If you will, call back your forces and make your announcement.”

Alister watched him for a moment, but did nothing.

He snapped his fingers again.

Just as quickly as they’d appeared, the dragon knights retreated back through the swirling portals, which closed behind them with an ethereal hum, leaving only the echo of their departure.

Alister lowered his hand. His golden gaze swept the chamber once more.

“I’m glad we all understand,” he said quietly.