Dongfang Jiang and Pandana walked through the royal palace.
Since Ambrose had sealed off the basic elements, the palace seemed to welcome Dongfang Jiang and his companions, allowing them to pass through unhindered.
When the two arrived at Elizabeth’s palace, the doors to the Throne Hall slowly creaked open before Dongfang Jiang, the hinges groaning low.
Every flame in the hall had been suppressed to its minimum by some force, leaving only a dim red glow seeping through the gaps between the floor tiles, outlining the figure seated upon the throne at the far end of the chamber.
Ambrose wasn’t wearing that dark red monk’s robe.
He had changed into a black long coat that hugged his frame, collar buttoned all the way to the top.
His wrinkled face looked especially gaunt in the dim light.
His eyes were half-lidded, right hand resting on the armrest, left hand hanging at his knee, a deep purple ring on his ring finger slowly turning.
“…You’re here.”
His voice was unhurried, as if he were speaking to an empty wall.
“Earlier than I expected. It seems my juniors… couldn’t hold you off for long.”
Dongfang Jiang stepped across the threshold, Pandana following close behind.
The Swamp Moon floated beside her shoulder, its dark green light carving out a small territory of their own within this space corroded by crimson.
“Your juniors are strong.”
Dongfang Jiang stopped, the four-color energy swords condensing around him one after another as he instantly shifted into combat readiness.
“Too bad they were up against me.”
“Hm. Indeed.”
Ambrose didn’t deny it. He even gave a slight nod.
“The Young King’s swordsmanship has reached its peak, yet he still couldn’t lay a scratch on you. Your rate of growth… far exceeds my calculations.”
“Did your calculations include this step?”
Dongfang Jiang raised his right hand, and all four energy swords shot toward Ambrose simultaneously.
“I did calculate it.”
Ambrose finally opened his eyes, a glint of purple flashing through those murky orbs.
“That’s why I’ve been waiting for you.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Dongfang Jiang moved.
Four swords transformed into four streaks of light, each following a completely different trajectory as they converged on Ambrose upon the throne.
This four-sword coordination was Dongfang Jiang’s most flawless execution yet.
Angle, timing, energy ratio—all compressed to the absolute limit of his ability.
Ambrose didn’t stand.
He didn’t even raise a hand.
Just as the four swords were about to make contact with his body, a faint purple barrier, nearly invisible to the naked eye, emerged around him.
The Swamp Sword struck it, its dark green energy silently annihilated like water absorbed by a sponge.
The ice shards from the Glacier Sword burst apart and vaporized into mist midair, dissipating completely.
The sandstorm whipped up by the Desert Sword froze into glass-like fragments the moment it touched that film, crumbling to the ground.
Only the Stream Sword lasted a half-breath longer, its tip piercing about an inch into the barrier before being repelled by a far greater force, the entire blade flying backward and shattering into specks of light midair.
“…What?”
Dongfang Jiang instinctively stepped back.
The four energy swords recondensed at his side, this time with significantly more energy poured into each one—more than double their previous power.
He struck again.
The result was the same.
That faint purple barrier was like a wall that didn’t exist, intercepting every attack half an inch from Ambrose’s body, unable to advance even a fraction further.
Dongfang Jiang halted his assault, breathing slightly uneven.
Ambrose hadn’t even moved a finger.
“Your attacks are indeed exceptional. Sword Control, Energy Harmonization, Authority Control, attribute conversion… skills that ordinary people spend their entire lives failing to master, and you’ve touched the threshold of all of them in less than a month. Given enough time, perhaps you truly could grow into an existence capable of shaking the very order of things.”
He stood up, moving slowly, like a rusted mechanism grinding into motion.
The moment he was fully upright, the crimson glow within the Throne Hall intensified by half, and the light patterns in the floor’s crevices seemed to be injected with fresh blood, beginning to flow slowly.
“Unfortunately, you’re out of time.”
Dongfang Jiang struck again.
This time, he employed his Authority, and Ambrose felt a slight pressure.
A brown radiance bloomed from the Earth Ring, spreading outward from him as the center.
The air grew heavy, floor tiles emitted fine cracking sounds, and even the pillars flanking the Throne Hall showed visible fractures.
This crushing weight could snap an ordinary person’s bones on the spot, and even a seasoned warrior would find their movements sluggish under the strain.
Ambrose’s steps slowed by a beat, ripples spreading across the purple barrier under the immense pressure.
But they were only ripples.
He continued walking steadily forward, each footstep pressing into the ground, each one shattering Dongfang Jiang’s suppression.
“…That shield of yours isn’t made of energy, is it?”
Dongfang Jiang gritted his teeth, adding more weight to the gravity.
“Any defense constructed from energy would at least show cracks under my Authority.”
“No one has ever told you, have they? That there exist things in this world more ancient than basic energy.”
Ambrose stopped, less than ten steps from Dongfang Jiang.
His gaze drifted past him, landing on Pandana three steps behind.
“Little girl, you can sense it, can’t you? This aura. The one I’ve been concealing for over a hundred and forty years.”
Pandana’s body stiffened slightly.
She had sensed it indeed.
From the moment she entered the Throne Hall, her Swamp Energy had been issuing a faint warning, like standing at the edge of an abyss with bottomless darkness beneath her feet.
“This isn’t ordinary energy.”
She spoke, her voice unconsciously lowering.
“This aura… I’ve read about it. In the Northern Border Legends, in those ancient texts sealed by the Church…”
She paused, her gaze locked onto the purple barrier around Ambrose.
“This is Demon Aura. I can’t be wrong.”
The Throne Hall fell silent for a moment, and then Ambrose laughed.
It wasn’t a feigned laugh, but the natural relief of something hidden for far too long finally being uncovered.
“Oh? You can actually recognize it. What a… pleasant surprise.”
He raised his right hand, the deep purple ring slowly turning on his finger.
Purple light surged from the ring, draping over his original form like a new skin over old clothes.
His silhouette didn’t change, but his presence did.
The composure and dignity befitting the National Preceptor of the Kingdom of Aiselin dissolved completely, replaced by something colder, denser—like a black tide rising from the depths of the sea.
“The legends of the Northern Border, the ancient texts sealed by the Church… those things do contain a sliver of records about us.”
His voice changed too, growing deeper and smoother.
“But most of those accounts are vague and riddled with errors. The records about us in particular were directly erased. To recognize it, you must also be…”
He took a step forward.
“Geniuses! Both of you are geniuses. You may call me—’Hui.'”
“One of the Twelve Senior Officers beneath the Demon King.”
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