Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 152

Chapter 152: The Fall of a Crown 

The capital of Xianli sprawled before me like a fortress pretending to be a city. It was a nation equal to Goryeo in value, but the differences in structure were apparent.

Where Goryeo favored flowing curves that mimicked nature's own architecture, Xianli built in aggressive angles; every roofline was a blade, every tower a spear thrust at the sky. The message was clear. We are always at war, even in peace.

Or something like that. I’ve got no idea how these people think. I pondered as I adjusted my travel-worn cloak, leaning on the walking staff I'd picked up from a dead tree three miles back. 

My disguise was simple. Dust in my hair to dull its color, dirt under my fingernails, and the particular slouch of a man who'd walked too many miles with too little purpose. The accent I'd affected came from the eastern provinces, adding unnecessary vowels to every third word.

"Beef noodles, please," I told the shop owner, settling onto a worn wooden stool. He was an old man with a naturally weary look on his face. "Extra broth if you've got it."

The old man's hands trembled slightly as he ladled noodles into a chipped ceramic bowl. Not from age, I could guess. But from worry. His eyes kept darting to the empty seats that should have held his regular customers. War had a way of making even noodle shops feel like graveyards.

"Three copper," he muttered, though the sign clearly said two. War inflation, or maybe he figured a traveler wouldn't know better.

I paid five.

The noodles were perfect, worth the price. It was chewy with just enough resistance, the broth rich with star anise and something that might have been genuine Chinese pepper. 

For a moment, I let myself simply enjoy it. No Demonic Sphere scanning for threats, and Soul Fire ready to ignite. There was time for that later. For those few minutes, I was just a man eating noodles while children played "Princess and Invaders" in the street outside.

"My son's with the army," the owner said suddenly with a loud sigh, like the words had been building pressure until they burst free. "Third battalion, northern front. Haven't heard from him since..." He trailed off.

"The gods watch over brave men," I offered, the kind of empty comfort strangers traded like worthless currency.

He laughed, bitter as burnt tea. "The gods sitting above the skies watch and do nothing. As for the local ones… didn’t you hear? A Mountain God himself descended to save Goryeo's princess. But for our boys?" He spat into a bucket. "Nothing."

Interesting. 

The Mountain Gods of Shan Gui Highlands were revered by all nearby countries, not only Goryeo. So it was natural that Ao’kai’s intervention was received negatively by others.  I was more surprised by the fact that news of Ao'kai's intervention had already spread this far. I catalogued the information while slurping another mouthful of noodles. 

Three guard patrols had passed while I ate – predictable routes, five-minute intervals. The walls had seven weak points visible from here, places where recent repairs hadn't quite matched the original stonework. The palace towers rose in the distance, and I counted fifteen balconies that would make excellent entry points.

"These are excellent noodles," I said, finishing the last drop of broth. "Best I've had since leaving home."

The owner's face cracked into something almost like a smile. "Makes me happy to hear that. It’s my grandmother's recipe. She always said the secret was–"

I never learned the secret. The conversation was interrupted by marching feet – another patrol, but this one moving with purpose rather than routine. They were heading toward the palace. Interesting.

I stood, leaving another five copper on the counter. The owner stared at the coins like they might evaporate.

"For your son's safe return," I said, then added with calculated casualness, "Oh, excuse me, which direction is the Royal Castle? I promised my nephew I'd at least see it before leaving the city."

The owner pointed north, still staring at the copper. "Follow the Avenue of Victories. Can't miss it. But traveler?" He looked up, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes – not quite recognition, but unease. "Best not linger there. Strange times, these days. Strange times."

I smiled, adjusting my staff. "I never linger anywhere long."

As I left, I heard him whisper a prayer to his ancestors. He'd need it. In approximately two hours, his nation would be turned upside down, and his world would change forever.

But his noodles really were excellent.

****

King Tian Shaolong of Xianli sat on his throne, trying not to fidget as the hologram shimmered into existence. The projection towered twelve feet tall, forcing him to crane his neck like a child looking up at a disapproving parent.

Lord Kurien, the Ashen Titan, a 9th Ascension powerhouse.

The figure that materialized was neither fully human nor completely other. Some say he had true Divinity flowing through his veins, while others whispered of Devils. Kurien's skin had the texture of cooled lava, black with veins of ember-red that pulsed with each heartbeat. Four arms hung from shoulders broad enough to carry mountains, and when he smiled, it was with too many teeth in too many rows.

"Your Majesty," Kurien's voice sounded like tectonic plates grinding together. Although those were respectful words on paper, in this Titan’s lips they sounded like insults. "I trust you have good news about your little conquest?"

