Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1216: Once The Epitome of Strength

The three emperors sat around the table, their expressions serious and their gazes locked in a silent exchange of determination. Rakumtatak, Eleandril, and Lyon, each bearing the weight of their respective responsibilities and the burden of their shared destiny.

"What are you going to do now?" Eleandril’s question cut through the tension, his eyes fixed on Lyon, the Zodiac Emperor, with a keen curiosity.

Lyon paused for a moment, his demeanor composed as he considered his response. "I have re-opened the connection to the Mortal World," he replied, his voice steady and resolute. But behind his calm exterior, there was a glint of determination in his eyes, a silent promise of action yet to come.

"Killing the all-father is a grand feat," Rakumtatak interjected, a grin spreading across his rugged features. "But don’t forget the promise you gave me."

Lyon turned his gaze towards Rakumtatak, his expression unreadable as he listened to the Ogre Emperor’s words. "You want a warrior’s death," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone carrying a hint of solemnity.

Rakumtatak’s response was immediate and forceful, his fist slamming down on the table with a resounding thud. "I want my death to be in your hands, and only by your hands!" he declared, his voice echoing with conviction as he met Lyon’s gaze head-on.

"I take the compliment that you deem me worthy of killing you, but if you want that much, you’ll want me to be at my strongest," Lyon remarked, his tone tinged with a mixture of respect and amusement.

Rakumtatak smirked in response, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Of course, I would want nothing less," he replied, his voice brimming with confidence.

"You’re an odd one," Lyon chuckled lightly as he poured a drink for Rakumtatak, a gesture of camaraderie amidst the weighty conversation. "But, Rakumtatak, what are you going to do now? Do you want to join me in the meantime, or do you prefer to wait by the pond until I’ve returned?"

The question hung in the air, the gravity of Rakumtatak’s decision palpable as they awaited his response. In that moment, the fate of their alliance and the path ahead lay in the hands of the Ogre Emperor.

I will do whatever I want," Rakumtatak declared with a determined glint in his eye, mirroring Lyon’s earlier sentiment as he returned the gesture of pouring a drink.

"You know he could die trying," Eleandril remarked, his tone tinged with concern as he sipped his own drink, his gaze shifting between Lyon and Rakumtatak.

"Then I will succeed where he failed," Rakumtatak responded, his arms crossing over his broad chest in a show of confidence and resolve.

"I wish you luck then," Eleandril nodded solemnly before turning his attention back to Lyon. "By the way, what happened to the treasury in Purgatory?"

Lyon shrugged casually, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "If you want a share, you’ll need to go through Cecile, not me," he replied, his tone light but tinged with a hint of mischief.

"Hmm..." Eleandril mused, his expression reflecting the weight of the situation as he considered the prospect of dealing with Cecile. He could already imagine the hassle he’d have to go through with Lyon’s formidable wife. "Even Iris can’t persuade her, let alone me. I’m just an ordinary elf with a beautiful bow in her eyes."

Lyon chuckled at Eleandril’s plight, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey, since I’m your friend, I can put in some good words," he offered, his tone light and teasing. "After all, she is my wife."

Eleandril couldn’t help but smirk at Lyon’s suggestion, though there was a hint of skepticism in his expression. "No, the last time you did, she increased the price," he retorted, his lips twitching with amusement as he recalled their previous interactions with Cecile.

Lyon couldn’t help but feign ignorance in the face of Eleandril’s remark, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he shrugged casually.

Returning to the main topic, Eleandril remarked, "Your Empyrean is going to be an eyesore for them."

Lyon smirked confidently in response. "But they can’t do anything," he stated boldly. "It’s not as if I’m powerless."

"You have anti-mana as your base of cultivation now," Eleandril pointed out, acknowledging Lyon’s newfound strength.

"Then his fist will sting against the all-father," Rakumtatak added, his tone tinged with anticipation. "Welcome to the club."

Lyon raised his cup in a silent toast, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he took a sip, the weight of his allies’ words echoing in the air.

