Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1180: His Ultimate Legacy

"You..." one of the devil cultivators eyes widened. "You’re the one that stormed our Nifelheim!"

"He is!" said another devil cultivator before he frowned, "But that’s... impossible, you should have joined us, you were branded?!"

"Hm! You think I would yield that easy?" said Liu as he brandished his sword, carrying with it a momentum of deadly stroke.

The sound of crackling fingers was heard as another figure stood by Liu’s side. Hair all black, eyes fused with half of insanity, Kesya was ready with more punching than words. An incredible power exuded from her body. The Frenzy was not something to be trifled with, and the old devil cultivators knew from the history books.

"One was enough to storm your beloved Nifelheim, now there are two and me," said Rakumtatak. "I say, that the chances are pretty stacked against you guys."

The horde of devil cultivators was at a stalemate. They knew that fighting them would yield devastating results on both ends. However, it’s not like they didn’t have a chance. Even though the Zenith Emperor Rakumtatak himself decided to intervene, he could not possibly be able to take them all at once.

Cecile was looking at the battlefield above. Her eyes squinting and contemplation was filled in the gaze.

"War Maiden, what should we do?" Selena asked.

"Lyon is our priority, he is both the cause and the savior of this situation," said Cecile.

"However, how long would it take," said Harvestasya through the statue of her creation. The group looked up to the shimmering glow of the inspiring hero of Golem City. They did not have any idea what the man was experiencing.

"We need to stall," said Karina as she stepped forward, "I will help however I can."

"Me too," said Harvestasya.

Then the ground trembled. The entire Golem City seemed to answer the call and Cecile’s eyes with the others widened. Rise, rise, and above, the golems, all golems, stood in front of the biggest statue of their emperor hero. The magnificent scene was witnessed by both parties and their stance was made clear on whose side the golems were on.

"Golems you animated fools!" said another devil cultivator from above. "Do you not know who you’re dealing with?"

"Without the Emperor Hero, there would be no Golem City," said one of the golem out of hundreds and all of them stomped the ground in unison.

"Idiots!" said one from the horde.

Cecile smiled as she looked at the unison of the golems.

Then the shimmering light pulsed as the glow intensified and extended. It was subtle but everyone could spot the difference as the atmosphere entered a brief pause.

"Charge!!!" said the horde of the devil cultivators as some charged toward Kesya and Liu whilst the others charged against the Ogre Emperor below. It was an invasion.

With the incoming horde against the two of them, Kesya and Liu took a stand. However, for Kesya, it was only for a moment. She was not going to be the bastion to hold the fort. She was the cannon and she knew all too well about destruction.

"Let’s dance, Achile!" said Kesya’s powerful voice surrounded the battlefield as a pair of anklets adorned her. Swift in the night, rivaling the phantom. She blistered her strength in a deafening kick that forced one devil cultivator to bowl against the others, making her mark in the deciding war.

Yala looked above and the air was filled with clashing metals and churning blood. The sheer amounts of the horde seemed to increase as the battle went on. Though the three of them were powerful, they too had limits.

"Damn, all of you just for me? hahaha!" said Rakumtatak as he alone dealt with a hundred or so.

Naturally, some of them managed to escape from the three and gained momentum toward Lyon. However, the next defense in line suddenly surged up flying with the outline of their stony skins glowing.

The Ice Spirit back in the cave had its eyes opened wide. "Y-You..."

Harvestasya had her teeth gritted and the bottom of her feet glowed with a brand of magic. The entire golem in Golem City was basked with the capabilities of flight, in her name, with her sweat. "Don’t keep us for long, master!!"

Her voice echoed out from her statue, and the cat magus aided from afar.

"Charge!" the golem screamed out and in unison, the hundreds of golems moved to intercept the incoming horde of devil cultivators. The first golem immediately got beheaded by a punch from the devil cultivators, but the smirk didn’t last long as the same golem slapped him to the ground.

"What?!" the devil cultivators that got slapped exclaimed in disbelief. The head was not as important for a golem it seemed.

"With our body, we shall make a stand!" said one of the golems as they became the wall of hope. The final line of defense.

From the portal that connected Sixth Hell and Purgatory, devil cultivators kept arriving like an endless supply to join the fight and the increasing heat was palpable. The forest became the battlefield and witnessed, however, all tension was naught for the source of this sudden battle.

In the sea of memories, Lyon Torga grappled with the intensity of the transformative process. Pain surged through every fiber of his being, threatening to unravel the delicate threads that connected his past and present. The memories of his old life flashed before his eyes, vivid and poignant, etching themselves into the canvas of his consciousness.

As waves of agony coursed through him, Lyon found himself reliving moments from the era before his rebirth. Faces of those he had loved and lost, places he had conquered, and the echoes of battles waged in the pursuit of power and destiny—all unfolded in a kaleidoscopic panorama.

The sea of memories was both a blessing and a curse, an intricate tapestry of joy and suffering. Each pang of pain bore the weight of a significant memory, a fragment of his former self seeking recognition and integration into the new Lyon Torga. The struggle for coherence amidst the chaos was palpable, and Lyon fought to maintain his grasp on reality.

