Published at 6th of December 2023 8:48 am

Chapter 1140 Phantom Vs Orc Emperor

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Rakumtatak's eyes narrowed as he studied the beggar who had interrupted the clash between the two emperors. "Speak, beggar. What business do you have here, disrupting the meeting of emperors?" The orc emperor's tone was filled with both annoyance and curiosity.

The beggar, Liu, remained silent, his attention fixed on the aftermath of Lyon's brutal encounter with Rakumtatak. The onlookers were puzzled by Liu's presence, unaware of the history and connection he shared with Lyon.

Cecile, however, recognized the beggar. "Liu?" she questioned, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and disbelief. Liu, one of the six individuals mentored by Lyon, shared a level of prowess comparable to Kesya and the others. The revelation added a layer of complexity to the unfolding scene, connecting the beggar to Lyon's sphere of influence.

The onlookers, unaware of Liu's significance, perceived the beggar's actions as eccentric. They couldn't fathom the connection between this seemingly mad beggar and the legendary figures engaged in the battle. The perplexity in Rakumtatak's expression mirrored the audience's confusion, setting the stage for a confrontation where more than physical strength would come into play.

The onlookers in the Fourth Realm were a mix of bewildered and amused expressions as they witnessed the beggar's unexpected intrusion. Murmurs and scoffs rippled through the crowd, dismissing the beggar's presence as an inconsequential interruption to the grand spectacle of the two emperors clashing.

One cultivator, with a tone of mockery, remarked, "Is he lost? This beggar must have stumbled into the wrong realm." Laughter and snickers followed, creating a wave of disdain for the beggar's seemingly audacious act.

Another observer, his brows furrowed in disbelief, muttered to his companion, "Does he have a death wish? Interrupting the battle of emperors? This beggar is beyond foolish."

A more outspoken cultivator shouted, "Hey, beggar! You've picked the worst time to showcase your insanity. Do you even realize the emperors you're standing before?" The sentiment among the onlookers was unanimous—the beggar's actions were perceived as absurd, an act inviting swift retribution from the mighty emperors engaged in their monumental clash.

Despite the collective disbelief, the beggar remained unfazed, shrouded in an air of mystery that only intensified the onlookers' curiosity. The scene became a stark contrast between the grandiosity of the emperors and the seemingly inconsequential beggar, creating a moment of tension and intrigue in the otherwise chaotic realm.

Rakumtatak demanded answers from the beggar. "Who are you?" The beggar, maintaining an air of mystery, offered no immediate response, leaving the orc emperor grappling with uncertainty. The air in the Fourth Realm hung heavy with anticipation, as the beggar's presence hinted at a narrative yet to unfold.

"Tch!"

Rakumtatak's fist connected with the beggar's frail form, sending him sprawling through the air. The beggar, seemingly weightless, somersaulted before regaining balance mid-air. Despite the force of the punch, the beggar's demeanor remained unchanged—a serene calmness that contrasted sharply with the brewing intensity of the Fourth Realm.

"He's no ordinary beggar," Rakumtatak muttered, his confusion deepening.

The beggar, still suspended in mid-air, wiped a trace of blood from the corner of his mouth before landing a distance between him and the emperor.

( His eyes are vacant, but no ordinary cultivator could make me bleed with... nothing ) thought Rakumtatak.

Rakumtatak, perplexed by the beggar's stoic silence, couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to this seemingly frail figure than met the eye. The beggar, unperturbed by the charged atmosphere, stood with an otherworldly calmness, his eyes holding a depth that transcended the battlefield.

The onlookers, initially amused by the beggar's audacity, now fell into an uneasy hush. The silence carried a weight of anticipation, mirroring the unspoken challenge between the orc emperor and the mysterious beggar.

Rakumtatak, growing impatient, decided to break the silence with a thunderous roar. "Speak, beggar! If you seek death, I'll grant it swiftly."

The beggar remained silent, his gaze unwavering. The air around them seemed to hum with an unspoken energy, creating an atmosphere pregnant with tension.

Scarlett descended with an ethereal grace, cutting through the air with an otherworldly hum. Its dark obsidian blade seemed to absorb the ambient light, casting an eerie glow. The sword landed point-first in the ground before Liu, embedding itself with a muted thud. The beggar, Liu, remained unfazed, his hood casting a shadow over his features as he stood in silent acknowledgment of Scarlett's presence. The onlookers, mystified by the sword's descent and the beggar's stoic demeanor, felt an electric anticipation in the air.

