Genius Noble With System-Chapter 471: Kill

He can only say the luck of the crown prince and Michael is quite good, as he was the one who found them.

While Apollo was lost in his thoughts, Fallen was the most agitated. From Apollo’s demeanour, it seemed he wasn’t being taken seriously at all and was completely ignored, like he was nothing but an insignificant being who doesn’t deserve attention at all. How could he, the proud ancient transcendent Fallen, let that go?

"You human, how dare you ignore me?" The fallen roared, although he felt that the human felt a bit different, but he could see that Apollo’s cultivation was only half-step transcendent.

Everyone below transcendent are ants; even if the person were a genius among geniuses, he would still be lost in front of the vast chasm between the truly transcendent and the half-transcendent. Not to mention he wasn’t a weakling among first-order transcendents.

So, how could he let this human brat be cocky in front of him?

"Die, human!"

The six black wings behind him burst open. Endless dark radiance spilled from them like a collapsing star.

With one violent flap—

The heavens screamed.

Millions of astral wing blades formed in an instant. Each blade carried spatial distortion, slicing through the void itself.

The sky fractured.

The air wailed.

Like a storm of dimensional guillotines, the blades surged forward—completely engulfing Apollo.

From below, it looked as though the very firmament had descended to shred him into nothingness.

Lucifer’s heart clenched.

Michael’s fists tightened.

Even the elder who was prepared to self-detonate felt despair creep into his bones.

Because this was the fury of a true transcendent.

The blades arrived. Space collapsed inward. Darkness swallowed the figure in the sky.

For a brief moment—

Apollo disappeared beneath an ocean of annihilation.

And then—a sigh echoed faintly within the storm.

"So noisy."

Boom!

With a wave of mysterious energy, the millions of black-feathered-shaped wind blades shattered and were annihilated in an instant.

Everyone was shocked, whether it was the warriors and princes from the sacred light empire of the fallen transcendent; they all cannot believe what just happened.

Across the sky, fragments of shattered astral energy dissolved like dying sparks.

At the centre of it all, Apollo stood untouched.

His clothes did not flutter. His breathing did not change. It was as though the devastating attack had been nothing more than drifting dust brushing against him.

The Fallen’s pupils constricted. He knew exactly how powerful that strike had been.

It had not been his full strength—but it was more than enough to obliterate any half-step Transcendent.

More than enough to crush so-called prodigies into ash.

Yet this human... Had erased it with a casual wave.

A chill crept up the Fallen’s spine.

Impossible.

Even if he himself went all out, negating that attack so effortlessly would not have been easy.

Then what did that mean? Doubt flickered in his mind. A feeling he had not experienced in thousands of years.

Uncertainty.

His gaze locked onto Apollo again—this time no longer filled with contempt.

But caution. And beneath that—a creeping fear he refused to acknowledge.

Apollo lowered his hand slowly, glancing at the remnants of dissipating darkness.

"Why the hell are you blowing filthy wind towards me? Are you trying to dirty my hair?" he said lightly with a sarcastic grin as his eyes finally met the Fallen’s.

He had naturally noticed him first, but after tremendous improvement in strength, a first-order transcendent wasn’t nothing to him. He can destroy tens of them in a matter of moments.

What intrigued him wasn’t the Fallen’s strength. It was his presence.

A Fallen.

Here.

In these so-called God Ruins.

That was interesting. Which meant this place was far from simple.

Something deeper was buried beneath this land. Something older. Something that shouldn’t have been here.

And that—

It was worth his attention.

Across from him, the Fallen’s expression turned grim. For the first time since he became transcendent, he felt insulted and dismissed like some ant.

"You dare mock me?" His voice grew colder, though the earlier arrogance had thinned.

He didn’t hold back, as he knew he had to give his all. His aura burst forth, and the power of true transcendence seemed to crush everything.

The Sacred Light Empire’s soldiers and the princes nearby felt the true horror as the transcendent aura instantly almost crushed them.

All of them were injured as they felt their internal organs burst, and they fell on their knees; even standing straight and breathing became difficult. Most of them even didn’t dare to look above.

Apollo remained standing like it was nothing as he waited for the fallen to make his greatest move.

"Death Storm of Astral Wind!"

His roar shook the heavens.

The Rule of Wind howled into existence, summoning currents that did not belong to the world.

At the same time, the Rule of Death seeped into those currents like poison poured into a river. The air dimmed. The battlefield’s vitality withered instantly.

The two rules merged.

The fusion birthed something far more terrifying than a simple combination.

A catastrophic storm formed above the battlefield—spiralling, condensing, and compressing into a dense vortex of black and grey. Within it, phantom wails echoed as if countless souls were being shredded within the gale.

This was no longer an ordinary first-order transcendent attack.

It was a perfected fusion technique of two rules.

This attack truly reached the peak among the first-order transcendent.

The vortex descended.

Where it passed, space decayed. Light dimmed. Even sound was swallowed. Below, the Sacred Light warriors felt despair crawl into their bones.

But they cannot do anything as they feel their end has come and can only accept it.

Apollo’s eyes glowed as he felt a bit surprised seeing the fallen able to pull off such an interesting attack.

"Good; I guess you deserve a serious response."

He raised his hand.

No grand display of power. No blazing radiance. No earth-shattering phenomenon.

He simply moved his hand forward—as if drawing a sword through empty air.

For a split second, nothing seemed to happen.

The raging storm—an apocalyptic fusion of wind and death—continued to descend, roaring with the force of annihilation.

Then the storm froze.

Not stopped by impact. Not blocked.

It simply... was severed.

Like a gust of wind sliced apart by something unseen.

The vortex of apocalyptic winds split cleanly down the middle, its two halves drifting away as if cut by an invisible sword. The intertwined rules broke instantly, collapsing into scattered fragments of fading rules.

The Fallen’s pupils shrank. He didn’t understand. There had been no fluctuation.

No visible strike.

No sign of any divine or spiritual power. Before he could react, a thin line appeared across his vision.

Then across his body. He looked down. His torso had already separated.

Clean.

Precise.

As though the world itself had drawn a line through him. Even as life drained from him, confusion filled his fading consciousness.

How?

He had felt nothing.

Seen nothing.

Until the very end, he could not comprehend what kind of power that was or how he had died.

The black wings slowly dissolved into ash, fully disappearing from heaven and earth.