Chapter 122 119: The Eight-Armed Warrior and the Escape

"You all wait here for a little while. I'll be back very shortly."

"Understood, my Lord."

Regulus gave a casual nod before turning and striding directly in the direction the two suspicious figures had departed.

Watching his brisk departure, the girls left behind near the campsite couldn't help but feel a wave of curiosity. This was especially true for the newer arrivals in the household, who were still adjusting to the dynamics.

Several curious glances fell upon Beatrice and Sphinx—the two who, chronologically speaking, had known Regulus the longest.

"Who were those two people just now?" one of the newer wives asked softly.

"Betty doesn't know them, I suppose," Beatrice answered, crossing her small arms with a huff. "At least in Betty's memories, there are no such individuals. Perhaps they are mere acquaintances from his travels, and he simply wished to catch up."

"I feel as though I possess some faint impression of them, but I cannot immediately recall their identities," Sphinx murmured, her brow furrowing slightly as she sifted through Echidna's vast mental archives.

If she only held a vague impression, it meant she had likely never encountered them in person, but rather read their intelligence profiles or heard historical reports.

In particular, the towering warrior accompanying that sickly, ominous man possessed multiple limbs—a member of the Multi-Arm Clan. And having eight arms was an exceedingly rare, legendary mutation even among their kind.

Suddenly, a clear profile locked into place within her memory.

An eight-armed master swordsman paired with a pale, sickly man radiating an aura of decaying royalty... this unmistakable combination could only belong to one pair: Stride Vollachia, an exiled Imperial Prince of the neighboring Holy Vollachia Empire, and Kurugan, the legendary 'Eight-Arm' recognized as one of the empire's greatest warriors!

Realizing their identities, Sphinx cast a subtle glance at the other wives.

A few of the less combat-oriented girls seemed entirely oblivious, but sharp figures like Theresia and Carol appeared to have quietly recognized the Vollachian figures as well. Yet, not a single person raised an alarm or spoke up.

This silence was entirely natural. They were currently on their grand honeymoon tour; there was no reason to dwell on foreign political turmoil and ruin their pleasant mood. Furthermore, their silence stemmed from their unwavering, boundless faith in Regulus's strength.

Regardless of whether Kurugan was hailed as the greatest warrior of Vollachia, in this world, no mortal or spirit could ever stand as an equal match against Regulus.

"If the memory is unclear, there is no need to trouble yourself over it," Julia stepped in smoothly, diffusing the tension with a gentle smile. "Perhaps he truly just went to settle an old matter. How about we head over to explore the entrance of the ruins first?"

While the wives set off toward the excavation site, Regulus had already closed the distance on Stride and Kurugan.

He maintained a deliberate, calculated buffer. His priority was to draw them sufficiently far away from his wives' campsite so that any potential area-of-effect collateral damage wouldn't reach them. If Stride possessed some wide-range magical artifact or sinister technique, keeping a perimeter was the safest approach.

To be completely honest, even with his absolute, invincible Authority, Regulus remained cautious. He wasn't worried about losing or suffering a counterattack—his defense was conceptually impenetrable. Rather, without a complete grasp of Stride's specific hidden abilities and schemes, there was a high probability the slippery prince might manage to slip away.

Having finally crossed paths with an infamous figure of chaos, Regulus had zero intention of letting him escape.

However, to Regulus's slight surprise...

After trailing them for only a short distance through the rocky canyon, the two figures abruptly halted.

In the very next fraction of a second, Kurugan—who had been guarding Stride's flank—turned and charged toward Regulus with explosive, terrifying speed!

The terrain practically shattered under the warrior's sudden acceleration. Regulus found it somewhat baffling how his presence had been detected so cleanly across such a wide gap.

Kurugan gave him zero time to analyze.

Closing the distance in a single breath, the eight-armed giant threw a heavy, mountain-splitting punch straight toward Regulus's face.

Thud!

A dull, anti-climactic sound echoed through the canyon.

"Ngh...?!"

