CHAPTER 3: THE CHINA ENCOUNTER 2

Continuation...

Closing my eyes once more, I force myself to concentrate. The memories are overwhelming, crashing over me like relentless waves. The pain in my head sharpens, but I push through. I think harder, deeper—until something clicks.

I hear the Gatekeeper's voice. I remember the spell he cast. I see the rainbow light engulfing me, feel the shift as I teleport. Then, I recall the warmth of the sun, the air against my skin, the sensation of falling toward Earth.

A sudden clarity washes over me.

"That's it, brother," Serpent's voice drifts away like a fading echo. "You made it."

The garden dissolves into a wash of blinding light.

"May we meet again."

I blink my eyes open and immediately wish I hadn't.

I'm lying at the bottom of a sinkhole, surrounded by strange faces—faces hardened by time, duty, and the kind of life where luxury is a myth. These aren't just soldiers; they're survivors, forged by necessity rather than privilege.

Their eyes study me with quiet intensity, sharp cheekbones and sun-darkened skin speaking of years spent beneath a ruthless sun. Some bear the pronounced jaws of seasoned warriors, while others, barely past boyhood, wear the ghost of youth under layers of hardship. Their hair is uniformly black, tied in tight topknots while some bound beneath helmets, adding to their disciplined, unwavering presence.

Their builds vary—some broad-shouldered and powerful, others lean and wiry, built for speed. Scars litter their arms and hands, proof of a life spent between the fields and the battlefield. Their armor is a patchwork of steel, leather, and cloth—protection born of necessity, not wealth. **Lamellar armor**—iron or hardened leather plates laced together—covers their torsos, scratched and worn but still resilient. Beneath, they wear padded tunics in muted greens, dusty browns, or faded blues, colors meant to blend with the land they fight for.

One of them steps forward, speaking in a language that flows with rhythmic precision, rising and falling like the pulse of an ancient song.

"你是谁?你是怎么在墜机中存活的?"

I have no idea what he just said, but I can guess it's not "Welcome, dear guest!"

I shift, attempting to push myself up, and instantly, they react. Weapons flash as they step back in perfect synchrony, swords and spears angled at me with lethal precision.

I raise a hand, grimacing at the pain shooting through my spine. "Relax! I'm not here to hurt you."

No one moves.

Great. Tough crowd.

I try to stand again, but my legs tremble like a newborn deer, and my spine screams in protest. Before I can stop myself, I collapse onto the hard earth, gasping.

"Help me. Please." I glance up at them, pain twisting my face.

They exchange wary glances. Then—

I don't know how it happens, but the next thing I know, I'm being dragged like a sack of rice through dirt paths, chains wrapped tight around my wrists, neck, and ankles. The leader of the soldiers grips the chain like he's walking a particularly stubborn mule.

Can you imagine? A god of thunder, reduced to a prisoner. This is embarrassing.

"Look, I don't mean to be a bother, but could we—" I wince as the chains dig into my wrists. "—maybe pause for a drink break? I'm parched. A little liquid? Water? Mead? Milk? Anything?"

Silence.

Not one of them even glances in my direction. Either I've turned invisible, or they don't understand English.

Hours pass before we arrive at our destination.

The palace looms ahead—an architectural marvel of sweeping rooftops, towering columns, and intricate carvings that whisper of ancient power. The front gates are guarded by two men who stiffen at the sight of me, their expressions shifting from disinterest to sharp scrutiny.

The guard on the right grips his spear tighter. "这陌生人是谁?"

The soldiers' leader shakes his head, still catching his breath. "不知道,但国王必须见他."

The right guard frowns. "你们在哪里找到他的?"

"一个天坑里.他是从天上掉下来的."

The left guard stiffens. The right one's brows shoot up. "天上?" He turns to his fellow guard, voice dropping into something edged with disbelief. "他居然活了下来?"

The soldiers' leader gives a firm nod. "是的,他活了.我们必须通知国王,这片土地上开始发生奇怪事了."

Without hesitation, the right guard nods to his counterpart, who promptly vanishes through the palace doors.

Minutes later, the King steps outside.

