The clatter of objects hitting the floor echoed through the hall. More than one noble dropped their wine glass in fright, those still seated sprang to their feet in terror, and those already standing were left speechless, unable to utter a sound. The grand hall fell abruptly silent, so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Stiffly, the nobles shifted their gaze toward the unremarkable, graying-haired old servant standing beside Marquis Kilos.
When the old servant accepted the unsharpened longsword offered by Marquis Kilos, the aura around him shifted dramatically. He was no longer an ordinary, easily overlooked old man. Marquis Kilos still stood in the center of the hall, smiling, but in this moment he was no longer the focus of everyone's attention. Because the unassuming old fellow beside him had suddenly become a colossal presence, a phantom as immense as a giant. Though his stature wasn't as tall and imposing as Marquis Kilos, in the eyes of every noble present, he had become an existence beyond their reach.
Master Magrut, the right hand of the Storm Sword Saint, gripped the hilt and lightly traced a floral pattern in the air with the blade. A faint smile touched his lips. Yet the nobles present were overwhelmed with a suffocating despair. They all felt as though everyone in the hall had fallen under the Storm Sword Saint's control—a sensation beyond words. In the hearts of every noble in that hall, a feeling arose of absolute incomparability, of being the fish on the chopping board while others held the knife, of life and death held in another's hand...
Grand Duke Fisabron stood right beside
"He's... he's really the Storm Sword Saint... We're... we're dead for sure..." At that moment, Grand Duke Fisabron was not only trembling but muttering deliriously.
Was it really that terrifying? Lorist narrowed his eyes, straining to suppress the intense desire for battle welling up within him. He tried his best to observe the Storm Sword Saint with a calm gaze. From the moment Marquis Kilos had revealed the Storm Sword Saint's identity and handed over his own sword to Master Magrut, Lorist suddenly felt a powerful urge to fight rise in his heart. It was like a starving black bear catching the scent of honey—an irresistible desire for combat. He really wanted to draw his sword, rush forward, and fight a hearty, exhilarating battle with this Storm Sword Saint...
The Storm Sword Saint simply stood there. The longsword in his right hand trembled ever so slightly in the air, an incredibly mysterious rhythm, everything unspoken. He stood there with complete composure, toying with the sword in his hand, radiating a confidence that the life and death of everyone in the hall could be decided by a single stroke of his blade. Regardless of status or rank, regardless of whether one was a Sword Saint, in that moment, in the eyes of the kingdom's nobles, the Storm Sword Saint was a peerless mountain towering before them, a giant standing before a swarm of ants...
In Lorist eyes, of course, the Storm Sword Saint did not appear as a giant like the other nobles perceived. The old man was still an old man, but his figure seemed like both wind and mist, leaving Lorist unable to fix his true presence. Every gesture he made was a self-contained world, severed from yet transcending the entire space of the hall.
He stood right beside Marquis Kilos, naturally and casually, with an air of nonchalance. He appeared riddled with openings, seemingly vulnerable to a single strike. Yet when Lorist mentally simulated attacking those openings, each one transformed into a bottomless trap that threatened to swallow him whole. In that instant, a cold sweat broke out across Lorist forehead.
Strong enemy! While suppressing the intense desire in his heart, a strong sense of excitement also arose in Lorist mind—a feeling of being utterly uncertain yet desperately wanting to challenge. Lorist suddenly realized, perhaps this was the opportunity he had long been waiting for to break through his cultivation bottleneck. When Grand Duke Visabrun, a third-level Sword Saint, couldn't even withstand a hundred moves during their sparring practice, then only a confrontation with a Sword Saint could advance his own cultivation further...
"Respected Your Majesty, I believe you would not refuse an invitation from a Sword Saint. The Commercial Union cordially invites Your Majesty and all the esteemed lords to visit
The Second Prince's face was deathly pale, his body also trembling, but his reply was resolute: "I would rather die under the Sword Saint's blade than go with you! The bloodline of the Great Emperor Clisson would rather die than surrender!"
