Chapter 1013
Chapter 1013
Chapter 1013
—Putting a collar on a Transcendent?
Wrath’s eyes went wide as he stared at Raon.
—What sort of gibberish is tumbling out of your mouth?
He cocked his head to the side, clearly trying to figure out which entity Raon actually intended to rein in.
‘The scales have tipped for the Five Kings.’
A faint, wry curve touched Raon’s lips as his fingers wrapped around the grip of the Heavenly Drive sword, an intimate sensation he had not felt in quite some time.
‘The equilibrium shattered the moment The Fallen perished.’
During the previous conflict, The Fallen had met his end, accompanied by the slaughter of the legions of masked and helmed phantoms under his command. It was by no means an exaggeration to state that Eden’s current martial strength had plummeted to under half its former magnitude.
‘And even before that disaster, the Black Tower collapsed.’
Unlike Eden, where the Heavenly Demon continued to draw breath, the Black Tower had suffered total ruin the instant its singular sovereign, the Black Tower Master, was slain.
‘Furthermore…’
Raon lifted a single finger, lightly rapping the pane where the pale afternoon glow shimmered against the glass.
‘The Holy Sword Alliance, which stood as one of the pillars of the Five Demons, does not align with them at all—they remain strictly uncommitted.’
Rector and the Holy Sword Alliance had no intention of backing the Five Kings, yet neither would they raise their blades alongside the Five Demons in any coming struggle. They would cling fiercely to their stance of absolute detachment.
‘In truth, the Five Demons are no longer five; they are barely the Three Demons.’
While several Transcendents among the Five Kings were nursing injuries, aside from Ogram, their wounds were of the sort that time and medicine would mend. Claiming that the Five Kings now held a decisive, overwhelming advantage over the Five Demons was simply acknowledging reality.
—And what of the Archangels, then?
Wrath scowled, his gaze drifting upward toward the expanse of clear sky.
—Every single one of those entities is essentially an apex-tier Transcendent. Painful though it is for this sovereign to admit, a few have reached heights rivaling this king’s own standing.
‘I haven’t forgotten that.’
A low, measured breath escaped Raon’s lips.
‘Yet looking at Derus’s continued silence, it is obvious he hasn’t summoned the full choir of Archangels yet.’
Derus was remaining quiet, holding his breath while steadily amassing his reserves. Taking his obsessive perfectionism into account, it was apparent that a window of opportunity still remained before him.
—Even if calling them across requires time, his ambition will inevitably drive him to summon the remaining Archangels into the fold.
Wrath clicked his tongue in disdain, noting that such raw hunger burned openly within Derus’s gaze.
‘I am fully aware. Which is precisely why I have devised an approach.’
Raon gave a dismissive flick of his wrist, signaling him to keep his composure.
—And what clever scheme would this be?
‘For now, it remains undisclosed. You will see it unfold soon enough.’
—I have no clue why, but whenever you declare you have a plan, a sudden chill creeps right down this king’s spine.
Wrath gave a visible shudder, muttering that the sensation felt just as rotten as when he was on the verge of being swindled out of his hard-earned compensation.
‘Your instincts are as sharp as ever.’
Raon moistened his lips while throwing a passing glance at Wrath.
—What?
‘Nothing of importance.’
He casually waved the thought aside, returning his eyes to the window frame bathed in descending sunlight.
‘Regardless, the factions among the Five Kings that have lingered on the fence will soon be forced to make a decisive move. The vast majority will ultimately come crawling directly to our doorstep.’
His eyelids narrowed slightly as he took in the firmament, which stretched out as brilliant and untainted as the open ocean.
—Then why speak of placing them on a leash?
‘Because should we falter, we risk forfeiting the initiative entirely. We must establish our countermeasures beforehand.’
Raon secured a rolled parchment to the talon of a dark swallow from the Shadow Agents, a creature he had prepared in advance, before releasing it through the window frame. As though its destination had long been etched into its memory, the bird ascended into the heavens and vanished toward the southern horizon.
—Ah, now this king grasps your aim.
Watching the tiny tail feathers fade into the distance, Wrath nodded with subdued understanding.
‘However, before dealing with outsiders…’
Raon run his tongue across his lips, shifting his focus toward the direction of the Fifth Training Ground.
‘Shouldn’t we inspect the collars on our own pack first?’
