Chương 202: The Return of the Golden Lion

While the cold morning sun was intensifying on the horizon, revealing the suffocating tension enveloping Sylvester's palace and the terrified alleyways of Seiron, there was another movement, roaring and seismic, happening far from the light of day and beneath the feet of everyone. A hidden movement pulsing in the depths of the earth, entirely beyond the reach of Sylvester's spies scattered like rats, and outside the detection range of what remained of the Shadow Organization's killers.

Specifically, this movement breathed and pulsed within the Iron Vein Mine, an abandoned colossal complex extending beneath the northern mountain chain of Seiron. This mine was extraordinarily old; the Empire had exhausted its precious reserves of magical iron more than a century ago and left it to become a forgotten legend.

But its deep tunnels, carved with precision and reinforced with ancient stone pillars, were still strong and intact, forming a perfect impenetrable secret labyrinth: a safe haven capable of sheltering an entire army without attracting anyone's attention. In a vast cavern hall at the heart of the mountain, a hall so massive it could accommodate an entire cathedral, hundreds of blazing torches illuminated the damp stone walls, revealing the faces of hundreds, even thousands, of men lined up in strict military order.

They were no regular army by the standards of appearance or gleaming equipment displayed in parades. Their armor was old, crossed by the scratches of past battles, and the clothing beneath their armor was tattered and faded in color, their rough faces carved by the scars of time and the harshness of nature and the oppression of poverty. But in their eyes gleamed something more precious than gold and stronger than steel: righteous fury and an unyielding discipline.

These were the Old Guard, the elite knights expelled by Sylvester for refusing to swear blind loyalty to him, the reserve soldiers who had chosen hunger over serving the tyrant, and the clansmen who had lost their sons in the dark tax prisons. They had gathered here not as mercenaries searching for money, but as fathers and brothers searching for vengeance and dignity. Dex Williams stood on a naturally elevated stone platform at the end of the cave hall.

Beside him stood Lumia, wearing a black cloak concealing her features, appearing as a statue of ice and darkness, her silent presence radiating an aura of mystery and awe in the souls of the men who had not yet understood the nature of her terrifying power. The atmosphere in the cave was charged with a dense tension and a deadly anticipation, as though the air itself was preparing to explode.

Everyone present had heard the rumors in the hidden alleyways, rumors about the "ghost with the blue fire", but they desperately needed certainty, needed a symbol to lead them.

"Men of Seiron! Sons of the steadfast West!" Dex roared, his resonant voice reverberating through the hall, its power multiplied by the cave's immense echo, reaching the furthest soldier at the back.

"You were summoned here today, not to hide in the darkness like terrified rats, but to prepare to pounce. They have stolen your city from between your hands, humiliated your military honor, seized your lands and starved your children until they became walking skeletons in the streets. Sylvester Williams and the dogs surrounding him believe we are finished, they believe the true spirit of Williams has died and been buried in the palace vault!" Dex stepped one pace forward and raised his right hand.

Suddenly, a small blue flame ignited in his palm, but one so pure and concentrated that it illuminated the cave with a cold celestial light, making the ordinary torches appear dim by comparison. The legendary phoenix flames. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"But I tell you today, in a voice they will hear very soon, The Lion has not died! The Lion was bleeding in silence, was watching, and was sharpening his claws awaiting the right moment!" Dex raised his left hand in a dramatic gesture toward the thick shadow behind the stone platform. And from the womb of that pitch darkness, a heavy foot stepped forward. Then the man who everyone believed had become nothing more than a painful memory emerged. Lord Marcus Williams walked out.

A genuine collective gasp filled the cave, the sound of thousands of chests inhaling air simultaneously from the force of the shock. This was not the Marcus that rumors remembered: the sick, paralyzed old man breathing with difficulty and awaiting death. This was Marcus at the peak of his former glory. His massive body stood upright as solid masonry, his muscles knotted and tensed beneath his light armor, and his face carved by the scars of past wars was stern and hard as the mountain beneath which they stood.

But the most important and most terrifying thing was not his physical appearance, it was the aura. A golden aura, dense, hot, and terrifying, surrounding him like a divine shield. He was releasing a small fraction of his mana pressure, pure mana pressure at rank SS+, an immense pressure that made the surrounding air visibly shudder and made the flames in the torches bow and bend as though kneeling in respect before this tremendous force.

"Lord Marcus! My lord and master!" shouted Okon, the aged and battle-hardened commander who had fought wars beside Marcus in the past. Hot tears poured from his wrinkle-lined eyes, and he could not contain himself, he dropped to his right knee with force. And in a synchronized motion, in under a single second, thousands of men knelt. The sound of heavy armor striking the stone floor was thunderous, like thunder preceding a storm.

"The Lion has returned! Long live Lord Marcus! Long live the legitimate ruler!" the cries rang out, mixed with tears and screams of wild joy. Marcus raised his right hand in a slow and confident motion. And in an instant, silence reigned immediately. The silence of absolute loyalty and complete military discipline. Marcus looked at the faces of his old men, his eyes moving between them, remembering the names of many, remembering the battles they had fought, the wounds they had bled together.

"Rise, my men," Marcus said in a deep, rough, power-filled voice, a voice that filled chests with awe and security simultaneously.

"Do not kneel to me. We kneel only to the gods of heaven. Today, we are not masters and servants. We are brothers in arms." Dex stood beside his father, shoulder to shoulder. The image was deeply symbolic, a living painting summarizing hope: the wisdom of old and firmly rooted power (Marcus) alongside the ferocity of new and rebellious power (Dex).

"Today is Coronation Day, as they claim," Dex said with intense firmness, his eyes blazing with blue fire.

"But we will not let them place the blood-stained crown on his head. Listen to me carefully: we are not fighting today to reclaim a lavish palace or to sit on a throne, those are the ambitions of petty politicians. We fight to reclaim the Soul. We fight to reclaim the honor of the Williams family that they dragged through the mud, to cleanse Seiron of the filth of betrayal, oppression, and corruption."

Dex drew a long, gleaming Crystal Sword, one of the weapons seized from the warehouses the night before, and raised it high.

"We have returned your stolen weapons to you. Now, who is with me? Who among you is prepared to die today so that his children may live free tomorrow?"

"We are with you unto death and beyond!" the thousands responded in one voice that shook the mountain's foundations, a voice carrying years of accumulated fury. Everyone raised the gleaming Crystal Swords high, and the light of the cave's torches reflected off the clear blades, forming a raging sea of steel and fire. Outside, beyond the mine's tunnels, thunder began to roll across the overcast gray sky, and a violent rainstorm began striking the city with heavy drops like stones.

Dex looked at his father and smiled a slight smile.

"It seems the sky is weeping for what will happen today, Father." Marcus replied, gripping the handle of his massive sword with confidence: "No, my son, the sky is not weeping. It is beating the war drums. Only a few hours remain until zero hour. Let them prepare, for today, we will make history, and write it in blood." Dex sat in the dark corner of the cave while the commanders dispersed to organize the ranks, and he closed his eyes.

He felt the phoenix flames inside his heart pulsing with fierce and accelerating rhythm, yearning for the moment of release from their physical prison, yearning to burn the injustice that had spread through his city, and waiting for the signal to turn Sylvester's night into a day of hell.