Chapter 165: The Throne Descends
The Palace Trembles
The court still reeled from ruin. Nobles scattered, their jeweled fans broken and trampled on marble slick with blood. Sect masters dragged their wounded disciples away in shame, whispering of shadows and inevitability. The guards hesitated, staring at Hei Long as though facing not a man but a storm given form.
And above it all, the Empress stood.
Her veil of crimson silk shifted in the unnatural stillness. Her soldiers knelt, but she did not need them. She descended the dais with a grace that felt heavier than steel, each step a decree in itself.
The Empress Revealed
Yan Yiren remained in her shadow, silent, her gaze fixed on Hei Long with something like awe — or fear.
The Empress stopped at the edge of the chaos, her presence bending the room. The divine aura she had hidden for years unfurled like a shroud, washing over marble and flame alike.
"So you declare war," she said softly, her voice echoing as if the throne itself had spoken. "Then you will have war. But you will not leave this hall untouched."
Her hand lifted. The banners above caught fire without flame. The temple’s protective wards groaned like breaking bones.
The Empress herself was striking.
Hei Long’s Response
Hei Long’s gaze did not waver. His cloak rippled in the aura, the cord at his wrist swaying with eerie calm. He looked from Qingxue’s bloodied sword, to Yexin’s trembling illusions, to Yuran’s glowing hands. They were shaken, spent — but unbroken.
He stepped forward once, placing himself between them and the throne.
"You have tested loyalty, unity, and blood," Hei Long said. "Now you test survival. Then let the empire learn — fire does not bow to thrones. Thrones melt before fire."
He raised his hand.
The floor split. The court gasped.
And the battle between shadow and crown began.
The First Clash
The Empress’s aura descended like the weight of the heavens. The very air bowed to her presence — banners snapped, marble groaned, torches bent toward her crimson veil. Soldiers knelt, their bodies unwilling to rise beneath that divine weight. Sect masters averted their eyes.
But Hei Long did not move. He stood as if the storm had been made to crown him, cloak rippling, cord at his wrist swaying like a pendulum measuring inevitability.
"You wear the throne like armor," he said, voice calm. "But even armor melts before fire."
The Empress’s hand rose. The flames in the torches turned black.
The Sword Meets Heaven
Leng Qingxue leapt forward, blade gleaming silver. Pride roared in her chest — if the empire would strike at Hei Long, then it would strike through her first.
Her sword carved the air, but the Empress raised a single finger, halting steel mid-swing. The blade shivered, crying out against invisible pressure.
"Child," the Empress murmured, "you mistake loyalty for strength."
Qingxue’s knees buckled, but Hei Long’s shadow touched hers. She straightened, her grip unbroken. "If I break, then it will be as his sword, not yours."
The blade broke free. Sparks screamed against marble.
The Fox Defies the Crown
Mu Yexin’s illusions spread across the hall — a thousand versions of herself, circling the Empress, laughing, whispering. The courtiers gasped, some striking at shadows, others covering their ears against the storm of laughter.
But the Empress’s veil did not stir. Her eyes glowed faintly beneath the crimson silk. "Tricks."
She raised her hand. One by one, Yexin’s illusions collapsed, until only the woman herself remained, trembling before that gaze.
Her smirk faltered. Her fan shook. Yet she lifted her chin, forcing laughter past the fear. "Then I’ll burn without masks. And still, he will see me."
Hei Long’s hand brushed her ribbon. The trembling ceased.
The Healer’s Stand
Zhao Yuran stood last, her hands glowing faintly with spirit light. She had no blade, no illusions — only her trembling, only her breath.
The Empress’s power pressed against her chest, threatening to crush her heart. "You are the weakest," she whispered. "A chain, not a flame. Break, and he falls."
Yuran’s knees buckled. Tears fell freely. But she pressed her hands together, whispering through the pain: "Then I will not break. Even if I must burn alone, I will remain where he stands."
Light surged. The Empress’s pressure faltered for the first time.
Hei Long’s Step
Hei Long moved.
One step forward, and the marble floor cracked. The Empress’s aura bent, shuddering against his. Cloak rippling, eyes glimmering, his presence pressed back the weight of the throne.
"You tested loyalty. You tested unity. Now you test survival," he said. "Then learn this: fire does not survive thrones. Thrones survive fire."
He raised his hand.
The black flames wreathing the chamber bent toward him, swallowed by his shadow.
The Empress’s veil shifted, her lips curving faintly. "So. You would make yourself king."
Hei Long’s gaze did not waver. "No. I would make myself inevitable."
The hall shook, marble splitting, banners crumbling. And for the first time, throne and fire collided openly.
The Collision
The Empress raised her hand, and the hall itself convulsed. Pillars groaned, banners writhed as though caught in a storm, and divine fire poured from her like a river of molten silk. Her soldiers shielded their eyes, nobles collapsed to their knees, sect masters struggled merely to breathe in her presence.
