035 A Line Crossed
"Out of bounds!"
Liang Na's voice echoed across the arena.
Elder Pan Xia shot up from his seat, stomping hard enough that the wooden flooring beneath him creaked in protest. For an old man, he sure moved like an angry toddler.
I imagined he was angrier at Lu Gao than at Jia Yun.
Jia Yun losing didn't seem to upset him as much as Lu Gao being the one responsible for it.
I had a suspicion that Elder Pan Xia's relationship with Jia Yun was the opposite of what they were portraying. But that wasn't what the others saw.
Long Xieren let out a laugh. "Ha~! Running away like a brat… Poor Jia Yun had dissapointed her Elder. Pan Xia was always like that. He should learn how to be steady. He isn't getting any younger."
Lei Fen, sitting with an air of quiet amusement, commented, "And here I thought the Cloud Mist Sect and the Sword Canopy Sect have been allies."
Long Xieren scoffed. "That's all good and true, but in name only."
Lei Fen arched an eyebrow. "Moreover, now that Jia Yun has virtually lost, isn't the disciple of your sect now all alone, suffering a disadvantage?"
I turned back to the arena.
Huo Jun was indeed in a rough spot. It was now a two-on-one scenario.
Huo Jun fought from two sides, his sword moving in a blur as he blocked and countered. Lu Gao's relentless offense forced him into an increasingly smaller space, while Fan Shi's unpredictable chains snaked toward him, cutting off any openings he might have used to escape.
He was like a cornered rat.
Long Xieren chuckled. "How about a bet?"
I glanced at him. This guy was either too confident for his own good, or Huo Jun had a trump card at the level Jia Yun had shown.
The way I saw it, the only reason Jia Yun lost was because she had shown too much of her abilities in the quarter-finals—pushed to do so because of the betting.
If I knew any better, I was fairly certain that Fan Shi would suffer the same fate soon.
I wasn't wrong.
Lu Gao flicked his sword and slashed at Fan Shi.
No hesitation. No warning.
There were no rules against attacking your teammate, after all.
Classic xianxia. Betrayal could happen in a heartbeat.
Lei Fen scoffed. "Lu Gao taking potshots at Fan Shi—what kind of teamwork is that? What's the point of pairing them up if he's just going to attack her?"
Ren Jin leaned back slightly, maintaining a composed demeanor. "There were no rules suggesting otherwise."
Lei Fen shot him an incredulous look. "You're telling me you deliberately allowed this nonsense?"
Ren Jin sighed. "It's our first time trying this tournament format. We didn't have time to polish the rules as much as I would have liked."
Long Xieren smirked. "Don't be so uptight, Elder Lei. Lu Gao's probably playing the long game. He plans to beat Huo Jun himself, leaving Fan Shi to claim the final point by finishing off Huo Jun. That way, in the finals, Lu Gao will be fighting a mentally unstable and injured Fan Shi."
Lei Fen narrowed his eyes. "You seem awfully nonchalant about a disciple of your own sect getting beaten up."
Long Xieren shrugged. "Huo Jun knew what he was signing up for. If he gets hurt, he'll just have to live with it."
I imagined there were things in this world that couldn't be healed, even with the mystical techniques cultivators wielded.
Jia Yun's injuries from the quarter-finals had been untreatable with their current methods, according to what I'd heard from Pan Xia himself. If I hadn't offered a helping hand, she wouldn't have her cultivation today. I imagined the injuries Fan Shi was suffering from were something you couldn't heal for over a day.
If I were Fan Shi, I would have withdrawn at the first sign of betrayal. No point in sticking around when your so-called teammate turned their sword on you.
Fan Shi was clearly outgunned. Lu Gao was leagues ahead in both power and technique. If this were back in Lost Legends Online, and I had the benefit of respawning, I'd have tried to clinch a victory, maybe get a lucky hit in before going down. But this wasn't a game. Losing here wasn't just a matter of dropping some XP and running back from a spawn point. It was too deadly.
Not that I would let Fan Shi croak if I could help it.
Ren Jin watched the match with mild interest. "The tide of the fight has turned."
Fan Shi had adapted quickly, using Huo Jun as cover. She didn't have the luxury of trusting her teammate anymore, but she wasn't stupid enough to fight alone. Whenever she could, she supported Huo Jun, throwing in attacks to keep Lu Gao on his toes. The two-versus-one had suddenly turned against Lu Gao.
I smirked. "That's what you call karma, I guess."
Lu Gao had an interesting skill. Each time he unleashed a sword wave, it wasn't just an attack—it was a tether. The energy from his strikes didn't just dissipate; he could call it back, redirecting it unpredictably mid-fight. It was like throwing a dagger and having it boomerang back at his enemies.
Huo Jun, on the other hand, conjured sword constructs, hovering weapons of pure energy that followed his will. With each motion of his blade, the constructs moved with precision, attacking and defending simultaneously.
Fan Shi? She was… trying. Psychic Bolts flew from her fingertips, invisible forces of mental energy meant to disrupt her opponent's mind and body. Her chains lashed out, enhanced with Mind Over Matter, twisting and striking as if they had a will of their own.
And yet, she wasn't hitting anyone.
Long Xieren leaned back, smug as ever, and glanced at Lei Fen. "At this point, your sect's disciple is just a nuisance."
Lei Fen didn't react, but I caught the slight twitch of his fingers.
Long Xieren continued, clearly enjoying himself. "She's at the fourth-star, fighting against two eight-star cultivators. That's an impossible gap. They've already seen what her strongest technique can do, so they know what to look for. It's strong, but not invincible."
He wasn't wrong. Soul Rend was powerful, but it had its limitations. The first time Fan Shi had used it, it caught people off guard. Now? Lu Gao and Huo Jun weren't giving her an opening to land a clean hit. Fan Shi could swing those chains all she wanted, but if they never reached their target, it was just wasted energy.
The battle was reaching its turning point.
And Fan Shi was dangerously close to being left behind.
Huo Jun's sword constructs multiplied with time. Every minute that passed, another blade materialized at his command, stacking onto the three he had initially summoned. It was a slow, patient build-up, but the longer he fought, the deadlier he became. At this point, he had five spectral swords orbiting around him, waiting for his command.
And his focus was shifting.
Fan Shi was the easier target. Between her psychic attacks missing their mark and her chains failing to land a decisive hit, she was looking more and more like a liability in this battle. Huo Jun had started directing more of his attacks toward her, probing her defenses.
Lu Gao, meanwhile, had eased up. He wasn't pressing the attack as aggressively anymore. Instead, he was watching. Waiting. Looking for weakness.
It didn't take a genius to see where this was headed.
I leaned forward. "Just asking… but what happens if Lu Gao beats the two of them simultaneously? His two competitors wouldn't get a point to advance in the finals, and that makes him the sole winner."
The air grew heavy with silence.
Ren Jin's expression stiffened. Lei Fen frowned. Even Long Xieren, who had been lounging in his seat, sat up slightly.
No one had considered that possibility.
Ren Jin exhaled sharply, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "If Lu Gao wins like that… it would be the greatest upset in the history of this tournament. The Seven Grand Clans have been suppressed for a long time. The three major sects have always maintained dominance over the continent, but if the Lu Clan produces a champion—especially one that beats disciples from both the Sword Canopy and Isolation Path Sects in a single strike—" He let out a low chuckle. "That would shake things up."
And Lu Gao technically had beaten the Cloud Mist disciple too.
Lei Fen's scowl deepened, but he remained silent.
I didn't blame him. It was one thing for a sect disciple to lose in a fair fight, but it was another for a rogue element like Lu Gao to dismantle the tournament structure itself.
On the stage, Huo Jun suddenly clapped his hands together.
A technique materialized.
The five swords orbiting him flickered and multiplied—five became ten, ten became twenty, then twenty-seven. They hovered in the air for a brief, eerie moment before they all homed in on Fan Shi like a storm of steel.
At the same time, Huo Jun rushed at Lu Gao, hoping to pin him down before he could retaliate.
But Lu Gao had foreseen this.
He raised his sword high above his head. A dark-red aura pulsed along the blade, the scent of sulfur filling the air.
Then, with all his might—he swung down.
The sword energy roared, a singular, devastating arc of power slashing down, perfectly aligning both Huo Jun and Fan Shi in its path.
