SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 490: The God of War [V]

Vivienne continued to sit there, her face still marked by that uneasy expression, as Trafalgar's voice rang out once more.

"One more thing remains."

Dravok’s gaze turned toward him. "Speak."

Trafalgar leaned one arm on the table and locked eyes with him steadily. "Your role in the war didn’t go unnoticed. The Eight Great Families might not pinpoint exactly who or what you represent, but they sensed it. They’re aware something powerful was present." His tone remained steady. "Should it occur again, it won’t slip by so smoothly."

Dravok absorbed the words without a single interruption.

Afterward, he offered a brief nod. "Indeed. That was an error."

The straightforward reply even caught Rhosyn’s attention for a moment.

Dravok sipped slowly from his drink before pressing on. "The heat of the moment swept me beyond what was wise. I craved to witness it firsthand. I yearned to see you amid the fray, that blood surging within you." His pale green eyes fixed on Trafalgar. "It evoked memories of my youth. Back then, I was much the same. The clash of battle drew me in, and I yielded to its call."

Though that confession didn’t melt his stern demeanor, it shifted the atmosphere at the table subtly. For the first time, his words carried the weight of a man who had forged his path through youthful trials just like anyone else, rather than echoing solely as a legendary figure etched in time.

Trafalgar allowed the moment to linger briefly, then stated, "Understood. Ensure it stays in the past."

Vivienne’s gaze snapped immediately to him.

Even Caelvyrn appeared mildly entertained by the blunt simplicity of the statement.

Dravok showed no adverse reaction, however. Instead, his focus intensified.

Trafalgar pressed forward without pause. "And while we’re being direct, here’s another point. From the outset of this gathering, you’ve spoken as if issuing commands."

The table fell utterly still.

Rhosyn glanced toward Trafalgar. Vivienne now seemed on the verge of alarm.

Trafalgar paid it no mind.

"I’ll hear your counsel," he continued. "I’ll welcome your aid. In due course, I’ll embrace your guidance as well. But don’t let it swell your ego." His stare held Dravok’s unwaveringly. "We collaborate as equals. Nothing more. At present, no one here ranks above me."

Vivienne appeared truly shocked. Having shared years alongside Dravok, she likely had seldom witnessed anyone addressing him so boldly, especially not one so young.

Caelvyrn’s lips twitched faintly, though he held his silence.

Dravok observed Trafalgar across several drawn-out seconds. Then, rather than fury, a subtle smile graced his features.

"Excellent," he finally uttered.

That lone word yanked all eyes back to him.

"A lineage like ours demands no one who yields too readily." His fingers rapped once on the glass’s edge. "Had you merely bobbed your head in agreement to all my words, my disappointment would outweigh any satisfaction."

Vivienne blinked in surprise.

Dravok kept his gaze riveted on Trafalgar. "Very well then. We join forces." His smile dimmed, yet without sharpness. "Just ensure that pride of yours yields tangible outcomes."

Trafalgar nodded curtly. "It shall."

"Fine," Dravok replied. "Enough dancing around. Let’s set matters straight."

No one broke in.

He fixed Trafalgar first with his look. "Your role is clear. Head back to the academy. Complete it as it deserves. Sustain your growth, your momentum, and amplify your reputation even further. Forge bonds of true value. Not superficial nods, not grinning opportunists, not those drawn only by your usefulness. Genuine, sturdy alliances."

Trafalgar nodded slightly. "That’s been the intent all along."

"I’m aware," Dravok affirmed. "What’s new is your grasp of where that path converges."

Next, his attention swung to Rhosyn.

"Remain by his side. That stays constant. But henceforth, heed my summons promptly. Your skills won’t serve in trivial ways, and I won’t squander effort hunting you down across realms while feigning endless patience."

Rhosyn folded one leg atop the other and met his stare evenly. "You speak as though I habitually flee from duties."

"You act only when it suits your whims."

With that, Dravok pivoted to Caelvyrn.

"As for you. Now I require you as a true partner, not that smirking observer lingering on the sidelines, critiquing others’ choices."

Caelvyrn exhaled softly through his nostrils. "Such harshness. You imply I haven’t proven invaluable thus far."

