Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1264: Wrath of The Zodiac Emperor

Lyon’s gaze sharpened even further, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. "Tell me everything in detail about their visit to Fifth Heaven." His words carried an intensity that made the old man hesitate for a second, stunned by the sheer focus radiating from him.

The hermit took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "It started about three months ago... or so," he began. His eyes grew distant as he recalled the events. "Two of them... seraphs. One had three pairs of wings, the other two. They arrived in secrecy, trying to keep their presence unknown. They were looking for her too—the legendary physician."

"Were they injured?" Lyon’s question came swift, his voice almost cutting through the stillness.

The old man nodded solemnly. "Yes. They were afflicted by a rare disease. A disease that I couldn’t find in any book, not even the most obscure scrolls I owned. It was like their bodies were being corroded from the inside, a pure and relentless decay."

Lyon’s eyes narrowed. "And... did she show up?"

The hermit shook his head slowly. "No. The legendary physician never appeared. I tended to the seraphs as best I could, but without a cure, I advised them to seek help from the Ouroboros Clan in the Sixth Heaven. I figured they might have more knowledge about such an ailment, given their standing and history with poisons. But instead of aid, the seraphs were enraged."

Lyon’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Enraged? Why?"

"They said something cryptic," the old man replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "’None of your business,’ or something along those lines. They didn’t want any help from the Ouroboros Clan. But they didn’t take kindly to my failure to cure them either. Their pride was wounded. So, they set off again, continuing their search for the legendary physician."

The old man paused, smirking slightly. "And as fate would have it... looks like I was the lucky one instead."

Lyon’s thoughts churned, his mind piecing together fragments of a larger, more complex puzzle. He looked at the old man with a quiet intensity. "So, they left without finding her."

"That’s right," the old man confirmed. "But it wasn’t long after their departure that I fell ill. I thought I’d been cursed for failing to heal them... until she appeared. The legendary physician came to me instead."

Lyon stood silent, his thoughts racing. The seraphs, the disease, the physician’s elusive nature—it all seemed connected. Yet, the deeper he dug, the murkier the truth became.

The old man’s laughter echoed softly through the air. "Young master, you should relax a bit. Thinking too hard might yield worse results, you know."

Lyon smiled, his expression easing. "That’s true. But still, thank you for sharing that information."

The old man waved his hand dismissively. "It’s no big deal. Besides, it’s not like those seraphs are going to come back searching for me." His tone was light, but the weight of their conversation hung in the air, heavy with implications.

Lyon smirked, glancing toward the horizon. The morning wind swept across them, rustling through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the serenity of the world. "Ah, this is what living is..."

But just as he breathed in the peaceful air, his eyes snapped open. Something caught his attention—a glimmer in the wind. His pupils shrunk as he focused on it. A single feather, drifting gently through the breeze, its vanes outlined in gold. The body of the feather blazed with the redness of fire, while the rachis shone with a bright, golden hue. But as it fluttered closer, Lyon noticed something disturbing—the after-feather was grayed, as if it had been singed by time.

Without hesitation, Lyon reached out, deftly pinching the feather between his fingers, stopping it from vanishing into the wind. His eyes narrowed as he examined it, turning the delicate object over in his hand. The fiery colors were unmistakable, and the faint warmth it emanated hinted at a power far beyond the ordinary.

"Phoenix..." he muttered under his breath, the realization dawning on him like a slow-burning flame.

The old man watched with curiosity, his gaze shifting from Lyon to the feather. "What is it, young master?"

Lyon’s gaze hardened as he examined the feather once more. "This is a phoenix’s feather."

The old man chuckled, still seated, his demeanor light. "Oh? You are quite lucky then! It’s not every day you’d come across a phoenix’s feather."

But Lyon wasn’t smiling. "This feather, in particular, is still fresh."

The old man tilted his head, intrigued. "How so?"

Lyon pointed to the vibrant flames of red and gold still alive within the feather. "The colors are intact, vibrant. The gray part, though... that’s the start of decay. It symbolizes ash." He paused, his tone lowering as his eyes darkened. He turned to the old man, fixing him with a sharp stare. "Old man, I know very well about seraphs."

The old man raised an eyebrow, unsure of what Lyon was getting at.

Lyon’s voice grew cold. "Given your condition and how you failed to help them, those seraphs... under normal circumstances, they would have killed you."

