Chapter 119: The King
The city was still burning when Lan reached the foot of Solaris Castle.
Behind him, smoke blotted out the horizon, and the red glow of fires painted the streets in an endless dusk. Corpses littered the stairs and plazas, broken steel and shattered banners clinging stubbornly to stone.
Above, the marble spires of the royal fortress caught the firelight, a pristine mockery towering over the ruin below.
Lan stopped at the first step.
His blade, Devil’s Lie, hung loose at his side. His breathing was steady. Every step that had carried him here had been an inevitability; now nothing remained but the confrontation itself.
On the balcony high above, a figure remained—tall, broad, cloaked in the radiance of gold.
King Aldric Solaris.
His presence alone seemed to bend the air, as though the world acknowledged him as sovereign not just by title but by sheer force of being.
The king descended with no haste. Each stride shook the marble, a low rumble accompanying his passage. Golden flames coiled around him like chains, wreathing his body, reflecting off the steel of his armor.
The ground split faintly where he stepped, as if gravity itself deepened beneath his heel.
When Aldric reached the courtyard, he regarded Lan with the eyes of a monarch, unshaken, unyielding.
"You’ve cut your way through a city of loyal men," Aldric said, his voice carrying like thunder over the burning streets. "All for what? A child, who thinks he can be anything more than a worthless dog."
Lan’s pale grey eyes narrowed, catching the light of the firestorm. His lips curled into the faintest smirk, one devoid of humor.
"This worthless dog burned through your kingdom" Lan said, "and you could do nothing to stop him. You’ll be the last to burn father, and from your ashes, something new...something beautiful—may emerge."
His words were heavier than steel. The retreating soldiers scattered along the battlements shifted uneasily, though none dared interrupt.
Aldric’s aura unfurled.
Golden fire roared outward in a wave, distorting the air, making stone blister and iron run like wax. The heat alone was suffocating.
Men along the walls crumpled to their knees, armor clanging as they fought just to breathe.
"Behold," Aldric said, "the weight of a king."
Lan answered without a flicker of hesitation.
From him pulsed something darker, invisible but undeniable—a force pressing directly upon the soul.
His Spiritual Pressure seeped into the marrow of every watching knight, into the minds of the hardened captains, forcing them to clutch their throats as if unseen hands dragged them under black waters.
Stone cracked beneath their feet. Statues of long-dead monarchs lining the courtyard shattered under the unseen contest.
The very walls of Solaris Castle trembled, dust spilling from high parapets.
For a heartbeat, neither moved, only aura grinding against aura. Golden flames against formless darkness, monarch’s will against cultivator’s wrath.
Then they stepped forward together.
Lan vanished. Dark Step carried him like a shadow through the burning air, appearing at Aldric’s back, Devil’s Lie slashing with a whisper meant to cut through flesh and bone alike.
But Aldric did not falter. With a grunt, he thrust his palm backward. A pulse of crushing gravity erupted, the ground cratering in a perfect circle. The force caught the blade, hurling Lan back across the courtyard.
Lan skidded, his feet digging deep furrows in the marble. He twirled Devil’s Lie once in hand, expression unshaken.
The king advanced. Golden fire surged over his fists, each knuckle a star. When he swung, the air screamed, pulled by collapsing gravity wells that turned every strike into a mountain falling.
Lan blurred again, sword intercepting.
His Qi Shield flared gold around him, catching a flaming punch that cracked the courtyard like glass. A second blow followed, forcing him to twist, shadows wrapping his frame as he danced away.
Strike for strike, they tested one another.
Aldric’s attacks were brutish, overwhelming, every swing meant to end. Lan answered with agility, weaving dark arcs of blade and shadow, probing, measuring.
A thrust of Devil’s Lie sliced a flaming pillar in half. A sweep of Aldric’s hand pulled the fragments down with sudden gravity, forcing Lan to slip into the gaps like smoke.
The courtyard became a battlefield of elements—firestorms and shadowed edges, cratering stone and shattered pillars. The city’s burning glow cast them in stark silhouettes: the sovereign of gold and the heretic of darkness.
Neither gained ground.
From the walls, knights and soldiers who had survived the earlier slaughter and decided against surrender clung to their weapons and shields. Their faces were pale, sweat streaming even in the cool night air that challenged the flames around them.
One whispered hoarsely, "He’s... matching His Majesty."
Another’s voice cracked: "No—he’s pushing him back."
Every crash sent tremors through the fortress, shaking their faith more than the stone beneath them. The fight was beyond mortal measure, yet the outcome carried their lives in its balance.
Lan narrowed his eyes. Enough testing.
His hand flicked outward. A dozen Qi Blades screamed into being, tiny arcs of condensed crimson energy sharp enough to carve steel.
They spun and sliced forward, a storm of red lightning converging on the king.
Aldric roared.
His flames surged, expanding outward in a dome of fire, gravity woven within it, turning the air itself into a crushing cage. Many blades shattered as they touched the barrier, extinguished by heat and pressure.
But not all.
Several tore through, grazing the king’s armor, cutting across his cheek and shoulder. Blood spattered, sizzling against his own flames.
A silence spread across the watching ranks.
"The king... bleeds," someone whispered.
The words carried, passed from lip to lip, trembling, fearful. It was not victory, not yet, but it was proof—proof their monarch was not untouchable.
The dome collapsed into fading embers.
Lan stood across the courtyard, his sword humming with residual energy. His chest rose and fell with controlled breath, eyes fixed, cold and unyielding.
Aldric straightened, blood trailing down his jaw. He wiped it with the back of his gauntlet and looked at the smear with something between rage and exhilaration.
Their gazes locked.
And then, slowly, both men smiled—grim, sharp, knowing.
Neither yielded an inch. Neither would retreat.
The duel would start now.