Chapter 538 Imperial Integrity
However, this seemingly impregnable defense was as fragile as paper in the eyes of the masked assassin—the Blood Demon Lord. He had just personally defeated Long Yuan, and his aura was at its peak, like a demon returning from hell.
Especially Ruan Xiaotian, whose arm meridians have not yet recovered, his strength has been greatly reduced; and those martial artists, although they are also first-class masters, are far inferior to Blood Demon Lord who can defeat Longyuan head-on.
Blood Demon Lord slowly turned around, his eyes, hidden beneath his mask, coldly sweeping over the group of warriors "protecting" him through the narrow gaps.
He didn't say anything, but simply raised his right hand, which was stained with Longyuan's blood, and casually clenched it in the air.
"Buzz—!"
An invisible, overwhelming, and terrifying pressure, like the Milky Way pouring down from the heavens, instantly filled the entire palace.
The Imperial Guard soldiers at the forefront felt as if they had been struck in the chest by a giant hammer; their vision went black, and they collapsed to their knees. The martial artists groaned, their faces turning deathly pale, their legs trembling uncontrollably, almost causing them to kneel down.
Ruan Xiaotian gritted his teeth and forcibly activated the remaining true energy in his body in an attempt to stabilize his body, but a trace of blood had already spilled from the corner of his mouth. Looking at the other top martial artists raised by Zhao Yan, they were all lying on the ground vomiting blood.
He was shocked; this person's strength far exceeded his expectations!
After delivering the fatal blow to Longyuan, the Blood Demon Lord did not rush to take the emperor's life.
He seemed to enjoy this cat-and-mouse game.
He walked step by step toward Zhao Yan. Each step felt like it was landing on everyone's hearts, echoing heavily. The hard ground cracked silently beneath his feet, spiderweb-like fissures spreading outwards like the mark of death.
The air around us was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
Despite their fear, the remaining Imperial Guards soldiers gripped their weapons tightly, forming the last line of defense with their bodies.
Their eyes held a fear of death, but even more so, a loyalty to and protection of their king.
In the heart of this suffocating silence, Emperor Zhao Yan slowly stepped forward.
He straightened his bright yellow dragon robe and adjusted the crown, which symbolized supreme power.
His movements were unhurried, as if he were not facing a peerless assassin who had just slaughtered his strongest guard, but rather preparing for a solemn court assembly.
His face showed none of the panic, pleading, or despair that one would expect on the verge of death. Instead, it was an almost divine calm, a serenity born from a profound understanding of his own destiny. His spine stood ramrod straight, like an unyielding bamboo, upholding the integrity of the entire royal family.
He looked at the approaching 'assassin' with clear and sharp eyes, showing no sign of backing down.
He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears, carrying a power that penetrated the soul: "I am the Son of Heaven."
Four words, resounding with conviction.
It is not a declaration, nor a threat, but a statement, a final affirmation of one's own identity and mission.
He could lose his life, but he could never lose his integrity as an emperor.
This land belongs to the Zhao family; this nation belongs to him. He was born here, grew up here, and will die here.
He was not afraid of death. To him, death was merely the inevitable end point of the river of life flowing into the sea.
What he truly feared was the cold, merciless entry in history after his death—"In a certain year and month, the emperor was assassinated, fled in panic, and was ultimately killed by the thief."
These few words would completely negate the culmination of his life's work. He painstakingly promoted new policies, worked tirelessly day and night to rectify official corruption, and longed to create a prosperous era where all nations paid tribute and the world was at peace... All of this would be erased by the four words "fleeing in panic".
How will future historians judge him? A coward with lofty ambitions but little talent? A pathetic wretch who abandoned his dignity in the face of crisis? This would not only be the greatest mockery of him personally, but also the greatest act of filial impiety against the empire built by his ancestors through bloodshed!
So he chose to stand.
With the bearing of an emperor, he faced the overwhelming danger and boundless darkness. His backbone became the last backbone of this dynasty; his integrity became the last soul of this vast land.
"Your Majesty! Let's go quickly!"
"Your Majesty, as long as the green hills remain, there will always be firewood to burn!"
"Your Majesty, we will fight to the death to cover your retreat!"
......
The Imperial Guards soldiers, who were barely clinging to life, the pale-faced royal warrior, and the Imperial Advisor Ruan Xiaotian, who was still holding on despite the blood trickling from his mouth, all shouted their pleas for help.
Their voices were filled with desperate loyalty, as if they were using their last ounce of strength to try and secure a chance for the young emperor to survive.
They knew they couldn't stop the masked assassin, but they were willing to use their own flesh and blood to pave a way for Zhao Yan's survival.
However, Zhao Yan only closed his eyes slightly, and when he opened them again, his eyes were filled with a clear and resolute expression.
He gently shook his head; the movement was small, yet carried immense weight.
Just then, the masked assassin—Blood Demon Lord—closed within ten steps.
With each step he took, there was a suffocating rhythm, like the drumbeats of death striking the hearts of everyone.
The stench of blood emanating from him mingled with the oppressive aura emanating from the abyss, almost sucking away all the remaining air in the palace.
He slowly raised his hand, his five fingers like hooks, aiming directly at Zhao Yan's throat. The posture was not like killing someone, but rather like retrieving a pre-ordained trophy.
A close call!
Just when everyone thought the emperor of the Great Qian Dynasty was about to lose his life, a clear and melodious sound suddenly rang out from the sky above the palace!
"clang--!"
The sound was not the clang of metal, but it was clearer and more penetrating than any bell or chime.
Immediately afterwards, a figure in black, like a celestial being descended from the heavens, gracefully descended from the towering ceiling of the Qianqing Palace. His movements were so fast that they could not be captured by the naked eye, leaving only a faint black afterimage, like a shooting star streaking across the night, landing with perfect precision between Zhao Yan and the masked assassin.
The person who arrived was Shen Mo.
He landed silently, his clothes not fluttering, as if he had simply stepped out of thin air.
However, the moment he appeared, a vast and gentle inner force, as warm as jade, surged forth from his body, transforming into an invisible wall of energy that stood before him.
"boom!"
Two unparalleled internal forces collided violently in mid-air, producing a muffled, thunderous roar.
The Blood Demon Lord's terrifying pressure, capable of crushing the will of the Imperial Guards, was abruptly blocked and diverted the moment it touched the barrier of energy, like a tide crashing against a reef. The suffocating oppression instantly eased.
Those Imperial Guards soldiers who were already struggling to breathe felt a lightness in their chests, as if a huge burden had been lifted, and they began to breathe greedily.
The martial artists raised by Zhao Yan almost collapsed to their knees, but their eyes blazed with unbelievable ecstasy.
Even the Imperial Advisor Ruan Xiaotian breathed a long sigh of relief, his tense nerves finally able to relax for a moment.
To be able to withstand the masked assassin's oppressive aura head-on, this person's strength must be above that of the assassin!
When they saw the figure's face clearly, both the critically wounded soldiers and the despondent generals had their eyes instantly ignited with a burning flame of hope.
"It's...it's the Sword God!"
"The Sword God has arrived!"
"Heaven truly blesses His Majesty!"
For these martial artists from the Jianghu (江湖, the martial arts world), the title "Sword God" has long transcended the realm of the mortal world. It is a myth, a legend, an unparalleled existence capable of determining the fate of the world! At this moment, the myth descends into reality, and the despair in their hearts is instantly ignited into a prairie fire of hope.