In the kaleidoscope of memories, Lyon Torga found himself caught in a whirlwind of diverse scenes, each unveiling a different facet of his past. The hauntingly familiar image of a woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Cecile, emerged as a poignant revelation. Her gentle caress, though fleeting, left an indelible imprint on Lyon’s consciousness, stirring emotions that transcended the confines of the sea of memories.

The transition was abrupt, transporting Lyon to a more serene setting—a round table adorned with simplicity, where his three wives and six students gathered. The air in the restaurant carried the warmth of camaraderie, the shared moments etched into the tapestry of his experiences. Lyon’s gaze swept over the familiar faces, recognizing the bonds forged through countless adventures and trials.

However, the kaleidoscope continued its relentless turn, whisking Lyon away to scenes of warfare. The battlegrounds were diverse, ranging from conflicts against humans to the untamed beasts and even grand beasts that roamed the realms. Each war was a Chapter in Lyon’s journey, a testament to his prowess and the burdens he bore as a leader and conqueror.

As the scenes shifted, Lyon was confronted with the stark duality of his existence—a man enmeshed in the complexities of love, friendship, and the unyielding demands of leadership. The sea of memories did not discriminate; it laid bare the contradictions and intricacies that defined Lyon Torga’s multifaceted life.

"Every step, every battle, and every connection," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of youthful introspection. "It’s like weaving a story with every choice I make—a story that’s uniquely mine, yet intricately woven into the fabric of time."

As the echoes of his past reverberated through his consciousness, Lyon’s voice held a tinge of wonder. "Being a leader, forming bonds, and experiencing the highs and lows of emotions—it’s all part of the journey. And here, in the sea of memories, I’m confronted with glimpses of the person I’m becoming."

He cast his gaze inward, grappling with the questions that lingered on the edge of understanding. "It’s strange, you know? The responsibilities, the friendships, the heartaches—they all feel magnified in this ever-shifting landscape of memories. What lies ahead is still a mystery, but I carry these moments with me, like stars guiding me through the unknown."

"Don’t go," the haunting refrain echoed, weaving through the tapestry of his recollections. In that ephemeral moment, Lyon’s heart quickened, recognizing the voice that had been a distant yet cherished melody in the symphony of his life.

There she was, amidst the fragments of time—Maria, the elusive figure with iridescent hair. Her silhouette danced on the periphery of his consciousness, a mirage of both longing and familiarity. Determination etched across his face, Lyon pursued her through the labyrinth of memories, each step resonating with the echoes of their shared past.

"Maria!!" he called out, the name a fervent prayer escaping his lips. The pain that gripped his soul seemed to momentarily fade into the background as he chased the spectral vision of the woman he had sought across lifetimes.

The pursuit became a dance through the corridors of time, a testament to Lyon’s relentless quest for connection and understanding. Every stride echoed with the beats of his heart, urging him to bridge the gap between past and present, between memory and reality.

As Lyon Torga emerged from the ethereal chase through memories, he found himself suspended in an otherworldly storm. The tempest roared around him, with billowing clouds and tempestuous winds that seemed to carry the weight of unseen forces.

Below him stretched a vast, churning sea, its turbulent waves reflecting the tumultuous nature of the storm above. In the midst of this celestial tempest, two enigmatic silhouettes awaited him. They stood at the precipice of the sea, young and regal, their auras distinct yet intertwined in a dance of cosmic energies.

Lyon’s gaze fixed upon the figures, and though their features were veiled by the tempest’s haze, their presence exuded an undeniable power. Each silhouette resonated with regality, yet diverged in the essence they projected. One bore an aura of stoic strength, a silent tempest of authority, while the other emanated a magnetic charisma, drawing Lyon’s attention with an unseen force.

"Who are—" Lyon was stopped by an echo of Maria’s voice.

"What should we name him?"

The ethereal scene unfolded before Lyon’s eyes, revealing a tender moment in the past. The echo of Maria’s voice, sweet and filled with warmth, permeated the air.

"Lyon, what should we name him?" Maria’s voice echoed through the timeless space.

Lyon’s eyes widened, and the view shifted once again, revealing Maria on a bed, a radiant smile gracing her face. Her appearance was slightly disheveled, but her joy was evident. Cradled in her arms was a newborn, a symbol of new beginnings.

As Lyon attempted to articulate his thoughts, Maria playfully chided him, "Look at your father, he is too stunned to even give you a name."

Breaking through his initial surprise, Lyon suggested, "Let’s name him Sein!"

Maria chuckled at his seemingly random choice, teasingly remarking, "Did you just randomly—"

"Seinreit Torga," Lyon declared, his voice carrying a sense of determination as he bestowed a name upon their newborn. The amalgamation of sounds and sentiments echoed through the sea of memories, etching this familial moment into the tapestry of Lyon Torga’s existence.

"Dad!!" The sudden cry pierced through the storm, jolting Lyon back to the present. The ephemeral visions faded, leaving him hovering above the sea, still caught between the echoes of memories and the current reality.

"Dad!!" The cry sliced through the tempest, carrying an urgency that resonated with desperation. Lyon Torga’s heart clenched at the shift in tone, recognizing the distress in his son’s voice. The stormy sea beneath him mirrored the turmoil within as he strained to comprehend the nature of the call.

Lyon’s heart raced as he approached the scene. The storm around him mirrored the turmoil within, and a sense of foreboding gripped him. The silhouette of a young child caught between two figures, became clearer as he drew near.