Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1299: Attitude

Questions buzzed like restless bees among the crowd, weaving tension so thick it felt like a storm was about to break. Voices murmured in hushed tones, each trying to make sense of Lyon’s declaration, the arrival of the Six Pillars, and the patriarchs’ sudden intervention. Every eye flicked back and forth between the clans and Lyon’s circle, anticipation rising like the tide.

Atrum, the patriarch of the Ouroboros Clan, stood quietly among the others, his expression unreadable. He was a man who understood tides—when to push forward and when to drift with the current. Unlike the other patriarchs, whose glares carried suspicion or challenge, Atrum was content to play both sides. Offending Lyon, whose power was now undeniable, was a risk. But openly opposing his fellow leaders wasn’t an option either. For now, he would wait and see, a snake watching from the grass.

Before Lyon could open his mouth to address the gathered powers, the moment fractured. Aella and Rufus descended into the arena, their eyes locked on Lyon, intense and calculating.

Aella’s expression was as cold as winter frost, her posture radiating controlled suspicion. "You’re not just a wanderer, are you?" she murmured, though it was more statement than question.

Rufus followed, his presence quieter but no less dangerous. His gaze seemed to dissect Lyon with each passing second, trying—failing—to find the secret behind his power. "I don’t understand... Even now, there’s no mana. Nothing." His words were sharp but colored with frustration.

Lyon leaned his head slightly to the side, the playful smirk never leaving his lips. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

The crowd held its breath, not knowing whether another battle was about to ignite. The presence of Aella and Rufus tilted the balance of the situation. These two were not here to observe; they were hunters eyeing an anomaly they could not comprehend.

High above, Luce—the one assigned as the event’s moderator—remained curiously silent. She stood with arms folded, her silver hair glimmering under the light of the early day, watching everything unfold.

A faint, mischievous smirk crept across her face, subtle but deliberate. She should have intervened, called for order, or perhaps demanded explanations. Instead, she chose to let the situation spiral, as if she found amusement in the unraveling tension.

Lyon noticed her expression, his grin widening just a touch, but he made no comment. He could sense it—she wanted this chaos to bloom. She was curious, no, entertained by the unpredictability of it all.

Aella’s eyes narrowed, sensing Luce’s inaction but choosing to stay focused on Lyon. "You act as though all of this is a game to you. But you know things you shouldn’t. You’ve forced our hands—so answer us. Who are you really?"

Before Lyon could respond, Kesya barked a laugh from behind him, her wild grin flashing as she clapped Lyon’s shoulder. "A game? Nah, it’s just the boss’s style."

Ian added with a chuckle, "He’s got a habit of making everyone dance to his rhythm. Better get used to it."

Assid’s cold, calculated voice followed. "Proceed at your own peril. He does not owe you answers, seraph."

The crowd stirred uneasily, whispers swelling like a storm gathering on the horizon. The patriarchs shifted on their feet, some visibly uncomfortable, sensing that the confrontation could tip into conflict at any moment. The balance of power was on a knife’s edge.

Aella’s gaze sharpened, and Rufus’s grip on his sword subtly tightened, sensing the tension escalating. "This farce ends now," Aella declared, stepping closer to Lyon.

Lyon tilted his head, amused. "Oh? Does it?"

Aella’s sharp eyes met Lyon’s, her wings fluttering slightly in impatience. "How about a bet," she said, her voice loud enough to capture the crowd’s attention.

Lyon raised his brow, intrigued. "Go on."

"You will fight Rufus. If we win, you have to spill everything you know." Aella’s tone was firm, brimming with the confidence of someone used to dictating terms. "And don’t worry," she added with a faint smirk, "even if you don’t consent, we can still force you."

Selena, standing behind Lyon, bristled at the words, her killing intent flashing like a blade in the air. But before she could act, Cecile was already there, intercepting her with a hand on her arm, calming the storm before it could erupt.

The crowd, however, wasn’t as restrained. Murmurs of unease rippled through the stands. To them, the proposed match was ludicrous. Rufus was a seraph, an exalted being with wings and divine power, while Lyon appeared to be nothing more than a mortal—no wings, no visible source of strength. It was clearly unfair.

Ian, standing in the circle surrounding Lyon, shook his head in disappointment. "Can’t you make a better deal for our boss?" he asked, half-amused, half-disapproving.

But Lyon chuckled softly. "It’s fine, Ian." He turned his attention back to Aella, his smirk widening. "May I ask, what happens if I win?"

Rufus’s face twisted into a scowl, clearly irritated at the mere suggestion that Lyon could even think about winning. He clenched his fists, the divine energy within him simmering beneath the surface, ready to burst.

"What?" Aella repeated, her confusion momentarily slipping through her composed façade.

"Don’t be deaf now," Lyon quipped, his voice light, but the edge was unmistakable. "What happens if I win?"

Aella’s wings twitched in annoyance, but she held her ground. "You can ask for whatever you want," she said through gritted teeth, trying to mask her irritation.

Lyon’s smirk deepened as he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "If I win, I want you to do a simple task for me."

Aella’s brow furrowed. "And what would that be?"

"Send a message," Lyon said casually, the simplicity of his request hanging in the air.

Aella didn’t fully understand what he meant, but she weighed the odds. From her perspective, the stakes were clearly in her favor—Rufus was a seraph, after all. It seemed like an easy victory, and even if Lyon won, the request was trivial in comparison.

