All Chapters of THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE : Chapter 111
- Chapter 120
134 chapters
The Three Fae
A horde of colossal lizards surged forward in a writhing, scaly tide, their claws tearing deep gouges into the earth as they advanced with relentless hunger. With raw, untamed power coursing through his veins, Arga unleashed the Dark Sphere Art—an ancient incantation forged in the depths of arcane warfare—sending it hurtling toward the oncoming swarm.The sphere blazed with brilliant sapphire light, cutting through the humid air like a fallen star. The moment it struck the foremost ranks of the lizards, a cataclysmic detonation ripped through the battlefield.Blaaaarrrrr!The explosion froze dozens of the beasts where they stood, their bodies instantly crystallized into jagged pillars of ice. Even the mighty trees surrounding the clearing were not spared—their trunks and branches glazed over in a shimmering frost, shattered by the sheer force of Arga’s sacred energy wave.Yet for every lizard felled, more emerged from the shadowed undergrowth, their beady yellow eyes fixed on the lone
With the Three Fair Maidens
The colossal lizard roamed the frozen clearing, its massive snout snuffling at the ground as it searched for the warrior who had slaughtered its brood. But every trace of him had vanished—Arga had scattered a special powder to mask their scent, a concoction crafted to confound even the keenest of tracking senses.In the safety of the great tree’s hollow, he lay recovering as three beautiful fae tended to him with gentle hands. Rukma, Sinta, and Intan—each one bound to him by a debt of life, for he had saved them from the lizards that would have devoured them without hesitation. And so they offered freely of their own inner power, channeling warm streams of energy into his body to speed his healing.In truth, Arga possessed the ability to mend his own wounds through the Art of Pain Transference—a technique that could shift damage from his body to another target. Yet with three lovely fae offering their care, he saw no reason to refuse their aid. After all, he would not be the one to co
The Blood-Drinking Shapeshifter (I)
Intan and her two companions stood poised, their forms shimmering with the luminous glow of ancient sacred arts coursing through their veins. Around them, the air crackled with raw magical energy, each breath they drew weaving into the intricate tapestry of power they were summoning from the very fabric of the realm.Arga drew his blade in one fluid motion, the steel singing as it sliced through the air. In his left hand, he gathered a concentrated torrent of mystical force, his fingers curling into a fist that hummed with dormant might. Shadows danced along the edges of his weapon, and frost began to creep across the metal—a telltale sign of the otherworldly power that dwelled within him.From behind a cluster of gnarled, ancient trees, a pair of crimson eyes blazed to life, fixating on the four figures with predatory intensity. Arga’s senses flared to alertness; the aura emanating from the darkness was thick with malice and raw strength, far greater than any ordinary foe he had face
The Blood-Drinking Shapeshifter (II)
The blood-drinking shapeshifter’s elongated leg lashed out in a brutal arc, striking Intan square in the abdomen with bone-shattering force. The warrior nymph’s body flew backward, tumbling across the uneven earth like a broken doll, her robes catching on twigs and stones as she skidded to a halt against a moss-covered boulder. Pain seared through her core, but she clenched her teeth, already gathering her strength to rise once more.Arga pressed his assault without pause, his blade cutting through the air in a relentless storm of blue light. Time and again, the creature’s claws raked across his form—but each strike was turned aside or dulled by the shroud of dark, frigid mist that encased him. The ice armor held firm, though thin cracks began to spiderweb across its surface with each impact, evidence of the shapeshifter’s overwhelming power.The abomination attacked with increasing savagery, its movements growing more erratic and ferocious as the scent of blood hung heavy in the air.