Here was a man who could smack Shaolong to death, and despite that, he too served a higher-up. Kurien was a direct subordinate of the Baolian Emperor.

Shaolong's mouth went dry. "Lord Kurien, there have been... complications."

"Complications?" One of Kurien's lower arms began drumming fingers against his thigh – each tap sent small tremors through the projection. "How fascinating. Here I thought sending forty thousand soldiers against a kingdom already bleeding would be, what's the phrase? Child's play?"

"Ao'kai intervened." The words tumbled out quickly, like ripping off a bandage. This was stupid. It wasn’t as if Kurien hadn’t heard of the news already; that was impossible. And yet, here he was making Shaolong sweat for no reason. Regardless, he knew the wise choice was to be quiet and play along. "The Green Scale King himself descended from the heavens. He... he killed Commander Zhen Wei with a single blow."

Silence stretched between them. Kurien's finger-drumming stopped.

"A Mountain God," Kurien said slowly, tasting each word, "involved himself in mortal warfare. How wonderfully unexpected." His upper right hand reached up to stroke his chin. "Tell me, Your Majesty, in your forty years of rule, how many times have the Mountain Gods intervened in your conflicts?"

"Never, Lord Kurien."

"Never. Interesting." All four arms crossed now, a gesture that would have looked absurd on anyone else but on Kurien appeared as a fortress sealing its gates. "And you don't find it curious that they chose this moment, this specific princess, to break millennia of precedent?"

Sweat beaded on Shaolong's forehead. "W-well. She is blessed by them, isn’t she? Her birth was special, I heard. Perhaps she has a connection deeper than we were aware of–"

"Perhaps," Kurien interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that still filled the throne room, "you're simply incompetent. Forty thousand soldiers and Commander Zhen Wei, Your Majesty. My emperor's resources, wasted because you couldn't handle one girl playing with flower petals."

"Lord Kurien, I assure you–"

"Your assurances are worth less than sand." The hologram leaned forward, and despite being just light and magic, Shaolong felt its weight. "I've toppled seventeen kingdoms in my service to the Emperor. I've turned proud cities into cautionary tales. And in all that time, I've learned one truth: failure is a choice."

The hologram began to fade, but Kurien's voice lingered. "The Emperor's patience is not infinite, Your Majesty. Neither is mine. If you cannot deliver Goryeo, perhaps we'll find someone who can deliver Xianli instead. Perhaps I myself shall enjoy an exercise after a long time."

The threat hung in the air long after the projection vanished. The threat that one of the most feared 9th Ascension entities would come to destroy Xianli if Shaolong failed to deliver Goryeo. The same Goryeo that was being protected by another 9th Ascension Demi-God.

Was this a joke…?

Shaolong slumped in his throne, the weight of his crown suddenly unbearable. His hands shook as he reached for the bell that would summon his servants.

"Guards!" His voice cracked. "Bring me wine. And... and tell the Rose Chamber to prepare for seven young gir– hmm?"

No response. There was a strange silence.

"Guards?" Louder now, tinged with the particular irritation of a man used to immediate obedience.

Still nothing.

Shaolong stood, his body developed to the peak of 8th Ascension suddenly feeling every one of his years. The throne room was never quiet – there were always footsteps, whispered conversations, the subtle sounds of a palace that never slept.

Now there was only silence. Wrong silence. The kind that came before lightning strikes or after last breaths.

"Something is wrong..."

"Don't worry, they're not dead."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Then footsteps. They were casual, unhurried, accompanied by the sound of something wet being wiped on a cloth.

It was a face every King would recognize, for every nation had been warned about his existence. Iskandaar Romani emerged from the shadows behind the throne, cleaning blood from his hands with what looked like a piece of torn silk. His traveler's disguise was gone, replaced by dark clothes that seemed to drink in the light.

"Oh, the blood is from your sons," he said conversationally, tossing the stained cloth aside. "The guards are innocent people, so I just knocked them out. Your sons?" He shrugged. "Not so much."

The words took a moment to penetrate. Then understanding hit like a physical blow.

"Jian? Guiren?" Shaolong's voice broke on his sons' names. "You... you killed my boys?"

"Technically, they killed each other. I just suggested they might want to settle their succession dispute with more... finality." Iskandaar examined his nails, frowning at a spot of blood he'd missed. "Brothers, right? Always so eager to prove who's stronger."

"YOU BASTARD!"

