Zhang Bohan stood amidst a swirling sea of clouds; at its heart sparkled the Dawn Core, glowing brightly like the very birth of day.
Around Haoti, thick azure-black mist roiled and churned. Though it had thinned considerably, it continuously surged forth from the earth, quickly gathering once more in tangible force. The phantom of the Dragon Serpent rose ever so slowly, its dual wings unfurling once again. Beneath its protective span flowed a magnificent panorama—an empire’s landscape and rivers, akin to the unscrolling of an immortal scroll through ages timeless.
Mid-field, vast surges of primal energy continued to erupt ceaselessly. Strangely, every bit of that violent impact flowed only horizontally, not one particle falling below toward ground’s end. This attested clearly to the extraordinary control between both adversaries.
“Still just a little lacking,” Zhang murmured tranquilly, none of his former rage remaining visible. In an instant of engagement with Haoti, he realized this had become a King’s Challenge—a sudden challenge without precedent among Heavens King class.
In fact, the battle might already possess a declared verdict. Haoti failed in ascending beyond Heavens King thresholds. Yet unlike the fates of most challengers, he had successfully traversed every barricade; the deficiency amounted to but a lack in endurance accumulation.
Continuing the duel prolonged their stalemate; for within this colossal metropolis, the throne wielded home advantage beyond reckoning. From Da Qin dynasty’s beginnings, uncounted covert means had been buried within these streets, improved over generations into an almost invulnerable land war mechanism of King-scale destructive potential. Only if Zhang Bohan were willing entirely to obliterate the throne’s regnal sanctum completely—an action that would reduce this imperial capital to naught but rubble—could any true resolution emerge.
Even if Zhang was of mind to do the unthinkable, execution would still remain impossible; emanating from the soil he felt the presence of Zhiji King and Dingxuan King rising to block, these two unlikely remain spectators idly by.
Holding an expression cool and unshaken, ascending past kingship had never truly occupied Haoti’s hope; rather unexpected was meeting Zhang himself unexpectedly within the Hall of Heavens Mechanism.
Yet Haoti nodded steadily, candidly replying, “I am grateful indeed, honored King Bohan.”
Zhang spoke further: “Since the matter stands as such, let Your Majesty fulfill but single obligation to close.”
Haoti made no show of ignorance, offering directly:
“I recognize that Zhang Ruler shares long-standing enmity towards the Hou, Lord of Qingyang—yet the Lord himself now claims His Throne; why persist then with this old wound?”
A pair of phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, “Does Your Majesty’s restraint consist of caging within Heavens Mechanism your Fieldmarshal and Chief Chancellor?”
A flicker danced within Emperor Haoti’s expression, and, wordless briefly.
But still did Zhang exert his pressuring威压; it was rising gradually, coalescing an embryonic storm at the clouds’ central nucleus.
Gripping their mutual locked attention, Haoti countered: “You ask restraint—but had He interjected into our impending royal duel, how else?”
Blurted forth bluntly, stripping court dignity bare of flattery, exposing naked truth veiled within dynasties’ robes of glory.
Hence raised amidst noble houses wherein even birthright bore a royal seal since infancy—an era replete with bloody history—Zhang hesitated only briefly before fully grasizing the actual condition within Imperial City walls, a dire state contrary to everything he had anticipated.
Now it appeared, then, that Zhiji knew honestly nothing, however the exact role of Husi’s forewarnings—that truth, however—hovered ambiguous between malice and chance or possibly deep conspiracy.
Even stranger: For so very long did the Emperor bear silence, only in coming year anticipating with ease ascend fully into Heavens’ ranks—but some unimagined shift shattered control suddenly launching this early escalation.
With nothing hidden further, Haoti continued bluntly astonishing, “Your Majesty should understand—Ever did Shengwang seek methods to evade death’s grasp. One such path came through魔裔 forbidden lore: by drawing sustenance from another’s bloodstream—revitalizing his dying vitality.”
A disbelieving brow flicked slightly over Zhang’s visage—yet he kept quiet.
“Reportedly tested thoroughly across breeds both extinct and surviving alike—an expected practice had nothing scandalous transpired. Yet since none sufficed to sate expectation, suspicion shifted: that incomplete application, not flawed design, hindered progress. The fundamental principle behind said魔裔 practice lay bound within ‘the Constancy of Origins.’ Namely, each lineage’s zenith maintained fixed potency—a shared inheritance wherein every superior descendant thence diluted ancestral vigour progressively.”
