Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1322: The WAR II - Debt Paid

"And who are you supposed to be?" asked a seraph, his voice dripping with disdain as he stepped forward. His wings unfurled majestically, the faint glow of Paradise’s light shimmering off their pristine white feathers. Before him stood a lone woman, unflinching in the face of the legion.

Selena tilted her head slightly, her piercing gaze fixed on him. The edge of her sword gleamed coldly under the light. Then, with a fluid swing, her blade cut through the air—and the seraph’s vision split in two. He collapsed without so much as a cry. His death was instant, and it sent a ripple of terror through the ranks.

"Quick! Encircle her!" shouted one of the seraphs, his voice cracking. The others moved swiftly, their movements synchronized and precise. They formed a circle around Selena, wings bristling with tension.

Selena, however, didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she pointed her sword downward, the tip pressing lightly into the ground. Her poise radiated supreme confidence.

"If you think numbers alone will overwhelm me..." Her voice was calm, almost disinterested, but her eyes burned with sharp killing intent. Then, with a resonant hum, the air around her shifted.

Clang!

Sword hymns materialized, towering and radiant, their sheer presence dwarfing the seraphs’ wings. Thousands of ethereal blades shimmered into existence, encircling her in a deadly halo. The seraphs faltered, their formation wavering.

"She conjured up this many swords?! Impossible! That must be ten thousand at least!" one of the seraphs stammered, his confidence waning.

"What a beautiful monster," another muttered, stepping forward. He bore a lean frame but carried himself with undeniable confidence. His four pairs of wings unfolded, glowing brighter than those of his peers, a testament to his rank. His blade was a massive two-handed sword, yet he wielded it effortlessly.

"My name is Val Skyblade," he announced, his voice carrying an air of amusement. "I am Paradise’s finest swordsman. To be honest, I’m glad you’ve chosen to oppose us. A rare chance for me to cross blades with someone of your caliber."

Selena met his gaze, her expression unchanging. "My name is Selena Torga." Her voice was sharp as her blade. "And don’t you dare ’dear’ me!"

In an instant, she vanished.

Val’s eyes widened. "Hm?!" He thrust his massive sword forward, his instincts taking over. His blade pierced through Selena’s form—but there was no resistance.

"Afterimage!" Val growled, realizing too late he’d been deceived.

Selena materialized behind him, her blade a shadow of death slicing horizontally through the air. Val’s reflexes, however, were razor-sharp. He spun, his massive blade meeting hers with a deafening clash of steel. The force of the blow sent both combatants skidding apart.

The two locked eyes, their movements fluid and calculated.

Selena’s focus was deadly, her grip steady. Her sword hymns danced around her like an extension of her will.

Val smirked, but his gaze was equally sharp. He adjusted his stance, knowing full well that in this battle, every second could determine his fate.

"Finally," Val muttered under his breath, "a worthy opponent."

The battlefield paused for a moment, the air between them brimming with tension as two masters of the sword prepared for their next exchange.

---

"Did you really think you can win this?" All-Father’s voice rang out, calm yet laced with an undercurrent of menace, even as the chaos of battle raged around him.

Lyon tilted his head, raising a brow. "Win?" he echoed, his lips curving into a sly smirk. "I’m not here to win."

The All-Father’s gaze narrowed. "Hmm?"

"I’m here to kill you," Lyon declared, his voice steady and resolute. His emerald eyes burned with an intensity that cut through the heavy aura suffusing the battlefield. "And I wish for nothing more than your agony, your suffering."

All-Father furrowed his brows, his aura igniting in response. The ground cracked beneath his feet as an overwhelming pressure radiated outward, a reminder of why he held the title of All-Father. His voice thundered as he spoke. "Do you truly believe you hold enough power to defeat me? That you are enough to kill me?!"

Lyon’s smirk only grew sharper, defiant against the oppressive aura. "No," he admitted, his tone almost casual. "But I’m an Emperor—and this..." he gestured to the battlefield, to the roaring chaos of clashing blades and flaring spells, "this is war."

As if on cue, the deafening roar of a True Dragon and the booming laughter of a Devil Ape reverberated through the battlefield.

From the sky, two figures descended like meteors, crashing into the heart of the battle.

