The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order Chapter 2481 The Red King of Paradise

Makeus stood as a massive Peak Archdeity Blutlinie, his form a hideous blend of a burly gorilla and a battle-hardened human fighter. Sharp spikes jutted out from his shoulders, forearms, and back, shaping him into the outline of a breathing war machine. His gaze swept the distant skyline while he commanded a force of two hundred Bloodlines over the vast continent.

Their objective appeared straightforward in concept, but proved fatal in execution: patrol the lands and hunt for any traces of intruders.

The Eternal Soul Kingdom held no illusions. Despite the foes' expert concealment, they recognized the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom's covert operations. The hush across the Realms wasn't tranquility—it was strain drawn to breaking point. As a countermeasure, the Eternal Soul Kingdom positioned soldiers throughout its domains, deploying scouting units all through the Eighth Soul Realm.

Naturally, forces under regular Blutlinie such as Makeus held no chance of overcoming a Royal Blutlinie from the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom.

However, defeating them wasn't the goal.

All they required was enduring sufficiently to dispatch a warning.

And such would suffice for the Eternal Soul King.

Makeus grasped the peril involved. He harbored no illusions. Encountering a Royal Blutlinie would mean death for the majority.

Still, his eyes stayed keen and determined.

Should he detect signs of foes, relay the alert effectively, and make it out alive, the gains would prove enormous.

"Maybe," he pondered, thrill rising in his heart, "it will be enough to advance my Ancestor Drop and at last become a Royal Blutlinie!"

That aspiration set his spirit ablaze.

Achieving such an advancement for a Blutlinie proved exceptionally uncommon. Yet those who managed it frequently exceeded typical Royal Blutlinie. Some ascended even to the King Level.

Makeus' breath hastened a touch at the notion.

"ZNNNNNNNN-"

An eerie noise sliced through the atmosphere, resembling the heavens' veil tearing open.

Makeus whipped his head around.

His eyes grew wide.

Astonishment shifted to dread.

His full company—two hundred Blutlinie—drifted still in the heavens.

Dead.

All of them.

Hearts vanished.

Bodies lingered erect, locked in position like extracted from time's current.

Makeus' thoughts emptied.

Before grasping the occurrence—

Before transmitting back to the Eternal Soul

Kingdom—

A fist wrapped in golden fire thrust into his torso.

Makeus parted his lips to cry out, yet silence followed.

The fist retreated, seizing his throbbing heart.

Quietus Force flooded his frame at once, halting his vitality and soul prior to any response. His awareness faded, shattered, and dissolved effortlessly.

Cain eyed the heart within his grasp, his face wholly unmoved.

Scarlet flames erupted.

The heart dissolved, tissue and gore incinerating until solely a cleansed mote of Ancestor Drop persisted, refined to flawless purity. He performed the ritual on the other hearts. Two hundred diminutive glowing droplets hovered ahead, their merged glow pale against the yield from Jasmir.

Cain merged them promptly.

A intricate grin crossed the Scarlet King's features.

The total sustenance from a complete battalion paled beside even a portion of a Late Royal Blutlinie's contribution.

"Ah... soon I will be able to move freely again," he whispered while drawing the purified core into the Perfect Ancestor Drop housed in his heart.

His might kept expanding.

His craving intensified.

He yearned to pursue genuine titans—Royal Blutlinie, King-Level Overgods. Yet he refrained from rashness. Openly massacring Royal Blutlinie would invite overwhelming scrutiny.

Thus, momentarily, he made do with these inferior detachments.

Thankfully, liberation loomed near.

The Immortal Nirvana Kingdom was certain to dispatch troops into the Eighth Soul Realm. When that tempest broke, turmoil would offer ideal concealment.

Cain drew a deep breath, then consumed the leftover vitality and soul energy from the company's remains. Their forms shriveled to cinders, dispersing on the breeze as if never present.

Then he pressed forward.

For weeks, the Scarlet King's routine echoed the same pattern.

Hunt.

Kill.

Refine.

Grow stronger.

Until at last—

"BOOOOOO0000000000000000MMMMM-!"

A colossal blast reverberated over the far skyline.

Cain had just devoured another detachment when the blast's ripple arrived. The source lay inconceivably distant, but its might sent vibrations quaking the air and brushing his skin.

He halted.

Then—

"Hahahahaha... finally!"

Excitement blazed in his eyes.

Just one form of combat could unleash such ruin.

A confrontation among Royal Blutlinie—at minimum Late Alpha-Omega Overgods.

The Eternal Soul Kingdom forbade infighting with iron rule. None within the Eighth Soul Realm held the madness to challenge Shakra outright.

Only a single cause remained.

The Immortal Nirvana Kingdom's champions had launched their

offensive.

Cain balled his fists.

Lethal resolve and appetite gleamed on his countenance.

He could at last stalk deserving quarry.

Within war's anarchy, the Eternal Soul Kingdom would mistake him for yet another operative of the Immortal Nirvana Kingdom. Should his Ninth Realm roots surface somehow, they couldn't direct full might against him amid blazes consuming their territories.

The initial target surfacing in his thoughts was a Limit Alpha-Omega Overgod—a King Level Royal Blutlinie.

That sort of entity would serve as ideal kindling to spark his second Hollow Star.

Yet Cain refused to let eagerness fog his reasoning.

"First, I need to understand the power and movements of both sides,"

he pondered steadily. "I am strong—but King-Level powerhouses are not opponents I can treat lightly. If their Ancestor Power counters mine, I could die."

Cain honored might—his own and adversaries'.

He had witnessed myriad prodigies plummet from belittling

their rivals.

Frequently, they perished by his doing.

"I need a new identity," he resolved. "One that inspires awe and

mystery. I'll need it for future schemes."

A profound gleam danced in his eyes.

"I can't use Scarlet King anymore... so what about—"

Titles flitted through his mind.

Crimson King arose initially.

But his brother's grinning visage emerged from recollections, prompting instant rejection.

He deliberated a few more moments.

Then a reminiscence from the Crimson World surfaced, drawing a subtle smile.

Lifting his hand to his features, he shaped a mask over them.

A pair of words slipped from his lips.

"Red King"