Rakumtatak watched curiously as Eleandril rose from his seat, a puzzled expression crossing his rugged features. "Ey, where are you going?" he inquired, his tone tinged with confusion.

"It’s rare for us to gather like this, who knows if it will ever happen again," Eleandril replied cryptically as he approached a nearby cabinet. With a sense of purpose, he reached inside and retrieved a simple bottle of wine, devoid of any label or markings.

Placing the bottle down on the table with a decisive thud, Eleandril captured the attention of Lyon and Rakumtatak.

"At the same level as the Monkey King’s Wine," Eleandril announced with a hint of pride, "This is the Elven’s Nectar."

Rakumtatak’s eyes widened in astonishment. "Oi oi oi, this is a prized gem," he exclaimed, his rough voice betraying his admiration for the rare vintage.

Lyon couldn’t help but smirk at Eleandril’s choice of name for the wine. "Ugh, the phrasing," he remarked with a playful roll of his eyes.

Sun, the Devil Ape, appeared in a burst of light, perching atop Lyon’s head. "That’s quality," he chimed in approvingly.

Eleandril nodded in agreement. "With the revered wine master saying so, no doubt my ancestors would be pleased," he remarked, his tone reverent.

"Hahaha, then pour us," Sun urged eagerly.

With a practiced hand, Eleandril picked up the bottle and proceeded to pour each of them a generous portion of the esteemed Elven’s Nectar, the atmosphere alive with anticipation as they prepared to savor the rare and cherished vintage.

As Lyon gazed at his reflection against the dark red liquor, he couldn’t help but acknowledge his own weakness in comparison to the others when it came to alcohol. Despite his typically composed demeanor, he knew he had the weakest tolerance among them all.

Eleandril’s solemn gaze met Lyon’s, and he raised his cup in a silent toast. "For the lost brother of Yala, Sein," he intoned, his voice carrying a weight of remembrance and honor.

Lyon’s surprise was evident as his eyes momentarily dilated at Eleandril’s words. It was a poignant reminder of the loss they had all endured.

Without hesitation, Rakumtatak and Sun also raised their cups in tribute.

Lyon’s smile was bittersweet as he lifted his own cup, joining in the solemn toast. "For my son, Sein," he murmured, his voice tinged with both sadness and determination. It was a tribute to the memory of his lost child, a solemn vow to honor his legacy in the days to come.

The night draped the Empyrean in a blanket of darkness, yet the glow of moonlight bathed its silent halls in a soft, ethereal radiance. Despite her injuries, Cecile remained steadfast behind the desk, diligently attending to the empire’s affairs with unwavering determination.

In her chamber, Selena found solace in the embrace of rest, her features softened in repose as she surrendered to the tranquility of sleep.

Meanwhile, on the balcony overlooking the empty expanse of the empire, Maria stood alone, her gaze fixed upon the luminous orb of the moon. Bathed in its gentle light, she seemed to merge with the night itself, a figure of quiet contemplation and silent strength amidst the stillness of the night.

Lyon’s steps faltered as he approached, his usually composed demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic fluster. His cheeks flushed with a deep crimson hue, betraying the turmoil within.

Maria, hearing the familiar footsteps, turned to face him, her expression softened with concern. "Lyon, how many times have I told you, drinking is no—" Her admonition faltered as her eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of her husband standing before her. His cheeks were flushed with color, but it was the sorrow etched in his eyes that caught her off guard.

As Lyon stood before Maria, his flustered demeanor softened under her gaze, his vulnerability laid bare in the gentle glow of the moon. Despite his usual stoicism, he seemed smaller somehow, his shoulders weighed down by burdens unseen.

Maria’s heart clenched with empathy as she took in his troubled expression, her own concerns momentarily forgotten in the face of his evident distress. She longed to reach out to him, to offer solace and comfort in his time of need.

In that moment, Lyon, once the epitome of strength and power, appeared utterly vulnerable, his facade of invincibility shattered by the weight of his emotions. Caught in the moonlight’s embrace, he stood before her as a man laid bare, his heart laid bare for her to see.