"I’ve been waiting for this!" bellowed Sun, the Devil Ape, his voice a booming declaration. Without hesitation, he charged toward the nearest seraph, one with four pairs of wings. The seraph didn’t even have time to introduce himself before Sun’s fist met him head-on.

Meanwhile, Shen stood amidst the carnage, his jade eyes scanning the battlefield with a wry smirk. "He’s always so eager," he remarked, his tone amused. His gaze shifted to the legions of seraphs before him. "But me? I prefer something... grander."

"Who in the heavens are you?!" demanded one of the seraphs, his voice trembling despite his efforts to sound commanding.

Shen’s smirk widened. "Me? I’m the Emperor’s grandfather," he replied, his tone carrying both pride and menace. As his jade eyes began to glow, the air around him seemed to ripple with power. "True Dragon Art..."

He crouched slightly, coiling like a spring, before launching himself toward the amassed seraphs like a predator descending upon prey. "Wave of Shattering World!"

The attack was instantaneous. Shen’s presence became a tidal wave of raw destruction, sweeping through the seraphs like an unstoppable force. Those with a single pair of wings crumpled under the impact, their eyes rolling back as blood spurted from their mouths. They hovered mid-air, suspended in agony for a moment, before their broken forms plummeted to the ground in a grim rain.

The battlefield trembled as the might of the True Dragon Emperor revealed itself, his jade eyes glowing with an insatiable hunger for war.

---

"There you are," a calm yet commanding female voice cut through the cacophony of battle, reaching Aella’s ears.

Aella turned, her fiery eyes narrowing, and froze. Standing before her was Cecile. Her attire shimmered with regality, her very presence exuding an aura of authority that rivaled kingdoms. Aella’s gaze lingered on the exquisite craftsmanship of Cecile’s armor and the trident she carried, a weapon so grand it could bankrupt even the wealthiest of realms.

"Do you know what they used to call me back in the Sixth Heaven?" Aella began, her tone sharp and probing.

Cecile met her gaze, unflinching. "You are Aella," she began, her voice steady, "the elder sister of Amara, the current head of the Red Lotus. A woman blessed with unparalleled talents and an exceptional affinity for fire. You were born with everything—status, strength, and the respect of your peers. Despite your privileges, you never looked down on others, and your skill earned you a reputation as a formidable force. Many believed you could one day rival even your Progenitor, Indra the Flaming Flower."

Aella’s breath hitched, and she took a step back, her composure cracking. "You..."

Cecile’s gaze pierced through her. "Your parents were murdered by the seraphs, punished for their defiance against Paradise. You joined the seraphs, not out of loyalty, but to destroy them from within. Yet, you learned too late that being a seraph is nothing more than being a pawn. You traded your freedom for wings, and with that, you abandoned your quest for revenge. Now, you serve blindly, a tool for the All-Father."

"Lies!" Aella’s voice rose in anger, her aura flaring. "My loyalty is to All-Father and him alone!"

"And that," Cecile said, her tone laced with pity, "is exactly what makes you the perfect puppet—a puppet with a false goal as its foundation."

Aella’s scream ripped through the air as her anger erupted. Thick veins of fire and earth surged from the ground, snaking toward Cecile, aiming to pierce her heart.

Cecile sighed, spinning her trident effortlessly. The weapon’s motion created a vortex of wind, and the veins, instead of impaling her, seemed to obey the trident’s rhythm. With a graceful sweep, Cecile redirected the attack, taming it like a serpent before driving it harmlessly back into the earth.

Aella’s pupils trembled in disbelief. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to her knees.

Cecile began to walk toward her fallen foe, her path unimpeded. Lower-tier seraphs attempted to intervene, hurling spears, daggers, and swords in desperation, but none found their mark. Without so much as lifting a finger, Cecile deflected them all, her mere presence an impenetrable shield.

Reaching Aella, Cecile looked down at her with an expression that mixed disdain and pity. Aella raised her head to meet the gaze of Cecile, the War Goddess, her fear and awe palpable.

With a flick of her trident, Cecile struck Aella with the flat of the weapon, the force sending her sprawling unconscious. A single tooth fell to the ground with a faint clink.

"That’s as far as my leniency goes," Cecile muttered, her voice cold. She turned away, her trident resting against her shoulder. Her next words were barely above a whisper but heavy with meaning. "I owe you nothing now, Indra."