He moves with the effortless grace of a man who commands respect without demanding it. His robe is a masterpiece, woven with deep blue and gold, flowing like a river of silk. Every thread glimmers under the light, embroidered with intricate patterns of dragons and phoenixes, symbols of power and wisdom. The crown, atop his head is adorned with golden filigree and inlaid with shimmering blue gemstones, catching the light with every movement. Delicate tassels hang from its sides, swaying gently as he turns his head. A glowing emblem rests on his chest, radiating a soft, warm light, as if carrying the wisdom of the heavens.

He turns the pages of an ancient book, fingers gliding over the sacred text, absorbing knowledge like a scholar in meditation.

I take one look at him and grin. "Wow. You've got a romantic king."

The soldiers' leader shoots me a dark glare, his face unreadable.

I sigh. Tough crowd indeed.

The soldiers' leader steps forward, bowing respectfully before the king. His expression is tense, his voice steady but edged with uncertainty.

"陛下,我们带来了一位奇怪的生物." He pauses for a moment, as if still processing what he witnessed. "如果我告诉您,我们追踪并找到了一件从太空坠落的物体,而它竟然是一个与我们相似的生物,您恐怕不会相信."

The air in the grand hall thickens with intrigue. The surrounding guards exchange glances, their grips tightening on their weapons. The king, his gaze sharp and calculating, closes the ancient book in his hands, slowly looks up and smiles at me.

"Hello, Trivium. Welcome back to Earth," the king says, his voice calm yet firm.

I narrow my eyes. "Do we know each other?"

A soft smile plays on his lips. "No, you don't know me. But I know you."

I let out a dry chuckle. "Finally, someone who speaks English. Not some—" I pause, eyeing him suspiciously. "How do you know me? From where?"

"I'll tell you," he says, glancing at the soldier gripping my arm. "But not here."

The soldier tightens his hold and starts leading me inside.

The throne room is a grand masterpiece of gold and crimson, exuding power and elegance. Tall red pillars draped in flowing golden fabric frame the space, while intricate lanterns cast a warm glow over the polished black marble floor. A wide staircase of rich red wood leads to the throne—an ornate seat of authority beneath a golden canopy, its intricate patterns and plush cushion radiating both dominance and refinement.

Stone guardian statues stand watch on either side, their fierce presence reinforcing the weight of tradition. Gilded balconies line the chamber, hinting at unseen observers, while jade urns and ornate railings add a final touch of splendor. This is not just a throne room—it is a symbol of power, history, and destiny.

I glance around, admiring the craftsmanship. "I have to admit, this place is impressive."

"Thank you," the king replies, walking toward the throne. "So, where should we begin?"

"How about explaining—"

He cuts me off smoothly. "How I know you." A knowing look flashes across his face. "Alright. Why don't we start with a drink?"

I hold his gaze, my expression unreadable. I don't trust him, but something about him intrigues me.

I force a smile. "I'd love to."

He gives a subtle nod to one of his guards before settling into his throne. The guard hurries off. Moments later, the sound of footsteps approaches.

I turn my head and see a woman stepping forward, draped in an elegant dress, her presence commanding.

"You've brought in a new prisoner, haven't you?" she asks, her sharp gaze scanning me.

"He's not a prisoner," the king corrects. "And he's not a slave either."

"Then who is he?" she demands.

I open my mouth to answer. "Trivium, god of Thunder, son of—"

She cuts me off with a sharp look. "Did I give you permission to speak, stranger?"

I clench my jaw but say nothing.

"He's right, Fang," the king interjects. "My father studied his kind before he passed."

She scoffs. "Gods?" A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. "So, you want to pick up where that heartless man left off? Abandon this village to chase after his nonsense about supernatural creatures?"

"I never said that, Fang." His voice remains steady. "But this man survived a crash-landing on Earth. That alone proves he's not ordinary."

I frown. "What are you talking about?"

Before he can answer, the guard returns, carrying a large bottle and three glasses.

"Finally," the king murmurs, a slight smirk forming.

Then, he speaks in a strange language:

"Clavis rupta, nexus frangam,

Ferro solutum, vincula cadam!"

He traces a sigil in the air with his fingers. The chains around my neck, wrists, and ankles snap open instantly.