Burren and Mark Goetun broke apart after their blades clashed with a resounding metallic ring, stepping back to opposite ends of the clearing.
“This defies all reason.”
Burren let out a breathless, dry chuckle as he stared down at the subtle hum still vibrating through his sword blade.
“To think you have caught up to our realm so rapidly after breaking through to Grandmaster…”
His voice carried genuine awe as he offered his compliments.
“It is entirely the result of the Palace Master’s guidance.”
Mark Goetun gave a calm, measured nod as the point of his weapon lowered toward the dirt.
“He assured me that time had not yet run out for someone of my years, and that single conviction carried me across the threshold.”
His fingers tightened around the hilt, openly acknowledging that his refusal to give up was thanks to Raon.
“The blossom that endures the harshest gale is always the most dazzling.”
Burren clapped his hands together, extending his congratulations once more.
“If the mutual admiration is finished, clear the path!”
Shoving Burren aside with little ceremony, Martha planted herself squarely before Mark Goetun.
“Uncle, your next exchange is with me. Don’t expect me to hold back the way Burren did.”
She brushed off her palms with the swagger of a street brawler, signaling her intent to engage in a vicious bout.
“Bring it!”
Mark Goetun nodded, his expression daring her to come, and met Martha’s lunging strike head-on as she closed the distance.
A sudden, fierce surge of aura rippled into the surrounding air of the Fifth Training Ground, born from the direct collision between two Grandmasters.
“I’m up after this…”
Runaan quietly lifted one arm, signaling her desire to test herself against Mark Goetun as well.
“Yaaawn!”
Watching Martha and Mark Goetun exchange blows, Krein let loose an exaggerated yawn.
“How blissfully tranquil. With the Palace Master absent, peace has finally returned to this place.”
Resting his spine against the rough bark of a nearby trunk, he remarked that there was no longer any need to remain on edge.
“You consider this relaxing solely because the Palace Master is away?”
Dorian blinked rapidly, his expression clearly asking what sort of nonsense he was listening to.
“Whenever the Palace Master is around, even pouring every drop of sweat into our drills leaves us feeling guilty.”
Krein let out a dismissive snort while looking up into the canopy above.
“The man drives himself so relentlessly that it makes you feel like an utter slacker just by standing there, doesn’t it?”
He shook his head vigorously, voicing his profound hatred for that lingering sensation.
“That discomfort is precisely the point.”
Trevin pointed an admonishing finger toward Krein and Dorian.
“A warrior only evolves when forced to confront their own inadequacies.”
His brow furrowed, confessing that his own progress felt stifled whenever Raon was not around to push them.
“You only talk like that because you haven’t served under our Palace Master long enough, Trevin!”
Krein waved both hands frantically in protest.
“It’s far worse than merely making us feel inadequate! He has a nasty habit of materializing out of nowhere, demanding a sudden spar, and then beating every single one of us into the dirt!”
He expelled a breath so violent it sounded almost like retching, insisting that Raon’s methods were vastly more terrifying than anything Burren or Martha could muster.
“I desperately hope he drops that wretched focus drilling.”
“Seriously, it leaves me so utterly drained I can barely move a muscle.”
“Sparring against the Palace Master is pure misery. What joy is there in failing to land a single scratch while being treated like a punching bag?”
“The demands keep scaling higher and higher, yet I don’t feel a shred stronger.”
“What if the Palace Master only puts us through this hell just to have an excuse to beat us up?”
A chorus of swordsmen who resonated with Krein’s grievances nodded in fervent agreement, gradually forming a tight circle around him.
“…”
In contrast, Dorian kept his mouth shut, his pupils quivering with dread as if a dark premonition had suddenly seized him.
“See? Every one of you gets it!”
Krein slammed his boot against the soil, taking confidence from the crowd gathering about him.
“I keep telling you, those freaks have no empathy! Those monsters will never comprehend what normal folk go through!”
He ground his molars together, venting that figures like Burren, Martha, and Runaan were blind to their daily torment.
“No one is denying that Raon’s routines made us sharper. But at this point, we need variety! Nothing but endless sparring, endless mental focus. It’s dreadfully dull and tedious!”
Krein scoffed, scoffingly dubbing Raon ‘the avatar of monotony.’
