Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

"Hah… so it’s true," Vaelthas mused, tilting his chin slightly. "The King himself has taken the trouble to stand at the gates of the Black Flame Order. Something truly extraordinary must have happened for Your Majesty to grace us with your presence. Tell me, what urgent matter compelled you to leave the safety of your royal palace?

"Hah!" The Third Prince scoffed, his eyes flashing with anger. "Don't play the fool. You know exactly why we're here. The Soul Crystal Mines in the Valley of Shimmering Nebulae have been plundered. And, coincidentally, that area happens to be within your reach. Am I to believe this is merely a coincidence?"

Vaelthas raised an eyebrow as if considering his words before shrugging.

"Soul Crystal Mines?" he repeated with feigned indifference. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. What does this have to do with us?"

The prince was about to respond, but in an instant, the king raised his hand. Silence fell immediately.

The King's gaze locked onto Vaelthas and Jorath, his eyes as cold as steel.

"Let's end this charade." His voice was calm, yet it echoed across the mountain peak with undeniable weight. "You are not foolish enough to think you can start a war unless…" He paused for a moment, his expression turning glacial. "...unless you've grown too arrogant. Unless you believe that because your younger generation surpasses ours in strength, you can threaten us."

The air exploded.

The combined aura of the King and General Kaelrith struck like a thunderclap. The rocks trembled, and the air itself thickened to the point where breathing became difficult.

Jorath narrowed his eyes, feeling the crushing weight of their presence against his skin. His gaze flickered to Kaelrith, who stood unshaken, yet there was something feral about his stance. He had grown stronger. Again.

Jorath was the first to act.

"Oh, now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves!" He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his grin laced with careful nonchalance. "We're not here to challenge your rule, Your Majesty. Quite the opposite. We have something that might interest you."

He reached into his robes and slowly withdrew a small black box.

"Inside is something you've desired for a very long time." He lifted the lid with deliberate slowness, revealing a pill that shimmered with an ethereal glow, pulsing faintly with energy—

The Soul Restoration Pill.

For a fraction of a second, the King lost control over his aura.

His eyes widened the moment he saw what lay within the box. The energy around him wavered—just for an instant—as if trembling under the weight of his emotions. But he quickly mastered himself. His expression remained stone-cold.

"Why are you showing me this?" His voice was pure ice.

Vaelthas stepped forward.

"We propose a tournament." His words were precise, his gaze dark as the abyss. "A tournament between the younger generations of our three forces. Whoever claims victory shall receive this pill."

The King laughed.

Short, sharp, and filled with mockery.

"Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I would give you such an opportunity?" His gaze burned with disdain. "You expect me to wager my son's fate on a prize that you already possess? To play along with your pathetic games?"

Jorath shrugged.

"If that doesn't suit you, we can always return to the alternative—war. But we both know that's not beneficial to anyone."

The King was silent for a moment. He knew them well. He knew they had a hidden agenda. And yet… if he refused, it would mean years of conflict.

"One year?" he asked coolly.

"Of course," Vaelthas replied smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "A year is a reasonable time for the younger generation to prepare."

The King scoffed, his lips twisting into a sneer.

"You truly believe I would allow myself to be pulled into such a pathetic spectacle?" His voice dripped with scorn. "Do you really think I am naive enough to agree to a tournament in a mere year, knowing the current state of affairs?"

Jorath spread his hands in mock contemplation.

"Well then, perhaps we should alter the terms slightly," he mused. "Let's say… twenty years? Would that be more acceptable to Your Majesty?"

The King was silent for a long moment. Finally, he gave a slow nod.

"I accept." His voice was firm, his gaze piercing. "But if you believe this changes anything, you are gravely mistaken."

Jorath's smile widened.

"Since it's a tournament, and we are offering the pill as the prize… I believe your family should contribute something of equal value, yes?"

The King's eyes flickered. His aura erupted.

The very air trembled, and the ground beneath the Sect Masters cracked under the weight of his presence.

"Do not overstep." His voice was glacial. "You have already taken enough from the Soul Crystal Mines."

He turned to Kaelrith and his son.

"We’re leaving."

Vaelthas and Jorath watched as the royal trio rose into the air, preparing to depart.

"See you in twenty years," Jorath said with a smirk. "We will send Your Majesty the precise details of the tournament soon."

The King did not answer.