The elegant smile on Marquis Kilos's face suddenly vanished, his entire expression turning ferocious: "Heh heh, want to die? Not so easy, I think. Respected Your Majesty, do you believe that under the Sword Saint's hand, your life and death are still in your own control? If you resist, Grandmaster Maglut won't take your life, but he will break your limbs, dislocate your jaw, and then stuff you into a cage cart for transport back. Perhaps Your Majesty feels it would be more dignified to enter Morant City in a cage cart like a prisoner? If so, I will certainly fulfill this small wish of yours..."
"Feathered," this was a custom in some parts of the Galentea Continent for dealing with captured swindlers. Now Marquis Kilos's threat to break the Second Prince's limbs, dislocate his jaw, and put him in a cage cart was treatment reserved for captured mountain bandits. The two had very thoughtfully arranged honors befitting each other's status.
"I admit I am no match for the Sword Saint, but can the Sword Saint stop me from killing myself?" The Second Prince drew his sword with a sharp *clang*, placing it horizontally against his neck. He made clear his determination to die rather than be taken to Morant City to suffer humiliation.
"No, no, Your Majesty! Your Majesty, stop!" At this moment, the kingdom's nobles in the great hall came to their senses, disregarding the threat of the Sword Saint. They swarmed forward in a mass to stop the Second Prince's impulsive act, and even several indignant nobles drew their swords and stood in front of him.
There was no other way. If their king was forced to commit suicide by the Sword Saint in front of everyone, this would become the lifelong shame of all the kingdom's nobles present. It would be better for all the nobles present to jump into a river together. This concerned family honor and reputation. Even facing the Sword Saint, if escape was impossible, they could only fight to the death rather than suffer humiliation, which would actually leave behind a good reputation for the family as loyal guards who died heroically and unyieldingly.
*Clap, clap, clap*, Marquis Kilos applauded: "I greatly admire Your Majesty's resolve and the courage to die rather than suffer humiliation, and also the determination of all you esteemed lords to stand before Grandmaster Sword Saint ready to sacrifice yourselves heroically. But I must remind Your Majesty and all you esteemed lords, do you truly believe that Your Majesty can carry out a suicide within the Sword Saint's domain? And all you esteemed lords, do you think you can withstand even a casual strike from Grandmaster Sword Saint?"
Marquis Kilos gently shook his head: "Respected Your Majesty, stop playing games. You had better obediently come with me on the journey to Morant City. I truly wish to preserve some dignity for Your Majesty. If Your Majesty insists on refusing my kind intentions, having your limbs broken, jaw dislocated, and being stuffed into a cage cart—that would only cause Your Majesty even greater shame."
"And to you esteemed lords, I would urge you to persuade His Majesty as well. His Majesty, we must bring you to Morant City alive, because none of us wishes to become a king-killer, so your life and safety are guaranteed. As for you kingdom nobles, one more or one less doesn't particularly concern us. I hope you esteemed lords can read the situation for what it is and persuade your king. Time is running short."
Hmm? What did that mean? Why did he say time was running short? Just as everyone was trying to grasp the implication behind Marquis Kilos's words, a wailing alarm horn sounded from far away.
Almost immediately, the thunder of hooves drew rapidly closer, stopping right before the main tent. A royal guard burst in hastily without so much as looking at the strange scene inside, dropped to one knee, and reported with his head bowed: "Your Majesty, the Commercial Alliance has suddenly mobilized a massive army and launched an attack on our camp. One force of approximately one hundred thousand is heading straight for us, the White Lion Corps. The two White Lion regiments stationed on the forward positions collapsed at first contact. Your Majesty, please make a decision immediately—uh..."
The royal guard finally noticed the wrongness of the hall. He jumped up and was about to shout when a mote of starlight suddenly materialized in midair, piercing cleanly into his throat. The guard clutched at his neck, toppled to the ground, kicked twice, and went still. Grandmaster Storm Sword Saint Magrut stood without uttering a word beside Marquis Kilos, as if the death of the guard behind him had absolutely nothing to do with him.
