Chapter 133: Leon Against Kaelen (2)

Leon didn’t draw his sword. He didn’t summon his Legendary axe. He didn’t even blink.

His cognitive processing, elevated to an astronomical degree by his talents, mapped the entire trajectory of the swing before Kaelen’s muscles had even fully committed to the motion. To Leon, the blazing halberd was moving through thick mud.

Leon stepped inside the arc of the swing. He raised his bare, leather-gloved left hand and caught the superheated blade of the halberd.

The plasma roared, attempting to incinerate his palm. But Leon’s biological framework was perfect. The localized anti-magic field of his passive talents instantly severed the elemental supply to the weapon, reducing the apocalyptic fire to a harmless, dying spark.

Kaelen’s eyes widened in absolute horror. He tried to pull the halberd back, but the weapon was locked in place, held entirely immobile by a grip that defied physical law.

"You call yourself an Emperor," Leon said softly, his voice devoid of echo, sounding directly inside Kaelen’s mind.

Leon’s right fist blurred.

He drove his knuckles directly into the center of Kaelen’s chest. The strike did not carry any flashy magical effects. It was simply raw, unmitigated kinetic force delivered by an entity that had long since shattered the Adept boundary.

The heavy, high-tier armor imploded. The thick metal caved inward, shattering ribs and completely rupturing the breath from Kaelen’s lungs. The concussive shockwave of the punch blasted out the back of Kaelen’s armor, tearing a localized trench into the grass behind him.

Kaelen let go of the halberd, his eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to his knees, violently gasping for air that his ruined body refused to take in.

Leon casually tossed the massive crimson halberd aside. It clattered uselessly into the dirt.

"You rule over beginners. You suffocate the weak to build a fragile throne," Leon continued, stepping closer, looking down at the broken tyrant.

Kaelen forced his head up, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. The aristocratic, arrogant facade was entirely gone, replaced by the frantic, terrified desperation of a cornered animal. He tried to project his aura, tried to command the space around him, but the presence of the man standing over him was devouring his mana.

Leon reached down, grabbing the front of Kaelen’s shattered chest plate, and effortlessly hoisted the man back to his feet.

Kaelen desperately swung a wild, uncoordinated hook at Leon’s jaw. Leon didn’t even bother to block it. He let the armored fist connect.

The moment Kaelen’s knuckles struck Leon’s jaw, the reactive kinetic defense of Leon’s physical framework triggered. The dense, natural calcification hardened Leon’s skin, completely absorbing the impact, and instantaneously reflected a massive portion of the raw kinetic force back through Kaelen’s arm.

Kaelen screamed as his own wrist snapped backward with a sickening crunch, the bones fracturing under the reflected shockwave.

Leon didn’t let him fall. He maintained his grip on the ruined armor, holding the Guild Master suspended.

"Look at you," Leon whispered, his icy blue eye piercing through Kaelen’s fading consciousness. "You crossed an entire sector, and dared to bring your pathetic, borrowed authority into my home, and against my wife."

With a casual, almost dismissive flick of his wrist, Leon threw Kaelen again.

This time, Kaelen crashed directly into the rushing, glowing blue waters of the mana-waterfall. The freezing, heavy water slammed him against the jagged rocks, extinguishing the ambient heat of his armor and leaving him half-submerged, choking on mud and water.

Standing on the porch of the ruined estate, Snow slowly pulled herself up. Her white hair was disheveled, and her lip was bleeding, but she watched the absolute, one-sided slaughter with wide, awe-struck eyes. She had felt Leon’s power during their sparring sessions, but he had always held back. He had always restrained himself.

This was him completely unrestrained. It wasn’t a fight. It was a prolonged execution.

Kaelen dragged himself out of the water, his crimson armor dented, broken, and dripping with mud. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. Every breath was a ragged, wet rattle. The golden-red ring of his domain had shattered completely, his willpower broken by the insurmountable, catastrophic gap between them.

He was Level 46. He had believed he was one of the absolute pinnacle of players in Eternal Heaven. He had believed his SS-rank talent made him a localized deity.

But as he looked at the man walking slowly toward him across the grass—a man whose footfalls made no sound, whose aura completely consumed the ambient light of the valley—Kaelen realized the horrifying truth.

The despair that settled over Kaelen was absolute. He had sacrificed many players to reach this point. He had burned down supply lines, murdered rivals, and built an empire of blood and fear, all to ensure he would never be helpless. Yet here he was, shivering in the mud, entirely powerless to stop the monster approaching him.

He couldn’t win. He couldn’t even damage him.

Kaelen’s dark, bloodshot eyes darted frantically around the clearing. He saw the shattered trees. He saw his ruined halberd. And then, hovering terrified near the treeline, he saw his two subordinates.

Silas and Sienna had not engaged. They had watched their Guild Master be systematically dismantled in less than thirty seconds. They were paralyzed by fear, unable to flee, unable to intervene.

Kaelen’s gaze locked onto Silas, the Level 33 Rogue.

A twisted, desperate madness flooded Kaelen’s ruined mind. If he couldn’t win with his current stats, he needed more. He needed to forcibly break his own limits. And an Emperor had the absolute right to consume the lives of his subjects to sustain the throne.

He dragged himself through the mud, moving with a sudden, frantic burst of adrenaline toward the treeline.

Leon stopped walking. He tilted his head slightly, watching the pathetic display. He could have closed the distance and severed Kaelen’s head in a microsecond, but he sensed the shift in the Kaelen’s mana core. He wanted to see what desperate, final card the broken king was attempting to play.

"Guild... Guild Master," Silas stammered, backing away as the blood-soaked, mangled form of Kaelen approached him. "We need to run. We can use the Void Horse—"

Kaelen didn’t summon his steed. He didn’t offer an order of retreat.

His uninjured right hand shot out, moving with the desperate speed of a dying man, and clamped directly over the top of Silas’s head. His fingers dug violently into the his scalp.

Silas let out a shriek of terror, his hands flying up to grab Kaelen’s wrist. "Wait! What are you doing?!"

Kaelen fell to his knees, dragging Silas down with him into the dirt. He didn’t look at his subordinate. His mad, bloodshot eyes were locked entirely on Leon, burning with a final, consuming obsession to close the gap.

The air around Kaelen’s hand flared with a sickening, necrotic crimson light. It was not the proud golden-red of his standard domain; it was the foul, parasitic glow of absolute consumption.

Kaelen tightened his grip on the screaming Silas’ skull, blood pouring from his own mouth as he forced his broken mana core to activate the darkest, most forbidden facet of his talent.

"Imperial decree," Kaelen gasped, the words bubbling with blood and absolute malice. "Level absorption activate!"