For a fraction of a second, I wondered if they were about to be cut in half.
Then—
Long Xieren vanished from his seat.
He reappeared on the stage, catching the descending sword strike in his bare hand. The energy sputtered against his palm, straining but ultimately failing to cut through his defenses.
Lei Fen wasn't late to react either. He materialized beside Fan Shi, his sleeve billowing unnaturally.
From within it, something emerged.
A coffin.
It expanded in an instant, dark and heavy, planting itself between Fan Shi and the incoming sword storm. The impact was thunderous, the combined force of Lu Gao's and Huo Jun's attacks splitting the arena floor in half.
Dust and debris filled the air.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The drama unfolded in front of us without much fanfare.
Huo Jun staggered back, his face ashen. A thick cough wracked his body before he spat out a mouthful of blood, staining the already shattered arena. Long Xieren had managed to deflect most of the sword energy, but not all of it. The remnants had torn through Huo Jun's defenses, rattling his internal organs.
He fell to one knee, clutching his chest, struggling to catch his breath. Despite the clear pain, his grip remained firm on his sword, as if sheer willpower alone would keep him standing.
The arena, or what was left of it, was split apart. Cracks ran deep into the stage like a gaping wound, the lingering energy still buzzing in the air. Lu Gao stood there, sword resting on his shoulder, looking completely unbothered by what had just happened.
On the other hand, Long Xieren was livid.
"You arrogant little—" He stormed toward Lu Gao, hand raised, clearly intending to slap the young master across the face.
I thought that was a bit too much. Winning wasn't a crime. Sure, Lu Gao had been reckless, but slapping him for it? Overkill.
Flash Step.
I vanished from my seat, reappearing in front of Long Xieren in an instant, my hand catching his wrist mid-swing.
"That's a bit too much, isn't it, Daoist?" I said, gripping his arm just tightly enough to let him know I wasn't moving.
Long Xieren's eyes narrowed as he met my gaze. "He tried to kill the disciple my Sect raised with love and care!" His voice was sharp, almost shaking with rage. "He's a Third Realm cultivator who has been deliberately suppressing his skills! If that attack had landed, Huo Jun and Fan Shi would have died!"
…Well.
That changed things.
036 Great Enemy
Lu Gao stood tall, a picture of wealth and power. His long dark hair was tied in a neat ponytail, his robes were pristine, embroidered with golden dragons slithering across deep blue silk. His posture was straight, exuding the self-assurance of someone who had never been denied anything in his life. His frame was lean, but the compact muscles beneath his robes spoke of rigorous training. He was strong—stronger than I had expected.
I released Long Xieren's wrist and approached Lu Gao. If I was going to get any answers, now was the time. I activated my Divine Sense, my very own lie detector.
"Did you plan to kill disciples Huo Jun and Fan Shi?"
"No."
It was a lie.
"What's your cultivation realm?"
"Second Realm, Eight Star."
It was the truth.
Long Xieren scoffed. "That's a lie!"
"He's saying the truth."
My Divine Sense could only detect the fundamental truth. It wasn't just about catching lies—it was about sensing the sincerity behind a person's words. Lu Gao truly believed he was in the Second Realm, Eight Star. If his belief had been false, I would have sensed the inconsistency. But no, he was utterly convinced.
Still, there was something wrong here.
"Chief Enforcer Liang Na, objectively tell me with Qi Sense what his cultivation level is."
Liang Na's gaze swept over Lu Gao, her Qi Sense probing him. "Second Realm, Eight Star."
Long Xieren gritted his teeth. "But his attack is undeniably at the Third Realm."
That was the problem. I turned to Liang Na, searching for any sign that she had sensed the same discrepancy.
"I am uncertain if the attack had been at the Third Realm," she answered. "However, I am certain the person himself is only at the Second Realm."
There was no way she hadn't noticed if it was the case of hiding your Realm.
"What made you think, Daoist, that it was Third Realm?" I asked Long Xieren.
Long Xieren looked at me like I was an idiot. "Because I felt it in my hand. And I've known the sword all my life. I'd have to be a fool not to recognize a Third Realm sword strike!"
Lei Fen crossed his arms, his voice cold. "Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, Da Wei. You may be a friend of our Sect Master, but it's a grave offense to intervene in our matters so blatantly like this."
I met his gaze, my mind racing.
Lu Gao's cultivation might have been Second Realm, but his attack had carried the force of a Third Realm strike. There was a trick here—something beyond just brute power. And if I had learned anything about cultivators, it was that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.
"This prattle is meaningless," Lu Gao declared, his voice unwavering. "It is my victory. I demand my prize."
Ren Jin descended from above, his robes fluttering as he landed with practiced ease. "A hundred thousand spirit stones, is it?" The governor's tone was calm, but there was an underlying weight to his words. "We'll get it ready." He gestured for Chief Enforcer Liang Na, who gave a subtle nod in response.
Lu Gao, however, shook his head. "No need for that. I only wish to seek participation in the closed-off auction that Governor Ren Jin shall host on the seventh day of the festival. The Lu Clan wishes to play fair with the Elders of the prestigious Sects."
Long Xieren let out a dry chuckle, crossing his arms. "This arrogant brat sure knows how to talk when it suits him." His expression turned sharp as he turned to Ren Jin. "I demand compensation for the injuries my disciple, Huo Jun, suffered. The Governor shall act as witness and mediator for this grudge."
Lei Fen followed suit, his eyes calculating. "Same goes for my Sect. A compensation is required."
I resisted the urge to sigh. These sly old foxes really were exhausting. Their outrage wasn't about justice. No, they were simply looking for an advantage. Attempted murder? A minor offense if compensated properly. Money, rare resources, maybe a few favors—these things could smooth over just about anything.
Their reaction was interesting, though. The moment Lu Gao requested entry into the auction, their attitudes shifted. Perhaps they assumed he lacked the wealth to compete with them. A fatal miscalculation, if true. Lu Gao wasn't just some overconfident noble's son—he was someone who planned his steps far ahead.
It was a stark contrast to how they had treated me when we first met. Back then, I was an unknown factor, a rogue element in their carefully balanced power plays. They had questioned my motives, my strength, my background. But with Lu Gao? It was different. He was a known variable. Predictable. And that made him easier to manipulate—or so they thought.
"Not yet," I said.
The words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected.
They froze. Not just Lu Gao, but Ren Jin, Long Xieren, Lei Fen—everyone.
Of course, they would find it bizarre. It wasn't like I had a stake in this. By all means, Lu Gao had won. He had played within the rules—bent them, maybe, but not broken them. I had no reason to interfere.
And yet…
There were signs.
"The smell of sulfur is too thick in here."
Not obvious ones, not anything blatant that I could point at and say, this was why I hesitated. But something was off. Subtle shifts in the flow of energy, inconsistencies in how Lu Gao carried himself, and the way his attacks landed with force beyond what his cultivation realm should allow.
It wasn't reacting to my Divine Sense, but I had a hunch.
And I wasn't about to ignore it.
I exhaled and reached inward, calling upon one of my spell slots. The only dispel-like ability I had.
Judgment Severance.
A golden cross-shaped rupture split the air between me and Lu Gao.
For an instant, the world shuddered. The ultimate skill didn't just dispel spells or techniques—it erased them. Any supernatural power within a twelve to twenty-one-meter radius was devoured, cut away as if it had never existed.
I felt it. My own skills became inaccessible. But my Item Box still worked.
Lu Gao staggered. His qi was stripped from him in an instant, unraveling like a pulled thread. His eyes widened in shock, his entire presence diminished—like a flame suddenly snuffed out.
And that confirmed it.
My Divine Sense recognized Lu Gao as an Enemy.
I reached into my Item Box. Silver Steel materialized in my grasp.
Lu Gao tried to fight back.
I stepped forward.
And beheaded him.
The golden rupture winked out of existence.
Silence.
The arena was painfully, horrifically silent.
For a moment, the entire arena stood still. Then—
BOOOOOO!
The crowd erupted.
Shouts, curses, and sheer outrage crashed over me like a tidal wave. People were on their feet, fists shaking, voices rising in furious disbelief.
"What the hell was that?!"
"He killed Lu Gao!"
"What kind of coward attacks after the match is over?!"
