Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1301: My Name Is Lyon Torga

The arena grew eerily silent, as if the entire world held its breath. The shimmer of excitement dimmed, replaced by an overwhelming sense of awe and dread. No one dared make a sound or a move. Who would punish him now? That man had crushed not just Rufus, but the very reputation of a seraph—and on the grandest stage no less.

Lyon’s leisurely steps echoed in the stillness. The Six Pillars of Empyrean fell into formation, parting like a royal guard to allow him through, their expressions as serene as if this were a walk in the garden. Rufus lay crumpled on the ground, broken in both body and pride, and not a single soul in the crowd dared intervene.

Lyon’s flaming wings had long vanished, leaving only his calm, nonchalant demeanor. But there was no mistaking it—the one they had thought was just a mortal had reduced a celestial being to nothing but ash and humiliation.

Writhing on her knees, Aella’s breath came fast and uneven, each inhale laced with rage and disbelief. Her Huadian of Red Lotus, a symbol of beauty and mastery, had crumbled before the Immortal Phoenix’s flames. And Rufus? A mere afterthought in the face of Lyon’s overwhelming presence. The Seraphs—beings of legend—were made to seem trivial beneath the casual steps of the Emperor of Empyrean.

Her voice cracked with frustration, rage, and helplessness. "W-Who are you?!"

Her words reverberated across the arena, resonating with the unspoken thoughts in everyone’s hearts. They knew his name—Lyon—but who was he really? What hidden past did this man carry? What identity had been sealed away until now?

Lyon paused, just short of her. His smirk was maddening—an effortless, arrogant curve of his lips, as though he found amusement in their confusion and fear. His galaxy-black eyes twinkled, as if holding secrets older than the heavens themselves.

The crowd leaned in, silent and expectant, their hearts pounding. The patriarchs and matriarchs exchanged uneasy glances. Even the young masters, still reeling from their earlier defeat, looked on with wide eyes, now realizing that they had never even scratched the surface of the man standing before them.

"My name is Lyon Torga."

The crowd’s collective breath hitched. Lyon’s voice resonated with authority, his name simple yet seismic in its delivery.

Behind him, the Six Pillars of Empyrean sank to their knees in synchronized pairs—Liu and Kesya, Ian and Harvestasya, Assid and Graham. Their kneeling wasn’t just a gesture of respect; it was a declaration. It told the world exactly where their loyalty lay.

The wind stirred, carrying the whispers of something long-awaited. Then, with a soft metallic clang, Selena tapped her sword to the veil. The heavy fabric fluttered upward, revealing the truth hidden beneath.

The crowd gasped, eyes widening as they stared in disbelief. "Hey, look over there... that’s..."

The statue stood tall, towering and unapologetically bold. Lyon, bare-chested, adorned with earrings in both ears, posed with effortless mastery. His physique looked like it was carved from the finest marble, every muscle chiseled to perfection. A fine line between arrogance and charisma was etched into his expression, and those fierce eyes—full of ambition—shone like stars. He wasn’t just a man; he was the embodiment of glory, the promise of greatness.

"That’s... no ordinary statue," one whispered in awe.

"He looks... like a god," another muttered.

Lyon stood before the revealed likeness of himself with a confident smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. His presence alone was overwhelming, as though the statue had come alive—or perhaps it was the other way around, as if Lyon himself was always more legend than flesh.

Then, his voice cut through the awed silence.

"I am Lyon Torga, the Ultimate Adventurer of the Mortal World."

His aura surged, rolling through the arena like waves crashing on a shore. The crowd felt it, a shift in the air. The weight of his existence pressed down on their chests, and they realized—they were standing in the presence of something far greater than anything they had ever known.

"I am Lyon Torga, the Vanquisher of the Eternal Golem."

His words weren’t just boasts—they were declarations of triumph, each one a piece of history folded into the man standing before them. His aura swelled again, towering above them like an unstoppable force.

"I am Lyon Torga, the Emperor of the greatest empire—Empyrean."

With every proclamation, his presence seemed to expand, eclipsing even the grand arena itself. It was as though Lyon was too big for the world to contain. The patriarchs and matriarchs shifted uncomfortably in their seats, suddenly feeling small. Even the young masters, beaten and humiliated, understood—they had not fought just a man. They had fought a legend.

The crowd murmured in disbelief, overwhelmed by the immensity of his presence.

"He’s more than just a mortal..."

"He’s... something else entirely."

Aella clenched her jaw, her fingers trembling. Rufus lay unconscious, discarded like a broken doll. The Seraph she had believed invincible had been nothing more than a toy in Lyon’s hands. Anxiety gripped her heart. Who exactly were they facing?

Lyon’s final words hung in the air, heavier than the clouds in the sky, an unshakable truth:

"I’m Lyon Torga," he whispered, voice low and deliberate, "A father."

A sudden crack echoed through the arena as Lyon’s foot smashed into the ground just inches from Aella’s face, the impact rattling the earth beneath them. Dust swirled around her, and her breath hitched. Before she could react, Lyon leaned in close, his fiery gaze boring into hers.