“Dorian, why are you keeping quiet over there? You harbor just as many complaints as the rest of us. Let it out.”
He nudged Dorian’s arm, encouraging him to unload his suppressed bitterness.
“Mmph…”
Slowly lowering the trembling palm that had been clamped over his own lips, Dorian raised a quaking finger toward the space directly behind Krein.
“N-No… you’re joking…”
Krein’s throat bobbed hard, the terror bleeding from Dorian’s shaking hand turning his blood cold.
“Is he… standing right at my back?”
“Y-Yeah…”
Dorian let out a pitiful whimper and nodded.
“Ah… haha…”
Krein twisted his neck around, his frame trembling violently like a freshly speared fish pulled from the water. Stepping out from the shadow of the very tree he had been leaning on was Raon, crimson irises glowing with quiet menace.
“P-Palace Master! At what point did you get back?”
Krein forced a grin so wide and artificial it threatened to tear the skin of his cheeks.
“A moment ago.”
Raon offered a placid nod, appearing utterly oblivious to the conversation that had just transpired, and strolled past toward the raised platform.
“W-What? He didn’t catch any of that?”
Krein moistened his dry lips as his eyes tracked Raon ascending the steps.
“I-It seems that way?”
“He likely arrived the very second we wrapped up.”
“T-Thank the heavens…”
The surrounding warriors exhaled in unison, muttering under their breath as though they had just slipped past the jaws of death.
“That was almost the end of us.”
Krein wiped away the sheets of icy perspiration streaming down his forehead, feeling as if his feet had brushed the threshold of the underworld.
“Ugh…”
Dorian, possessing a deeper understanding of Raon’s true temperament than anyone present, pinched his eyes shut, already mourning Krein’s grim destiny. The moment Raon came to a halt at the edge of the dais, the members of the Light Wind Palace who had been scattered across the grounds broke off their activities and snapped into rigid formation before him.
“Did every one of you maintain your personal conditioning during my absence?”
Raon cast his crimson gaze downward, sweeping across the rows of Light Wind Palace swordsmen.
“Yes, Sir!”
The assembly roared their response simultaneously, their voices merging into a single thunderous declaration without a breath of hesitation.
“Every individual reported for practice before sunrise, even after our leave concluded.”
Burren stepped forward to report that the unit had dedicated themselves fully to their routines without a single disruption.
“They’ve grown accustomed to the grind, so they drive themselves without requiring orders anymore.”
Martha let out a hearty, booming laugh, clearly satisfied with their discipline.
“There was only one tardy person…”
Runaan dipped her chin, quietly noting that the frequency of late arrivals had shrunk noticeably.
“That late arrival was you!”
Martha barked at Runaan, looking ready to pull her hair out over the girl’s brazen remark.
“I never claimed it was someone else.”
“Then why are you presenting it like an outside observer?!”
Martha ground her teeth, telling Runaan to wake up and face reality.
“Hmm…”
Raon paid no heed to the squabbling duo, his attention remaining focused entirely on the rank and file before him.
“I can tell that your dedication has not wavered. You have done well. Even so…”
The moment the praise left his lips, Raon’s gaze turned razor-sharp.
“The tangible fruits of that labor fail to reflect your efforts.”
He gave a slow shake of his head, having already discerned that the martial development of his subordinates had plateaued over the recent period.
“Well, about that…”
“Progress doesn’t appear instantaneously just from swinging a sword!”
“Indeed, reaching the next stage demands time…”
Burren, Martha, and Runaan sighed in turn, pointing out that they had long passed the phase where raw sweat yielded immediate breakthroughs.
“Routine is an insidious trap.”
Raon’s thumb casually flicked the scabbard of the Heavenly Drive sword, a habitual gesture.
“Once the physical frame and the mind grow accustomed to hardship, the benefits derived from it dwindle to almost nothing.”
While forms and bladework reach refinement through endless repetition, raw bodily endurance and spiritual fortitude cannot expand within the boundaries of comfort.
“To be fair, your strength is undeniable.”
Raon lowered his palm, addressing the ranks of the Light Wind Palace directly.
“Your physical prowess, iron willpower, and martial precision far outstrip your current formal grade. Paired with the crucible of genuine warfare you have weathered, you are unlikely to taste defeat against peers of your tier.”