After a moment of consideration, she nodded. "Sure."

The deal was made, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation. Even though the imbalance in power was glaring, there was a palpable tension. Something about Lyon’s demeanor, the way he carried himself with that unshakable confidence, made people wonder. Would this fight truly be as one-sided as it seemed?

The arena fell into a tense silence, the air almost tangible with anticipation. Lyon leaned back with a casual grin, as if the entire conversation was nothing more than a friendly chat. Yet, the subtle spark in his eyes betrayed the hidden game he was playing—one only he fully understood.

Aella folded her arms, her irritation thinly veiled. "A message, huh? That’s all you want if you win?"

Lyon gave her a lazy shrug, "Yeah. Just a message."

Rufus scoffed, unable to conceal his frustration. "You really think you have a chance?" His wings twitched slightly, feathers shifting with the suppressed energy flowing through his body. "You’re delusional, mortal."

The crowd murmured, clearly seeing the lopsided nature of the deal. A seraph versus a mere mortal? No wings, no divine blessings. It was an uneven match, and everyone knew it.

"He’s out of his mind," someone whispered.

"Poor guy, doesn’t stand a chance."

Still, despite the apparent mismatch, there was something unnerving about Lyon’s complete lack of worry. The way he smiled, unbothered by Rufus’s taunts, sent a ripple of discomfort through even the most confident onlookers.

Ian rubbed his temple with an exaggerated sigh, "Boss... seriously, can’t you at least ask for something more interesting?"

Lyon chuckled. "It’s not the prize, Ian. It’s the delivery."

Aella narrowed her eyes, sensing there was more to his words than he let on. "What’s the message?"

Lyon’s grin widened just slightly. "You’ll know when the time comes."

Rufus snapped his fingers, his impatience finally getting the better of him. "Enough stalling. You wanted this fight, now let’s get it over with." His aura flared, golden light spreading like wildfire across the arena floor, crackling with the divine fury only a seraph could wield.

Selena’s killing intent flashed again, sharper this time, but Cecile’s hand gently pressed on her shoulder. "Not yet."

Lyon rolled his neck, as if preparing for a light jog rather than a fight against a being of divine power. "Alright, Rufus. Let’s see if you live up to the hype."

Rufus sneered, energy coiling around him like a storm waiting to break. "This will be over in seconds."

Lyon’s expression never wavered. He simply raised his hand, gesturing Rufus to come at him with the most casual flick of his fingers. "Then don’t keep me waiting."

The crowd gasped at the sheer audacity. Even Aella blinked in disbelief, caught off guard by Lyon’s blatant disrespect. Rufus’s wings flared, and with a flash of divine light, he launched himself forward, a blur of speed and power.

The clash was inevitable. And Lyon didn’t even flinch.

His blow landed with divine precision, sending Lyon hurtling across the arena. The crash was deafening, and Lyon’s body left a deep crater in the wall. Dust and debris scattered as the crowd gasped, though their shock was mixed with a sense of inevitability.

"It’s over," Rufus scoffed, brushing off his hands as if swatting away a mere inconvenience. He looked at Lyon’s broken form with thinly veiled disgust, turning his back to him.

But then, a voice echoed from the ruined wall, muffled but unmistakably amused. "Ah, damn... I forgot about the poison."

Lyon emerged, brushing dust off his shoulder. Not only was he alive—he seemed unfazed, as if he had simply taken a nap. The arena fell into stunned silence.

"Impossible," Aella whispered, her eyes widening.

Hovering midair, Rufus’s wings spread wide as he stared down in disbelief. "You—how are you still standing?"

Lyon squinted at him, as if evaluating something trivial. "Nice wings," he remarked with a smirk, "but mine are better."

The shift was instant. Lyon’s pupils glowed with red-golden radiance, as if molten suns had ignited behind his eyes. Steam hissed from his skin, the light bruises on his body evaporating as quickly as they had formed.

From the stands, Esmeralda’s jaw dropped. "No way... he’s burning off my poison from the inside?"

Before anyone could fully grasp what was happening, Lyon vanished from the ground in a blur of motion.

With a deafening crack, his foot connected squarely with Rufus’s face midair. The sound echoed like a whip, sending the seraph hurtling toward the ground in a fiery streak. He smashed into the arena floor, leaving a deep, smoking crater in his wake.

Gasps and shouts rippled through the audience. The six young masters watched in stunned disbelief, jaws slack as they glanced between the fallen seraph and Lyon, who now hovered effortlessly in the sky.

Lyon’s back was adorned with a pair of magnificent red-golden wings, their flames shimmering like celestial fire. The excess flames dripped away like molten droplets, vanishing into mist before they even touched the ground.

"Those aren’t mortal wings..." one patriarch whispered in awe, gripping the edge of his seat.

The matriarch of the Red Lotus Clan, Amara narrowed her eyes, struggling to hide her amazement. "That fire... it’s divine. But how?"

Ning shook her head, her voice quiet but reverent. "He just burned a seraph. With a kick."

Lyon hovered above them all, his wings flexing with a casual grace, as if they were an extension of his very soul. He looked down at Rufus, who lay sprawled in the crater below.

"So..." Lyon called with his back glowing the name ’Immortal Phoenix’, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Still think it’s over?"