Chapter 596 – Your Father?!? - Part 2

That very day, before dusk, snow began to fall again.

Troops that usually huddled in their barracks in such cold began to march.

Martial artists, many of whom had remained silent for months, suddenly began to move.

Swan Pavilion had become the eye of the storm. The center of everything.

Meanwhile, in the vast campus of the Myriad Lineages Academy, there was barely a ripple. The struggles of mortal men? That had nothing to do with them.

Internally, the Academy was already divided into four branches, the Central, Southern, Outsiders, and Artisans.

Central was a patchwork of the former Five Elements Alliance, Lotus Cult, and a number of minor groups with no real fourth or fifth rank inheritances.

Southern was simply the Bladeseekers.

Outsiders referred to the Buddhists and Daoists.

And the Artisans included puppet masters, weaponsmiths, beastmasters, alchemists, and the like.

Right now, Central was the weakest, most of its people had already fled. The Outsiders and Artisans were few in number to begin with. And the Southern camp was undeniably the strongest. Not that the Southern camp cared much about the squabbles of the secular world.

At most, some might chuckle over why a former Bladelord of the Bladeseekers had bothered to get involved in this mess at all.

Zhao Chunxin’s expression was ice.

And when He Shoukang, head of the He Clan, finally stepped onto the platform, her face grew even colder.

He had already inspected the area. The reports from outside pleased him. Satisfied, full of confidence, he now strutted toward the main seat in Swan Pavilion.

He looked at the Princess of the Central Capital seated on the left, with Song Yehuang beside her, and gave a courteous-looking smile.

“Princess, won’t you take the seat of honor?”

“Please, Lord He, take your seat.” Zhen'er’s voice was calm.

He Shoukang chuckled, then plopped himself down heavily into the seat of honor. Leaning back comfortably, he glanced around with a smug expression and clicked his tongue. “Ah, what a view from up here. Looking down from this height really gives one perspective.”

With the outcome all but sealed, he was in a good mood, and it showed in his relaxed tone.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Princess had truly surrendered just to protect herself? No resistance at all, not even a token show of defiance?

Then again, even if she had resisted, what would it have changed?

The Crane Wing Army was already stationed outside. Between those inside and outside the tower, the He faction had brought in a total of 916 high rank martial experts.

It was like using a warhammer to kill a mosquito.

“Well then,” He Shoukang waved casually, “let’s begin the banquet.”

Servant girls filed in, bringing out food and wine. Of course, they were all handpicked by the He faction. Not just the maids, even the owner of Swan Pavilion was one of theirs.

He Shoukang poured himself a cup of wine, raised it toward Zhen'er, and broke into a sly grin.

“Princess, your kind heart has always earned my respect,” he said smoothly. “But with the Prince of Stars gone, and you left to guard the Star Manor alone, well, it’s hardly sustainable.”

He paused just long enough to smile wider. “My cousin, the Prince of Wildsouth, like you, cannot cultivate. And his wife passed away not long ago. Today is the end of the year, a time for celebration. Since we’re already gathered together on such an auspicious day, why not make it doubly joyous?”

The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of chopsticks halted.

A flicker of fury flashed across the Clear Stream faction’s faces.

The He faction, on the other hand, wore expressions of barely concealed amusement.

Then a man from Clear Stream suddenly slammed the table and stood up. It was the Minister of Rites.

Red with rage, he shouted, “You’d have the Princess marry that disgraceful so-called Prince of Wildsouth?! Everyone knows the man’s nothing but a pretty face, shamelessly carousing his way across the north! He Shoukang, are you trying to humiliate Her Highness?!”

He Shoukang didn’t spare the man a glance. His eyes remained fixed on the Princess as he said lazily, almost mockingly, “And what does Her Highness think?”

In truth, he was hoping for resistance. Give him an excuse, and he’d wipe out every last one of them. No more games.

The imperial court was far crueler than the martial world. Once you were caught in the trap, the only way out was death.

But if the Princess of the Central Capital truly accepted this shame, if she became one of the He Clan...well, that worked too.

“So, shall I make it official?” he asked, tilting his head. “Tomorrow, the Prince of Wildsouth will send the betrothal gifts. Then we’ll pick an auspicious day for the wedding.”

He lifted his chin, eyes gleaming with arrogant delight, looking down on the Princess as if she were a mere servant girl whose fate he could settle with a flick of his hand.

It was pure humiliation, naked and deliberate.

Around him, the nobles chuckled into their wine.

Zhao Chunxin’s hand clenched around her blade. But the moment her fingers tightened, she noticed them, at least twelve fourth rank martial experts had silently gripped their weapons as well.

These twelve were the foundation of the He faction’s strength.

And Zhao Chunxin knew each one of them by name.

They were all famous throughout the capital. Even among their ranks, she wasn’t considered one of the strongest.