The old man froze, stunned into silence. His usual calm faltered as he processed Lyon’s words. "You think they would be that petty?"

"Not petty," Lyon said, his voice steady but firm. "Imperfection. To them, failing to cure their disease... makes you a liability. It’s not about pride, but about the natural order, their unyielding pursuit of perfection. And that..." Lyon’s eyes narrowed. "That has something to do with their code, hierarchy."

The old man’s fingers twitched, an involuntary reaction.

Lyon held up the phoenix feather, now three-quarters grayed, his eyes locked onto the old man. "One more thing," he said, his voice low, "these things decay in a blink of an eye. Which means the phoenix is near... very near."

The old man snorted, though a faint trace of unease flickered in his eyes. "What are you implying?"

Lyon’s gaze sharpened, unwavering. "Is she there?" His tone was firm, referring to the old man’s hut in the distance. His question wasn’t casual—it was a command wrapped in inquiry.

The old man leaned back, his usual relaxed demeanor faltering. "You think I would house someone as powerful as her under my roof?"

Lyon approached the old hermit’s hut, a weight began to settle in his chest, each step he took heavier than the last. His heart was drumming in his ears, and despite his usual carefree demeanor, a deep unease twisted in his gut. The serene morning breeze felt like a deceptive calm, hiding something darker underneath.

Memories flashed in his mind—of Enya, the Immortal Phoenix, proud and untouchable, her fiery presence an eternal force in his past. To see someone like her wounded, weak... it felt wrong, unnatural. He swallowed hard, a sense of dread rising in his throat. If she had fallen, what did that mean for the rest of them?

His thoughts raced as his hand reached for the door. Why hadn’t she responded to him? Why was there no word, no sign until now? The silence was louder than any answer.

Lyon tried to push away the fear, replacing it with determination. He needed to know what had happened, why she had disappeared. Was it something he had done? Or worse, something he had failed to do?

As Lyon pushed open the door, his eyes immediately fell upon the scattered gray feathers that littered the floor. Each one, once radiant and fiery, had now withered into lifeless ash. The sight sent a jolt through his chest—a brutal reminder of Enya’s fading strength. Every feather was like a heartbeat lost, a fragment of her immortal essence drained away.

The room was filled with them, like a graveyard of memories, and as Lyon took a step inside, his boot gently crunched over the brittle remains. His throat tightened as he realized what they meant: Enya was not just hurt, she was dying.

Each gray feather seemed to accuse him, mocking his delayed arrival. Why weren’t you here sooner? they seemed to ask.

The weight of the situation pressed down on him, and he had to steady his breath. He scanned the small hut, his eyes following the trail of gray, which led him to the source of his anguish—the once-majestic Phoenix, now reduced to a fragile, broken creature. Her feathers, once alight with vibrant flames, were dull, and her proud posture had collapsed into one of defeat. Her eyes, half-lidded and filled with sorrow, met his, and for a brief moment, Lyon’s composure cracked.

The gray feathers on the floor weren’t just symbols of her decay—they were reminders of his powerlessness, and the time that had slipped through his fingers.

"Enya..." Rui’s soft voice echoed in disbelief, the Moon Hare whispering from within Lyon’s spirit. The weight of the sight before them was undeniable.

Lyon knelt beside the Immortal Phoenix, his hand trembling as he reached out to comfort her, to wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. But before his fingers could make contact, a hand—firm and cold—grasped his wrist, halting him mid-motion.

"You are overstepping your boundaries, mortal," came a voice sharp and authoritative. Lyon turned to see a man standing tall behind him, his radiant form adorned with three pairs of glowing wings. A seraph, eyes gleaming with celestial superiority. His grip tightened on Lyon’s wrist, as if to remind him of the vast difference in their rank.

The old man who had once been the hermit stepped inside, but now his form had changed. Gone was the frail appearance; in its place stood a youthful figure, glowing with divine light. Two pairs of wings spread from his back, a lesser but still formidable seraph.

"Looks like we have to end you," the younger seraph said, a trace of mockery in his tone as his wings flared out, casting shadows that danced on the walls of the small hut.

The one with three pairs of wings—snapped his gaze toward Enya. His voice was filled with eagerness, dripping with greed. "Enough of that," he commanded, his wings flaring. "Grab the tears! You know how long we’ve been waiting for this? The ultimate elixir... The Tears of the Immortal Phoeni—."

