In Eldoralth, dragons stood as the strongest of the mid races. One of their strongest warriors alone was enough to cause catastrophic damage during battle.

They were feared for many reasons, and it wasn't only their unparalleled physical strength.

Their scales were harder than any metal, and their claws could tear through armor like paper.

But what truly set them apart was their profound compatibility with mana, almost rivaling even the Aeonians in this regard.

A dragon could channel mana with such ease that controlling elements like fire, earth, and lightning came naturally to them, as if the world itself bent to their will.

Their control was so absolute that a dragon's breath could turn a landscape to ash, split mountains, or summon storms fierce enough to sink fleets.

Dragons were ancient, living far longer than humans, though their extremely low birth rate balanced this.

Because of this, they possessed a certain wisdom acquired from the many experiences in their long lives. Their keen intelligence made them formidable warriors on the battlefield.

The Dragon's Roar.

This was one of a dragon's most primal abilities. It wasn't just a normal sound; when a dragon unleashed its roar, it was the manifestation of its will.

The very atmosphere would resonate with the sheer force of their presence. To be within the roar's radius was to feel the weight of an ancient, primal fear—a fear that struck deep into the heart, awakening instincts that reminded every living being that they were prey, and the dragon was the predator.

In battle, the roar could shatter the resolve of entire armies, sending them fleeing in blind panic.

A Dragon's Roar was the full, undeniable declaration of a creature that had never known defeat, a creature that ruled with sheer dominance.

It was a reminder to all who heard it that dragons, in every sense, were the true predators.

Among the dragon race, there was not a single one who didn't know this fact—not even the children.

Draktharion's roar had always been the embodiment of that truth, a call to power that shook the very core of those who heard it.

But just a second after Draktharion roared, the pride of every member of the dragon race crumbled into dust. The eyes of every dragon watching bulged from their sockets.

This couldn't be real. They had to be dreaming.

What they were witnessing was nothing short of absurd.

A dragon's roar—one that could make an entire army bend its knees—had just been unleashed.

The air shook, the ground split open, and mana in the atmosphere vibrated violently, chaotic and unruly, as if the world's very energy bowed to the dragon's authority.

And yet… the only human at the center of it all remained unaffected.

Atticus's piercing blue eyes glowed with an intense crimson light, his will surging forth like an unstoppable force.

The amplified roar of a dragon, something that should have crushed any ordinary mortal, wasn't enough to make him even flinch.

He moved forward, unbothered, his pace unbroken. Tendrils of lightning crackled across his form, the energy swirling and growing in power.

The lightning at the tip of his outstretched arm intensified, thickening with a ferocious brightness that lit up the battlefield.

The very air around it trembled, as if the energy was too much for the world to contain. It flashed, violent and bright, before it shot forward toward Draktharion's chest.

The strike landed, but instead of an explosive shockwave, there was a subtle, almost eerie stillness.

The lightning didn't disperse like before. No—this time, it pierced through Draktharion's scales, cutting through the dragon's defenses like a blade of light, and continued its path toward his heart.

Draktharion's eyes widened, his gaze trembling in disbelief. His shock was palpable.

'I underestimated him.'

The thought echoed through Draktharion's mind. In his past world, humans were nothing but ants beneath his feet. Even in this world, they had been the same—insignificant, weak.

But he had miscalculated.

He wasn't fighting just any human. Atticus was something more, something different. A reincarnator. An Apex.

He had truly miscalculated.

But there was no time for regret. No time for pondering. Only action.

Draktharion's eyes narrowed, the intensity in them sharpening like the edge of a blade. His wings unfurled, spreading wide like dark clouds before a storm.

With a sudden flash, they snapped open, and in the next instant, Draktharion launched into the sky, his massive form blurring with impossible speed.

The force of his ascent sent shockwaves through the molten ground below, lava splashing as the heat intensified.

As Draktharion ascended into the skies, his scales suddenly rippled, shifting and locking into place like pieces of black iron armor adjusting to his every movement. They hardened, fully protecting him.

His eyes narrowed, and with a low mutter, he commanded, "Come forth."

His arm pulsed, the black iron accessory wrapped around his fist trembling. It shifted, crawling up his arm like a living creature before fixing itself to his claws.

In an instant, the weapon grew, transforming into jagged, deadly extensions of his hand, humming with power as if it had been waiting for this moment.

Without hesitation, Draktharion blitzed through the sky, his form barely discernible—a black streak cutting through the air.

The ground trembled under the force of his speed, and in an instant, he was upon Atticus.

However, Atticus had already drawn his katana. Their weapons collided in a shower of sparks, life weapon against life weapon, power against power.

The force of the clash cracked the air around them, the ground beneath them trembling from the sheer energy of the impact.

Again, they clashed—sparks igniting the sky as Draktharion turned the very skies into his domain, attacking from every angle.

He moved like a shadow in the air, his claws blazing with fire, each strike aiming to dice Atticus into pieces.

But Atticus remained calm.

His katana moved fluidly, his expression cold and focused. His eyes flicked rapidly, anticipating Draktharion's movements, reading the attacks before they landed.

Each time, he blocked or deflected, his stance unbroken, his focus sharp.

Sparks flew again and again, their weapons meeting with the force of titans.