MTLNOVEL Chapter 447: Apex Predators
Warlock Ch 447. Apex Predators
Damian chuckled softly, the sound low, dry.
"What?" Aria asked without turning her head.
He tilted his chin toward the viewport. "They could've teleported us."
She nodded slowly. "I know."
"But they didn't," he said.
"No," she agreed, voice quiet.
He exhaled through his nose. "You think they planned to 'lose' us in transit?" His voice sounded bitter.
"Probably," she said flatly. "Until they realized we brought half the damn realm's powerhouses with us."
Damian let the silence stretch, but he chuckled internally.
Truth was, he could feel it—the tension in the walls, the unfinished spell arrays humming quietly underfoot. Hidden ones. Probably designed to bind, subdue, or erase if they felt like it. He didn't need [Observation] to know. He could feel the pressure. It was like sitting inside a held breath.
They wanted to test them. Hurt them. Break them down on the way there.
But between Victoria's cold death-stare, the fae king's unimpressed silence, Lysandra's dragonborn authority, and the literal swarm of flying apex predators around them…
They hadn't even tried.
They just flew. Straight. Silent. No trap. No games. Just cold professionalism now.
Because now they were cornered too.
The Tribunal couldn't touch him—not yet.
Damian turned his gaze toward the horizon.
Through the thick runed glass, the distant outline of the capital came into view—Magus Sanctum.
The city was carved into the mountain range like a crown atop a god's skull. A thousand spires rose high, woven with magical light. Bridges of crystal and gold laced the sky between towers like strands of an ancient web. The air around the city shimmered faintly, protected by layers and layers of magical shielding. There were floating wards the size of ships orbiting the upper sanctum, scanning everything within range. And at the very center— The Grand Tribunal Tower.
A black spire. Impossibly tall. Surrounded by six coiling rings of stone and arcane glass, suspended in the air by divine anchors. The Tower of Judgment.
Damian's stomach twisted. Just slightly.
The last time he saw it, he had been chained. His wrists bound with soulsteel. A crowd of smug faces watching from marble balconies. His name wasn't "Damian" then.
It was Kaelan Voidweaver.
Villain. War criminal. The man who broke the Accord.
The memory surfaced uninvited—too vivid. Boots scraping against stone. Shackles cold against his skin. The whisper of a crowd wanting a monster, and the tribunal that gave them one. They paraded him like a trophy.
And he let them.
Because back then, he still believed someone would speak up. That maybe, just maybe, someone would say, "This isn't right."
No one did.
But that wasn't going to happen this time.
He wasn't Kaelan anymore. He wasn't a tragic hero. And he sure as hell wasn't some misunderstood villain. He wasn't walking into that tower with chains.
He was walking in with an army.
No, scratch that—with proof.
The transport began its slow descent, the whirring of embedded mana-turbines vibrating through the floor.
The city below them gleamed like a sharpened blade, beautiful and cold and absolutely indifferent.
"Last chance to jump," Cassius muttered, cracking one eye open.
Damian didn't answer. He didn't need to.
He watched as the tower grew larger. The entrance plaza expanded below, lined with glowing runes and cloaked tribunal agents waiting in formation. The moment the construct touched the landing pad, defensive enchantments locked in like prison bars across the deck. A soft chime sounded. The door hissed.
"Showtime," Evelyn muttered.
The door groaned open.
No chains. No escort spells. No binding glyphs. Just a long, polished bridge leading into the cold heart of the city. Lined with people who'd already decided their roles in the story.
Damian stepped forward first.
He didn't flinch. Didn't lower his eyes.
The air smelled like stone dust and sanctimony. Like expensive robes and old blood covered up by scented oils.
The air outside the Tribunal airship was cold. Crisp. Like the city itself had held its breath the moment it saw them arrive.
Stone flags flapped sharply along the skybridge leading to the Tower of Judgment, and the first thing Damian noticed when he stepped out—was the silence. Not the comfortable kind. Not reverent.
It was the kind that crackled with judgment.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of people were gathered across the open plaza and winding staircases built into the terraces of the Magus Citadel. Civilians. Nobles. Students from the magic academies. Tribunal supporters. Fae emissaries. Gossiping aristocrats. Even a few masked judges in their ceremonial robes stood motionless, their gaze sharp beneath heavy hoods.
Damian's boots hit the stone with a soft thud. One step. Then another.
He wasn't in chains.
He wasn't escorted by guards.
He wasn't dragged in, bloody and beaten like a lesson to be made.
He just walked.
Calm. Composed. Quiet.
As if he belonged here.
As if he was just a guest.
And that—more than anything else—threw them off.
He could feel the stares. The hush ripple across the crowd like someone had turned down the world's volume knob.
People leaned in. Whispered.
"Is that him?"
"Where are the chains?"
"Why's he not restrained?"
"Did they forget the suppression collar—?"
But then came the others. And that's when the hush became stunned silence.
First out was Lysandra, draconic armor gleaming under the afternoon sun like forged lightning, her wings tucked but still casting an impossible silhouette behind her. Four of her officers followed—massive dragonborn soldiers with gold-rimmed pauldrons and burning eyes that dared anyone to speak out of turn.
Then Cassius stepped out like he was entering a stage, loose cloak tossed back, runes glowing lazily across his shoulders. SSS Rank. One of the only independent contractors powerful enough to tell the Tribunal to go shove it.
And beside him, Evelyn. The witch they said had once hexed an entire council because they interrupted her breakfast. Her long coat fluttered around her, and her eyes scanned the crowd like she was already memorizing who needed to be cursed first.