Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1275: Probing

"You..." Yuri’s voice was low, a frown deepening on his brow. His mind raced back to their last encounter, the duel that had left a mark—unfinished, unresolved. Lyon had slipped through his fingers before they could settle the score.

A sudden pulse of energy rippled through Yuri, and the Black Kirin within him materialized, a miniature version of the majestic beast perched on his shoulder. Its eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom as it whispered, "Careful, boy."

Around the arena, the patriarchs and matriarchs turned their probing gazes toward Lyon. For a moment, confusion flickered in their eyes, all of them trying to measure the man who now stood at the center of attention. But the harder they tried, the more elusive his true strength became, leaving them puzzled—except for Atrum. He had already faced Lyon once, and his knowing silence spoke volumes.

Among the crowd, the murmur of curiosity grew louder. Many couldn’t quite place the man in the regal black and red robe, but a few faces lit up with recognition. They remembered the tales—whispers of his feats that traveled across the heavens, each more unbelievable than the last. Those who had seen him before began nudging their companions, excitement building.

"Isn’t that...?"

"The one from the Mortal World... Lyon?"

"The stories say he’s survived battles that should’ve killed him a hundred times over..."

"Does he really think he can compete with the six young masters?"

Yuri’s eyes narrowed as Lyon stood there, calm and composed. There was no hesitation, no sign of fear—only that familiar, confident smirk that Yuri had grown to both despise and respect.

Atrum, standing with the Ouroboros Clan, watched Lyon with an unreadable expression, his mind tracing the memory of their first encounter. This young man is dangerous...

"Is that him?" Alistair Skyblade, the patriarch of the Sky Clan, asked, his sharp gaze never leaving Lyon.

"In the flesh, father," Mavis replied, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Alistair’s brow furrowed. "Funny... I sense his cultivation at zero. Has he masked it?"

Mavis tilted his head thoughtfully. "I don’t think anyone could mask their cultivation so completely at this level, especially not during the Gathering. That puzzles me too, father. But that smirk, the way he carries himself... his aura speaks volumes."

Alistair nodded, eyes still narrowed in suspicion. "At the banquet, I will ask him about the Sky Scripture. You focus on the Gathering."

Meanwhile, Ning of the Red Lotus Clan clicked her tongue in irritation. "Tch, that annoying guy is here."

Her matriarch, Amara, raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You’ve encountered him before?"

"Not in a good way," Ning replied, crossing her arms and glaring down at Lyon.

"Be cautious, Ning," Amara warned. "There’s something... unsettling. My entire body is alert. I can’t probe his cultivation at all. It’s like... he’s empty."

"What?" Ning frowned in disbelief. "That can’t be right."

In the Teardrop Clan’s section, Azleid clenched his fists, a surge of memories flashing through his mind—the massacre at the Lost Ruin, where he had been powerless as Lyon reigned supreme. The frustration of that day still lingered. "It’s good that you’ve come," he muttered under his breath.

His patriarch, Kairos, noticed his tension. "Who is he?"

Azleid’s eyes darkened. "A man I want to beat... more than Yuri."

Lyra of the Harmonia Clan, on the other hand, smiled at Lyon’s arrival, an amused gleam in her eye. "Ah, the hidden beastmaster has arrived."

Her patriarch, Aelius, raised an eyebrow, scanning the arena. "A beastmaster? I see no beast—except for that small wolf beside him."

"He’s the man I encountered in the Third Heaven," Lyra replied, her smile widening.

"I see," Aelius hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting."

Kurogane, patriarch of the Black Kirin Clan, observed how both his son Yuri and Atrum of the Ouroboros Clan were watching Lyon closely. Yuri’s competitiveness was rising, and Atrum—though silent—seemed as though he had expected Lyon’s arrival all along.

The air in the arena grew thick with anticipation, and it wasn’t just the crowd that felt it. Among the six clans, something far more significant was brewing—a challenge unlike any they had faced.

Luce Veritas stepped forward, her voice echoing through the vast arena. "Now, let the heroes step into the arena!"

The crowd erupted into a frenzy of excitement, their cheers reverberating across the Grand Heaven. Eyes turned toward the competitors, but more than a few had noticed something odd—Lyon and his group were sitting beneath the broken statue, a place not meant for any clan. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"Who do they think they are?" "That’s not a place for just anyone." "Do they belong there?"

Some murmured in disagreement, others in awe. The confusion was palpable, but among Lyon’s circle, the focus was elsewhere.

"Lyon, please win," Maria called softly, her voice tender with encouragement.

Lyon turned around, smiling warmly at her before his gaze shifted to Cecile. She gave a subtle nod, her auburn eyes carrying a quiet confidence.

Then came Selena’s voice, sharper, fiercer. "No mercy, darling."

Lyon smirked, eyes glinting. "Got ya."

And with that, he leaped from his seat, his body sailing gracefully into the arena below. Kesya’s exuberant cheer pierced the air, her voice rising above the crowd as if she were the only one there.

"Go, boss! You got this!" she screamed, waving her arms like it was the last time she’d ever see him fight.

The arena seemed to hum with anticipation as Lyon landed lightly on his feet, the ground beneath him rippling with the subtle weight of his power. The other heroes began to enter, but all eyes—both on the first level and the second—were on him now. His presence filled the air, and for the briefest moment, even the rowdy crowd fell silent, as if the very heavens had taken notice.

"First, we are going to probe your cultivation level," Luce announced, her voice firm but controlled. With a graceful wave of her hand, seven magic brands shimmered into existence on the arena floor, each pulsating with an ethereal glow. "Please step into the magic brands," she instructed.

The crowd roared in excitement, sensing the gravity of the moment. This was where the real division between the competitors would be revealed. Everyone held their breath—this was the moment where strengths and weaknesses would be laid bare.

As the heroes prepared to step forward, Selena stood close by Luce’s side, her expression sharp as a blade. "I never liked you," Selena said coldly, her voice low enough to keep the exchange between them. "So don’t give me a reason to cut your head off now."

Luce, facing the thinly veiled threat, smiled awkwardly. It wasn’t the first time someone had threatened her life, but the intensity of Selena’s words still unnerved her. "N-Now, now," she stammered slightly, trying to keep the situation light. "Let’s all calm down, shall we?"

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Ian couldn’t resist joining the chorus. "Give them hell, boss!" he called out with an exaggerated grin. Then, more to himself, he muttered, "Or... not. I don’t know. You do you."

Assid, however, was occupied with something far more mundane but equally intense. He stood by the broken statue, cleaning its base with an almost frightening determination, glaring daggers at anyone who dared interrupt his task.

The tension grew as Lyon and the others approached the magic brands, each step bringing them closer to the moment of truth. The crowd’s roar crescendoed, eager for the reveal, but all eyes, from the spectators to the six clan leaders, were fixed on Lyon.