"Executioner! Murderer!"
They weren't wrong to react that way. From their perspective, it must have looked absurd—I had interfered after the fight was over, after Lu Gao had already claimed victory. Then, with no warning, I had cut him down.
They didn't know what I had seen. They didn't know what I had felt.
But that didn't stop them from condemning me.
Long Xieren was the first to act. He moved like a storm, drawing his sword in one smooth motion, the tip gleaming cold under the sunlight. His eyes burned with anger.
"Da Wei." His voice was low, dangerous. "Explain yourself."
Lei Fen stood beside him, his expression unreadable, but there was no mistaking the hostility in his posture. "You've committed a grave offense."
Ren Jin hadn't moved from his floating position above, but his eyes had narrowed slightly. Watching. Calculating.
The Elders, the enforcers, the prominent figures in the crowd—everyone had their own reactions. Some were too shocked to speak. Others whispered among themselves, debating whether to intervene.
And at the center of it all, Lu Gao's body lay still, his head rolling a few feet away. Blood seeped into the cracks of the arena floor.
I met Long Xieren's gaze, my grip tightening on Silver Steel.
"I had my reasons."
Back in Lost Legends Online, factions existed. There were a lot of them. They had motives, desires, ambitions—some grand, some petty. Players could align themselves with various groups, each with their own ideology and power struggles.
But at its core, the game was divided into two main factions: Light and Dark. Rivals, sure. Enemies, definitely. But there was always a bigger threat.
The Final Adversary.
The Gods.
They were the Great Enemy, the ones who existed outside of LLO's mortal realm, beyond the reach of player influence—except when they chose to intervene. They ruled over the Layered Worlds, planes of existence stacked over and beneath the mortal world. Players had different names for them—Heaven, Hell, the Underworld, the Elemental Dimensions, Paradise. Some called them Realms, others called them Domains. Whatever the case, these places were ruled by powerful entities who saw the mortal world as nothing more than a hunting ground, a playground, or a battlefield.
Not all lifeforms in the Layered Worlds were hostile, but a lot of them were.
For example, demons.
Lu Gao's beheaded corpse convulsed.
The reaction was immediate—some sort of energy surged violently through the air, a heavy, unnatural presence spreading through the arena like thick, choking fog. Then—his severed head twitched. Blood-red tendrils erupted from his severed neck, writhing like grotesque vines as they latched onto the fallen body. A moment later, his head reattached itself.
I had seen a lot of crazy resurrection methods before, but this was new.
Lu Gao's mouth split into a grin, his voice dripping with unhinged amusement.
"A Paladin? A Paladin in this place?! Hahahaha!"
Paladin.
This guy recognized me.
"Die."
I moved.
Silver Steel flashed as I struck, aiming to take his head again before whatever was happening could fully unfold. But my sword was met with unexpected resistance—a parry.
Lu Gao's arms… no, his entire body was changing. His skin darkened to a sickly crimson. Veins pulsed with unnatural energy. Jagged, blackened horns pushed out from his forehead. And then—wings.
Large, angelic wings of black feathers burst from Lu Gao's back, unfurling with an eerie grace. Each feather shimmered with an unnatural darkness, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Viscous black ichor dripped from the tips, evaporating before it could reach the ground. With a single powerful beat, he ascended into the air, his presence suffused with something ancient and wrong.
I clenched my jaw.
I had read enough books in the past few days to know this world was completely incompatible with the world I knew. Lost Legends Online had its own classifications. Its own interpretations.
For example, demons.
Back in LLO, demons weren't just a cultivation path. They weren't just people who had strayed down the path of wickedness and embraced demonic techniques.
No.
Demons were a literal thing.
Lei Fen's voice cut through the tension, sharp with confusion.
"What's that?"
"An enemy," I answered.
The air was thick with tension. Everyone else was still struggling to grasp what had just happened. But me? I didn't need time to process.
With a thought, I removed my cosmetic robe—Lofty Jade Proposition.
The illusion faded, unraveling into wisps of cosmetic motes of light as the lightweight fabric vanished. In its place, my real equipment gleamed under the arena's light.
A rustic golden and blue armor, worn yet unyielding. A faint green cape, half-ethereal, half-real, rippling as if caught in an unseen breeze.
Immediately, I felt it—the shift. The artificial debuff from the robe, the 15% suppression on my stats, lifted like an unclasped weight. My senses sharpened. My Mana pulsed stronger.
Lu Gao's grin faltered.
I met his eyes, my voice steady.
"An enemy that needs to be vanquished."
Oath of the Wandering Adjudicator"To walk is to seek. To seek is to understand. To understand is to judge with fairness."
I am neither bound by crown nor chained by creed.
I walk the road of self-discovery, where every step reveals truth.
I do not raise my blade in hatred, but neither do I stay my hand against cruelty.
I am no saint, nor do I claim wisdom beyond others—
Yet where justice is absent, I shall stand.
Where despair takes root, I shall strive.
Where power crushes the weak, I shall strike.
Humanity is flawed, yet beautiful. Selfish, yet kind. Weak, yet enduring.
I do not serve gods, kings, or destiny—only the truth I see with my own eyes.
And if ever I falter…
Let the weight of my own judgment be the one that humbles me.
This is my Oath. I shall walk, seek, and uphold.
038 Fallen Angel
"Vanquished? Me?" Lu Gao—no, the thing that had once been Lu Gao—scoffed. His voice carried a deep, guttural reverberation, layered as though multiple beings spoke in unison. "You are quite arrogant despite being this far from home."
Home? No, I had a feeling we weren't talking about the same place.
I activated Holy Wrath.
The arena floor beneath me shimmered as a circle of blue and gold radiance flared to life. Ethereal feathers—burning, divine—rose from the ground in a slow, mesmerizing ascent. My armor resonated with the skill, pulsing with sacred light.
PvP mode. A mindset that I would always enter through when inside the arena.
The moment my skill went active, my mind shifted to combat analysis. The world around me slowed—not literally, but in that hyper-aware way, where every detail sharpened into clarity.
First, the wings. Black feathers, not leathery like a standard demon's. A fallen angel, then. That explained a few things.
Second, the skin. Red, which was unusual for a fallen angel. But this could be a skill effect—maybe an augmentation rather than a natural trait. Berserk? Unlikely. A passive? Probably.
Third, the horns. A pair of them. That put him at ranked demon status. At least Level 100. But since he was a fallen angel, that put him above Level 150.
Now came the biggest problem.
This guy had a Second Realm cultivation. Which meant his actual power level exceeded Level 150 by a wide margin.
Then there was flight.
In Lost Legends Online, flight was represented as heightened movement speed and evasion. Hitboxes became smaller, making aerial opponents naturally harder to hit. But this wasn't a game. He wasn't bound by old LLO mechanics. Real-world flight meant real-world maneuverability. I'd have to keep that in mind.
I had only two spell slots left after Judgment Severance. Two ultimates I could throw out. I could burst him down now.
But was it worth it?
This guy survived a beheading.
And in game terms, I wasn't really big on DPS if it came to it.
I flicked my gaze toward the audience. The crowd was murmuring, stunned, uncertain. The Elders, the disciples—some had already drawn their weapons, but none of them understood the scale of what was happening yet.
And this so-called fallen angel? He remained aloft, his demonic feathered wings beating lazily, watching me with a smirk.
"Which God do you serve?" he asked. "You're probably not from the Lost faction, since you are so far away from home."
That phrasing again. Home. Lost faction.
He thought I was one of them.
Did it have a connection?
Lost Legends Online.
Maybe I should play into it. Misunderstandings could be useful.
He continued, "Or perhaps you are a local? But I cannot even see through your strength… Probably one of the bizarre techniques of this realm. Maybe you found a Legacy somehow in this world?"
Good. He had no idea what he was dealing with.
I tightened my grip on my sword. "My name is Da Wei, demon. How about you introduce yourself?"
The fallen angel's smirk widened. He placed a clawed hand over his chest and inclined his head slightly. "I am Brukhelm."
Brukhelm?
Never heard of him.
A nobody, then.
That calmed me down a bit.
Long Xieren's voice boomed across the arena. "To think a person from the prestigious Lu Clan would practice demonic techniques. This Long Xieren shall punish you!"
