Chapter 141: Meeting Khamsin Vampires Again
Lucian immediately activated Primordial Sight.
Information flooded his vision.
Name: Khalil al-Khamsin
Race: True Born Vampire
Cultivation base: Peak Core Realm
Bloodline ability: A-Rank: Blood Mist
Name: Omar al-Khamsin
Race: Half-Breed Vampire
Cultivation base: Peak Core Realm
Bloodline ability: A-Rank: Blood Mist
Quest generated:
Survive
Reward: ???
Lucian’s frown deepened.
Bruno looked at the two figures standing in the rain, their skin untouched by the poison, their presence heavy enough to make the air itself feel thicker. "Who are they?"
"Vampires," Lucian said.
Wei Chen looked at them like they were weirdos. "Are you two serious right now?"
Lucian ignored him. His crimson eyes locked onto Khalil. "You’re a long way from Egypt."
Khalil tilted his head. A smile spread across his face.
"Oh, it seems you know who we are, don’t you?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You did quite a number on my little sister. You should know her — Zara al-Khamsin."
He laughed.
"It was so funny seeing her trembling. Dude, you traumatized her. Even I haven’t been able to do that in the last fifty years."
Omar shifted beside him. He reached up and removed his hood, revealing sharp features, dark eyes burning with barely contained fury.
"Come on, Khalil. We are not here to chat."
He turned to Lucian. His voice dropped to something cold and flat.
"You dare to touch my wife with your filthy hands. I will ensure you have no proper use for them."
Khalil sighed. "Hey, chill out, Omar. We can’t kill him just yet."
Omar’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but the killing intent radiating from him intensified until the rain around his feet turned to mist.
Khalil turned back to Lucian, his smile returning. "I must thank you. You put on quite the profile in the tournament. If not for that, finding you would have been more difficult."
Wei Chen scratched the back of his head. "It seems this is a family problem." He looked at Lucian with a raised eyebrow. "Dude, did you rape his wife or something? Because I see no other reason that guy is showing so much killing intent."
Bruno looked at Wei Chen with a serious expression. "Come on, man, this is serious." He turned to Lucian. "But dude, did you rape his wife?"
Lucian’s expression didn’t change. "No way. She’s not my type."
The air shifted.
Omar dissolved.
One second he was standing ten meters away. The next, he was gone — his entire body breaking apart into a cloud of dark crimson mist that surged forward faster than Lucian’s eyes could track.
Lucian’s pupils dilated. His hands came up on reflex —
CRACK.
A kick connected with his crossed forearms. The impact was enormous — his bones screamed, his feet left the ground, and he was launched backward through the air. He crashed through the wall of a building — boom-crash — stone and debris exploding outward — and tumbled across the interior floor before slamming into the far wall.
Thud.
Pain flared through his arms. His Eternal Regeneration kicked in immediately, knitting the hairline fractures in his radius and ulna, but the sheer force of the blow stunned him for a full second.
Fast. Too fast.
Wei Chen’s hand went to his sword. He drew — shiiiing — and began a horizontal slash aimed at Omar.
Khalil appeared beside him as in the next second, his palm was resting casually on the tip of Wei Chen’s blade, stopping the draw mid-swing.
Wei Chen frowned. The muscles in his sword arm strained. His feet slid backward an inch.
Strong.
Khalil looked at him with mild interest. "For a guy who is said to be the strongest in the tournament, you’re quite weak."
Bruno roared and threw a punch at Khalil’s head. His body shimmered as he activated his strengthening ability — muscles bulging, skin hardening, A-Rank density flooding through his frame.
Khalil didn’t dodge. He simply raised his free hand and caught Bruno’s fist.
Thwack.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the rain around them. Khalil’s feet skidded back half a meter on the wet stone. He looked down at Bruno’s fist, then back up at Bruno’s face.
"That packed quite the punch."
Bruno’s other hand was already moving.
"Martial King Fist Art — Second Form: Tremor King’s Impact."
His fist drove into Khalil’s chest — a heavy, straight punch that landed with devastating precision. The moment his knuckles made contact, a concentrated shockwave erupted from the impact point — BOOM — rippling through Khalil’s body and the air behind him. The ground beneath Khalil’s feet cratered.
Khalil was pushed back five meters. His boots carved trenches in the stone.
Then he stabilized. His feet planted. The crater in his chest — visible through his torn shirt — began healing, flesh knitting together in real time.
Bruno rolled his shoulders. "I was planning to use this technique in the finals, but too bad I wasn’t able to participate."
The Martial King Fist Art. The perfect conversion of physiological mass into destructive kinetic energy. An advanced martial science built specifically to unlock and weaponize the maximum potential of an A-Rank strengthened body.
In Bruno’s eyes, a standard punch only used the muscles of the arm and shoulder. The Martial King Fist was a system of kinetic stacking. It required gripping the ground with the toes, snapping the calves, rotating the hips, and channeling that combined momentum upward through a rigid, reinforced spine. By the time the force reached the fist, Bruno’s A-Rank muscle density compressed the energy, multiplying his natural striking power exponentially.
A major component was instantaneous rigidity. To avoid tearing his own joints apart under his A-Rank strength, Bruno kept his muscles relaxed and fluid during the wind-up to maximize speed. At the exact millisecond of impact, he contracted every single muscle fiber in his upper body simultaneously — turning his fist, wrist, and forearm into a single, solid piece of biological steel that could not bend or break.
Wei Chen smirked. His sword was fully drawn now, the blade humming with faint sword intent.
"Let’s end this charade."
Khalil laughed. The wound on his chest finished closing, leaving smooth, unblemished skin behind. He rolled his neck, cracking it loudly — pop-pop — and let his hands fall to his sides.
"Getting cocky just from landing a single hit."