A sudden force pulled him forward, followed by the impact of an absolute fist slamming into his face. His vision blurred as his body was launched backward, crashing through the wall with such intensity that the structure buckled, sending him rolling several times outside.

Lyon stepped out from the broken wall, his gaze sharp and unwavering. His fist still clenched from the blow that sent the three-winged Seraph tumbling outside, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Dust and debris fell from his shoulders as he straightened up, his expression one of cold fury.

The younger Seraph, with his two pairs of wings, rushed toward his fallen ally, but stopped short when he saw Lyon standing there, the remnants of the wall crumbling behind him. The air around Lyon crackled with intensity, an aura that commanded absolute attention.

The three-winged Seraph groaned as he staggered to his feet, clutching his jaw, still reeling from the sheer force of Lyon’s strike. His wings flared out, the golden tips trembling with anger and disbelief.

"What in the...?" the younger Seraph muttered, his voice laced with both awe and dread.

Lyon’s eyes burned with an intensity they hadn’t seen before. His usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by the raw presence of a man who had nothing left to lose. He glanced down at the three-winged Seraph, who was still trying to shake off the blow.

"You should’ve left her alone," Lyon said, his voice low but heavy with authority. He took a step forward, causing the ground to shift slightly under his feet.

The younger Seraph exchanged a quick, panicked glance with his ally before they both focused on Lyon, who now seemed larger than life, the very air around him pulsing with the weight of his presence.

"Don’t be so cocky!" the three-winged Seraph shouted, his voice a mix of pain and fury. "A dirty shot like that only comes once!"

Lyon’s lips curled into a dismissive smirk. "You think your wings scare me? You think your All-Father intimidates me?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he slowly advanced toward them.

The three-winged Seraph’s face twisted with rage. "Tch! You will regret what you—"

Before he could finish, Lyon’s aura flared, a surge of raw power rippling through the air like a tangible force. The ground beneath him trembled, and the temperature seemed to drop, causing the Seraph’s words to catch in his throat.

The younger Seraph, still shaken by the sheer force of Lyon’s presence, hesitated, his gaze flickering between his ally and Lyon. The weight of the moment was almost too much to bear, and the realization of who they were truly dealing with began to sink in.

"Regret?" Lyon echoed, his eyes narrowing. "I’ve seen far worse than your petty threats."

With a sudden burst of speed, Lyon moved forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His presence was overwhelming, and the younger Seraph could only watch in stunned silence as Lyon’s hand reached out, aiming to put an end to this confrontation.

The city’s serene morning was abruptly shattered by a series of thunderous booms and shockwaves that rattled the very foundations of Aurora City. The sky, once calm and clear, now roiled with dark, swirling clouds that seemed to echo the chaos below.

Ian’s eyes snapped open. He shoved Graham away with a forceful push, his expression turning from confusion to grim determination. As he looked around the VIP room, his boss was conspicuously absent. Liu, having managed to extricate himself from beneath the table, glanced around with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"It seems like something has provoked the wrath of our master," Liu muttered, his voice low but urgent.

Kesya, never one to shy away from excitement, didn’t wait for an invitation. With a burst of speed, she smashed through the window, leaping out into the chaos. The others quickly followed, their urgency matching the intensity of the unfolding situation.

As they emerged onto the streets, Kesya’s gaze was fixed on the distant sky. The clouds churned in a menacing spiral, and from the heart of the tempest, the shockwaves continued to emanate. The once-stable environment was now a landscape of turmoil, the city’s usual hustle and bustle replaced by a tense, almost eerie quiet. Those who dared to venture outside could only watch in awe and trepidation, their minds unable to fully comprehend the source of the fury that was unfolding above.

Esmeralda and her parents stood on a balcony overlooking the city, their eyes fixed on the dramatic spectacle unfolding in the distance. The once clear sky had darkened, swirling with tumultuous clouds that seemed to pulsate with every shockwave. The intensity of the storm was such that it cast an ominous shadow over the entire city, drawing the gaze of every observer.

Lady Kalani’s face was a mask of concern, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. She had witnessed many extraordinary events in her life, but the scale of this power was something new, something deeply unsettling.

Her father, observing the situation with a mix of awe and apprehension, placed a comforting hand on Lady Kalani’s shoulder.