Through his focus-sharpening exercises, he had fortified their mental resilience; through grueling sparring bouts, he had tempered their flesh; and through real engagements, he had bestowed vital combat instinct upon them. It would be no exaggeration to claim that the Light Wind Palace functioned as an unmatched martial unit.
“Even so, there remains a critical deficiency.”
Raon lifted an index finger, pointing deliberately toward their dantians.
“Your aura.”
While the Light Wind Palace swordsmen commanded respectable energy reserves, their youth worked against them, frequently leaving them outmatched in pure volume and refinement when pitted against veteran combatants of equivalent standing.
“Therefore, I have devised an alternative regimen. This method…”
A chilling smirk crept across Raon’s face as his eyes locked onto Krein, who shuddered violently the second the word ‘alternative’ was uttered.
“…will be anything but boring.”
“Ah…”
Krein’s complexion drained to an ashen gray as the dreadful realization dawned: Raon had caught every single syllable of his earlier rant.
“Our starting subject will be…”
Raon slowly tapped his chin with an index finger, pretending to deliberate.
“Uuuugh…”
Assuming his doom was sealed, Krein took a reluctant step forward.
“Martha, you begin.”
Yet Raon bypassed Krein entirely, his outstretched arm indicating Martha instead.
“Not Krein?”
Martha tilted her head, caught completely off balance.
“Indeed. You have the honor of going first.”
Wearing a placid smile, Raon stepped down from the platform to stand before her.
“Take a seated posture and look straight ahead.”
“Fine.”
Placing absolute faith in his direction, Martha turned her back to him and settled onto the ground. Gathering the blazing essence of the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation alongside the biting chill of Glacier at his fingertips, Raon thrust the condensed energy directly into her mana pathways.
“Gah!”
Martha’s eyes widened and trembled as sudden, searing agony ripped through her core.
“The objective of this drill is simple: mobilize your internal energy to violently purge the foreign aura I have just introduced.”
A subtle smile lingered on Raon’s lips as he steadily channeled more energy into Martha’s meridians, which were thrashing beneath the immense strain.
‘To think I would repurpose this as a training exercise.’
Originally, this brutal technique was an interrogation method he had personally forged to pry secrets from tight-lipped prisoners. Yet upon hearing Krein’s complaints about monotonous training, he decided to repurpose it into a radical method for tempering internal reserves.
‘For a spur-of-the-moment concept, it holds remarkable promise.’
Unlike captured enemies subjected to torture, Martha could actively resist using her own reserves. In doing so, the density and purity of her aura would forge themselves anew, growing substantially firmer. It mirrored the biological process of muscle fibers tearing under stress only to rebuild themselves far denser.
‘Should they endure this trial to the bitter end…’
The final harvest might surpass the benefits of digesting a peerless spiritual medicine. Merely swallowing a supreme elixir rarely guaranteed that a practitioner could absorb every shred of its essence. Yet if these swordsmen could withstand this brutal tempering, their internal energy might easily outclass someone who had fully assimilated a miraculous pill.
‘Naturally…’
Raon’s smirk widened as he observed Martha’s face flush into an intense crimson.
‘It will hardly be a pleasant walk.’
This exercise stood among the most excruciating trials he had ever devised, demanding that the practitioner maintain deep meditative breathing and circulate their energy while enduring agony that felt like their internal pathways were being ripped apart. Anyone with average willpower would collapse almost instantly.
“Khhh…”
Martha shot a murderous glare toward Krein, her molars grinding together with an audible, agonizing creak. She was clearly convinced that this sudden torment was the direct consequence of his loose tongue.
“Moving on…”
Raon raised his hand, scanning the ranks for the next candidate.
“T-Take me…”
“Burren.”
Completely ignoring Krein’s desperate attempt to step forward, Raon singled out Burren, injecting the dual-natured energy into his back just as he had done with Martha.
“Aaargh…”
Burren clamped down on his lip until it nearly tore, battling against the agonizing surge while sending his own blistering glare straight toward Krein.
“Next, Runaan.”
“H-Hold on a second!”
Krein threw himself directly into Runaan’s path, cutting her off.
“P-Please! Administer it to me first! I beg of you!”
He rubbed his palms together frantically like an insect, pleading for deliverance.
“That simply won’t do.”
Raon shook his head, feeling the icy, venomous stares from the surrounding swordsmen boring into Krein’s skull.