A low grunt of sheer bewilderment escaped Kurugan's throat. His devastating, boulder-crushing blow had struck Regulus squarely, yet the white-haired young man hadn't budged a single millimeter. His expression remained entirely indifferent.

'A defensive magical artifact...?' Kurugan analyzed instantly.

A true veteran of a thousand battlefields, Kurugan did not freeze for even a microsecond. The moment his first strike proved ineffective, his other seven fists followed in a torrential, sonic barrage. Simultaneously, two of his hands whipped behind his back, drawing a pair of massive, cleaver-like Demon Cleavers and slashing downward in a lethal cross.

Facing the descending blades, Regulus casually raised his right hand.

His open palm met the edge of the Demon Cleaver.

Snap!

The mastercrafted steel cleaver shattered into pieces as if it were brittle glass. Regulus's hand, frozen in time and carrying infinite momentum, sheared straight through the blade and severed Kurugan's entire right forearm in an instantaneous spray of blood!

Kurugan's brow furrowed in pain, but not a single cry escaped his lips. Relying purely on his honed warrior instincts, he forcefully kicked off the air, retreating several dozen paces in a blinding flash.

If his battle-hardened instincts hadn't forced him to pull back a fraction of an inch earlier, it wouldn't have been just an arm that was severed—his entire torso would have been bisected cleanly.

Regulus lowered his hand, glancing at the retreating warrior. He hadn't expected the eight-armed swordsman to dodge the fatal blow; severing an arm was already a testament to the man's absurd reflexes.

Regulus casually crouched down, completely unbothered by Kurugan's murderous glare, and scooped up a handful of loose sand and pebbles from the ground.

Kurugan, whose eyes were locked onto Regulus's every micro-movement, forcefully suppressed his instinct to rush forward.

"I'm genuinely curious," Regulus asked casually, letting the sand sift between his fingers. "How did you manage to spot me from so far away?"

"You vastly underestimate a seasoned warrior's perception of malice—especially unfiltered killing intent," Kurugan replied, his deep voice steady despite his bleeding stump. "Even across a great distance, that familiar, lethal stench is as unmistakable as dangling fresh raw meat before a starving wolf."

"Ah. So that's how it is," Regulus nodded in understanding.

Killing intent and bloodlust were real sensory phenomena in this fantasy world, but for a modern transmigrator like Regulus, who relied entirely on conceptual Authority rather than martial cultivation, the concept of concealing one's aura was completely alien. Since he couldn't comprehend it, he naturally couldn't hide it.

As their brief exchange ended, Kurugan raised his remaining blades, his vigilance dialed to its absolute maximum.

Regulus eyes casually shifted past the giant, locking onto the pale figure of Stride Vollachia standing in the distance.

Without a word, Regulus flicked his wrist, hurling the handful of sand and pebbles forward.

The moment Regulus made the throwing motion, Kurugan—having anticipated the trajectory from his stance—moved with desperate speed.

He threw his massive body directly into the firing line between Regulus and Stride, crossing his remaining six arms and raising his cleavers to form an impenetrable wall of steel and muscle.

Regulus inwardly admired the warrior's loyalty, but silently shook his head at the sheer futility of the gesture.

There might be beings in this world capable of enduring his time-frozen projectiles—like the Sword Saint with divine protections—but the mortal warrior before him was certainly not one of them.

BOOM!

The pebbles and sand did not merely hit; they obliterated the space they occupied. The projectiles tore through Kurugan's steel cleavers, muscles, and bones as if passing through thin air, erupting into a massive, crimson mist of blood.

Carrying uninterrupted, infinite kinetic energy, the supersonic barrage pierced straight through the giant and blasted into the exact spot where Stride Vollachia was standing!

The dense crimson mist slowly dissipated in the mountain wind.

"Huh...?"

Regulus's brow furrowed deeply. In a single step, he closed the distance and materialized at the crater where Stride had been standing moments prior.

The ground was shredded, and a distinct puddle of fresh blood was splattered across the shattered stone.

Yet, the body of Stride Vollachia was completely gone.

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Give me powerstones.

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