The Sword Canopy Sect cultivator brandished his weapon, his aura surging. He swung his sword, and in a single motion, dozens of ethereal blades manifested, forming a deadly storm aimed at Brukhelm.
He never got the chance to finish his attack.
Brukhelm disappeared from the sky. The next instant, a sickening crunch echoed through the arena. The demon's boot was planted on Long Xieren's face.
Stomped.
Crushed.
Blood splattered in every direction.
Long Xieren had been reduced to a broken heap in less than a second.
I didn't even see what happened.
There was no doubt in my mind—Brukhelm had used a skill. A fast one. Too fast for normal human reaction time. Even high-speed combat in Lost Legends Online rarely reached this level of instant death.
Numbers wouldn't work against him. Overwhelming him with attacks was pointless if he could delete people from existence before they could react.
I raised my sword and pointed it at Brukhelm.
Compel Duel.
A radiant halo appeared above my head—another forming above Brukhelm.
Normally, this skill forced PvP on fellow players in Lost Legends Online. It wasn't designed for PvE since it wasn't really a good skill to control aggro, meaning monsters could still choose to attack others.
I felt Brukhelm's killing intent shift entirely onto me. His demonic gaze locked onto mine, ignoring everyone else.
This meant two things:
One—He wouldn't target any bystanders. That alone was a win.
Two—If he attacked anyone else, he'd suffer a severe stat penalty (an effect of Compel Duel).
I'd love for the others to contribute from a distance. Not that it mattered. The others wouldn't be able to contribute anything meaningful. They would only be a hindrance. If someone interrupted or joined the fight, Compel Duel would be dispelled. Moreover, this was a demon I was fighting and they had lots of tricks.
Brukhelm narrowed his eyes, a flicker of curiosity in his expression. "So, are you done with your preparations?"
Idiot.
I wasn't finished yet.
Blessed Weapon.
My blade ignited with divine radiance, golden light coiling around its edges. Sacred energy thrummed within the steel, anointed to cut through unholy creatures.
Designate Holy Enemy.
A reversed red cross appeared above Brukhelm's head, marking him as a sworn adversary of divine power. His resistances against my attacks just dropped significantly.
Brukhelm scoffed, taking a casual step forward. "Interesting. You fight with methods I have not seen before."
This guy recognized me as a Paladin, but not my skills.
Why?
I vanished.
Flash Step.
Reappearing right in front of his face, I activated another skill.
Stagger.
The simplest of PvP techniques. By stepping into an enemy's immediate personal space at the right angle, their reflexes would momentarily falter. A mere 0.8 seconds of hesitation—more than enough.
Brukhelm's wings twitched in surprise.
I followed up immediately.
Thunderous Smite.
Divine power crackled into my blade, laced with roaring lightning. The moment my sword connected against his hurried parry, the raw force surged through his body. My attack speed surged—I pressed forward, pouring strength into the swing.
Divine Smite.
Brukhelm tried to retreat. Tried to evade. Too late.
The moment of hesitation cost him.
My sword still connected.
A shockwave of divine energy exploded on impact. Brukhelm's form blurred as he was launched backward, crashing into the manor of the City Governor. The entire front of the building collapsed in a storm of stone and debris.
The arena fell silent.
I tightened my grip on my sword.
I had a feeling he wasn't dead yet.
I glanced at Long Xieren's corpse. His body was mangled beyond recognition, crushed under Brukhelm's heel like a mere insect.
Even a Phoenix Feather wouldn't work on him.
Something like a game mechanic—if you were killed by someone at least a hundred levels higher than you, you'd be inflicted with a special penalty. Certain resurrection items wouldn't work. A hard-coded rule in Lost Legends Online.
Still, I had something stronger.
It wasn't like I had the luxury to experiment. I'd rather not waste a spell slot at this point, so I pulled out an Elixir of Resurrection from my Item Box and poured it over Long Xieren's remains.
Light erupted. His body reformed, his flesh knitting back together in an instant. He gasped, eyes wide, looking around in utter confusion.
I stepped forward and addressed Ren Jin.
"Evacuate everyone. I will handle the demon. No matter what under any circumstance, do not interfere with the fight."
Ren Jin, hovering above the arena, gave a sharp nod. "Chief Enforcer Liang Na!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Liang Na leaped into action, her authority cutting through the chaos. She began barking orders, directing the guards to escort the fleeing citizens. The crowd was already panicking, running amok. The once-excited spectators were now scrambling for safety, their shouts and cries mixing into chaotic noise.
SCREEEECH~!
An ear grating screech that broke glass and porcelain reverberated in the air. I couldn't put the name to the skill used, but I think I just suffered a debuff.
"What is that thing?!" someone screamed from the bleachers.
"Lu Gao was a demon all along?!" another voice gasped.
A merchant, gripping his robe, turned pale. "This isn't part of the festival, is it? Right?!"
"Idiot! Run for your life!"
A disciple from one of the sects pointed at me. "The challenger! He—he's fighting it!"
"He beheaded Lu Gao! And yet—!"
"That thing isn't Lu Gao anymore!"
Some in the crowd had drawn their weapons in panic, but none dared to approach the battlefield.
A woman clutched her child to her chest, stumbling as she tried to escape. "The Governor must act! He must—"
A burly man pushed past her, cursing. "The Governor?! Screw the Governor! He's not the one fighting that thing!"
One of the arena staff desperately rang a bell. "EVACUATE! ALL SPECTATORS, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!"
A group of sect disciples huddled near the exit, torn between retreating and witnessing the battle.
A younger cultivator, trembling, turned to his senior. "Shouldn't we—shouldn't we help?"
The older disciple shook his head. "Help? Against that? That's beyond us."
Then, from the wreckage of the Governor's manor, Brukhelm emerged.
His form had changed.
He now stood at least twice his original height. His muscles bulged grotesquely, his skin deepening into an even darker shade of crimson. His teeth, once sharp, now looked more like fangs. An elongated tail swished behind his back, thick and covered in jagged, bone-like plating.
His sword was already in pieces, so he simply let the broken weapon clatter to the ground.
Brukhelm's lips curled into a grin.
"He he he~" His voice was deeper now, reverberating in the air. "I felt that."
Combat in Lost Legends Online had always been done with a keyboard and mouse. Yet, fighting like this—moving in real-time, reacting on instinct—I felt perfectly accustomed to it.
The memory synchronization with David_69 probably had a role in it.
If this were back in LLO, I'd be crazily switching between skill configurations, scrolling from one to nine, trying to string combos together while adjusting my positioning, disrupting enemy skill activations, and countering hard. Each configuration had dozens of active skills. There were just too many to micromanage at once.
But here, in this world, I didn't need to navigate through a skill bar.
I had the freedom to refer to my memories directly, to draw upon them like instinct.
I activated Voice Chat with David_69.
"How confident are you in defeating this guy?"
David_69 responded immediately, his voice steady. "I will do everything in my power to do so."
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that a yes or a no?" I was tempted to use the Divine Possession strategy, but...
"All of the skills you wield, my lord, have mutated since we arrived in this world."
"I am aware."
It wasn't something I could explain in words, but it was felt. Instinctive knowledge.
For example, Holy Spirit had originally been a summoning skill, but for some reason, it had manifested as David_69 instead.
Another example was Divine Sense—it continued to evolve. It wasn't a simple detection skill anymore.
David_69 continued, "From my observation, Divine Possession leaves the main body with halved stats." He meant the physical body that was left behind, not the 'me' who entered the target.
That was a major drawback.
Still better than being left vulnerable and a feast for the demon.
"If I summon you, my Holy Spirit, do you know what the changes will be?"
"No." A pause. "Do you plan to summon me, My Lord?"
"Not really. That would be strategically unwise."
I could almost sense a pout of disappointment from him.
It was stupid for me to even ask. There was a saying in LLO, "Stats are KING," And this fallen angel had them in spades thanks to his cultivation stacked atop his high racial stats.
A split-second conversation in the mental link was all it took.
Brukhelm stretched out his clawed hand.
A greatsword materialized in his grip, wreathed in violet flames.
"My turn," said Brukhelm.
A deep, guttural chuckle rumbled from his throat as he raised his newly summoned greatsword, the sheer weight of it causing the ground beneath him to crack. His wings flared out, dark feathers rippling unnaturally as if they had a will of their own.