“This entire method was born thanks to your insightful feedback. It is only fitting that you receive your turn at the very end.”
Stepping up to Runaan, who had quietly positioned herself, Raon drove the searing heat of the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation and the frost of Glacier directly into her back.
“Hnngh…”
Even Runaan, whose emotional expressions were famously detached, saw her glassy eyes widen in distress as the excruciating pain forced her head up, her gaze locking onto Krein.
“Aaaagh! Have mercy! Please!”
Krein wailed pathetically, pressing his forehead into the dirt as he begged for his life.
—This sovereign has crossed paths with countless devils across the ages, yet…
Wrath clicked his tongue, his voice laced with pure exasperation.
—Never have I witnessed a fiend who tortures his own flesh and blood with such sheer delight! You radiant, sun-like wretch!
‘In this realm, isn’t likening someone to the sun considered the highest form of praise?’
Raon dipped his head slightly, outwardly accepting the comment as gratitude.
—That wasn’t a compliment, it was a bloody curse!
A week drifted past. Through sheer grit, the swordsmen of the Light Wind Palace had finally subdued the foreign energy of the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation and Glacier, breaking it down and fusing it into their own foundations. Raon watched them sitting in deep concentration, offering a quiet, approving nod.
‘Their bodies adapted far swifter than projected.’
He had anticipated the process taking roughly a month, yet his warriors had overcome the invasive force well ahead of schedule.
‘The secondary yields have surpassed expectations as well.’
While the drill had been conceived merely to elevate their aura reserves, the constant clash had naturally granted their bodies a profound resistance against severe heat and cold. It seemed the compounded foundation built from all their past trials had synchronized perfectly with this new ordeal.
‘Though…’
Raon suppressed a dark chuckle as he felt the unrestrained killing intent radiating from the swordsmen, whose furious glares were locked onto the back of Krein’s head as he meditated at the very front of the formation.
‘He must be living through his personal inferno.’
Every single warrior appeared wholly convinced that this agonizing week was entirely Krein’s fault, silently hurling curses at him with their eyes. The moment Raon turned his back, it seemed inevitable that a barrage of vengeful fists would rain down upon the man.
—Whichever way this sovereign views it, those who make an enemy of you are truly wretched souls.
Wrath clasped his hands together in a mock gesture of prayer, declaring he would begin offering condolences for their departing spirits.
‘Save your prayers. Every last one of them brought their fate upon themselves.’
Just as Raon offered his frigid reply, a pristine white messenger bird descended from the sky, perching before him. A distinct scarlet mark rested upon its forehead, exuding a faint, enigmatic resonance reminiscent of mist drifting across ancient peaks.
“Hmm…”
Raon accepted the white scroll fastened to the avian’s leg and unfurled it.
‘The response has arrived.’
Penned in a graceful, flowing script, the message stated that he was welcome to visit at his earliest convenience.
“Halt.”
The moment Raon signaled the end of the session and withdrew his residual pressure, the exhausted members of the Light Wind Palace lifted their heads, their features marked by deep fatigue.
“Is the drill finished already? I can still push further!”
Martha panted through heavy gasps, her hands propped firmly against her knees.
“Indeed, I was finally grasping the rhythm of it…”
Burren ran his tongue over his dry lips, his tone tinged with clear reluctance.
“The blaze feels manageable now…”
Runaan nodded, her cheeks still flushed from the lingering heat of the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation she had successfully subdued.
“A fresh directive will soon be issued. Prepare yourselves.”
Raon smoothed the creases from his uniform and brushed back his stray locks of hair.
“A directive? I assumed we would have an extended respite?”
Trevin’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze shifted toward the white missive.
“This is not a mandate handed down from our superiors. It is an operation I intend to propose to the Head of House myself.”
Raon scrawled a brief reply indicating his impending arrival onto the parchment, securing it back onto the white bird’s leg.
“Just what sort of mission are you planning to bring forth…?”
Dorian swallowed a dry lump in his throat, dread lacing his tone.
“The final two entities among the Five Divine Orders.”
Raon’s lips curved into a frigid smile as his eyes tracked two drifting wisps of cloud dissolving before the brilliant, unyielding sun.
“We shall drag the Thespian Emperor and the Queen of Swords before us to kneel.”
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