Hei Long did not bend. Cloak flaring, eyes glimmering, his shadow stretched across the fractured marble until it swallowed even the light of her flames. The cord at his wrist glowed, marking inevitability like a pendulum that refused to stop.
When their auras met, the palace shuddered. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. The throne itself trembled on its dais, as if uncertain which master it should acknowledge.
The Flames Answer
"Qingxue!" Hei Long’s voice was thunder.
She surged forward, her blade a silver streak against crimson fire. Each strike she carved through the Empress’s divine aura made the marble scream, sparks splitting the air. Pride burned in her chest, louder than pain. If I fall, I fall as his sword.
"Yexin!"
Her fan snapped open, illusions spilling like smoke. Dozens of fox-eyed women surrounded the Empress, laughter weaving through the chaos. The crimson veil shifted — the Empress had to acknowledge her. Yexin’s hunger glowed brighter than fear. Even you must see me.
"Yuran."
Her trembling hands pressed against the air. Threads of spirit light laced the cracked floor, steadying her sisters, binding the arena itself. Every time fire threatened to swallow Qingxue or illusions threatened to unravel Yexin, Yuran’s breath anchored them. Even if I break, I remain.
The Throne’s Wrath
The Empress spread her arms, veil blazing. "Children playing with sparks," she murmured. "Let me show you the sun."
A column of scarlet fire descended, devouring half the hall. Stone melted, banners turned to ash, soldiers screamed as their armor liquefied.
The three women faltered — even their combined fire could not withstand it.
But Hei Long stepped into the inferno.
Hei Long Unbound
The flames bent, twisting toward him as though bowing. Shadows wrapped around the fire, swallowing it until the hall stood dark once more. Hei Long raised his hand, and the ruin stilled.
"You wear the throne," he said, his voice soft but carrying through the wreckage. "I wear inevitability. And inevitability does not kneel."
His cloak flared. His presence crushed down upon the court like nightfall. Nobles collapsed. Sect masters gagged on their own breath. Even Yan Yiren’s smile wavered for the first time.
The Empress’s veil fluttered. "So you would break the empire itself."
"No." Hei Long’s eyes burned. "I will remake it."
The Aftermath
The clash did not end with victory. It ended with ruin. Half the hall lay in rubble, flames still smoldering in the cracks. Soldiers dragged the unconscious from the floor. Nobles fled.
The Empress retreated behind her veil, her voice carrying one final decree:
"Then the empire is at war."
Hei Long turned, his cloak sweeping through the ash. Qingxue, Yexin, Yuran followed, battered but unbroken, their fire bound tighter than ever.
The court had tried to cage them. Instead, it had birthed rebellion.
And as Hei Long stepped into the night air, he whispered so only they could hear:
"Let the empire burn."
The Flight
The ruined hall still smoked, its marble fractured, its banners reduced to ash. The nobles had fled, the sect masters scattered, and the Empress’s veil retreated into the shadows of her throne. But the war she declared echoed louder than the tolling of bells.
Hei Long did not linger. Cloak sweeping, he strode from the ruin, his three flames at his side. Qingxue’s blade was notched, Yexin’s laughter carried a tremor, Yuran’s hands glowed faintly with exhaustion. Yet none faltered.
The palace gates did not close fast enough. The guards who tried to bar them fell in silence, illusions scattering their lines, steel carving their resolve. Hei Long walked through the smoke as if the empire itself were bowing to his step.
The Capital’s Murmurs
By dawn, the city already whispered.
The court is broken.The Empress declared war.Hei Long defied the throne and lived.
Some called him demon, others savior, but all called him inevitable. Inns buzzed with rumor, markets hummed with fear, and sect disciples argued whether to bend the knee or sharpen their blades.
For the first time in generations, the capital did not orbit the throne. It orbited Hei Long.
The Refuge
They regrouped at the northern edge of the capital, in an abandoned watchtower overlooking the river. The night wind howled through broken shutters, but the chamber felt warmer than the palace halls.
Qingxue knelt before her sword, sharpening it against a whetstone until sparks flared. Yexin leaned against the wall, fan twirling lazily, though her eyes never left Hei Long. Yuran prepared poultices in silence, her hands steady despite exhaustion.
Hei Long stood at the center, watching them, the cord at his wrist swaying.
"The Empress will unleash armies," he said. "Sects will come. Assassins will hunt. You have seen the throne. Now you will see the empire itself."
His gaze sharpened. "But let them come. They will not find rebels. They will find fire."
The Vow
Qingxue rose, steel flashing. "Then I’ll be your edge until it dulls."
Yexin’s smirk returned, brittle but fierce. "I’ll be the flame they choke on."
Yuran bowed her head, her voice trembling but sure. "And I’ll be the breath that keeps you burning."
Hei Long looked at them — not rivals, not sparks, but fire.
"Good," he murmured. "The empire wants war. Then we will give them inevitability."
And as the bells tolled across the city, announcing the Empress’s call to arms, the watchtower’s shadow stretched long across the river — the shadow of fire preparing to consume an empire.