The Second Prince's face turned ashen. He stumbled back two steps and collapsed onto the throne, the long sword he had been holding against his own neck drooping downward. As a Sword Saint who had read the royal archives' records on Sword Saints, he knew perfectly well that Marquis Kilos had not been bluffing. He was less than six meters from the Storm Sword Saint—well within the range of a Sword Saint's domain. Once the Storm Sword Saint activated his domain, it would truly be nearly impossible even to take his own life...
And the news brought by the dead guard filled the Second Prince with utter despair. It was over. A million soldiers were about to be obliterated. The Commercial Alliance had set a perfect trap for his million-strong army at the border. No wonder they had been reinforcing their positions in recent days—he had assumed they were intimidated by the sheer might of a million troops, never imagining that the Commercial Alliance's plan was to annihilate his entire army in a single battle, leaving the Andinark Kingdom permanently incapable of threatening the Commercial Alliance...
Two tears slid from the corners of the Second Prince's eyes. In that moment, he desperately wished he had died on the battlefield—at least he would have died like a valiant king. But he was powerless. The Storm Sword Saint stood right before him, and even his own life was no longer his to command. No amount of regret could undo the situation before him. In his heart, the Second Prince cursed his own arrogance and overconfidence—he had believed that a million soldiers would surely force the Commercial Alliance to yield, but now he had lost not only himself but the entire army along with him...
Every single kingdom noble had believed wholeheartedly in the prospect the Second Prince had painted: marching a million troops to the border to compel the Commercial Alliance into signing a peace treaty, without even needing to fight—just the threat alone would accomplish the goal. So they had all indulged in feasting and revelry alongside the Second Prince, none of them exercising any vigilance or making any preparations in response to the Commercial Alliance's actions.
It went without saying that an army of a million, stripped of command and the ability to resist, was nothing more than bubbles—gone in the blink of an eye...
"Respected Your Majesty, I suggest we stop dawdling. The weather is fine, so let us set off for Morant City without further delay..."
The Marquis Crillos's irritating urging sounded in his ears once more, but the Second Prince was utterly dispirited and unresponsive, slumped on the throne like a block of wood.
"Sigh! Some people simply refuse the toast only to drink the forfeit." Marquis Crillos heaved a long sigh, turned, and bowed to the Storm Sword Saint beside him. "Master Magrute, it seems I'll have to trouble you."
The Storm Sword Saint gave a slight nod without a word. His gaze swept over the crowd, and the kingdom nobles blocking the approach to the Second Prince's throne platform instinctively parted to both sides, clearing a path two meters wide down the middle. The Storm Sword Saint snorted through his nose and stepped toward the Second Prince.
After just two steps, the Storm Sword Saint stopped. A kingdom noble had suddenly appeared before him, standing with perfect composure, showing none of the trembling fear that the other nobles displayed in the Storm Sword Saint's presence. Moreover, his hand was gripping his sword hilt, drawing the blade from its sheath inch by inch, slowly...
"Who are you? How dare you draw a sword before Master Magrute!" Marquis Crillos flew into a rage and bellowed.
"Heh, I am the Northland Grand Duke Norton Lorist — the one your Commercial Alliance intends to publicly sentence along with my entire clan. His Majesty seems to have introduced me before the banquet began. It appears your envoy has a remarkably poor memory, or perhaps you simply never considered someone of my insignificant standing worth remembering."
Lorist answered Marquis Crillos offhandedly, but his eyes were locked firmly on the Storm Sword Saint. The two stood three meters apart, and for the first time, the Storm Sword Saint's calm, unperturbed expression gave way to gravity and confusion. His eyes fixed on Lorist with a mix of alarm and uncertainty — though his sword had long been drawn, for some reason he did not attack. Instead, he waited as Lorist drew his longsword inch by inch...
A sharp ring of steel rang out as Lorist finally freed his longsword. Then he flashed a grin at the Storm Sword Saint, and in that instant, the entire great hall turned blood-red. Everything — people and objects alike — was cloaked in a dazzling crimson shadow of blood.
The Storm Sword Saint's face changed drastically. He retreated rapidly and, for the first time, let his voice escape — a hoarse, startled cry that shook the ears: "A domain! You — you're a Sword Saint too?!"
...