Chương 40: Chapter 19 Part 3

Across the noble district, high within the bureaucratic, towering spire of the Mage Tower, Duke Kirnof sat at his cluttered desk. As the reigning Archmage of the Zareth Kingdom, he was a man who commanded the very elements. He wore deep violet robes trimmed with starlight silk, his silver hair tied back with a simple, unadorned leather cord. Despite his immense arcane power, he bore the heavy, exhausted posture of a man carrying the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.

With the King's health rapidly failing, locked away in a magical stasis slumber, the true, grinding burden of ruling had fallen to Crown Prince Theron. Kirnof loved his nephew fiercely. As a staunch loyalist to the Royal Faction, he had guided the boy since childhood, trusting the Crown Prince's sharp intellect and measured judgment implicitly. Suddenly, the intricate platinum ring on Kirnof's right index finger burned with a searing, white-hot heat.

Kirnof stood up instantly, his heavy chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. It was the royal emergency tether. A summon of the highest priority, utilized only when the sovereignty of the Crown was under immediate, existential threat. Without a single second of hesitation, the Archmage stepped onto the glowing teleportation array carved into the exact center of his office floor. He channeled a massive surge of pure, concentrated mana into the intricate runes.

The physical world warped, folded in on itself, and spat him out thousands of feet away. Kirnof materialized seamlessly in the center of the Astral Chamber.

"Theron, what is it? Is it the Empire?" Kirnof demanded, his hands already glowing with latent, highly destructive arcane magic as he stepped off the runic circle. He stopped short. Theron was standing by the scrying table. The Crown Prince looked as though he hadn't slept in a week. He was downing a high-tier stamina potion from a glass vial, his hands shaking noticeably as he swallowed the bitter, energizing liquid.

"No, Uncle," Theron said, his voice unusually hollow and defeated.

"The Empire is a conventional threat. This is something else entirely." Kirnof stepped up to the Zenith Array, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the hairline fracture running straight through the priceless dwarven crystal. He looked down into the depths of the map. The lower floors were entirely dark. The mythic Guardian signatures were gone.

"The Abyss..." Kirnof breathed, his vast arcane senses failing to comprehend the impossible data presented before him.

"Who did this? How many raid parties did the guilds mobilize in secret?"

"Not a party, Uncle," Theron replied, setting the empty potion vial heavily on the table.

"One woman. She cleared the twentieth floor, and she is currently ascending the main chasm at a speed that defies every known law of physics. She will breach the surface in a matter of hours." Kirnof stared at his nephew, his brilliant mind racing. As the Archmage, he knew the absolute limits of human power. He knew exactly how much mana the human vessel could safely hold before detonating. What Theron was describing was theoretically, magically impossible.

"Are you certain?" Kirnof asked softly.

"I am certain that the peak of power we have based our entire civilization upon is a lie," Theron said grimly, reaching up to straighten the collar of his royal uniform, preparing to face the apocalypse.

"She is angry, Uncle. She was wronged in our city, and she is coming up. I need you with me to assess her." Kirnof felt a cold, deep chill run down his spine. If Theron, a man who meticulously controlled every variable and never surrendered command, was this terrified, the threat was absolute. The Archmage let the glowing mana in his hands fade, extinguishing his magic entirely. Posturing with spells against a god was a fool's errand.

"I will stand beside you, Theron," Kirnof said, his voice steadying to offer his nephew strength.

"What are your orders?"

"We do not posture. We do not negotiate from a place of authority," Theron commanded, walking toward the heavy mahogany doors of the chamber.

"We go to the lip of the Abyss, and we surrender the capital to her mercy."

A few hours later, the evening sun was casting long, bloody streaks of orange and crimson across the sky over Elyndria. At the very center of the city, ringing the colossal, plunging sinkhole of the Grand Abyss, one thousand of the Zareth Kingdom's finest heavy infantry knelt on the polished white marble. Their massive dwarven-steel tower shields lay flat on the ground. Their swords remained securely in their scabbards.

Standing at the very front of the kneeling formation was Crown Prince Theron, with Archmage Kirnof standing half a step behind him. They stared down into the yawning darkness of the chasm, listening to the wind. It didn't sound like wind anymore. It sounded like a hurricane trapped in a tunnel. BOOM. A blur of black-and-crimson silk shot out of the darkness like a fired cannonball. A concussive shockwave of displaced air erupted from the Abyss, blowing the heavy cloaks of the kneeling soldiers violently backward.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Ming Xuan Ji crested the lip of the colossal sinkhole. She didn't arc gracefully into the sky. She manipulated her internal gravity, slamming her boots directly down onto the black road of the plaza with the force of a meteor. CRACK. A crater ten yards wide instantly spider-webbed beneath her feet. She stood up straight, her [Heavenly Demon Raiment] entirely immaculate.

In her left hand, she held the halfling Lynx by the collar. She opened her grip, and Lynx dropped to the street, instantly dry-heaving violently from the mind-breaking trauma of the ascent. Xuan Ji's eyes, blazing with an unnatural, terrifying golden light, swept over the thousand kneeling soldiers and landed on the Crown Prince. Theron swallowed his terror and took a single, measured step forward.

"Lady Ming Xuan Ji?" Crown Prince Theron spoke, his voice carrying the practiced, even projection of a ruler.

"I am Crown Prince Theron of the Zareth Kingdom. On behalf of my father, the King, I ordered my men to kneel to honor your conquest of the Abyss. We are not your enemy." Xuan Ji stared at him.

