Chapter 135: Desert Butcher Renekton, Xerath's Attack

Just across the desert, the audience saw the beast—

A crocodile is walking upright. Its armor has become mottled after decaying underground for thousands of years. The hardened mud and dirt have covered the dull gold and rusted bronze. A heavy tail is supported behind it.

Renekton, the Desert Butcher, brother of Nasus.

Maybe it could have been called an Ascended Being once, but now it is just a beast seeking revenge.

……

——"What the hell!! Is this crocodile Renekton?"

——"This scene contains so much information!"

——“It turns out that Nasus and Renekton are brothers!”

——"Is it the sun disc that makes them ascenders?"

——"The Ascended ones no longer look like humans. Nasus has turned into a jackal, and Renekton has turned into a crocodile."

——"Damn! This crocodile looks much more ferocious than Nasus!"

In Nasus' memories, everyone saw him and Renekton ascending together under the light of the sun disc, and also saw the scene of Shurima's destruction.

The sun disk floating in the air lost the force that supported it and turned into yellow sand, and the capital was destroyed.

The final scene shows Nasus and Renekton fighting against a ball of dark energy. The huge jackals and crocodiles are filled with the power of the sun and the desert, but they are still unable to completely destroy the energy body.

Until finally, Renekton and this ball of dark energy fell into the underground imperial tomb.

……

Nasus stood at the top of the temple, the votive bands wrapped around his arms and belt billowing in the wind. He planted his axe on the rough stone and looked around.

The sun disk reflected thousands of flakes of sunlight, and the metal surface was very rough, obviously not polished enough. The hemp rope was extremely unsightly, and the clumsy work of the Vikaura people was exposed here. The top floor was almost undecorated, no huge stone platform engraved with the starry sky, no crimson curtains, and no reliefs of heroes who had passed the ascension ceremony.

Ten warriors, wearing dusty cloaks and covered in bronze plate armor, stood between Nasus and the priest. He was a tall, thin man wearing a robe covered with iridescent feathers, with large sleeves like wings and a turban like an ebony bird's beak. His face beneath the turban looked noble, without mercy, and awe-inspiring.

No different than Azir.

“Are you Nasus?” the cleric asked.

His voice was deep, broad, and royal, but Nasus sensed his fear. To claim to have seen a god descend was one thing, to see it was another.

“You ask because I have been gone for too long. Yes, I am Nasus. But more importantly, who are you?”

The priest straightened his back and puffed out his chest, like a male bird in mating season. "I am Azrahilselamu, descendant of the Eagle King, the first forerunner of Vikaura, the one who illuminates, the walker of light, the guardian of fire, the messenger of dawn—"

“Descendant of the Eagle King?” Nasus interrupted. “You said you are the bloodline of Emperor Azir?”

"Need I tell you? I am." The priest became impatient, and his confidence returned to him bit by bit. "Come on, tell me what you want."

Nasus nodded, then drew his axe and held it across his chest with both hands.

“Your blood,” said Nasus.

He smashed the axe handle into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. The dust hung in the air like a shimmering veil, then circled around the priest and his warriors and slowly fell.
"What are you doing?" the other party asked sternly.

"I said, I want to see your blood."

In the blink of an eye, the circle of sand and dust turned into a hurricane. The warriors involuntarily covered their faces, and the priests could not see clearly, choking and coughing, and their waists were almost bent in half. The sandstorm was wrapped in the furious wind in the deepest part of the desert, and it could twist a group of Ikasul into skeletons in an instant.

Armor was useless, as sand would find its way into every nook and cranny and chafe the skin. The sun disc swung back and forth in the strong wind summoned by Nasus, and the ropes threaded through the iron rings tightened.

Nasus let the wrath of the sea of ​​sand fill him. His limbs were filled with strength and his body swelled, as if the roaring desert had poured its fury into his dark flesh. His figure grew larger and larger, towering horribly, just like the first Ascended Ones in the legend.

Without warning, he struck, slashing left and right with his long axe, knocking the guards aside with the handle or the bladeless side. He didn't mean to kill these men, after all, they were all scions of Shurima. They just happened to be in his way.

He walked past the warriors' thrashing bodies, toward the hierophant. The creature lay curled up in a ball, his face covered in bloody hands. Nasus leaned down, grasped the scruff of his neck, and lifted him up, lifting his feet a foot off the ground with the ease of a hound picking up a puppy. Nasus got close to his face.

The priest's face was covered with blood streaks from rubbing sand, and scarlet tears hung on his cheeks. Nasus carried him closer to the sun disk.

Although this disc is a fake and not a single drop of gold is melted into it, it can still reflect sunlight, and that's enough.

"You said you are a descendant of Azir. Let's test it."

He pressed the priest's face against the disc, and screams were heard as the sun-baked metal branded his injured skin.

Nasus tossed the wailing man aside and stared at the blood that hissed on the disc, the blood having been baked into a hard brown mass, the smell of blood wafting into his nose.

“Your blood is not of the ascended bloodline,” Nasus said sadly. “You are not the one I am looking for.”

Suddenly, a blue light flashed on the surface of the disk, reflecting a scene far away. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

Nasus turned and looked toward the horizon.

There gathered a cloud of dust raised by the marching troops.

Through the smoke, Nasus saw the sun's rays reflected off spear points and armor. He heard the beating of drums and the blast of trumpets.

The figures of pack horses emerged from the dust. The screaming beasts of war were tied to yokes with thick ropes and driven by soldiers holding goads.

These monsters, with their calcified scales and curved fangs, are like natural battering rams, able to effortlessly flatten the already crumbling walls of Vikora.

Behind the war beasts was a large group of tribal warriors, holding up various totems and marching towards the city.

Lightly armed skirmishers, mounted archers, and warriors armed with scale shields and heavy axes... at least five hundred of them.

Nasus realized that there was a single will guiding them.

Because under normal circumstances, once these tribes meet, they will fight to the death.

Nasus sensed the presence of ancient magic and a metallic taste rose in his mouth.

All his senses became sharp. He heard the hundreds of whispers below the temple, saw every flaw on the copper disk, and felt every grain of sand under his feet. A pungent smell of blood rushed into his nostrils - it should be the wound that had just been healed.

The smell reminded him vaguely of old times, of some distant echo of an age long lost.

His attention was drawn to the eastern part of the city, at the very edge where the ruins of the city met the mountains.

The awakened magic floated above the host. It was a spirit with crackling dark energy, wrapped in cast iron chains and fragments of an ancient sarcophagus.

He was the rebel of Shurima and the one who brought about the downfall of the ancient empire.

“Xerath,” said Nasus.

(End of this chapter)