Chapter 334: Unexpected Enemy

Chapter 334: Unexpected EnemyBut just as Apollo and the two were leaving, another group of people appeared.

A spatial ripple tore open in the distance—and another group emerged. Their footsteps echoed faintly over the cracked battlefield, where the scent of divine blood still lingered in the air.

The group that appeared was weird, as it seemed it wasn’t a single force but a combination of multiple smaller forces in the universe. There wasn’t a single transcendent force member within the group.

Not on that they seemed to lead by the weird inhabitant of the sanctum, whose aura was a bit mysterious.

Tall, thin, draped in robes woven from strands of star-dust and shadows, the leader wasn’t human.

His eyes glowed a dull silver aura, like old moonlight reflecting off still water, and his skin carried faint patterns—runes or scars—that shifted subtly as he walked. The space around him rippled unnaturally, as though the Sanctum itself bent slightly to accommodate his presence.

"A native of the Sanctum?" Sara whispered, stepping closer to Apollo. "I thought they were hostile..."

"Most are," Clark muttered. "But this one... feels different."

Apollo didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the person.

The mysterious being finally halted a short distance from the battlefield of Arvain. His followers stood behind him in reverent silence and looked at Arvain and Apollo’s group.

A hush fell over the ruined field, heavy and watchful.

Arvain, who had been turning away, paused mid-step. His cloak whispered against the scorched stones as he slowly turned back, his gaze now fixed on the new arrivals.

The native—if that’s what he truly was—offered neither threat nor greeting. He simply observed. Silent. Timeless.

Then, in a voice as old as the stars, he spoke. "What a surprise! I didn’t expect to meet the two strongest geniuses of this era at the same time."

"Especially the monstrous genius that cleared the ninth floor of the Tower of Epoch."

Saying that he looked at the distant Apollo with interest. As he also knows how difficult the Tower of Epoch is, learning someone finally cleared it shocked him to the core.

You have to know that even in ancient times, at the beginning, when geniuses were like dogs and the universe had just started to expand, even then, nobody reached such a level, yet this time someone really did the impossible that those mighty beings with supreme talent weren’t able to do.

The air twisted faintly around the silver-eyed native, as if reality itself held its breath.

Apollo, calm as still water after hearing the ancient native’s words, met his gaze. His face gave nothing away, but inside, a quiet tide of caution stirred. He recognised this kind of presence, which was just like the suppressed ancient person he met at the beginning. ’Hmm’, he felt something but still remained calm.

Meaning this person’s strength would be extremely strong, and the cultivation level doesn’t mean anything, as he can also have a secret technique that temporarily lifts the binding suppression of their strength.

The group behind the native stayed still, like shadows. They seemed to be clearly following the ancient native, like they knew each other.

A ripple of unease spread through Sara and Clark. Though they had faced danger after danger within the Tower, this moment felt different. Heavier. Like a hidden weight pressing on their very souls. There were many things peculiar about him. Like, why the hell are those smaller forces following the guy? It’s like they planned it.

Still, Apollo didn’t move.

He let silence answer for him.

And in that stillness, the ancient native seemed to smile. And then looked at Arvain and said, "Although I wanted to have a good chat with the monstrous genius, I have come for you, the genius from the hall of hell."

Arvain paused mid-step.

His back was still to the native, but something cold flashed across his eyes. A flicker of emotion—recognition, even restraint. He did not speak right away, but instantly the demonic phantom behind him stirred again, its form more solid now, darker, burning with judgement.

The atmosphere became tense again, and Arvain was ready to fight, as although the words seemed plain, he felt a hint of hostility in them. It was clear that he might have beef with Hall of Hell.

"Hmm, didn’t expect this time I would meet someone from the hall of hell, not to mention a super genius. But your luck isn’t good that you met me."

The air thickened like coagulated blood as the ancient native’s final words dropped, slow and deliberate, into the battlefield’s silence.

Arvain didn’t turn. His cloak rippled, caught in the phantom’s rising breath behind him. The darkness around him deepened, the phantom now fully manifest—a colossal silhouette with blazing crimson eyes and chains forged from sins long buried. Every breath it took let out a muffled scream from the air itself.

Sara instinctively took a step back. Clark clenched his fists, energy crackling around him. But Apollo remained motionless, watching.

"Hmm, you talk a lot; if you want to try, then bring it on." Arvain said with a cold smile filled with a fierce and cold demonic aura.

The tension snapped like a drawn bowstring.

The native’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him changed—the subtle ripple of space unravelling. He raised a single hand, and the battlefield trembled.

Earth cracked. Light dimmed. Pressure fell like a thousand-tonne weight onto the entire field.

"Good kid, then ready to face me. But don’t worry; I won’t kill you. I need your help to contact those old friends of mine in the Hall of hell."

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Without another word, he raised his fist—and punched the air.

Crack!

The space itself shattered, as if a mirror of spatial layers had been struck. A shockwave burst outward, not just through air and stone, but through the very essence of the world. The fist aura that followed wasn’t simply powerful—it was unnatural. It carried the weight of stars and powerful ancient beings.

The pressure slammed toward Arvain like the will of a dying star.

Chains behind him clinked.

And the phantom behind him roared.

With that roar, the Arvain also burst out with terrifying strength.

The air turned thick with malice, the shadows darker, heavier, and alive. Crimson lightning danced across the phantom’s chains, and with that roar, Arvain moved.

A single step forward—and the ground cracked.

Demonic energy surged from his body, spiralling upward like a pillar of wrath.