"I'm surprised that you are aware of my existence. I'm indeed Ming Xuan Ji. Or you can address me by my title, The Heavenly Demon." Xuan Ji commanded, her voice dropping the ambient temperature of the plaza by ten degrees.

"The Vael estate. It was attacked in my absence. By whom?" Theron didn't hesitate.

"The Blood God Cult, Lady Ming. The moment we received word of the attack, I dispatched a cavalry unit of the Silver Order and a thousand of my heavy infantry to reinforce the estate. We are not aware of how they can get into the city, but we are investigating it right now." The Crown Prince swallowed hard, bracing himself.

"But I am deeply sorry... we were too late. The attack was swift and executed cleanly. The enemy fled into the shadows just as our help arrived." Xuan Ji's golden eyes narrowed. Deep within her retinas, the spiritual beacon from Evanthe's shattered charm was flashing with a violent, crimson urgency. It was pointing far to the north, far beyond the city walls.

"Crown Prince Theron," Xuan Ji said, her voice a low, vibrating hum of pure lethality.

"Yes, Lady Ming?"

"Seal your capital," she ordered, turning away from him.

"Lock your gates. Ground your wyvern riders. Hunt down any remaining cultists, find them at any cost." Before Theron could respond, Xuan Ji bent her knees. BOOM. The marble shattered again as she launched herself into the sky, carrying herself over the sweeping cerulean roofs of Elyndria faster than a fired arrow. Theron exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Spymaster," he ordered grimly.

"Contact General Hugo immediately to hunt down the cult bastard responsible for this. The Zareth Kingdom is staying out of her path."

It took Xuan Ji a few minutes to cross the capital. She landed softly on the ruined battlements of the Vael estate. The pristine, manicured compound was a warzone. The heavy iron gates were blown completely off their hinges. Knights of the Silver Order and heavily armed infantry were swarming the perimeter, hastily trying to secure the slag-melted cobblestones and treat the wounded. Xuan Ji ignored them completely. She blurred past the bewildered royal troops, moving directly into the guest wing.

She stepped into the hallway and found a scene of devastation. The walls were scorched black. Sitting on the blood-stained carpet was Vice Guild Master Durgan, a horrifying, necrotic wound burned straight through his chest plate. Beside him lay Axel, his dark elven skin severely burned and his chest visibly caved in. Kneeling between them was High Apothecary Silas Vane, his hands glowing with frantic, entirely inadequate healing magic. Xuan Ji walked forward, her footsteps silent.

Silas looked up, his eccentric eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

"You... you came back," Silas stammered.

"It's barely been a week. The floor guardian..."

"Is dead," Xuan Ji stated coldly. She stopped in front of the bleeding Vice Guild Master. Durgan slowly lifted his heavy head.

"Lady Ming..." Durgan croaked, bowing his head to expose his thick neck.

"We failed. The vanguard broke. The Cult brought an Elder... and used a high-tier blood magic. Strike me down. I have forfeited my life to the contract."

"Did she suffer?" Xuan Ji asked, her voice an eerily calm whisper.

"No," Silas answered, his voice shaking.

"They didn't drag her out, Lady Ming. They didn't have to." Xuan Ji's eyes snapped to the apothecary.

"Explain."

"Durgan and Axel... they fought like demons. They slaughtered the first three waves," Silas explained.

"But the Elder sacrificed his own men to break the Earth-shield. He impaled Durgan and crushed Axel. They were going to die." Silas swallowed hard.

"The girl saw them falling. She shattered the black jade charm on her chest. And then... she walked out of the room. She surrendered to the Elder so he wouldn't kill us. She traded her life for ours." Xuan Ji fell completely silent. The image of her traumatized fourteen-year-old disciple willingly walking into the hands of her abusers to save hired mercenaries struck her like a physical blow. The rage in her Dantian grew colder, darker, and infinitely more focused. Xuan Ji raised her bare right hand.

She didn't strike Durgan's neck; she pressed her open palm directly against the necrotic, black wound on his chest. A rush of impossibly pure, searing Yang Qi flooded his body. [True Fire Samadhi: Purifying Flame]. The corrosive blood-acid inside Durgan's chest hissed and vaporized instantly, entirely burned out by her golden fire. Durgan gasped as the paralyzing pain vanished.

She stepped over to Axel, placed her foot lightly on his shattered chest, and sent a localized pulse of vibrational Qi into his ribs, forcefully snapping the bones back into perfect alignment before searing the micro-fractures shut. Silas Vane stared at her, his jaw completely unhinged.

"You did not fail your contract, Durgan," Ming Xuan Ji said, standing tall over the recovering warriors.

"You fought until your bodies broke. You earned your cores." She glanced down at the Apothecary.

"Anyway, I'm no healer. All I did was prevent the worst from happening. Silas Vane, take care of them. Also, take this." Ming Xuan Ji casually handed over the Abyssal Frost Marrow to Silas Vane.

"Finish the potion," she stated firmly before turning her back. Durgan pushed himself up.

"Lady Ming... where are you going?" Deep in her vision, the crimson beacon of Evanthe's soul was pulsing steadily, pointing toward the northern border. Pointing toward Kaelen's Crossing.

"My disciple showed you mercy," Xuan Ji whispered to the night air, her golden eyes flaring as she prepared to cross a kingdom.

"I am going to show them none."