As soon as the royal trio vanished beyond the horizon, Vaelthas and Jorath remained where they stood, silently watching the lingering traces of their auras dissipate into the air.

"Kaelrith has grown stronger again," Jorath noted, narrowing his eyes. "Fighting him was always troublesome, but if he continues to grow at this rate, he could become an even greater problem. At least Aldrich hasn't broken through and remains at our level of cultivation."

Vaelthas sighed, as if the topic bored him. "I knew his talent wouldn’t let him stagnate, but this could be a problem in the future. As for the Third Prince… while his talent is rare, it’s clear he lacks the potential to ever reach our level. It’s an impressive feat for his age—achieving such cultivation before a century has passed—but unless he has some miraculous encounter, this is likely where his cultivation journey will end." He paused briefly. "Regardless, it doesn’t matter. The plan was a success."

Jorath tilted his head, gazing at the sky. "Yes, now all that remains is to wait. I wonder how these twenty years will unfold."

Jorath glanced at Vaelthas from the corner of his eye. "Since our dealings with the king are concluded, I'm returning to my domain."

Vaelthas smirked faintly. "Until next time, Jorath."

In an instant, their figures blurred and faded into the air, as if they had never been there at all.

When the last traces of their auras dissipated, and the air around them slowly returned to normal, only one person remained at the site where the royal trio and the two sect masters had stood.

The arrogant sect master—the same one who had initially greeted the king and general with mockery—stood frozen, staring into the empty space as if still processing what had just transpired.

They had ignored him entirely. Throughout the entire conversation, he had been treated as if he were nothing but air, as though his existence held no significance in the presence of those who truly dictated the world's fate. And he felt it—

The fear. The raw, primal terror that had seeped into his bones when the king and Kaelrith unleashed their auras. In that moment, he understood—he was nothing. Before true titans, his strength was but a shadow.

His body still trembled, though he tried to suppress it. His thoughts raced chaotically, refusing to let him steady his breath.

His fist clenched tightly.

"I must…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I must inform the others about what happened here."

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the fortress's shadows.

***

The queen stretched slightly on her throne in her private audience chamber, the scent of freshly brewed tea filling the air. Despite having given birth to her daughter just days ago, her posture betrayed no hint of exhaustion. She had been a monarch for too long to allow herself such a weakness.

The doors opened, and several advisors entered, carrying reports. Each bowed respectfully before taking their places.

"Let’s begin," the queen announced, raising her teacup to her lips. "What news do you bring from the kingdom?"

The first advisor stepped forward and unfurled a scroll.

"Tensions have arisen along our northern borders with the Iron Fist Clan. Their representatives have begun questioning our claims over lands adjacent to their territories."

The queen arched an eyebrow.

"This isn’t the first time. What do you propose?"

"We could send a delegation under the guise of negotiations. Unofficially, it would serve as a warning. If they do not withdraw their claims, we could impose limited trade restrictions."

The queen nodded.

"Do it. Send an invitation for talks, but make it clear—we do not negotiate from a position of weakness."

The advisor bowed and returned to his seat.

A second advisor stepped forward.

"Your Majesty, our granary reserves are growing as projected. We should consider expanding our exports to strengthen our trade influence."

The queen nodded but showed little interest.

"Yes. Let the economic council handle it."

A third advisor hesitated slightly before stepping forward, his expression carrying a hint of unease.

"Your Majesty… in several provinces, the Church of Inner Enlightenment has begun gaining influence. Though still small, their doctrine is attracting peasants and minor nobility alike."

The queen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Churches. They were always a problem.

"Monitor them. If their numbers grow, we will respond."

The advisor nodded and stepped back.

A moment of silence settled over the chamber. The queen placed her teacup down and turned her gaze toward the window. For a brief moment, her thoughts wandered elsewhere.

Aldrich.

Far away, within the Black Flame Order, her husband was engaged in negotiations. Though she knew his pride, she could only hope he hadn’t done anything reckless.

She exhaled softly, pulling herself back to the present.

"If there’s nothing else, you are dismissed."

The advisors bowed and exited the chamber.

Elsewhere in the palace, in a warm and quiet room, Sylphia's eyes fluttered open.

The gentle rocking of the maid, accompanied by a soft, hummed melody, filled the air.

Maybe being a newborn isn’t so bad… Sylphia mused.