The crowd's panic had reached a fever pitch.
"What is that thing?!"
"That's… a monster!"
"He just grew twice his size! How are we supposed to fight that?"
"Forget fighting! Run! Run, you idiots!"
"The City Governor will handle it! We need to get out of here before we get caught in the crossfire!"
"He killed Long Xieren in an instant! What can that nameless cultivator even do against that?"
"Follow the Enforcers!"
"Retreat in an orderly manner!"
"The Lord had given his orders! EVACUATE!"
Some cultivators tried to take to the skies, but the pressure in the air made flight impossible. The weaker ones fell to their knees, gasping for breath. Others, too prideful to run, watched in a mix of horror and fascination, their hands gripping their weapons as if that would make a difference.
Long Xieren, still dazed from his resurrection, gritted his teeth. "To think I was killed just like that…" He tightened his grip on his sword, but I could tell he wasn't planning to rush in blindly. Even he knew he wasn't fast enough.
Brukhelm ignored the commotion. His burning eyes locked onto me as he took a step forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the arena. "You've got fight in you, Paladin." He grinned, exposing rows of jagged teeth. "I like that."
I held my ground, sword steady. "I'm not here to entertain you, demon."
He scoffed. "No, I imagine you're not. But it doesn't matter." His wings flapped once, sending out a shockwave that sent cracks through the already damaged stone floor. "Because you won't last long."
Brukhelm moved—no, he blurred.
I barely had time to react before he was in front of me, greatsword already swinging.
This might be a tougher fight than I imagined.
039 Great Barrier
The clash of steel sent a shockwave rippling through the battlefield. Da Wei's blade met the demon's greatsword, and the very air trembled with the impact. Ren Jin, hovering above, watched with narrowed eyes. Below, cracks spiderwebbed across the earth beneath Da Wei's feet, but he did not yield an inch. Instead, he met the demon's gaze with cold disdain.
To Ren Jin's astonishment, the creature flinched.
A golden arc of light followed Da Wei's sword, cutting through the sky in a blinding crescent. The demon—Brukhelm—twisted midair with an unnatural grace, his black wings beating once to propel him backward. He evaded by the barest margin.
Ren Jin frowned. That name—Brukhelm—sat oddly on his tongue, foreign and ill-fitting to the cadence of the land. He tested it under his breath, reshaping it.
"Bu Lu Keng? Bu Keng? Bu Kel?"
It did not matter.
As a prince of the Empire, Ren Jin had walked among sages and stood in the presence of immortal masters. Though he had been outmaneuvered by his kin and relegated to govern this distant city, he was no stranger to the heights of cultivation. And yet, in all his years, he had never seen a monster like this.
The battlefield was gripped by fear.
Bu Lu Keng's mere presence sent waves of dread crashing over the gathered cultivators. The elite guards of Yellow Dragon City, men who had stared death in the eye a hundred times, faltered. The proud disciples of great sects—heirs to legendary techniques—shook as if their knees might give out.
Floating above the chaos, Ren Jin's expression remained stoic. This was beyond the scope of what a mere city governor should contend with, but he had no choice.
"Elders," he commanded, his voice laced with Qi, resonating across the battlefield. "Aid in the evacuation."
There was hesitation, then movement. The older cultivators took charge. The younger disciples, still shaken, hurried to guide the weak to safety. Some of the stronger ones lingered, their eyes locked onto the duel unfolding before them.
Not fear alone held them. Curiosity, too.
How vast was the gulf between them and that demon? Between them and the man who stood against it?
Ren Jin's gaze returned to Da Wei.
'Who are you?'
The man had entered his city as nothing more than a wandering cultivator, unremarkable and unassuming. Yet now, he stood unyielding before a high-ranked demon. His blade carved through the air with divine brilliance. His expression was calm, battle-worn—not the look of a reckless fool, but of one who had done this countless times before.
And the demon hesitated.
Ren Jin's grip tightened on his sword.
This man… was not ordinary.
Bu Lu Keng let out a deep, reverberating laugh. "You are strong, Paladin. But you are alone."
Da Wei tilted his head, eyes cold. "So are you."
Ren Jin's gaze sharpened. The battle was far from over. No matter the outcome, Yellow Dragon City would never be the same.
Bu Lu Keng rose higher, twisting through the sky as radiant blades of light lanced toward him. His black wings unfurled, each beat sending turbulent winds crashing into the shattered remains of the arena. His crimson skin pulsed faintly, veins alight with a sinister golden-red glow. His gaze swept over the battlefield—calculating, searching.
Then, his eyes locked onto Ren Jin.
A suffocating force descended upon him, as though an unseen mountain had slammed onto his chest. His breath caught. His limbs felt heavy, the marrow in his bones turning to ice. It was a fear that ran deeper than mere instinct—a primal truth etched into his very soul.
He was prey.
Ren Jin clenched his teeth and forced himself higher. His qi surged, resisting the crushing weight that sought to drag him from the sky. A translucent dragon coiled around him, its shimmering form forged from his qi—proof of his mastery of Dragon Soaring the Peaks.
Flight was a privilege beyond most cultivators. Those beneath Soul Recognition Realm could not even dream of true flight, and even at his level, Spirit Mystery Realm, most could only hover short distances. But his technique, an imperial legacy refined by the Grand Emperor, allowed him to soar—at a cost.
But Bu Lu Keng did not care.
The demon turned away, uninterested. His focus remained on Da Wei alone.
Ren Jin exhaled sharply, retreating to the roof of his manor. From here, he could see it all—the devastation, the chaos, the terrifying power unleashed below. The demon's aura blanketed the city like a creeping tide. Even from this distance, Ren Jin could feel it, his own cultivation straining against the unnatural pressure.
And worse still, beneath that oppressive weight… his people were unraveling.
The once-grand arena lay in ruins, but the true destruction was only beginning. Panic and madness took root. Fear twisted into desperation. In the streets, men and women turned on one another, lashing out in blind terror.
Yellow Dragon City, the city he had nurtured for decades, was beginning to tear itself apart.
"I apologize, City Lord, but we must contain the battle here. My speed is lacking, and this fiend can fly," Da Wei said, his voice resonating through Qi Speech—or something akin to it.
His sword gleamed with divine radiance, each strike carving golden crescents through the air. The earth trembled beneath him, stone and qi-forged bleachers splitting apart, debris scattering in every direction. His onslaught was relentless, forcing Bu Lu Keng onto the defensive.
But the demon was no weakling either.
Bu Lu Keng's jagged greatsword met Da Wei's attacks with unholy might, each collision unleashing shockwaves that rattled the city. Windows shattered. Weaker structures crumbled. The air itself warped under the sheer intensity of their duel.
With a single swing, the demon carved through the remnants of the arena, leaving a deep trench in the earth. Screams erupted as fleeing spectators scrambled for cover, chunks of stone and splintered wood raining down upon them.
Amidst the chaos, the city's enforcers and sect elders moved swiftly. Chief Enforcer Liang Na led the guards, barking orders with practiced efficiency. The elders of the Sword Canopy Sect, Cloud Mist Sect, Isolation Path Sect, and others spread out, conjuring barriers and guiding the weaker cultivators to safety.
Yet, despite their efforts, devastation reigned.
Ren Jin's gaze flickered back to the battlefield. Da Wei stood unmoved, his golden aura clashing violently with Bu Lu Keng's crimson malice—a battle between righteous judgment and pure corruption, waged at the heart of Yellow Dragon City.
The sky roared with fury as their blades met, sending shockwaves rippling through the heavens.
Ren Jin pressed his fingers together, forming a swift seal. A breath later, he activated Qi Speech, his voice cutting through the chaos with clarity.
"Keep the city guards in formation! Any who cannot fly, retreat immediately!"
A beat later, Liang Na's voice echoed back, firm and unwavering. "Understood, My Lord! We are securing the market district. What of the arena?"
Ren Jin's eyes swept over the battlefield—where Da Wei and Bu Lu Keng streaked through the ruins like golden and crimson meteors. With every clash, the ground cracked further, the once-proud arena reduced to rubble.
"Do not engage," he ordered. "This battle is beyond us. Focus on minimizing casualties."
More voices came through Qi Speech as the elders of the Sword Canopy Sect, Cloud Mist Sect, and Isolation Path Sect checked in.
