Chapter 563: Impact

The Chasm of Blazing Embers.

The earth here had imbibed far too much blood and fire during that bloody crusade a millennium ago, leaving the soil stained a sanguine red to this day, resembling a dormant, smoldering conflagration when glimpsed from the highest heavens.

Ever since that ancient war drew to a close, this realm had remained under the dominion of the new Lord of Blazing Embers, Phoenix.

He had achieved the profound might of a Great Sage long ago, standing as the most formidable thrall beneath the King of Nightmare Malevolence.

Deep within the monolithic palace harbored in the recesses of the chasm, a crimson-skinned giant standing five meters tall suddenly let out a low, muffled grunt, his eyes snapping open to reveal a gaze shimmering with indignation and bloodlust.

"Worthless swine!"

He could sense that his avatar had been utterly eradicated, and the resultant pang of agony slicing through his very soul left him deeply disquieted.

"Utterly worthless, the lot of them!"

He bellowed in a fit of rage.

Flame-Wing, Thranduil, and Mephisto held the three great treasures—the Witch-Soul Pearl, the Heart of the Storm, and the Blazing Insignia—carrying with them the grand ambition to cultivate their factions upon the Astral Continent, yet he had never anticipated they would meet such a swift and absolute ruin.

Having spent the worst of his fury, Phoenix turned his undivided attention toward Ronin.

"This human Sage is no weakling; once he sets foot upon the Crescent Continent, he will inevitably bolster the strength of the human race, and the balance of power will be shattered."

Phoenix rose to his full height, "I must apprise Salonas and Ceres of this matter without delay, so that we may devise a strategy to counter him."

With those words, he transmuted his form into a miniature dragon scarce two or three meters in length and flew swiftly out of the palace.

Over the days that followed, the tidings of Ronin seizing Dragon City and slaying Flame-Wing and His Majesty Tyros spread like wildfire, quickly reaching the ears of the nobility stationed across the other shifting fronts of the war.

In an instant, countless missives of congratulation were dispatched from strongholds far and wide, all eager to offer their compliments to the Duke of Conquest.

There were even those who, without a second thought, mounted swift steeds to journey to Dragon City in person to deliver their felicitations face-to-face.

Iben’s legions had essentially devoured the Blackthorn Principality, with only the final, lingering remnants of the campaign left to conclude.

The moment this news reached his ears, he temporarily relinquished the administration of the army to his trusted confidants and Count Gushan, before taking to the back of a gryphon to journey south.

As the gryphon hovered in the skies above the Dragon Royal Palace, Iben gazed down upon the battlefield below, his heart unable to find tranquility for a long, agonizing moment.

That Ronin had claimed Dragon City with such staggering speed was enough to stir their souls, but for Iben, it was the palace before him—now reduced to a sprawling expanse of desolation—that struck the deepest chord of shock within him.

What manner of cataclysmic clash could have reduced the Dragon Royal Palace, an edifice far grander in scope than the Golden Feather Palace, into a wasteland of ash and rubble? Could a legendary knight and a legendary grand magus truly achieve such a harrowing feat?

Having not witnessed it with his own eyes, Iben could scarce conceive how fierce the struggle must have been.

Yet he understood one truth clearly: the current Ronin possessed a terrifying, absolute strength, a single man who could likely match the entire might of a nation.

"Now, it all depends on what he chooses to do next."

Iben mused silently, though he knew full well that whatever Ronin desired to do now, no soul alive possessed the power to stay his hand.

None dared provoke a man of such ruthlessness, one capable of grinding a royal palace to dust in a single engagement.

It was not only Iben who watched Ronin's every movement with bated breath; every noble in the land did the same.

According to the decrees established during the previous grand council of nobles, once Dragon City was taken, Ronin would be fully entitled to forge his own kingdom.

At the same time, the hour had arrived for a new sovereign to ascend the throne of the Kingdom of Alduin.

Thus, who would sit upon this vacant throne?

Whether measured by sheer might, by military merit, or by the breadth of his influence, there was virtually no one left who could stand as a rival to Ronin.

Consequently, many took it as a foregone conclusion—Ronin would inherit the crown of Alduin, bringing a renewed unity to the Orlante Continent and establishing a rising empire.

Yet, the two pieces of intelligence that subsequently rippled through the land caught them entirely unawares once more.