Zhao Chunxin gave a bitter smile.

Song Yehuang poured himself a cup of wine, then turned his head to look at the current center of the storm, the Princess of the Central Capital.

But just then, a voice rang out from across the table, barking at him, “Who told you to pour that drink?! Don’t you know your place?!”

The owner was a high-ranking member of the He Clan.

Fury flared on the faces of the Clear Stream faction.

Song Yehuang froze for a moment. Then, quietly, he set down the cup. With a soft sigh, his expression turned mournful. He glanced at Zhen'er.

Zhen'er, eyes on the smug, gloating He Shoukang, gave a faint smile and shook her head.

He Shoukang assumed she was about to refuse him. He didn’t get angry and simply chuckled.

“Princess, think carefully before you answer. You’ve come this far. You must’ve known what today was really about. You...”

He suddenly cut himself off. Closed his eyes for a brief moment. And when they opened again, they gleamed with mockery.

A second later, he could no longer hold it in. He burst into laughter.

When the laughter faded, he clapped his hands.

At that signal, the sharp metallic chorus of hundreds of blades leaving their scabbards filled the hall.

In an instant, cold steel hovered in midair, all pointed squarely at the Clear Stream side.

Killing intent surged, saturating the room, every ounce of pressure aimed at the Clear Stream faction. It was so thick Zhao Chunxin felt like a mountain was bearing down on her, crushing her limbs before a single strike had even landed.

From the darkness, 916 elite martial experts watched like hungry wolves.

“Princess, let’s drop the act, shall we? Whatever trump card you’ve got left, now’s the time to use it.” He Shoukang laughed heartily.

“If you’ve got nothing left...then don’t bother returning to the Star Manor tonight. Come stay a few nights with the He clan. Once the Prince of Wildsouth delivers the betrothal gift, we’ll go ahead and hold the wedding. After that, you can settle down in his manor.”

The room fell silent.

Zhen'er glanced around at her Clear Stream comrades, their faces tense, furious, and then she too smiled and shook her head.

“Lord He,” she said lightly, “I shook my head not to reject you, but because...this decision isn’t mine to make.”

“Oh?” He Shoukang raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Zhen'er replied, “Marriage is a matter of parental consent and the matchmaker’s word. Whether I can remarry...is up to my father.”

“Your father?” He Shoukang’s expression twisted in confusion.

And then, a streak of crimson light bloomed in the snowy dusk.

It exploded into a brilliant blaze of scarlet across the sky, bursting into hundreds of crimson streamers. They spiraled silently, coiling through the clouds like fiery dragons descending in the snowstorm. Bladelike streaks of light fell in a sudden, soundless rain upon the tower.

In the blink of an eye, all the blades aimed at the Clear Stream faction inside the Swan Pavilion clattered to the ground with ringing clangs.

Elsewhere, the hidden reserves of blood essence, carefully prepared by fourth and fifth rank cultivators, withered away in an instant.

The sudden shift left the entire hall stunned.

A noble from the He faction slammed the table and began to rise, but before he could even react, the chopsticks before him shot upward like a javelin. They pierced clean through his brow and launched him off the ground, pinning him to the thick wooden pillar behind him.

He dangled there, legs still twitching, eyes still wide with a fear he hadn’t had time to process.

Panic erupted.

Several members of the He faction jumped to their feet, only to be met with a deadly symphony of violence. The chopsticks, knives, and forks before them all transformed into instruments of execution. With sharp metallic shrieks, they shot through the air and struck with pinpoint precision, pinning their targets in place.

Whoever moved...died.

The rest froze in place, eyes wide in horror, no longer daring to even twitch.

One by one, they turned their gaze toward Zhen'er.

She, however, calmly sipped her tea.

Zhao Chunxin's eyes flicked to a figure lurking in the shadows. She recognized that silhouette, one of the most feared fourth-rank cultivators in the capital. Known as the Blade Emperor of the Central Capital, he had once been a prominent member of the Mystic Gold Monastery. After joining the Myriad Lineages Academy, he’d gained even more power, now standing at the very threshold of the third rank.

Among fourth rank martial artists, he was unmatched. He’d joined the He faction for one reason. That was to win enough favor for his family to earn a noble title.

When the rain of crimson silk had fallen earlier, it had claimed many fourth ranks. But somehow, the Blade Emperor had dodged it.

That alone showed his frightening skill. Yet even he was no different now.

A beam of red light engulfed him, and within that blaze, he let out a howl of agony.

Then, with a flash of black, a long obsidian blade cut down from the void and cleaved through his body.

His form shriveled and collapsed into death. He never even saw who had struck the blow.

Moments earlier, He Shoukang had been basking in triumph. Now, his expression had crumbled into one of sheer shock. Disbelief twisted his features, followed by terror, then madness.

