Moments earlier.
In the Ancestral Halls.
The darkness here was not simple absence of light.
It was a heavy, ancient stillness that seemed to press against the skin.
One by one, fiery orbs ignited within the gloom.
Red, gold, blue, violet, white, and an unsettling shade of deep green.
Each orb hovered above a throne carved from a different era of the Empire, and as the flames rose, silhouettes formed inside them.
The six Ancestors had awakened.
This time, however, they were not alone.
Two more thrones stood further ahead, placed on a raised circular platform that had not been touched in years.
Dust should have covered them, yet they gleamed with a faint sheen, as if refusing to age.
On one of those thrones, a figure was already seated.
A sword lay across his knees, simple yet unbearably sharp, as though a single careless breath could slice the soul in half.
His robes were plain white.
His hair was tied with a faded ribbon.
His posture was relaxed, almost bored, yet there was an oppression around him that didn’t seem any less intimidating that the Ancestors.
This was the former Emperor of the Dawn Empire.
The Sword Immortal Sovereign.
The Emperor of Swords.
Or, as every enemy had come to know him in their last moments of life…
The Demon Sword.
His sword-like eyebrows, sharp and unyielding, framed a face carved with impossible precision.
Cold blue eyes opened slowly.
Even seated, even silent, his very presence announced a truth that felt inevitable.
He was born to be an Emperor.
Anything less would be an insult to his blood.
Opposite to him, on the second elevated throne, sat a woman whose existence radiated heat and divinity.
A fiery red robe wrapped around her form, clinging to her curves with an elegance that was neither modest nor provocative, but something transcendent.
Every fold of her robe shimmered like a phoenix feather.
Every movement of her wrist seemed capable of setting the world ablaze.
Her face held the softness of moonlight and the dominance of solar fire, a contradiction that made her unforgettable the moment one laid eyes upon her.
She did not speak, yet her presence was enough to silence storms.
The Empress.
Those outside the Imperial Bloodline only knew her title.
Those who served her called her Majesty.
But the people who really knew her called her by a different Title.
Celestial Phoenix
As they sat facing one another beneath the towering shadows of the Ancestral Halls, the atmosphere thickened.
No candle burned, yet the entire chamber breathed with a dim and ancient radiance.
Every flicker of color from the orbs cast shifting shades across the faces of the two seated legends.
William, the Sword Immortal Sovereign, stepped forward.
His footsteps made no sound, but each step seemed to steady the entire hall.
“It has come to my attention that my son holds a special physique to his merit.”
Before the other Ancestors could respond, the Blue Orb pulsed fiercely.
“Special physiques, may I add.”
A faint crease formed between William’s brows.
His gaze did not drift, but the displeasure was palpable.
Even the temperature shifted slightly, as if the sword intent surrounding him sharpened by an imperceptible degree.
The Black Orb flickered, its light rising and falling like a breathing shadow.
“It was indeed a surprise to discover that the child possesses the Nine Extreme Physique,” it said, its tone grave yet tinged with wonder.
“A physique birthed only within the Warkarian Race.
More astonishing still, such a blessed physique normally forms only for the Successor of the Warkarians themselves…”
A moment of silence followed, heavy with implication.
Silence settled once more, but this time it was heavier.
It pressed against the walls of the Ancestral Halls like an unseen tide.
Every flicker of flame inside the ethereal orbs dimmed in unison, as if holding their breath.
The Green Orb pulsed with a verdant glow, its voice soft yet carrying the weight of ancient knowledge.
“Those physiques are dormant at birth.
They awaken only after the Ancestors of that race perform their grim ritual.
A ritual that stains fate itself.
Tell me then… how did the child activate such a physique?”
Its question drifted into the air and hung there, untouched and unanswered.
Silence returned.
This time, it was not empty.
This silence pointed, accused, and narrowed like a blade.
Slowly, subtly, every orb turned.
Every gaze shifted.
And all of them locked onto a single person.
The Empress.
Her crimson robes shimmered, as though reflecting an unseen fire.
Her eyes, already bright, now flared with blood red intensity.
Raw emotion rippled through the phoenix aura around her, enough to distort the air at her back.
For a brief second, the entire hall trembled.
She rose slightly from her throne, not with physical motion but with sheer presence.
Rage.
Imperial authority.
And something deeper, older, and fiercely protective.
The Celestial Phoenix’s voice was low… dangerously low.
“Are you suggesting—”
The Empress’s words were about to erupt, but another voice cut through her rising fury.
A voice like a blade unsheathed.
“That my wife has been unfaithful?”
The moment the Sword Sovereign spoke, the entire hall split into two realms.
The first half of his sentence erupted with the force of a collapsing volcano.
The Ancestral Hall trembled.
Lava-like heat surged from the Empress, turning the very air molten.
Ancient pillars groaned under the sudden pressure as phoenix flames licked their edges.
Even the orbs recoiled, each one dimming, shrinking, avoiding direct confrontation as the Celestial Phoenix’s destructive aura roared outward.
And the world changed.
The volcanic scenery shattered like glass struck by a blade.
A new force swept through the hall.
Colder.
Sharper.
Far deadlier.
Sword intent.
Not the sword intent of a mortal.
Not the sword intent of a king.
But the sword that had once severed demons, slain kings, and carved continents.
It draped over the hall like an invisible shroud, yet it pressed down with suffocating intimacy.
It was everywhere, above them, beneath them, between each heartbeat.
And worst of all…
It slipped into the skin.
A crawling, microscopic sharpness.
A blade that felt as though it had entered the pores, threading its way under the flesh, whispering of death with every breath.
Even the orbs trembled.
A few flickered violently, as if their ancient wills were being cut apart at the edges.
The Sword Sovereign did not move.
He simply stood there… his eyes cold, his posture regal, his aura demanding an answer.
“Say it again,” he said softly.
A soft whisper, yet every syllable felt like a sword tip pressing against the heart.
“Say it again… if you dare.”
The Golden Orb spoke with a solemn weight that cut through the air.
“Calm down.”
The moment those words echoed, the entire hall fell silent.
A crushing force swept across the room like an invisible tide.
The Sword Sovereign’s pupils contracted, and even the Celestial Phoenix stiffened, her hands trembling ever so slightly.
They were both beings revered across countless realms, yet even they could not hope to shoulder this force.
But the pressure was not aimed at them.
It converged entirely on the Blue Orb.
The Entity’s form quivered.
Its aura flickered as if a mountain had been dropped upon its soul.
For a heartbeat, it hesitated, struggling against something ancient and absolute.
Then, with a shuddering breath, it lowered its head.
A decision had been made.
“I am sorry, Ancestor.”
The overwhelming pressure vanished in an instant.
It did not fade or recede.
It simply ceased to exist, as though the suffocating weight from moments ago had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion, a nightmare conjured by the mind.
The hall returned to its earlier stillness, yet the silence now felt deeper, heavier, as if everyone was afraid to disturb whatever had just occurred.
The Golden Orb hovered quietly, its glow steady and unreadable.
A voice finally broke the stillness.
“Call the Emperor.”