The first stated that Ronin, quite remarkably, would not ascend the throne of the Kingdom of Alduin.

The second revealed that Ronin had crossed into an unprecedented realm of the Sages, his prowess now eclipsing even that of the first Emperor of Orlante.

Upon hearing the first report, Iben felt a sudden, burning fervor ignite within his chest, wondering if Ronin’s renunciation of the Alduin throne meant that his own hour of destiny had finally arrived.

However, the second revelation instantly jarred him back to stark reality.

Though a Sage was a concept entirely foreign to his understanding, the ruined shell of the Dragon Royal Palace served as a grim monument to what such a being truly signified.

If a man of that caliber refused to claim the crown of the Alduin Kingdom, who else could possibly possess the right to inherit it?

A realization dawned upon Iben; perhaps it was not that Ronin lacked the desire to inherit the realm, but rather that he harbored certain reservations.

As for what could cause a Sage to hesitate?

Pondering the matter back and forth, Iben concluded that only one thing remained: reputation.

If Ronin wished to unify the Orlante Continent and establish a new empire, he would certainly not permit it to bear the name of Alduin, nor perhaps even the Empire of Orlante.

Yet, if he were to fashion an entirely new name, then as the Duke of Conquest and the son-in-law of His Majesty Bruno, completely obliterating the legacy of the Alduin lineage might appear somewhat unseemly.

"Perhaps I ought to draft a joint petition alongside the other nobles, imploring Ronin to accept the throne of Alduin."

With this thought, Iben’s mind cleared instantly; he went into action without delay, intending to present this collective missive as a grand celebratory offering on the ninth day of September, the day of Ronin’s coronation.

In truth, Ronin did harbor reservations of this nature, though his primary concern lay in ensuring a smoother implementation of his future policies.

While his retainers and the Ministry of Rites were working feverishly to orchestrate the coronation ceremony and adorn the Mist Castle, Ronin, after quiet deliberation, chose to invest over seventy-seven thousand points of his accumulated energy essence into Carlos.

Gazing upon the creature hovering before him, now transformed into a miniature dragon scarce a meter or two in length, Ronin found himself thinking, quite incredibly, that Carlos possessed a certain undeniable charm in his current state.

Having crossed the threshold into the Legendary rank, Ronin could perceive that both Carlos’s physical form and the depth of his soul had undergone a monumental metamorphosis.

Particularly striking was the baptism of heaven and earth that accompanied his breakthrough; though it did not match the grandeur of a Sage's ascension, it was far more profound than what Ronin himself had experienced upon reaching the Legendary realm.

Though Carlos had only just set foot into the Legendary tier, his intrinsic power was something even those at the pinnacle of that rank would find themselves entirely helpless against.

And should he unleash the twin abilities he now commanded, even a Sage would be forced to pale in consternation.

Carlos’s "Abyssal Frost Embrace" possessed the power to lock away both flesh and soul in a prison of ice, its corruptive influence upon the spirit far outstripping the manifestation unleashed by Phoenix’s avatar.

Yet, the true nature of this power depended entirely upon Carlos’s intent.

He could suspend the vital essence of a target, freezing their life-state to be released only when desired; even a soul on the very precipice of demise could have their injuries instantly halted, preserved until the moment they could be properly mended.

His fire-attributed capability, the "Warped Flame Spirits," unleashed a swarming horde of draconian fledglings composed of pure flame; they carried not only a scorching, incandescent heat, but upon detonating, they generated a distorting gravitational field that would tear enemies apart, dragging them down into the morass of a warped spatial rift.

This technique bore a striking resemblance to Ronin’s own Vacuum Strangling Art, both containing a foundational mastery over the deeper mysteries of space.

Following Carlos’s elevation, a remainder of over one hundred thousand points of energy essence lay at his disposal; Ronin expended a further thirty-eight thousand points to elevate Rhaegar’s strength to the absolute zenith of the Legendary rank.

At that moment, he also came to understand that to elevate Rhaegar's latent aptitude to the level of a Sage would require an expenditure of one hundred thousand points of energy essence.

In other words, he merely needed to amass another thirty-two thousand points to bridge the gap.

Next, whether by ascending as king or by elevating the Darknorth Territory into a metropolitan capital, fulfilling either achievement would grant him the means to satisfy that requirement.