The sound barrier exploded. Shaolong moved. Eight Ascension meant he could cross the throne room in a heartbeat, his [Tyrant's Stomp] sending shockwaves through the floor that shattered tiles in expanding rings. The attack that came next, [Iron Mountain Crush], had once collapsed an entire mountain.

It met empty air, destroying the entire wall behind and then the buildings on the other side. Dust filled the air, and the entire city screamed at the sound of destruction.

Iskandaar stood three feet to the left, head tilted with polite interest. "Fast for an old man. Though I suppose 'old' is relative when power is involved."

“YOU…! You are dead meat.” The King controlled his rage, knowing he couldn’t risk anything against an opponent like this.

****

The King's fist came again, and this time I almost enjoyed dodging it. I could see the exact trajectory of his attacks before his muscles even engaged, see the energy patterns that telegraphed every move. Honestly, the Demonic Sphere made things too easy at times, and in things like cultivation, easy routes always came with their own drawbacks. 

That's the problem, isn't it?

For months now, I'd been stuck at the boundary of Grandmaster, unable to push into the Transcendent Realm. The Three Flowers Gathering at the Summit, where martial artists stopped being human and started becoming concepts. I'd blamed everything – insufficient Qi, lack of proper opponents, the System's limitations.

But watching King Shaolong's desperate fury, feeling my Sphere predict his every move with mechanical precision, I finally understood. Well it was more about acceptance rather than understanding. I already had a guess, after all.

I've been cheating.

The Demonic Sphere wasn't just a tool – it had become a crutch. Real Transcendents didn't need external senses to read the world's intentions. They became intention, flowing with reality's current rather than observing it from the shore.

"You know what?" I said, dodging another earthshaking punch. "Let's make this interesting."

I turned off the Demonic Sphere.

The world went quiet. No, not quiet – empty. Like suddenly losing a sense I'd forgotten wasn't originally mine. 

The constant awareness of everything within a kilometer vanished, leaving just my physical senses and whatever instincts decades across three lives had given me.

“Dodge this if you can!” King Shaolong's fist hit my face, and I felt my bones crunch.

I'd seen it coming – eyes still worked, after all – but without the Sphere's perfect spatial awareness, I'd misjudged the distance by three centimeters. Three centimeters was the difference between dodging and losing four teeth.

I flew backward, crashed through a pillar, bounced off a wall decorated with Xianli's greatest victories, and landed in a heap of marble dust and my own blood. My nose was definitely broken. Possibly my cheekbone too.

"Finally," Shaolong growled, his [Adamantine Skin] gleaming like polished metal. "The demon shows weakness."

I stood, spat out a molar, and grinned with bloody teeth that were already regrowing. "Guess I have to fight properly now."

I kicked the ground and blitzed forward.

The next exchange happened at speeds that turned air into thunder. Without the Sphere, I had to rely on pure martial arts – reading micro-expressions, feeling air pressure changes, trusting instincts honed through countless battles.

[True Demon Sword Art: Fourth Form – Eternal Swarm of the Void Cicada]

Black energy twisted from my blade, forming spectral cicadas that phased through reality itself. They swarmed Shaolong, each one carrying away fragments of his Qi. But his [Overbearing Presence] was like a mountain's weight, crushing half the swarm before they could reach him.

An 8th Ascension was no easy foe.

He countered with “[Heaven-Shaking Palm]!” a technique that turned air itself into a solid wall of force. Since he seemed like a hand-to-hand combatant, I decided to respect that and met it with [True Demon Fist Art: The Unyielding Embrace of the Kraken], my Qi manifesting as translucent tentacles that wrapped around his attack, constricting until both techniques shattered like glass.

"You're suddenly different than before," he accused, blood running from where the cicadas had touched him. "Where's the power that challenges Arcane Kings? I hear you’ve gone against that Outer God too, creating a Worldforge?"

"You’re suddenly pretty chatty for someone whose sons are dead. As for your question, this is a good training montage for me." I said with a small laugh, and that pissed him off as expected. While clashing with his incoming attack, I felt something shift inside me. Not the Sphere returning, but something else. A clarity that came from fighting with pure skill rather than enhanced senses. "But sure. Since you want me to be more aggressive, let me show you why they call me the Heavenly Demon."

[True Demon God Art: Eclipse of the Shadow Tyrant]

Darkness exploded from my body, not mere absence of light but darkness with weight, with hunger. It consumed the throne room's illumination, leaving us in a void where only will itself could create light. This wasn’t my domain like the Worldforge, but even so this was my own technique. In this space, I was slightly more than human – I was the concept of supremacy itself.