"City Lord, the residential districts are secure," Elder Pan Xia reported. "We are keeping the escape routes open, but some civilians refuse to leave their homes. This is madness. What manner of fiend is this?"
Ren Jin's expression darkened. "Then force them if necessary. This is no mere calamity—we face a Great Demon."
Another elder, Lei Fen, spoke, his voice edged with urgency. "And what of the governor's manor, my Lord? Your estate—"
Ren Jin's heart clenched.
"I will handle it."
Without hesitation, he reached out through Qi Speech to the one person he trusted most. This was no time for chances.
"Yue'er."
A single heartbeat passed. Then, a soft but firm voice responded. "Jin."
Relief flooded through him. Yue Ruo was safe—for now.
"The manor is no longer secure. Take the retainers and leave at once. Do not wait for me."
A pause. Then, his wife's voice, steady yet laced with concern. "And you?"
Ren Jin turned his gaze back to the battlefield. Below, Da Wei's blade struck true, sending Bu Lu Keng hurtling through another district. Buildings crumbled as the demon's body carved through stone and steel, a storm of dust and shattered debris rising in his wake.
"I must remain," Ren Jin answered. "I will not abandon the city."
Silence.
Then, Yue Ruo's quiet yet resolute voice came through.
"Be careful."
Ren Jin exhaled. "I will."
Severing the Qi Speech connection, he turned his full focus back to the battle. Below, his orders were being carried out. The city guards moved with practiced efficiency, guiding civilians to safety. The sect cultivators formed protective barriers, shielding the evacuation routes from falling debris and stray waves of qi.
Yet at the heart of it all—Da Wei and Bu Lu Keng clashed, their battle shaking the heavens.
Ren Jin clenched his fists.
This was far from over.
Suspended above the ruins of the arena, his robes billowed in the turbulent winds. His gaze flickered between the combatants, tracking every movement, every devastating clash.
Da Wei was relentless, his golden radiance a beacon of defiance against the abyssal malice of the Great Demon. Yet even with his overwhelming skill, the destruction spread unchecked.
The city was bleeding. His people—his soldiers, his cultivators—remained vulnerable.
If this battle was not contained soon…
Yellow Dragon City would not survive.
Ren Jin took a deep breath, steadying his mind. He had no intention of remaining a mere spectator.
Gathering his qi, he opened his mouth and roared, his voice amplified by both Qi Speech and his very vitality.
"I AM REN JIN! GOVERNOR OF YELLOW DRAGON CITY!
MY ELITE ENFORCERS, GUARDIANS—COME TO ME! RAISE THE GREAT BARRIER!"
His words thundered across the city, shaking the heavens and the earth. This was no simple call—it was a command, infused with authority and power, compelling all those sworn to him to answer.
From the manor, the city walls, the very sky itself, golden streaks of light shot toward him. His elite enforcers—the sworn protectors of Yellow Dragon City—had heard the call.
The Great Barrier was not a mere dome of energy. It was an ancient, meticulously designed array, requiring precision, discipline, and the synchronized might of an entire force.
They took their positions with flawless coordination—a celestial dance performed by battle-hardened cultivators.
Leading them was Chief Enforcer Liang Na.
The outermost ring consisted of defensive specialists—shield cultivators, barrier masters, and formation experts. Their weapons gleamed with golden inscriptions, thrumming with defensive qi as they anchored the perimeter of the formation.
The middle ring contained formation channelers, those who linked the entire array together. They moved as one, their bodies glowing with synchronization techniques, flowing through the sky like an eternal river.
At the core stood Ren Jin himself, suspended in midair, his robes whipping against the turbulent winds. Golden lines of qi extended from his fingertips, linking him to every enforcer.
Then, they spoke as one—a unified, unbreakable force.
"AS THE DRAGON WATCHES, SO SHALL WE STAND!"
Golden symbols ignited in the air, interweaving into an intricate, pulsing network. The enforcers raised their hands, channeling their combined qi into the formation.
Ren Jin felt their power converging on him—a monumental surge of energy coursing into his core. His own qi flared, binding them all together as one.
From his body, golden lines unfurled, extending outward into a perfect sphere. The light spread, linking with the city's foundational ley lines.
Yellow Dragon City answered his call.
The sky trembled, and then—
A translucent golden dome erupted into existence, stretching far and wide, enclosing the battlefield in its celestial embrace.
Bu Lu Keng's demonic aura crashed against the barrier—a tide of abyssal malice surging forward—yet the formation held firm.
Beyond the barrier, the citizens were safe.
Ren Jin exhaled, his body trembling slightly under the strain, but his eyes remained sharp.
Above the city, the barrier was no simple dome—from below, it shimmered like a golden sky, but from above, it was a vast, celestial mandala, a grand geometric pattern woven from pure qi, spinning, shifting, and adjusting as the enforcers maintained perfect synchronization.
The golden light pulsed like a living heart. When Bu Lu Keng's demonic force slammed against it, the formation shuddered but did not break.
The city was protected.
Now, the battle belonged to Da Wei.
Ren Jin hovered above the battlefield, the golden radiance of the Great Barrier pulsing around him like a divine aegis. His enforcers maintained their positions, their qi flowing through the formation in steady, disciplined cycles. Yet his gaze remained fixed on the two combatants at the center of it all—Da Wei and Bu Lu Keng.
The battle had not slowed. If anything, the intensity had only increased.
Da Wei's sword flashed with golden brilliance, its divine radiance cleaving through the air with each swing. Crescent arcs of light tore through the ruins of the arena, carving trenches into the earth and forcing the demon further back.
Bu Lu Keng, however, was no mindless beast. His jagged greatsword clashed against Da Wei's strikes, sending out thunderous shockwaves. Every time their weapons met, the force of their collision shook the very sky, causing the cultivators outside the barrier to instinctively retreat.
Still, Ren Jin noticed something strange—Da Wei remained unscathed.
His armor, gleaming under the radiance of his own power, bore not a single mark. Not even the slightest scratch.
Bu Lu Keng noticed as well. The demon snarled, his blackened, molten eyes narrowing as he shifted his stance. "You should have run when you had the chance," Da Wei remarked casually, his voice carrying even over the roaring destruction.
The demon scoffed. "Run? From you?" His jagged teeth gleamed as he smirked. "I have nothing to fear from a human."
Da Wei let out a short laugh, spinning his sword once before leveling it at the demon. "I'll admit, you're faster than me—especially by cultivator standards," he said, tilting his head slightly as if conceding the point. "But for a demon like you? I'm more than enough."
Bu Lu Keng growled, but before he could retort, Da Wei continued, his tone shifting—mocking, confident. "Do you know what's funny?" He tapped the chest of his armor lightly. "All this fighting, all this struggling… and yet, not a single scratch has graced my armor."
Ren Jin saw the way Bu Lu Keng's fingers tightened around his greatsword, the subtle twitch in his expression. The demon was beginning to realize—Da Wei was toying with him.
Then, Da Wei's lips curled into a sly smile.
With a sharp inhale, he suddenly raised his voice, addressing not just Bu Lu Keng but everyone—the enforcers, the elders, the scattered cultivators still watching in shock beyond the barrier.
"People of Yellow Dragon City!" His voice rang out, infused with his might, reaching every corner of the battlefield. The very air hummed with power as his words reverberated through the streets.
"You need not fear this demon any longer!" He spread his arms wide, his golden aura blazing like a miniature sun. "For I am here!"
Ren Jin felt the morale of his soldiers shift—fear gave way to awe, hesitation turned to belief. Even beyond the barrier, cultivators who had been wary, uncertain… they stood straighter. Some even let out quiet cheers.
Bu Lu Keng, however, let out a low, seething growl. "Arrogant human."
Da Wei simply smirked. "Shall we?" He gestured with his sword, tapping his uncovered head as if inviting the demon to try again. "How about some advice? I'm not even wearing my helm—maybe try hitting me in the head. That ought to give you a fighting chance."
040 Final Adjudication
So why was I not wearing my helm? Was it vanity? No. I simply wasn't accustomed to it. My vision narrowed when I wore one, the stifling weight pressing against my skull like a cage. A weakness, one I would have to overcome—just not today.
"ARROGANT. ARROGANT HUMAN."