ARGA’S STRATEGY
The Bloodsucking Shapeshifter rose from the cracked earth, its frame swaying as if on the verge of collapse—but beneath the fragile exterior, a malignant vitality burned bright. Across its broad chest, an ominous blue discoloration spread like frozen veins, the lingering curse of the Demonic Sphere Spell searing through its supernatural flesh.Arga fixed his gaze upon the abomination, his legendary blade held high above his head. From the weapon’s ancient steel, a cascade of shimmering blue aura unfurled, weaving through the air like crystallized frost. The very wind around him began to whisper with the cold of forgotten winters, each gust carrying flecks of ice that danced and sparkled in the dim light.“I will strike with a barrage of Frostbursts,” Arga declared, his voice resonating with the unshakeable resolve of a warrior forged in countless battles. “If I time each blast perfectly, it will leave no window for the creature to mend its wounds—or so I calculate.”“Such a technique
THE PERFECT FORM
The Demonic Bone Chains streaked through the air like black lightning, their barbed links singing as they pierced the ice-encased form of the Bloodsucking Shapeshifter. The enchanted weapon sank deep into frozen flesh, and Arga immediately pulled back with all his strength, intending to drag the creature crashing toward him.“Now—strike with your blade!” the Shadow Demon commanded, its voice echoing like stones grinding in the depths of a cave.Arga’s fingers tightened around his sword’s hilt until his knuckles blazed white. A torrent of inky black aura surged from the blade, wrapping around it like writhing shadows ready to consume all light. But before the frozen figure could reach him, a blinding wave of crimson energy erupted outward, shattering the ice prison into a thousand glittering shards.Arga threw up his arm to shield his face as shrapnel and searing heat washed over him, the force of the blast sending him skidding backward across the torn earth.“Damnation, Arga! Your foe
Araca
Like a bolt of obsidian lightning cutting through the air, Arga’s form streaked toward Araca, his fists raised and ready for combat. In the blink of an eye, he summoned a shimmering barrier of solid ice across his torso—each crystalline plate forged with the ancient power coursing through his veins, glinting like frozen stars against the dusky sky.CRRRAAAASH!The shapeshifter’s fist slammed into Arga’s midsection with the force of a collapsing mountain. The ice shield held fast for a fleeting moment, its jagged edges gleaming as they absorbed the blow—then shattered into a thousand glittering shards that danced away on the wind. Even so, the impact sent Arga hurtling backward through the air, his body spinning like a broken puppet for dozens of yards before he could even begin to regain control.“Unghhh… The strength… it’s overwhelming!” Arga’s thoughts roared through his mind like thunder. Every nerve ending in his body screamed as if he’d been struck by a colossal war hammer forged
TOWARD THE FAERIE KINGDOM
Arga’s eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy as leaden shields after a battle that had pushed his body to the very brink of death. Through the haze of his fading unconsciousness, he saw a figure leaning close—so near their breath brushed against his cheek. Soft features, luminous skin, and hair like spun moonlight filled his blurry vision. “Intan…?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked as dried leather. “You’re awake at last… Don’t move—not yet. Your strength is all but gone, and several of your bones are broken clean through. Even with the best care, full healing would take days, perhaps longer,” Intan said, her voice gentle yet firm as she pressed a cool hand to his forehead. Arga’s gaze darted frantically from side to side, scanning the forest floor around them. “Where is that shapeshifter…? Did she escape?” “She fled, though not unscathed. Her body was ravaged by wounds—especially from the cursed artifact that now clings to yo
Arga and the Ancient Fae
As the amber hues of late afternoon painted the sky in strokes of gold and crimson, Arga arrived at the bustling Fae village alongside two young Fae maidens—Intan and Rukma. Nestled at the edge of a vast, mist-shrouded wilderness teeming with shape-shifters of every ilk, the settlement hummed with life; merchants hawked their wares in cobblestone squares, children darted between timber-framed stalls, and the air itself thrummed with the faint, otherworldly pulse of magical energy that bound all Fae domains together.While the sun still clung to the horizon, Intan and Rukma steered their steps toward a clothing emporium, their eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of acquiring new garments. Arga, ever observant, fell back a pace, his gaze fixing on the peculiar method of exchange unfolding before him. Unlike the gold coins and precious gems that circulated in mortal realms, the Fae did not trade in material wealth—instead, they bartered with the essence of spirits they had capt
The Fae Village
Intan and Rukma now wore the garments they had long coveted—flowing robes woven from threads that shimmered like dragonfly wings in the fading light, adorned with intricate patterns of silver filigree that caught every stray beam of dusk. Arga had insisted they choose the finest pieces the shop had to offer, refusing to settle for anything less than what he deemed worthy of their company. For himself, he selected a deep crimson tunic tailored to his broad frame, its fabric lightweight yet durable, embroidered along the collar and cuffs with golden runes that hummed with latent power. The ancient Fae shopkeeper, once so sharp and sneering, now could do little more than offer tight-lipped smiles and silent prayers that the formidable trio would depart without further incident.“Your lordship, my ladies,” the old merchant said, his voice trembling slightly as he glanced toward the darkening streets outside. “Night is falling fast upon us. I plan to close my shop at once—for when darkness