But Shaolong wasn't done. His mana flared, and suddenly he was burning with inner light, his body becoming a beacon of pure physical might.

“[Xianli Secret Art: Twelve Gates of the Tyrant King]!”

“Who names himself the Tyrant King?” I quipped like a child but I was serious. I'd read about this in the game's lore – a technique that opened metaphysical gates in the body, each one multiplying strength at the cost of lifespan. He opened six before I moved.

[True Demon God Art: Oblivion of the Heaven-Searing Star]

 The unimaginable power of a dying star followed through me, and I channeled its destructive force into a celestial beam toward the rushing King.

The collision of our techniques created a sphere of destruction that expanded outward, disintegrating the throne, the pillars, even the walls themselves. When it cleared, we stood in the skeleton of what had been a throne room, both breathing hard.

My shirt was gone, torn away by the sheer force of our exchange. I breathed heavily, fists clenched on my side. Uncountable cuts of many sizes covered my torso, already healing thanks to my Heavenly Demon Body but still proof of the fight I'd just had.

Shaolong stood wavering, his six gates flickering. "How?" he gasped. "I thought when you failed to continue dodging me you’ll be…"

"Dead?" I walked toward him, each step deliberate. "You're right. Without the Sphere, I'm weaker. But weakness makes you creative." I hadn’t quite solved the problem to my next martial rank yet, but this was invisible progress.

I uncurled my fist and unsheathed the demonic sword.

[True Demon Sword Art: Sixth Form – Dance of the Ten Thousand Fireflies]

This wasn't about power. It was about beauty, precision, and the marriage of intention with action. Every spark of bright light from my blade was a complete technique condensed into a moment, a firefly that lived just long enough to deliver death.

They swarmed Shaolong in patterns that had no pattern, it was a chaos that was perfectly ordered. His defenses, built on strength and endurance, couldn't adapt to something that didn't try to overpower him but simply... was.

When the last firefly faded, he stood for a moment longer, eyes wide with something between understanding and regret. Then he fell, his grotesquely eaten body hitting the ruined floor with the finality of toppled monuments.

[You have slain Tian Shaolong, King of Xianli - Level 154]

[You’ve slain an opponent far above your level.]

[Tremendous experience Points Gained.]

[You have leveled up.]

[You have leveled up.]

[You have leveled up.]

[You have leveled up.]

[You’ve reached Level 117!]

I stood over his corpse, breathing steadily now as my wounds finished closing. 

The throne room was devastated. People were shouting outside the palace, as flames had engulfed some of the buildings during our fight. The walls were gone, and the ceiling had partially collapsed. The throne itself had been reduced to scattered gems and twisted gold.

A new voice appeared behind me.

"You took so long," Nebula said, emerging from a pool of shadow like midnight given form. "I almost thought you needed help."

Beside her kneeled Prince Lin Feng, third prince of Xianli, his eyes vacant with the particular emptiness of the enthralled. His fine robes were still splattered with his generals' blood – a detail Nebula had probably preserved for effect.

"Oh, please." I pulled an intact cloth from the debris, wiping the last of the blood from my hands. "The day I need help killing a king is the day I retire from regicide."

"Is that going to be a regular thing now? Killing kings?"

"Only the ones who stand against me." I turned to the enthralled prince. It was quite strange how a reasoning like that could justify murder. "Is he ready?"

Nebula's smile could have curdled milk. "Completely. He'll say whatever we need, believe whatever we tell him. The perfect puppet king for a broken kingdom."

I stepped over Shaolong's corpse to where the throne should have been, gesturing to the ruins around us. "Well then. Be happy, King of Xianli. Your realm awaits."

Lin Feng's vacant eyes didn't change, but his mouth moved in Nebula's commanded response. "I am honored to serve."

The irony was delicious. He'd wanted power so desperately he'd helped start a war. Now he had a throne built on his family's corpses and a crown that was really a collar. And the best part? He'd never know the difference.

"Iskandaar.” Nebula said, her eyes serious. “What if this doesn’t slow down Baolian?"

I didn’t have a reply, so I just smiled, feeling the edges of something greater than myself. I think I’d have a breakthrough soon. The wall between Grandmaster and Transcendent felt thinner now.

"Then let them come,” I decided on those words after a bit. 

We walked from the ruined throne room, leaving a dead king and his puppet replacement behind, and I couldn't help but think about that noodle shop owner. His son wouldn't be coming home from the war… None of them would. But at least the war itself would end.

Sometimes that's the best mercy a demon can offer.

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