I stare at him, stunned. "Magic? You're a wizard?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I prefer the term sorcerer." He picks up the bottle and begins pouring the wine. "Now, let's talk."

He hands a glass to Fang, then another to me before taking one for himself.

I swirl the liquid in my glass, my voice steady. "You still haven't told me who you are."

The king chuckles. "You're right. Let me introduce myself. My name is Shang Lei, son of Weng Lei, ruler of Chacang Village, Tibet, China. My people call me Epic Sorcerer."

He takes a sip before continuing.

"When I was young, I loved reading my father's research journals. At first, I thought they were just stories—fairy tales, legends. But as I grew older, I realized they were more than that. My father trained me and my cousin in Kung Fu, Karate, and Taekwondo. Then, when I turned 21, he revealed the truth. His research wasn't fiction. He had spent years studying supernatural beings—Sentry Giants, aliens, beasts, gods, Infinite Weapons, and the multiverse."

I lean forward. "Wait—you knew about the Infinite Weapons?"

He tilts his head slightly. "Yes. Why?"

I set my glass down. "King Goliath sent Erebus to steal them all. Right now, Erebus's men are on their way to Earth. If they get here, they won't stop until they take the next weapon. We need to work together—to find the user and protect the weapon."

Shang Lei studies me carefully, then takes another sip of his drink. "If you truly know about the Infinite Weapons, then tell me—what are they?"

I answer without hesitation. "The War Gauntlet, Alabaster Box, Amulet, Fortitude Shield—those are the four my father listed. There are ten in total, but those are the ones I remember. We have to move fast. Find the user and protect him—and the Amulet."

A slow smirk crosses his face as he swirls the wine in his glass. "Well, here's the good news—I know exactly who the Amulet's user is."

I exhale sharply. "And the bad news?"

He places his glass down and leans back. "He won't just hand it over to you. And he's not the type to work well with others."

I step closer. "Give me his name and location. I'll handle the rest."

Shang Lei and Fang exchange a knowing look before he turns back to me, his lips curving into a smile.

"The location is Chacang Village," he says. "And the user?"

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady.

"That would be me."

My eyes widen in disbelief. "What?! You can't be serious."

He exhales, as if he's heard this reaction a hundred times before. "I know you won't believe me. Most people don't. But it's the truth." He pauses, his voice calm but firm.."My father possessed the Amulet. He thought it was just a weapon—but it was something far darker. He studied it, mastered it… until it mastered him. The Amulet took control of his mind, his body. In the end, it led him to his death."

I narrow my eyes. "Then why the hell are you using the same thing that killed him?"

A faint smirk tugs at his lips. "Because I found a way to control it." He leans backward, lowering his voice.."Balance of Equation. Master Hong told me a secret—one my father never knew. To truly wield the Amulet, you must become a sorcerer of your own. Weng Lei was strong, yes—an unmatched fighter in Kung Fu, Karate, and Taekwondo. But he was only human. The spirits inside the Amulet used him, drained him… and discarded him when he was no longer useful."

I fold my arms, still skeptical. "Then prove it."

I take a step forward, staring him down. "If you're the true wielder of the Amulet… show me."

Fang grips his arm, her voice sharp with urgency.

"别这样, 尚雷!" she shouts, her face tense with frustration.

Shang Lei glances at her, unfazed. "我为什么不能?" he replies coolly, meeting her gaze.

Fang shakes her head, her voice lowering but still firm. "他不值得信任, 尚.就像你之前说的, 使用者不会轻易把护身符交给陌生人.而且, 他根本不是那种能和别人合作的人."

Shang Lei exhales, his jaw tightening.."我知道.但是, 他不是邪恶的.他只是想和我们合作, 保护护身符."

Fang searches his face for doubt, but he's already made up his mind. Her grip tightens. "尚雷, 不要." Her voice is softer now, laced with worry.

King Shang Lei rises from his throne and speaks the same strange language again, "Veritas revelata, quod occultum est, manifestetur in palma mea!"

Revealing the magical weapon, Amulet on his right palm.

"Satisfied?" He said in English

"Yes. We need to find one more person."

"Who's it?" He asked

To be continued....