With a scoff, Zhang remarked coolly,
“How absurd.”
The 魔裔—a race renowned through antiquity for relentless study into existential truths. Through myriad strange doctrines evolved countless contradictions, so even among themselves remained matters of unending schism. This theory of Origin Constancy gained notoriety among scholars, however regarded as heretical among 魔裔 for implying that were one supreme among kin to assimilate entire 魔裔 race,圣山 might effortlessly topple.
Then extending a palm, Hao threw a lattice of concentrated force unto Zhang.
Swift through data’s sprawl, Zhang found himself reviewing what seemed Da Qin’s finalized offensive deployment plan onto Floto. Comprehensive strategies laid across it scrupulously; not only commanding generals and deputies accounted for—each with several alternatives—but oddly high presence of Imperial and Zhao family names peppered potential nominee lists.
Zhang exhaled dryly. “Creditable blueprint—tell me who arranged personnel placements. You’d place Lady Consort upon battlefield too? She who carries the legacy of the departed Emperor?”
“The general staff nominated. I sanctioned them.”
“Aye… I notice Night and Song deployed eastwards. The command for Central force? Pray speak?”
“Ultimately regardless initial appointment… cries shall rise from soldiers to summon Hou. When peril strikes centrally only one such as Lin could hope reversing doom.” Thus implying the central command would be forced into perilous combat where Hou would almost certainly arrive too late unless directly positioned there.
At this juncture comprehension flooded Zhang’s gaze—how could he misunderstand any longer the entire essence lurking behind the ‘offensive plans’. Anger boiled, but brought only a twisted smile instead:
“What, of the eastern front?”
“Prince HaiMi shall command it.”
“The Princess-Lord Jiangbi should be preferred.” Zhang assessed objectively.
“But in my absence… the Prince should best assume Regency authority.” Said the Emperor calmly.
The truth struck Zhang—his stare now transfixed intently on Hao. Only at this juncture did his realization solidify—the concern was beyond Zhao factions: it lay in Blood of Emperors coursing veins.
Within this Floto deployment framework, the names stood stark—the Princess HaiMi, Lady Gaoyi bore titles as former Emperor’s daughters; Jiangbi himself blood of old Emperor’s junior younger brother; across Floto, Zhao’s grandson, then among the second tiers, a litany of sons’ real names emerged—including startling the youngest who controls “Emperor’s Will”—there was no freedom of selection beneath it all! This was no mere pawns’ play between Crown and Nobles’; it revolved on blood of emperors. The Emperor’s entire scheme rested upon that very line.
Reflect then upon that魔裔 secret technique attributed to Longlife King; Even Zhang, so eloquent usually, now found words deserting.
After heavy pauses, he could only utter— “He is—…mad.”
“Indeed”, mused Hao, “When one fears demise long enough, even clarity succumbs to insanity; as for others complicit… whether through foolishness or spite… even now we wonder.”
This Floto invasion emerged thus from Longlifeking’s scheme—a calculated death match, meanwhile宮變 the Emperor’s reluctant reaction when forced to a corner. No lesser degree, shadowed too behind these events remained Nightborn factions’ interference—how deeply had Empire’s sects and noble clans entrenched?
This went beyond royal in-fighting; It now threatened the heavens. This could echo past 35’s eunuch upheaval—an incident crushed silently within Ten days’ lockdown by Emperor Suei until nothing remained in Forbidden Halls save blood-soaked secrets lost in time. Similarly now—Hao could not voice openly to world that a King would betray mankind itself, seeking personal immortality through darkness; such would crumble Man’s entire ideological edifice—nothing less than the very pillar holding our species’ purpose together would disintegrate.
Surely enough—Nightborn’s sabers glistened, sharp in readiness.
“A projection belonging to WidowSpider appeared before my presence at midplane convergence in Middle Continent.”
“Aye,” Hao acknowledged, voice steady still.
“They’ve hungered after our destruction since Dawn’s first light. When schemes of such monstrous magnitude unfold, inevitably the Darkness Mount shall respond. It was inevitable this time.”
