Chapter 14: The Story Of Judge of Life and Death

The Emperor continued down the grand hallway, his footsteps echoing softly. The painting before him shifted once more, revealing the next chapter of the tale.

At the center of the canvas stood Zhou, they stood on a mountain, its surface unnaturally flat, as if carved by some ancient, unimaginable power. The ground below was invisible, shrouded in an abyssal void that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Facing him, hovering in the air, was another man.

The stranger had long crimson hair, a short red beard, and piercing red eyes that glowed like embers. His attire was a striking fusion of form-fitting armor and flowing fabric, a masterpiece of dark segmented material—perhaps enchanted leather or reinforced metal. Gold trims lined every edge, emphasizing his regal presence.

The bodice plunged in a deep V-shape, revealing a glimpse of his chest, while his long, tight sleeves extended to his wrists. Draped over his shoulders was a grand dragon-trimmed coat, its fabric shifting like liquid fire.

Two pairs of demonic horns curled from his head—one set jagged and curved, the other sleek and straight.

Beneath him, a massive wyvern spread its burning wings. Its black scales shimmered under the moonlight, its red eyes gleaming with primal fury. Blue flames coiled around its body, licking at the air as if alive.

Above them, countless dragons circled, their wings casting ominous shadows across the battlefield.

The crimson-haired man touched his chin, his lips curling into a sharp-toothed grin. His blood-red eyes locked onto Zhou, brimming with amusement. Slowly, his elongated nails darkened, sharpening into deadly claws.

Zhou, standing still, took a deep breath.

Then, without warning—

Bright yellow, distorted horns erupted from his head, curving wildly like celestial sigils. From his back, six immense wings unfurled, resembling jagged blades rather than feathers.

A single roar shook the heavens.

The sky froze.

The dragons above halted in mid-air, their wings stiff, their movements locked in time.

Zhou's feet lifted from the ground, his body ascending.

The elements surged to life around him. Fire, water, stone, grass, ice, shadow, light, and lightning—all of them spiraled in an orbit around his glowing form. An ethereal green radiance pulsed from his core, bathing the battlefield in an eerie luminescence.

Then, the clash.

Zhou and the crimson-haired man collided, unleashing a shockwave that shattered the very air.

The Emperor exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And then… you won, Zhou."

He reached the end of the hallway, standing before the final panel of the painting.

The scene depicted Zhou and the red-haired woman—the same woman from the waterfall—embracing beneath a shattered sky. Their figures were intertwined, locked in a moment that defied the chaos that had once surrounded them.

The Emperor's gaze softened.

"After your victory, the world fell silent. Peaceful. But after your death… the world we live in now grows ever more dangerous."

He did not stop walking.

The candlelight flickered as a presence emerged from the shadows. A figure stepped forward, their silhouette cutting through the moonlight.

"You do tell a very nice story, Emperor Valoria,"

The figure mused. The Emperor smiled, his eyes never leaving the painting.

"The tale of the Judge was beautiful, wasn't it?"

The wind stirred the curtains. Moonlight streamed into the corridor, illuminating the stranger.

It was the same person—the one who had slain the sickly wendigo.

They stood before the Emperor, a dagger in hand. Its hilt bore a golden dragon guard, while the blade shimmered in a bluish-white hue, as if forged from the very essence of frost and light.

The Emperor chuckled softly. The figure lowered their weapon.

"Deliver my gratitude to Empress Evyon, will you?"

The Emperor, his smile warm yet distant. The moonlight kissed his face, casting an ethereal glow upon him.

A long silence followed.

"…Sure,"

The figure finally murmured. The Emperor hesitated, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

"Dear Crown Evyon… may I see your face again?"

The request carried the weight of sorrow, his words faltering as if spoken through an old wound never healed.

The figure remained still. Then, slowly, they removed their mask.

The light of the moon flared, growing unbearably bright—blinding.

A deafening crack of thunder split the sky.

For a fleeting moment, everything was consumed by white.

And when the light faded—

The Emperor stood alone.