Chapter 498 – Greed VS Greed [Part 1]
They were back to Nexus Pri.
Vault Nexus was quiet, which was weird. Eerily so.
The glass corridors refracted that otherworldly shimr again—the kind you only saw when infernal pressure was thick enough to snap bones if you breathed wrong. They weren’t even masking their auras this ti. Both of them were still in battle form.
They stepped into the main corridor toward the High Office, and Seraphyne glanced up from behind the desk, eyes narrowing. Her usual playful calm cracked for half a breath.
"...What happened?"
Lux didn’t answer. Not even a twitch in her direction. His eyes were locked sowhere else—sowhere far. Sowhere below.
Zavros waved it off with a smooth chuckle. "Nothing, darling. Just keeping up appearances. You know, for safety. Always best to stay in armor."
She turned toward Lux, arms folding. "Is that right, Lux?"
Still nothing.
He didn’t even blink.
Just this quiet, coiled focus radiating off him like he was inside so invisible math equation with blood for variables. His head tilted just slightly, calculating.
Then...
"Dad," he said, still not looking at her. "Mind if we do so quality ti?"
Zavros blinked. "Quality ti?" His brow lifted. "Are you... wait. Are you saying you’ve forgiven ?"
Lux finally turned to him. "No."
Zavros winced. "Ouch."
"I just want to confirm sothing," Lux said flatly.
Zavros narrowed his eyes. "Confirm what—?"
But Lux had already grabbed his shoulder.
And they vanished.
Materialized again in the Vault’s private arena, hidden behind layers of security—deep inside the Tower, where deals turned bloody and so contracts ended in ash.
The training grounds weren’t for fitness. This wasn’t a gym.
This was for warlords. For lords who didn’t like losing in negotiation and needed a place to get humbled. Or worse.
The air inside was thick, electric. Stained by past violence. The ceiling dod, walls runed with old Infernal glyphs of Pact and Enforcent. You fought here, you bet your na. Your honor. Your T&C. Winner writes the terms.
Zavros let out a low whistle. "Been a while since I stood here."
"Still works," Lux said flatly.
Zavros stepped forward, boots thudding on the cracked onyx tiles. "A little dustier than I rember. Little... ssier."
Lux shrugged. "Don’t bring guests often. Last ti soone wanted to fight instead of sign, I let them."
Then Lux stepped back without warning—vanishing in a flicker of teleportation—then reappeared twenty ters across the obsidian floor. His eyes glowed faintly. The shadows around him deepened.
Zavros straightened. "Wait... we’re actually—"
"I want to see how far I’ve co," Lux said. "Without you. And without... other things."
The arena trembled.
"Abyssal Grasp."
Black tendrils burst from beneath Zavros, ripping through the obsidian like it was wet cloth. They lashed upward, writhing in impossible directions, jaws opening across each length like hungry serpents.
Zavros snapped a hand outward.
"Ledgerfang."
The golden chain spiraled, severing three tendrils instantly. They evaporated into shadow mist. But more ca. And more. Dozens. Lux stood there, unmoving, just watching. Eyes sharp. Calculating.
Zavros ducked under another lunge and called out, "Okay, seriously. Are we doing family therapy or trying to kill each other?"
No answer.
Lux vanished again.
Then reappeared just behind Zavros, dual daggers stabbing toward his back in a perfect X-strike—aid not for kill points, but for tendon lockouts. Smart. Surgical.
But Zavros twisted. He caught one wrist in midair. Golden energy exploded outward. Lux gritted his teeth and vanished again before the burst could trap him.
He reappeared up high, on one of the curved arena beams. Shadows cloaked his body. His breath was calm. Steady.
Zavros glared up. "You’re seriously mad."
Lux didn’t deny it.
Instead...
"Demonic Orbs..."
The orbs materialized around him. All fifty. Floating like a halo of curse-packed fury. Each one radiating a different flavor of doom. Debt. Explosion. Minor implosion. Mana siphon. Even one that made a fart noise when it hit.
Zavros’s brow lifted. "Oh, great. The angry rubber balls."
Lux waved a hand.
The orbs rained down.
Zavros dashed forward, chain cracking through the air, striking ten out of the sky with clean efficiency. They bounced. One detonated. Another struck the floor, ricocheted like a pinball, and slamd into Zavros’s shoulder.
"Shit!"
-Boom!
Minor explosion. More smoke than pain.
Lux used the mont to teleport again, this ti down low—dragging his daggers along the floor, carving a rune mid-movent.
"Abyssal Grasp!"
The tendrils ca back with a vengeance—twisting, doubling, coiling. This ti they ca with sound. A hiss that turned into whispers.
Zavros’s boots slid. He threw out a pulse of chain energy.
"Dominion Anchor."
A golden circle exploded beneath him, pinning the arena’s energy and canceling half the tendrils mid-surge. The others wrapped around his legs, but not tight enough to break stance.
"Lux," Zavros grunted, "If this is about Zoltarin getting in your head—"
"It’s not," Lux said, voice distant.
"Then what is it?"
Silence.
Only shadows.
Then—
Lux appeared again. This ti not behind, not above, but below. He ca from the floor, pulled upward by his own Grasp tendrils like a puppet from Hell, daggers spinning like buzzsaws.
Zavros ducked. Blocked. One blade grazed his cheek.
Blood.
Lux’s first hit.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t even blink.
He just humd and kept going. Teleport. Strike. Vanish. Reappear.
Zavros was fast. Strong. Tactical. But Lux had been optimizing for years. Every debt orb that bounced was a data point. Every clash of tal taught him sothing. He wasn’t fighting to win. He was fighting to learn sothing.
And Zavros realized it.
"You’re not even mad," he muttered, catching another blade with his wrapped forearm. "You’re profiling ."
Lux twisted out of the lock and struck low. "Correct."
"Calculating my moves. Testing counter-asures. This is research."
Lux vanished.
Then whispered behind him. "Correct again."
Zavros swore and spun, chain wrapping outward, slicing through three more orbs, but a fourth snuck behind.
-Boom!
It exploded against his back, sending him sliding ten ters across the arena. His boots left burning marks on the stone. He hissed, but didn’t fall.
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