Brukhelm seethed, his molten eyes burning with disdain.
The Great Barrier flared, its golden light pulsing with a divine resonance that hummed through my bones. The air stilled, as if the heavens themselves had taken notice. Ren Jin had acted. For once, I didn't mind the interference.
Brukhelm tested the barrier with a lazy swipe of his greatsword. The corrupted iron met sacred radiance, and the impact sent ripples across the dome—but it did not break. The demon snorted, his gaze flickering toward the cultivators hovering above.
"A clever trick," he mused. "But tricks will not save you."
I tightened my grip on my sword. The weight was familiar, the energy coursing through it an extension of my will.
"You talk too much."
Brukhelm grinned. "And your mother did not love you enough."
I blinked. A demon, resorting to such petty insults?
Then he lunged.
Our blades met in a clash that shook the ruined arena. Cracks spiderwebbed through shattered stone as force rippled outward. His strength was monstrous, but I had faced worse. Pivoting, I let his momentum carry him past, striking at his exposed ribs. He twisted unnaturally, evading at the last moment, but a thin line of black blood marked where my blade had found purchase.
Brukhelm chuckled, more amused than enraged. "The paladin draws first blood. Good. I would have been disappointed otherwise."
I did not answer. Words would not change the fact that he had to die.
His greatsword moved in a blur, faster than something of that size should. I met each blow, redirecting rather than contesting, but every clash sent a jolt through my arms. The air between us crackled with raw energy. The world shrank to just the two of us.
Then he feinted—an overhead strike that twisted into a backhanded sweep. The corrupted blade arced toward my midsection. I twisted, barely avoiding the edge, but his clawed hand lashed out, raking across my chest. My armor held, but the impact sent me skidding back, boots digging into shattered stone.
Pain flared, shallow cuts burning where his claws had grazed flesh. I ignored it. There were worse things to concern myself with.
The armor would repair itself.
What I needed was focus.
Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, his grin widening. "You're durable. Good. I'd hate for this to end too quickly."
I exhaled slowly, centering myself. Around us, city guards and sect cultivators worked frantically to maintain order, their efforts strengthened by the Great Barrier. Ren Jin held the formation steady, keeping his people alive, giving me the space to do what needed to be done.
Holy Wrath.
Golden radiance flared beneath me, illuminating the broken ground. Azure feathers drifted upwards, dissolving into light.
Radiant Dawn.
I shifted my stance, lowering my blade. Divine power surged, golden light gathering at the edge of my sword, condensing into a single, blinding arc.
Blessed Weapon.
Brukhelm's grin faltered.
Zealot's Stride.
I moved.
Flash Step.
The world blurred. Faster than before. Faster than he could react. My blade cut through darkness and malice alike. Brukhelm barely managed to bring his sword up, but the impact sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ruins at a sharp angle. Dust and debris exploded outward, shrouding his form from view.
Silence.
Then—low laughter echoed from the rubble. The dust settled, revealing the demon rising from the wreckage, his grin still in place. A deep gash marred his torso, black blood dripping onto shattered stone.
He licked his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere."
I tightened my grip.
Hmmm… Maybe I could go a bit faster…
Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, the unnatural motion making his wound seem almost insignificant. His molten eyes burned—not with fury, but exhilaration.
"Almost made me feel alive," he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. Then his grin widened, splitting his face into something monstrous. "Almost."
He charged.
Faster this time. Each footstep cracked the ground, his greatsword sweeping in a brutal arc meant to carve me in two. I stepped into his swing—not to block, but to slip past it, angling my blade toward his exposed flank.
At the last moment, his free hand shot out, clawed fingers reaching for my throat.
I twisted away, barely escaping, but his strike still clipped my shoulder, sending a shockwave through my body. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but I bit down on it and retaliated.
My sword pierced his ribs.
Divine energy burned along the blade's edge, searing through flesh and bone. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it met the sacred light. Brukhelm snarled, but instead of recoiling, he surged forward—driving himself deeper onto my sword.
His greatsword swept toward me in a wild, crushing arc.
I let go.
His blade cleaved through empty air as I rolled backward, golden energy crackling to life in my palm.
Searing Smite.
My sword still jutted from his side, radiant power coursing through it, scorched him from within as Searing Smite activated through the sword.
Brukhelm let out a guttural laugh. "Paladin tricks."
He grabbed the hilt of my sword and wrenched it free, black blood gushing from the wound. "Not bad."
Then, to my disgust, he ran his tongue along the flat of the blade before tossing it aside.
I tensed. That wound should have slowed him down.
Instead, he took a step forward—and his injuries began closing.
Not instantly. But fast enough that my advantage was slipping.
"You thought this would be simple?" Brukhelm tilted his head, mock sympathy lacing his voice. "Paladin, Zealot, Hero—whatever title they branded you with, it makes no difference. I've fought your kind before."
The ground beneath us cracked, his aura pressing down, suffocating and oppressive.
"The difference is, I survived. I always survive."
I steadied my stance, my mind racing. If he could heal this quickly, there was no time to drag this out. I had to end it before he regained control.
Golden light flared around me once more.
Brukhelm grinned. "Again?"
I didn't answer.
Calm. Steady. Loose. My limbs felt numb, my focus narrowing to a single point.
Brukhelm cocked his head, molten eyes narrowing at my empty hands. "No weapon?"
I ignored him, irritation rising as the golden barrier shimmered around us. It pulsed with divine resonance, its radiance clashing against the demon's corrupted aura. The cultivators had done their job well—too well. I wasn't worried about them interfering, but that barrier meant my some of my strongest techniques—ones that have 'problematic' animation sequence—were useless.
Heavenly Punishment? The dome would soak it up before it even reached him… probably.
Still, if I wanted to kill this thing without reducing half the city to rubble, I had to do it the old-fashioned way. So that limited my Ultimate Skills again, which helped me narrow what to use against this demon.
It made me curious though.
Brukhelm wasn't using any Ultimate Skills either. Why?
I took a step forward—and vanished.
Flash Step.
Brukhelm was fast, but I could be faster. Spamming Flash Step for years had done that to me. Also, I had Divine Speed equipped on my TriDivine Skill.
I reappeared at his side, my fist already poised to strike—
His greatsword lashed out.
Expected. His Second Realm cultivation, stacked atop his demonic origins, gave him absurd reaction speed. He didn't just see my movement—he predicted it. But so what?
A massive tower shield materialized before me, intercepting his swing with a resounding clang.
World Aegis.
The sheer force of his strike sent tremors up my arm, but the shield held firm, absorbing the impact like an immovable fortress. It was a Legendary-grade artifact, one of the strongest in Lost Legends Online—a relic tempered by countless battles, forged to withstand divine punishment.
Against a demon?
It would hold.
Thank you, Item Box.
Brukhelm grinned. "Oh? You're full of surprises."
His greatsword pressed against my shield, sparks flying, but I wasn't done.
With my free hand, I reached into my Item Box once more.
A mad cackle filled the air.
Hellcleaver.
The demonic greataxe materialized, its jagged, twisted blade humming with dark energy. An eerie eye embedded in the weapon's head snapped open, unblinking, staring at Brukhelm with a gleeful malice that mirrored his own expression. The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, a chorus of laughter rang through my skull—Hellcleaver's eternal madness.
A normal player wouldn't be able to wield both a tower shield and a two-handed weapon. But I wasn't normal.
Monkey Grip.
With this skill, weight and size restrictions meant nothing to me. I hefted Hellcleaver in my right hand, World Aegis in my left, and squared off against Brukhelm.
For the first time, his grin faltered.
I smirked.
"Fuck. You."
Then I attacked.
Brukhelm's greatsword met my axe in a clash that should have sent shockwaves through the battlefield. Instead—
Hellcleaver bit into the corrupted steel.
A horrific screech rang out as the demonic axe didn't just cut—it devoured. The greatsword snapped in half, severed like brittle bone. The jagged edge of my weapon didn't stop there—it carved into Brukhelm's shoulder, slicing through flesh like paper.
Black blood sprayed.
Brukhelm staggered back, eyes widening in disbelief.
And Hellcleaver laughed.
Not metaphorically.
The damned weapon laughed—a chilling, distorted sound that echoed inside my skull. The eye embedded in its head twisted, its pupil dilating like a predator savoring fresh blood.