Rakumtatak, the orc emperor, grinned with intrigue as he observed this unexpected turn of events.

Selena, her hand still extended, met Rakumtatak's gaze with unwavering determination. The onlookers, unaware of Scarlett's ominous history, felt a shiver run down their spines in response to the sword's foreboding presence.

Cecile, standing beside Selena, exchanged a nod with her, silently affirming the decision to involve the beggar in their desperate attempt to aid Lyon.

The beggar, with a fluid motion, reached for Scarlett. The onlookers held their breath as the blade responded to his touch, its dark energy intertwining with an unknown force. The battlefield, now a stage for an enigmatic performance, awaited the next chapter of this peculiar confrontation.

The battlefield crackled with latent energy as Rakumtatak and the beggar faced each other, a palpable tension in the air. The onlookers, still reeling from Lyon's struggle, now witnessed a clash between two enigmatic figures, each shrouded in their own mystery.

Rakumtatak, the mighty Orc Emperor, grinned with anticipation, his massive frame exuding a menacing aura. "You're quite audacious to stand against me, beggar. What tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

The beggar, Liu, remained silent, his tattered cloak billowing in an ethereal breeze. The atmosphere seemed to respond to their impending clash, the wind carrying an ominous whisper that sent shivers down the spines of the onlookers.

Rakumtatak, the mighty orc emperor, emanated an aura of raw power. His massive frame seemed to cast a shadow over the entire realm, and his every movement exuded the seasoned skill of a warrior who had faced countless challenges. In contrast, the beggar, Liu, stood with an eerie stillness, his identity concealed by a tattered cloak, creating an enigma that intrigued and perplexed the spectators.

The first clash erupted like thunder. Rakumtatak lunged forward, fists wreathed in crackling energy, aiming to overwhelm his opponent with sheer force. The beggar, however, moved with an otherworldly grace, effortlessly sidestepping the onslaught. Each dodge was a dance, a choreography of evasion that left the orc emperor momentarily bewildered.

The beggar retaliated with a swift counter, movements so precise they seemed almost preternatural. Rakumtatak, seasoned as he was, found himself facing an opponent who defied the norms of combat. Liu's strikes were like whispers in the wind, a dance of shadows that confounded the brute strength of the orc emperor.

As the battle intensified, the onlookers marveled at the clash of styles – the relentless might of Rakumtatak against the elusive finesse of Liu. Every blow exchanged echoed through the Fourth Hell, a symphony of clashes that resonated with the very essence of combat.

Rakumtatak, fueled by both curiosity and the thrill of battle, roared with laughter. "You're no ordinary beggar, that's for sure! Show me what lies beneath that cloak!"

The beggar, unresponsive to Rakumtatak's taunts, continued to weave through the attacks with a fluidity that defied the orc emperor's expectations. It was a mesmerizing display of skill, a dance on the edge of danger, and the onlookers couldn't tear their eyes away from the spectacle unfolding before them.

The aftermath of the intense battle lay before Lyon, the once serene Fourth Hell now bearing the scars of the clash between Rakumtatak and the mysterious beggar was still ongoing. As Lyon struggled to rise, the air hummed with residual energy, and the onlookers remained on edge, uncertain of the unfolding events.

His white hair flowing like a cascade, Lyon staggered toward the suspended inscription, an ethereal canvas of anti-mana awaiting its final strokes. His every step resonated with determination, a silent proclamation of his resilience in the face of adversity.

The weaves of anti-mana, like delicate threads of fate, connected Lyon to the unfinished inscription. The air around him crackled with the remnants of the immense energy he had harnessed, leaving an indelible mark on the very fabric of the Fourth Hell.

Despite the toll the battle had taken on him, Lyon's eyes, one open and piercing, reflected a resolute spirit. The ringing in his ears seemed to fade into the background as he focused on the task at hand, a task that held the potential to tip the scales of the ongoing conflict.

The onlookers, witnessing Lyon's tenacious ascent, felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. It was a moment pregnant with anticipation, as if the realm itself held its breath, waiting for the culmination of Lyon's efforts.

As Lyon reached out to complete the inscription, a hush fell over the Fourth Hell. The threads of anti-mana responded to his touch, weaving into the final patterns with an almost predestined grace. The air shimmered with newfound energy, and the inscription glowed with an otherworldly radiance.

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