"You’ve merely attended," Dravok countered. "True utility emerges when real tasks demand it."

Caelvyrn’s lips quirked. "So after ages of pursuing our own paths, we at last align our efforts."

"Temporarily," Dravok noted.

"Temporary suffices."

Finally, Dravok regarded Vivienne.

"Your course is set. Join the academy next year. Cease sheltering behind flawed choices and conduct yourself as one meant to dwell among peers."

Vivienne seemed to bristle at every word. "You present it as effortless."

"It’s not," Dravok said. "Precisely why you require it."

She dropped her gaze briefly, then nodded sharply.

Dravok’s eyes swept the table more deliberately now, as though anchoring each figure firmly in his thoughts.

"Thus it is settled," he declared. "I ready what must be readied. Rhosyn and Caelvyrn lend their aid. Trafalgar advances relentlessly. Vivienne steps into the academy and mends the issue she sparked before it gains fangs." He lifted his glass anew. "When the moment arrives, I’ll reach out."

Trafalgar met his eyes. "And in the interim?"

"In the interim," Dravok stated, "follow through precisely on your words. Press onward."

Some time passed, and the bar hushed once more.

The dwarf resumed his motions behind the counter, moving with the languid pace of one reclaiming routine after intruders far grander than his humble tavern warranted disrupted his dawn. He gathered glasses, straightened chairs, wiped down scarred timber with a cloth. By the stairs, Vivienne had departed to ready her exit, not without one final wary glance toward Dravok before vanishing from view.

Dravok stayed rooted in his spot.

One hand hovered by the half-drained glass. The other rested scarred and motionless on the table, his gaze lingering where Trafalgar had sat mere heartbeats ago.

A soft exhale escaped through his nose.

"A fine one," he whispered.

Not solely due to the blood.

Blood by itself never sufficed. Over centuries, Dravok had witnessed countless examples. Mighty lineages, storied titles, venerable heritage—yet hollow at the core, unworthy of esteem. Trafalgar stood apart. He didn’t move like one shielded by ancestral might since birth. A tougher edge defined him, forged through effort. Dravok lacked every detail of the youth’s journey, but he grasped its essence without elaboration. Trafalgar had ascended. Not lifted gently to glory by others, but hauled upward by his own grit, refusing to halt once underway.

That shone through in his speech, his unyielding stance, his direct gaze at elders mightier than himself, seeking no approval beforehand. Pride burned in him, true—yet not the empty variety. Not the delusion of heirs who deemed blood granted dominion absolute. His was the resilient sort, hammered from trials. Above all, that bound Dravok to him swiftly.

His mind wandered next, stirring echoes of another figure.

Not the son, this instance.

The mother.

Not just in features, evident as the likeness was. It pulsed in his aura. That unyielding defiance. That aura of one never destined to bow. She bore it effortlessly, as did he. A presence that stirred unease in others unwittingly, rousing frailty in the timid sans uttered menace.

Dravok savored another deliberate sip.

The path ahead remained veiled. He harbored no illusions that a single encounter heralded triumph. The seal frayed onward. The bloodline lay fragmented. Time hadn’t softened merely because one promising successor emerged from shadows. Victory held no certainties. The era to come might birth fresh calamities, fresh griefs, fresh legends lost to oblivion.

Yet now, hope had an anchor.

With Trafalgar, possibility flickered.

A grueling one. A slim one. But possibility nonetheless.

Maybe sufficient to avert their line’s plunge into near-oblivion once more. Maybe potent enough to preserve remnants from utter erasure.

His sight strayed to the dim ceiling, weathered walls, the outer realm where they endured in secrecy despite their essence. Absurdity tinged it. The mightiest bloodline consigned to margins, aliases, hush. Yet raw power alone couldn’t brace a fractured kin against the world entire.

Dravok sought no clash with every foe.

Not with their stance so precarious.

Time came first. Foundation. Stature. A destiny sturdy enough to claim.

One day, perhaps, no more skulking in dives such as this. One day, Primordials might stride under vast skies openly, voices unbound, names unburied.

But such a dawn hinged on Trafalgar soaring vastly higher.

Dravok glanced at the table briefly, then a whisper of a smile curved his lips.

"Show us your limits, heir doomed by destiny."