And then, I felt it take hold.
Frenzy.
This wasn't just berserk mode.
Every successful hit didn't just restore my health—it stole his strength, his speed, his endurance.
I was cutting him down, piece by piece, with every swing.
Admittedly, the weapon had low accuracy.
Brukhelm noticed.
His molten gaze flickered—something close to wariness, his arrogance slipping for just a moment.
But I didn't let up.
Shield raised. Axe poised.
Hellcleaver was screaming for blood. My instincts roared to kill.
And yet—
Even as the hunger clawed at me, even as battle-lust surged through my veins, my mind worked through the problem.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
I wasn't big on lore, even with my Linguist subclass. I didn't waste time dissecting every scrap of in-game mythology or arguing over divine texts.
But that didn't mean I was clueless.
Because while lore-obsessed players debated the meaning of ancient scriptures, I was out there fighting the things those texts warned about.
PvE knowledge came naturally to veterans.
And I knew exactly what I was dealing with.
Demons in Lost Legends Online weren't just monsters. Their origins mattered.
Some were born from corrupted ideas, taking form from twisted beliefs. Others came from eldritch forces, entities beyond the cycle of life.
But the most dangerous?
Fallen Angels.
Once divine warriors, they had been cast down—tainted by sin, betrayal, or defiance. They weren't just strong; they had been designed for war before their fall. Their base stats were absurd, their power monstrous.
But they had weaknesses.
They relied too much on raw stats and invested little in actual skills.
Brukhelm growled, his shoulder wound already closing. Not fast enough. I saw the shift in his expression—he knew he was at a disadvantage, even if his arrogance wouldn't let him admit it.
I smirked.
"Something wrong, Brook Helm?"
Deliberately twisting his name just to piss him off.
His molten eyes flared.
I hefted Hellcleaver once more.
"Let's keep going."
Brukhelm braced himself, stance shifting as he prepared to parry another devastating swing. I saw the flicker of expectation in his gaze. He thought he had me figured out.
He thought I was trapped in Frenzy, locked into my own rhythm—just another mindless berserker.
So I played along.
I tensed, muscles coiling as if committing to a wide cleave. I let him see the attack—let him anticipate it.
Then—
At the last moment, I dropped low and rolled.
Mid-roll, I dismissed World Aegis back into the Item Box and swapped my free hand for Silver Steel, the longsword I had left idle in the rubble. The weight of the shield vanished, replaced by the familiar grip of a sword honed for precision.
The moment my fingers curled around the hilt—
Silver Soul activated.
A rush of clarity burned through me, purging the lingering bloodlust of Frenzy without dulling my focus.
And just like that—
I was in control again.
The rage from Frenzy left me instantly—like stepping out of a storm into calm, crisp air.
That was Silver Soul, the unique ability of Silver Steel.
Yet most importantly—the buffs remained.
Unlike Hellcleaver, which thrived on bloodlust, pushing its wielder into a berserker's trance, Silver Steel granted immunity to mental effects, even those I inflicted upon myself. It fortified my mind, raising my resistance to external influences.
It was my answer to mind-warping foes.
It kept me in control when the battle turned chaotic.
Brukhelm realized it too late.
His ruined greatsword cut through nothing but empty air. His momentum carried him forward, leaving his stance open for a brief instant.
I saw the flicker in his eyes—
Anticipation.
Realization.
Rage.
He snarled. "Clever."
I thrust forward, aiming straight for the wound I'd left on his shoulder. He barely twisted in time, avoiding a fatal blow, but my blade nicked his side.
More black blood splattered across the shattered stone.
Brukhelm hated that.
His fingers twitched in irritation. But instead of counterattacking—
He clapped.
The sound wasn't just noise—it was power, rippling through the air like an earthquake.
The ground shuddered.
The heat intensified, suffocating, pressing against my skin.
Then—
The stone split.
Dark flames erupted from the fissures like hellish geysers, their scorching heat warping the very air.
From within the infernal blaze, shadows crawled forth.
Hellhounds.
Massive, coal-black beasts wreathed in fire. Their eyes burned like molten gold, and their maws dripped with searing saliva, sizzling against the broken battlefield.
They were fast.
They were vicious.
And they were self-destructive.
If they latched on, they would detonate upon death, taking their prey with them.
Brukhelm smirked.
"You think too much, little Paladin. Let's see how well you think while burning."
The hellhounds lunged.
"Time's up."
I let go.
Both Hellcleaver and Silver Steel vanished, recalled into my Item Box.
My hands felt light—too light—after wielding such destructive forces.
But I didn't need them anymore.
Not for this.
:: FINAL ADJUDICATION ::The charging hellhounds never reached me.
Mid-leap, their snarling faces twisted in agony, their bodies flickering—then collapsing into black ash.
What had been a pack of demonic beasts was reduced to nothing more than scattered embers in the wind.
Brukhelm's molten eyes narrowed.
"What did you—"
The sky darkened.
Not with night.
With judgment.
Golden cracks split the air, fracturing reality itself, bleeding radiant power.
A colossal presence loomed over the battlefield, unseen yet undeniable—an overwhelming weight of divine authority.
Fucking hymns resounded.
Brukhelm froze.
His confusion turned to something deeper.
Horror.
Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around me, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, glowing with pure law.
The air thrummed, vibrating with absolute power, as golden chains of light lashed out, seeking the guilty.
They snared Brukhelm, binding him in place—his sins laid bare.
For those steeped in negative karma—demons, fiends, the truly wicked—Final Adjudication did more than restrain.
It burned.
The space around Brukhelm ignited with divine flames.
The greater the sins—
The hotter the fire.
I exhaled slowly, watching as the flames rose higher, as Brukhelm struggled against the chains of light—as realization dawned in his eyes.
I met his gaze.
"Just so you know," I said between steady breaths. "I never held back."
Brukhelm stared at his own hands.
His iron-red flesh, once solid as tempered steel, split apart—fracturing, cracking, revealing... nothing.
No bone.
No muscle.
No soul.
Only emptiness.
The fractures spread. His fingers peeled away in flakes of gray and black, crumbling like the remains of a burnt-out pyre.
"Ash to ash," I murmured.
Brukhelm snarled, his body tensing—then lunged at me.
Or at least, he tried.
His legs buckled. His own body was betraying him.
"Dust to dust."
The snarl choked off in his throat.
His fingertips crumbled, the decay creeping up his arms in an unstoppable tide.
Brukhelm's teeth clenched. "What… is this?!"
"Your Final Adjudication." I held his gaze. "Also, this was for insulting my mom, you uncultured swine."
He staggered. His whole left arm had vanished, carried away by the wind like dry autumn leaves. His chest heaved, his body straining—but there was nothing to regenerate.
Final Adjudication wasn't something you could out-heal.
I had hoped to interrogate him—to figure out why a great demon had been hiding among us.
But in the end, I had no choice.
A colossal Scales of Judgment materialized in the heavens above, weighing his karma.
The wicked were erased.
The righteous remained untouched.
The world itself had passed sentence.
Those steeped in sin burned away—lesser evildoers disintegrating to ash, while true abominations were engulfed in celestial conflagration, their forms reduced to nothingness.
Brukhelm gritted his teeth. His molten eyes blazed with fury—but his legs no longer existed to support his weight.
I clicked my tongue. "Tch. Two major rank-ups in cultivation really made a character below level 200 feel like a genuine threat, huh?"
Brukhelm shot me a hate-filled glare, even as his body unraveled.
"You…"
He tried to take a step forward. His leg disintegrated beneath him, his knee snapping into nothingness as golden flames devoured him from the inside.
"RHAAAAAG~! HELL WILL HURT YOU! THE DEMONS WILL CLAIM THIS WORLD! DO YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!"
He crawled now, dragging himself forward like an insect, his form barely holding together.
This guy either didn't have an ultimate skill or was too arrogant to use one.
Either way, it didn't matter.
His molten eyes dimmed. His voice—quieter now, but still dripping with venom—whispered, "You think this… is over?"
I tilted my head. "No. But you are."
A final gust of wind swept through the battlefield.
Brukhelm vanished into dust.
And then—
Silence.
A resounding chime marked the end of everything.
Leaving behind only silence… and the lingering echo of divine retribution.