"Tell the All Father..." he said in a cold, unyielding tone. "The Zodiac Emperor has returned."

For a moment, Aella stared, paralyzed—caught between disbelief and the raw presence radiating from Lyon. Then, slowly, her shock morphed into something else. A bitter, mocking laugh bubbled up from her throat.

"You?!" she spat, a wild grin spreading on her face. "You want to kill the All Father?!"

Lyon’s eyes flickered with an otherworldly calm, as though the future was already written, as though her words were nothing more than the wind whispering past his ear.

"Paradise shall be no more." He turned on his heel.

Aella scrambled to her feet, fury and desperation twisting her features. "You and what army?!" she screamed, the sound cracking through the heavy silence.

And then it happened.

The sky darkened.

A collective gasp escaped the lips of every spectator as a colossal shadow engulfed the entire city, swallowing the sun whole. The light was stolen from Grand Heaven, leaving only an oppressive silence. All eyes turned upward, wide with disbelief, hearts thundering in their chests.

The horizon bent beneath the size of it—a floating behemoth, the Empyrean itself, descending from the heavens. It was a warship beyond mortal comprehension, larger than mountains, with ancient sigils glowing faintly along its hull. Its presence alone demanded reverence. It was no vessel. It was a declaration.

The wind fell still. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

The crowd stared, sweat cold against their skin, as though their souls had been stripped bare.

Aella’s mouth hung open, slack with shock. Her pupils shrank as the colossal shadow loomed above, a dark promise of something unstoppable. Even the patriarchs and matriarchs—the highest powers of the mortal realm—sat frozen in stunned disbelief.

The Six Pillars of Empyrean stood behind him, their forms shrouded in absolute calm, unperturbed by the titanic presence above. They stood as an unbroken wall of resolve, knowing their place—not as protectors, but as harbingers.

The crowd murmured in terror, disbelief, and awe.

Lyon didn’t look back. There was no need.

Aella felt her legs weaken. This wasn’t just an army. This wasn’t just a show of force. This was the arrival of something ancient, something absolute.

The Empyrean had returned.

And with it, Lyon Torga had declared war.

"Kh!" Aella gritted her teeth, panic setting in. Her hand darted to her Returning Jade Stone, shattering it in a desperate move. A flash of green light enveloped her, and with a sharp gust of wind, she vanished into the ether—leaving Rufus behind, broken and smoldering on the arena floor.

Lyon didn’t bat an eye. Her escape meant nothing to him. His gaze was already fixed on the colossal form of the Empyrean floating above, beckoning him. With a slow, deliberate motion, he hovered into the sky, the red-golden flames of his wings leaving trails of shimmering embers in his wake.

Behind him, the Six Pillars of Empyrean moved as one, their expressions calm, resolute. One by one, they took flight, forming a protective formation around their emperor—silent guardians who needed no words.

The stunned silence of the Sixth Heaven stretched on, thick and suffocating. No one dared move, no one dared breathe, as they watched the impossible unfold. An emperor from legend, rising with an empire that should have been forgotten.

The young masters—Mavis, Esmeralda, Yuri, Ning, Azleid, and Lyra—stood frozen in place, their minds grappling with the unbridgeable gap in power they had witnessed. The battle they thought was difficult for a seraph had been a mere game to Lyon. A terrifying reality sank in—their strongest patriarchs wouldn’t even stand a chance.

Rufus, still writhing in pain on the ground, could only watch Lyon ascend. Rage flickered in his eyes, but it was dulled by something heavier—humiliation. The seraph had been reduced to ash in the eyes of all, and there was no recovering from it.

Rufus snarled, his voice thick with rage. "You will not wi—"

Before the words could leave his mouth, a glint of steel cut through the air. A chain rattled, and a sharp blade punctured his skull with a sickening crack. Rufus’s furious expression froze mid-sentence, eyes wide with disbelief.

The crowd gasped in unison, and all eyes shot toward the figure holding the chain.

Ian hovered above, relaxed and composed, a stark contrast to the brutality of what he had just done. His easygoing smile was still there, but it was now cloaked in a chilling indifference. With a casual flick of his wrist, he yanked the chain. The blade ripped free, and Rufus’s head shattered like porcelain, fragments scattering in the air.

The crowd sat in stunned horror, a cold reminder sinking into their hearts—not even a seraph had survived this encounter.

Lyon floated calmly above it all, watching with unflinching eyes.

With a snap of his fingers, the ground where Rufus had fought ignited once more. The cursed fire returned, roaring to life with vengeful brilliance. It consumed the seraph’s remains entirely, burning him down to nothing—no bones, no ash, no soul left to remember.

The fire flickered briefly, then extinguished as if it had never existed, leaving no trace of Rufus at all

"He shattered the heavens," someone whispered from the crowd.

The Empyrean hovered, a mountain in the sky. Its colossal shadow spread across the heavens like a crown for its returning emperor .