Chapter 88
How long had it even been? Soren had already thoroughly conquered her.
Battle intent surged in the sky again.
Basil hurried his gaze back, terrified of missing what came next.
Caspar wore a grim look, thinking this fiend was truly devilish.
Neal had shown his trump card, and Soren disdained even using demonic techniques.
The gap was clear at a glance.
If the black-robed man didn’t step in, Neal would absolutely lose.
It was over, his granddaughter was going to be humiliated by this fiend. Caspar felt a sharp pang, and with a groan coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The faint smile left the black-robed man’s face, replaced by astonishment and conflict, his fingers tapped against his arm, deep unease settling over him.
This brat was only a freshly advanced Upper-Tier Demon Emperor, but there was something uncanny about him, he couldn’t find the ceiling, every attack escalated.
Not one pair of punches had carried the same force.
Let him keep climbing like this, and even a genuine Lower-Tier Demon Ancestor couldn’t suppress him.
Should he step in? But the limit was still unknown.
What if he intervened and just did all the work for Neal? Or wait until he’d gauged the limit and confirmed there was no threat? But then wouldn’t he miss a once-in-a-thousand-years chance?
He weighed it back and forth, then he decided.
Strike.
Failing to kill Soren now was releasing a tiger back into the mountains, already on par with a Lower-Tier Ancestor, given time to grow, Soren would become the Heavenly Demon Alliance’s greatest threat.
"Great Emperor Neal, allow me to assist you!"
The black-robed man pulled the felt hat from his head, revealing chiseled, sharp-edged features, each one flawless and domineering on its own, together they gave off an indescribable air of sinister malevolence.
In the brief moment Neal was distracted, Soren slammed a fist into his forehead, he tumbled through the air seven or eight times before crashing into the ground.
If you’re going to intervene, just do it! Did you have to announce it out loud? That hurt like hell!
Neal touched his forehead, already swollen into a huge lump, and this while wearing the armor’s helmet, without the spiritually condensed helmet, that punch would have killed him.
"Blood Demon Ancestor, strike quick! Help me suppress Soren!"
"This is no time to split hairs over whose job is whose, we focus together!"
"This guy’s absurdly strong, I underestimated him!"
As he said it his face went red with humiliation, moments ago he’d talked such a big game, and in the end he hadn’t had room to fight back.
Grand ideals, brutal reality. Soren was shoving it right down his throat.
Absolute silence reigned, the cultivators exchanged bewildered looks, eyes overflowing with shock.
"Hey, did you hear that? Great Emperor Neal just called him... Blood Demon Ancestor."
"That black-robed man is a demon?"
"What’s going on? Great Emperor Neal hates the demon race most! How could he collude with a demon?"
The Blood Demon Ancestor smirked, a chilling glint on his face, he couldn’t care less about the chatter of small fry, or how Neal cleaned up the mess.
He unleashed his full aura, the spiritual disguise shattered, transforming into overwhelming demonic might that swept the heavens and covered the earth.
It slammed against the formation shielding the human cultivators.
Cracks spread across one wall of the formation, terrified by the eruption, the crowd scrambled backward, shrieking.
"He really is a demon!"
"And he’s at the Ancestor Realm!"
"A Lower-Tier Demon Ancestor!"
As he unveiled his true realm, everyone was frightened speechless.
The appearance of an Ancestor Realm expert shook them to their souls.
Only after tasting the Blood Demon Ancestor’s coercion did they understand the gulf between being comparable to a Lower-Tier Ancestor and being a genuine one.
A completely different level.
Donning the Myriad Spirits Battle Armor and channeling everyone’s power, Neal could arguably rival a Lower-Tier Ancestor, his presence was still vastly beneath the Blood Demon Ancestor’s.
As the Demon Ancestor joined the field, Lysara tensed, hands clenching so tight her polished nails cut into her palms, blood trickling out unnoticed.
The Blood Demon Ancestor’s aura clearly suppressed Soren’s by a head.
If he and Neal joined forces, Soren would have almost no chance, however much she trusted Soren, however deeply she believed he still hid trump cards, the oppression of an Ancestor Realm aura was too absurd.
The Blood Demon Ancestor had been sent by the Heavenly Demon Alliance specifically to deal with Orathis.
Orathis was a Middle-Tier Spirit Ancestor, which meant that while the Blood Demon Ancestor looked Lower-Tier, he likely hid trump cards that wouldn’t lose to a Middle-Tier.
That was what filled Lysara with real dread, anyone at Neal’s level, Soren wouldn’t have blinked.
"I really am... way too weak, I can’t help him with anything at all!"
Basil spoke up. "Lysara, don’t belittle yourself."
"At your age, breaking through to the Emperor Realm and becoming the first female Great Emperor of our domain this era, that alone crushes countless prodigies. As your master, I feel infinite pride in having taught a disciple like you."
He turned his eyes to Soren. "Demon Emperor Soren is an anomaly, there’s no need to compare yourself to him."
"Mn." Lysara nodded, though her heart wouldn’t settle, she wanted to do things for Soren. More. So much more.
"It seems this old man has no reason to linger in nostalgia anymore," Basil said.
"If even Neal, master of the Imperial Palace, secretly colludes with demons, then neither you nor I need feel any remorse."
As his words faded, the Blood Demon Ancestor charged into the fray, pincering Soren alongside Neal.
The crowd thought the outcome was set, with a Demon Ancestor in the fight, Soren would fall fast, maybe die on the spot.
Reality proved otherwise, and left everyone bewildered.
A mysterious, eerie sword covered in pulsating vein-like patterns appeared in Soren’s hand.
It carried an unnatural, terrifying sharpness.
Off the bat, a single slash tore a massive gash into Neal’s battle armor.
Sword wind poured through the rift, ripping his flesh, skin, and periosteum, blood sprayed from the crack, and he was driven back, landing hard, gasping as he frantically tried to steady himself.