With such precarious balance trembling across the nation, Haoti, silently seizing dominion over Imperial capital. Aware beforehand that force yet lacked fullness—but even amid incomplete conditions still forced the untimely Kingscale battle—especially when the words regarding his regency appointee rang almost akin to those final words of an expiring sovereign. One shudder might imagine what bloodbath within unseen alleyways across days passed.
Maintaining all still functioning smoothly upon Palace surface amidst all: a miracle no more, perhaps.
Yet Bohan hesitated, questioning, “Only for…this?”
“And whether further mysteries persist,” Haoti concluded softly, “We may need confront its root directly with question.”
“What could possibly drive this Floto agenda?” Bohan pursued.
“I remain clueless. Nor may I halt or wait beyond this moment.” Hao’s expression remained unmoved, “Yet already I prepared what remained possible, beforehand. Still I shall forbid Hou’s battle role; and now you in your grasp hold the acceptable casualty threshold upon Floto.”
Floto stood, ever fated as unavoidable piece, long before Empire’s hand ever reached for weapon, Nightborn’s schemes would strike without hesitation. In this great game between sovereign minds—the identity of marked man matters little—for they’re counted merely as moves already executed across cosmic boards; final reckoning merely awaits the count.
Put bluntly and coldly: the losses pre-decided, listed wholly upon said personnel register. Each life exceeding beyond expected expiry—a mere accidental win. In contrast, within imperial metropolis—the true carnage ahead…impossible yet counted still.
Eyes furrowed further, Zhang demanded sharply: “What exactly has become of Hou, Lin Xitang?”
“He experiences withdrawal,” Hao confirmed plainly.
“Scorched by Darkness Flame, each episode brings bone-seeping chills for day or two; joint movement weak at its height thereof. But Hou sought, over seasons uncounted, mobility despite ailment through violent medicinal suppression—an unnatural suppression only sustained so long via extremities beyond comprehension. When these cease…his current state prevents more than standing upright at best.”
Within inner depths Zhang raged fiercely inwardly against Doctor Gu, furrowing brows: “Certainly one cannot accept continuation perpetually.”
“All finest medicines within imperial pharmacy tested exhaustively.” Hao continued: “Though flareups during Dark Flame episodes remain troubling, physical impairment so far remains moderate enough.
The deeper danger now manifests as accumulated toxicity—a sediment of scorches buried deep through years within flesh, amassing into peril capable unleashing suddenly at any moment. Slow removal required, only several days shall remove last remnants of his burden, at which time natural motion should resume spontaneously.”
“Recovery may commence anywhere.” Zhang asserted coolly, “Surely he remains voluntarily confined in Mechanism Tower.”
Huo’s voice softened to cold, querying:
“Would you see him depart for campaign? Or rather to lead in these inner sanctum betrayals. Shall he deduce new world patterns—or Darkness’ Return?
Hou’s life carries bound—a mortal limit of but sixty brief years…”—Huo’s utterance ceased abruptly—brief lids descending, veiling sorrow.
“Zai Yao’s Omen!”—Lightning thought struck instantaneously; Bohan’s complexion altered—answers once elusive burst forth. Lin Xitang’s own declaration, foretelling the rebellion against heaven… Suddenly it made sense—ordinary calculations held no worth compared to such an event.
Across tempest eyes burned—since Jin the Former King, he gained insight into many imperial mysteries including Zaiyao’s very inception. By nature he never troubled his head further. Yet suddenly now with its manifestation linked directly to the man whose shoulders bore it all—four seemingly simple characters became unbearable in their enormity.
“When heavenly diviner schools crumbled after doctrinal conflicts, ‘Omen of Dawn Beginning’—by its very act, inverted fates of light and darkness—lacking the blessing of heavenly tracings; failure in its progression meant disastrous regression. Yet miraculously, with unmatched willpower, Lin stood alone steadied celestial mechanisms, bearing as cost—his very destiny’s annihilation; severed both from personal thread, as all that could define possible futures. Illnesses old nor external force mattered anymore; his time, already counted—remained merely years. What then signified those aching pains brought about through Flame’s flareups?
Imagine how each moment upon Star Chart of Soul felt—enduring a torment where life-force clashes against very motion of cosmos and fate.
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