Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 115: I’m Not Done

Chapter 115 – I’m Not Done

Lux moved.

Not away. Not defensively. Not like he was trying to survive.

He moved like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Every part of his body shifted with intentional movement—legs pivoting, back dropping low, left blade sweeping forward as his right hand twisted to parry the first divine strike that fell like a god’s hammer.

The clash sent out a thundercrack of pressure. The ground trembled beneath their boots, the impact radiating outward in jagged light pulses that lit up the chamber in flashes—blue, gold, and black.

Azion didn’t hesitate. A second strike came, and then a third—each one faster than the last, blinding arcs of radiant energy that carved glowing scars through the air.

Lux blocked. Evaded. Danced.

One of his blades whirled low, cutting through the light and disrupting the momentum of Azion’s swing just long enough for Lux to twist under it and launch a counter.

A hard upward slash. Point-blank.

Azion caught the blade. Barehanded.

Lux’s eyes narrowed. "Well, that’s cheating."

Azion didn’t reply. He shoved Lux back with enough force to throw a mortal through a mountain wall.

Lux skidded backward across the marble, boots sending sparks, but he didn’t fall. He flipped the obsidian blade around and dragged it along the ground with one hand.

"System," he muttered. "Give me a full read."

[Analyzing Target...]

[Name: Archwitness Azion – Fallen Arbiter of Purity]

[Level: 251]

[Class: Holy-Purging Executioner – Advanced Celestial Weapon Class]

[Affinity: Divine Wrath / Celestial Cleansing]

[Skill Type: Execution Chains, Multi-Layered Purge Seals, Phase Flash, Righteous Nova]

[Weakness: Shadow-Essence Compression / Prolonged Melee Engagement]

[Rank: ??? – Hidden by Divine Obfuscation Protocol]

Lux exhaled, half-grin returning to his lips. "Level two-fifty-one, huh? So you’re actually higher than that centaur."

Azion’s halo shimmered erratically above his head. He launched again, this time from above—coming down like a bolt of judgment made flesh.

Lux didn’t dodge. He stepped in. Close.

Too close.

Blades crossed in front of him. Sparks burst as Azion’s radiant halberd struck down. Lux’s knees bent, arms straining from the raw force.

The scent of ozone hit hard. Sharp. Metallic.

The marble cracked deeper beneath his feet.

But Lux grinned.

"Ever hear the phrase ’you’re in my range now’?" he muttered—

—and vanished.

A blink.

A shimmer.

He reappeared directly behind Azion mid-drop, left blade arcing sideways like a reverse scythe.

It scraped the edge of Azion’s armor—

And finally left a mark. A shallow one. But enough.

"Gotcha."

Azion spun midair, elbowing backward with bone-crushing force. Lux caught it on his forearm, grunted, and twisted his weight to flip sideways through the air—blade flashing as he carved a crescent toward Azion’s wing joint.

The wing flickered—phased through the hit.

"Damn," Lux muttered. "He’s cheating and using delay-phase layering."

Azion’s eyes—white and burning—flared again. With no words, he slammed both hands into the ground.

"Righteous Nova..."

Lux’s instincts kicked in.

He jumped, flipping twice backward just as a ring of light exploded outward. The blast curved the air, melted the edges of nearby stone, and sent fragmented debris into the high ceiling.

A second too late and his legs would’ve vaporized.

From the air, Lux descended hard, blades pointed downward like a reverse meteor. Azion raised a shield—too slow.

Lux hit it.

Cracked it.

Landed. Rolled. Came up in a slide and kicked Azion’s leg out from under him.

Azion dropped to one knee. Lux didn’t wait—he flipped the gold-inlaid blade upward, cutting a vicious X across Azion’s mask.

The mask cracked.

Just a little.

But enough to make the Arbiter pause.

Lux chuckled breathlessly. "What, afraid someone might see what’s under there? You got a bad chin? Pimple? Or just too holy to show face in public?"

Azion roared.

It wasn’t a sound. It was pressure. Divine rage condensed into a scream that hit Lux like a freight train.

He flew backward, slammed into a column, cracked through it, and landed in a roll, coughing out dust.

Lux pushed to his feet. Groaned.

"Okay. Little warning next time, choirboy."

He wiped blood from his lip and smirked again. "You hit like my dad."

Azion blurred forward again, spear slashing.

Lux met him halfway.

Blades clashed in rapid-fire rhythm. Every swing was deliberate. Calculated. Lux dipped low, twisted his body to create impossible angles, parried without looking, used the rebound of one blade to pivot the next.

This was his domain.

Not the Underworld.

Not the mortal realm.

Not even this frozen limbo.

Combat.

Lux had been top three in the entire Demon Military Academy.

And unlike most? He didn’t win with brute force.

He won with timing.

Azion’s patterns were advanced. Perfect. But repetitive.

He fought like scripture. Like law. Beautiful but predictable.

Lux was chaos.

He ducked, rolled under a divine sweep, cut upward, missed—on purpose—and used the missed strike to bounce off Azion’s shoulder and land a kick to the back of his neck.

Azion stumbled.

Lux dropped low and drove his blade into Azion’s side—only to be intercepted by a sudden burst of radiant armor.

The impact knocked him backward again.

His arms scorched.

His stamina down to sixty percent.

And he was smiling wider than ever.

"I get it now," he said, panting. "You’re not just here to kill me. You’re here to judge me."

Azion hovered midair again, wings pulsing.

"You should not exist."

Lux flicked the blood off his blade.

"Yeah," he said. "I get that a lot."

He rolled his neck. "But you know what?"

He cracked his knuckles, blades flaring with black light.

"I’m not done existing just yet."

Lux launched forward again.

And the chamber screamed with fury as Greed met Wrath under a dead heaven.

The air shattered.

No sound barrier held between them anymore—just crackling pressure, heat, and pure violence.

Lux didn’t slow. His bare arms flexed with motion, obsidian armor hugging tight over his core, plating catching the dim flickers of broken halos above. No flair. Just the raw, unfiltered demon beneath.

His daggers spun in his hands, fast enough to blur.

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