Draktharion's gaze was distant, lost as he stared up at the sky. For a moment, the world felt peaceful.

The sounds of battle were gone, replaced by a strange stillness. But that peace was short-lived.

A blazing figure crashed down on him with brutal force.

Boom!

Atticus landed on Draktharion's chest, his body bending from the impact. A gush of blood spewed from Draktharion's mouth, his vision blurring as he focused just in time to see Atticus standing above him.

And then the rain of punches began.

Atticus's fists flashed with lightning, fire, and light, each one gathering immense power before smashing into Draktharion's already broken body.

His punches landed with the force of a storm, pushing Draktharion deeper into the ground. The arena trembled with every blow, the air crackling with raw energy.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Each punch was a shockwave of destruction, breaking through Draktharion's remaining scales and crushing his bones.

The ground beneath them splintered and cracked, lava spilling out as the arena struggled to contain the cataclysmic force. Draktharion's body gave way under the relentless barrage, his defenses shattered.

The world around them fell into a suffocating silence. The only sound that remained was the echoing thuds of Atticus's fists crashing down like thunder.

Outside, the world was silent, especially for the people of the dragon race. None of them could speak, each one watching their apex being beaten to a pulp silently.

There were no more roars, no more excitement. In their gazes, there was only defeat.

It wasn't only Draktharion being defeated in there—it was all of them.

Valerius, the dragon paragon, sat on his throne, fists clenched so tightly that the air around him grew scorching.

His entire body trembled with rage, unable to accept the sight before him. Unlike the others, he knew the real penalty of losing. It was something he couldn't accept! Their greatest genius, his grandson, gone just like that?

His gaze locked onto the human paragons, and his eyes met Magnus's calm, unyielding stare.

Valerius's glare was a silent threat—if Atticus kills him, there will be hell to pay.

But Magnus didn't flinch. Instead, he responded with action, his killing intent locking onto Valerius. Their gazes held, and the message from Magnus was clear:

Come.

Valerius's anger spiked, cracks forming in the throne beneath him. But he restrained himself. Starting anything here was futile. Magnus couldn't stop Atticus even if he wanted to.

Instead, Valerius turned toward the Dimensari paragons, his eyes filled with desperation.

If only they could recover the dimension faster…

Valerius wasn't the only one whose gaze burned with intensity. Many of the other races' paragons had their eyes locked on the Dimensari paragons, their expressions growing darker with each passing moment.

Should the unspeakable happen, there was no telling how it would affect the fragile alliance.

Meanwhile, in the crater, Draktharion's world had slowed.

Despite the constant barrage of punches, despite the agony tearing through his body, a strange peace washed over him. The pain, the blood, the crushing blows—all of it began to fade into the background. His thoughts drifted.

His wife. His children. They appeared before him, their faces smiling. It was peaceful.

A soft smile formed on Draktharion's lips, even as he lay on the brink of death.

Atticus, his expression unchanging, abruptly stopped his assault. The silence in the arena was deafening.

But without hesitation, Atticus unsheathed his katana and, with a single swift motion, severed both of Draktharion's arms.

Draktharion's life weapon clattered to the ground, and Atticus used his earth element to bury it deep beneath the arena. He wasn't taking any chances.

Draktharion let out a chuckle, blood seeping from his lips. Despite everything—despite being bested by Atticus—he felt no hatred. Atticus had won, fair and square.

His only regret was not seeing his family again.

"You human... what's your name?"

But all he received was Atticus's cold, crimson stare, unflinching and silent.

"Even now, you refuse to speak to me," Draktharion chuckled bitterly. Throughout the battle, Atticus hadn't spoken a single word. In fact, Draktharion wasn't sure why Atticus hadn't killed him yet.

Then, the reason suddenly clicked in his head, and he let out another chuckle, coughing up blood.

"I understand. Answer me this one question, and I'll help you. Who were you?"

Atticus instantly created an air barrier around them, blocking any sound. He also used the light element to mask the movement of their lips, ensuring that no one could hear their conversation.

Draktharion's gaze turned serious. He was very curious about the answer. In his past life, he had been the dragon king, the ruler of his world.

Throughout the battle, he could tell that Atticus hadn't gone all out. But the most shocking part was Atticus's composure.

Draktharion's heightened senses had not detected even the slightest fluctuation in Atticus's heart rate. His calm had been constant throughout the battle.

For someone to be this strong and collected, Atticus had to have been an important figure in his past life, someone with overwhelming power and authority. Or so Draktharion believed.

"A normal high school student."

Draktharion's eyes widened in disbelief. There was no concept of high school in his past world, but it didn't change the shocking fact that he had been bested by a student.

"Was your school the overlord of your world, or—"

"No. It was a normal school. There was no mana or abilities."

Another wave of shock hit Draktharion, and it felt as though everything he had believed was crumbling.

A second passed, and he burst into laughter, his mirth resounding continuously.

"Crazy... crazy," he muttered between laughs.

He had been battling someone who had been a normal person in his past life, and yet he had lost miserably.

"How old are you?"

Atticus's eyes narrowed, but he decided to answer. "I'll be 17 in a week."

"I see…"

Draktharion went silent for a moment before speaking again.

"You might not know this, but all the other apexes are 18 years old—at least in this life. Which means…"

Atticus's gaze flashed. He didn't need Draktharion to finish the thought. The implications were clear.