Like a gambler who had just lost everything, he stared at Zhen'er with bloodshot eyes and stammered, “Princess...I...I still have the Crane Wing Army...”

He had barely finished the word army when a shadow fell across the room.

Through the windows of Swan Pavilion, everyone could see it: a giant, golden figure a thousand feet tall had suddenly appeared.

And facing it was another figure, roughly thirty feet high, shimmering and translucent, the familiar formation projection of the Crane Wing Army.

Everyone recognized that form. It was the full might of the Crane Wing Army's battle array.

But the golden giant? That was something no one could identify.

Then, Li Yuan raised a hand. Pure Yang energy condensed into a blade.

That blade tore through the air, space folding around it. Winds and snow, sky and ground, all were dragged into its wake, howling toward the target of that slash.

Red steel, blinding white edge, then that white edge bloomed into a thick, devouring mist.

The Crane Wing Army’s formation phantom, all thirty feet of it, was torn apart like paper.

Then the army itself, all ten thousand of them, along with their black-armored general and the luxuriously dressed overseer, burst into flame. In seconds, they turned to ash and scattered into nothing.

At the outskirts, some He faction elites who had remained outside saw the massacre unfold and turned to flee.

But as they moved, vines suddenly burst from the ground, winding around their legs and spearing through their bodies, dragging them down into the earth.

Three Tree’ers had been lying in ambush beyond the perimeter.

Inside Swan Pavilion, those still alive in the He faction watched in horror as their army was annihilated in an instant. Their faces drained of color, their spirits collapsed.

"You...your father...your father?! YOUR FATHER?!?" He Shoukang was unraveling. The words came out in a madman’s rhythm, one breath sharp, the next slow. One cry desperate, the next broken.

He stared at Zhen'er as if she were a ghost.

The father...of the Princess of the Central Capital? The Princess of the Central Capital, she had no father. No one had ever seen him. No one even knew who he was. So how the hell had he suddenly appeared? From where? And what even was he? Was he still...human? Was he EVER human?!! Impossible. Absolutely impossible!

He Shoukang gasped for breath, wild-eyed, horror and disbelief twisting his face as he stared at Zhen'er.

But Zhen'er stood up slowly, rising in the middle of a blood-soaked hall filled with corpses and the stench of death carried on the wind.

Suddenly, a flash of cold light shot toward her, a final assassin, a straggler hidden in the crowd.

But just as the blade reached midair, it jerked violently, twisted around, and flew backward. impaling a man in green straight through the heart and pinning him to the snow-covered ground outside.

In that snow...a youth was walking forward.

He raised his hand, and a swirling black light spun through the air, then flew back to him, condensing into the shape of a blade.

A black blade.

The youth approached the man in green and struck.

Before the strike, the man had worn a vicious grin. He was a fourth rank cultivator. Even if his body died, his blood essence could be preserved. He could be reborn.

After the strike, there was only despair on his face. He realized the future he once believed he still possessed...had just been severed by this blade.

His final thoughts were a flood of shock, confusion, and a desperate scream.

What kind of monster is this?

The youth kept walking.

Behind him loomed the golden colossus, over a thousand feet tall. The celestial figure crouched down, both hands gripping the Swan Pavilion like a curious toy. Tilting its head, its enormous eyes peered through the tiny openings, studying the little humans inside like ants in a jar.

Moments later, red ribbons floated around the giant. They slipped into the pavilion and wrapped themselves around the remaining He faction experts still in hiding. It was like watching an enormous anteater lazily flick its tongue and scoop up every last ant.

From the sky came cries.

“Spare me! Please! I swear I’ll never oppose the Clear Stream faction again! I’ll switch sides. I’ll serve you—”

“I was wrong! Senior, please, show mercy!”

“Senior! No, no, ahhh!”

...

These fifth and sixth rank experts, once mighty figures in the empire, now trembled like terrified mortals. Faced with death, they begged, they screamed.

But the red ribbons were merciless.

One by one, they were devoured, wrapped up, erased from existence. No bodies remained. Not even bones.

The youth continued climbing the steps of the pavilion.

With every step, he killed. Every direction. Every level. Total extermination.

The Immortal Form behind him. The red silk forged of dread flame and death. The blade that severed lifespans. And his own overwhelming power, piercing through every martial truth the world had to offer.

He had come from the south, long hidden in the shadows. Now, he walked in the open.

He looked upon the imperial capital, nothing but a toy in his eyes. He looked at the noble elites, these ants who thought themselves kings.

And he shook his head slowly. So this was it?

He casually cut down another hidden fourth rank expert and stopped before the doors of the main hall of Swan Pavilion.

Inside, Zhen'er was reciting solemnly.

“You are guilty. First, of plunging the people into chaos. Second, of murdering the Emperor. Heaven’s punishment may be avoided. But the punishment you bring upon yourselves cannot. I, Li Zhen, invite you now to die.”