Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 151

Chapter 151: Politics and Wars

The Phoenix Pavilion's medical wing stank of burning herbs and barely contained panic. 

Ha-Yun coughed frantically. She lay on silk cushions that felt wrong against her lightning-scorched skin, every nerve still singing from Zhen Wei's touch. 

The palace healers fussed around her like moths drawn to dying flame, their hands gentle but their eyes wide with the kind of fear that came from seeing their princess nearly murdered before thousands.

"Why would you ever pick a duel with him, princess? Look at you now… Your internal damage is extensive," Master Healer Choi murmured, pressing fingers that glowed with soft green light against her ribs. "Lightning coursed through your meridians. If the Commander had held on for even three more seconds..."

"But he didn't. He didn't get the chance." Monarch Jin Ha-Im's voice cut through the diagnosis like a blade through silk. “It angered me when I heard her decision, I thought… I lost her. But somehow she's still here.”

The Monarch hadn't been notified about the news until the duel had already ended. Otherwise he'd have rushed in to intervene.

He stood at the foot of her bed, still in full court regalia despite the battle dust clinging to its edges. His face was carved from stone, but Ha-Yun knew him well enough to see the cracks – the slight tremor in his left hand, the way his jaw clenched between words. "A Mountain God intervened. Ao'kai himself descended from the heavens to save my daughter."

The silence that followed tasted of disbelief and desperate hope.

"Father," Ha-Yun managed, her throat raw from screaming she didn't remember. "It wasn't coincidence."

"...I know." The admission came weighted with something between gratitude and pure dread. "The Mountain Gods have stayed out of mortal wars for millennia. Not since the Sundering of the Western Peaks. This isn't normal. For Ao'kai to act now, to save you specifically..." He turned to General Park, who stood guard by the door despite his own injuries. "Double the offerings at every mountain shrine. No, triple them. Whatever moved the Green Scale King to mercy, we cannot afford to lose it."

Ha-Yun wanted to tell him the truth. 

That it wasn't divine mercy but mortal manipulation. That somewhere out there, Iskandaar Romani had pulled strings that even gods danced to. But the words died unborn. How could she explain that the Heavenly Demon had saved them while preserving their honor? That he'd given them exactly what they needed while taking nothing in return?

Yet, a voice whispered in her mind. He's taken nothing yet.

"Your Majesty." A servant's voice, pitched high with nerves. "The Namja of Eastern Cheonghae requests an audience."

Every head in the room turned. 

The Namja was legend more than woman, a spirit tamer whose connections to the otherworld ran deeper than mountain roots. She attended coronations and funerals, victories and defeats, appearing when history pivoted on its axis.

"Send her in," the Monarch commanded, and Ha-Yun felt the temperature drop.

The woman who entered moved like smoke given form, her cane tapping a rhythm that didn't match her steps. Half her face was painted bone-white in the pattern of a fox mask, the kind children wore during harvest festivals. But there was nothing childish about the weight of her presence, the way reality seemed to hold its breath around her.

"Your Majesty." She inclined her head precisely enough to show respect without submission. "And Your Highness. How fortunate that you survived to see another sunset."

"Namja." The Monarch's bow was deeper, acknowledging power that had nothing to do with political rank. "We are honored by your presence. I assume you've come about... recent events?"

The old woman's laugh was wind through autumn leaves. "Recent? Child, I've been watching these threads weave for longer than you've been alive. The question isn't what happened today, but what it means for tomorrow."

Suddenly, Ha-Yun had a different idea in her head.

"Uh… was it you?" Ha-Yun couldn't help asking, hope bleeding into her voice. "Did you call Ao'kai?"

The old woman turned to her. Their eyes met in silence. Another laugh, far sharper this time. "You already know it wasn't me, child. Why gift yourself such comfortable lies?" 

Ha-Yun sighed. The Monarch frowned. Perhaps deep down, he too know. 

Ha-Yun watched as the painted half of the Namja’s face shimmered slightly, and for just a moment, Ha-Yun could have sworn she saw something else beneath. Fur, fang and ancient amusement. 

"Close the doors. What I have to say isn't for servants' ears."

General Park hesitated until the Monarch nodded. The doors sealed with a sound like fate clicking into place.

The moment they were alone, the Namja's form rippled like water disturbed by wind. The cane clattered to the floor as her body stretched and shifted, painted skin giving way to pristine blonde fur. 

Nine tails unfurled like silk banners as fox ears twitched atop a head that was suddenly, devastatingly beautiful.

[Yueling, the Celestial Fox, Level 203]

She lounged on a cushion of condensed moonlight that materialized beneath her, flipping a fan that seemed carved from frozen starlight. Every movement was calculated seduction, every breath an invitation to sin. 

This was beauty weaponized, charm transformed into cosmic force. The Namja’s true form. The Kyuubi.

"Better," Yueling purred, her voice now honey poured over broken glass. "Mortal guises are so restricting. Like wearing shoes three sizes too small."

The Monarch, to his credit, only staggered slightly. Ha-Yun felt her father's hand find hers, squeezing tight enough to anchor them both to reality. General Park had fallen to one knee, trembling before divinity unveiled.

"It has been a while, Lady Yueling," the Monarch managed, his voice steady despite everything. "What does today's intervention mean for Goryeo? For the political landscape we must navigate?"

The fox goddess's expression shifted from playful to pensive, her fan snapping shut with a sound like breaking bones. "Honestly? I'm not certain.”

“That’s…”

“You already know that we are different from a typical 9th Ascension entity. We have temples where we're worshipped. Therefore, we have rules too,” she explained. “I’m grateful for what Ao'kai did since that saved little Ha-Yun’s life. But…”

She rose from her cushion, padding across the room on bare feet that didn't quite touch the floor. “His act openly breaks agreements older than your kingdom. The other Mountain Gods will confront him for explanations. Even the Jade Emperor from the True Heavens might stir from his deep meditation. And that's just the divine response.”

At the window, she gazed north toward where Xianli's army had fled. "Emperor Shengzong wears the Crown of Dominion. Pride incarnate, Lucifer's own arrogance given form and purpose. He's ruled for three millennia by making examples of those who challenge his authority."

"Will he retaliate?" Ha-Yun asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Oh, my dearest little princess." Yueling's tails swished in patterns that hurt to follow. "The question isn't if, but how. In the worst case?" She paused, letting the weight of possibility settle. "The Shan Gui Highlands might cease to exist. The entire mountain range, every peak and valley, erased to make a point."

The Monarch's hand tightened on his daughter's. "Surely even an Arcane King wouldn't–"

"Wouldn't he?" Yueling turned, and for a moment her playful mask slipped, and a flash of something ancient and terrible showed. "Three thousand years ago, there was an island kingdom called Maraleth. Beautiful place. Crystal cities, floating gardens, citizens who thought themselves beyond imperial reach. They defied Shengzong once." Her fan opened with deliberate slowness. "Now there's just ocean where Maraleth used to be. The Fishmen say that on calm nights, you can still hear the screaming."

Silence crystallized in the medical wing, sharp enough to draw blood.

The power of an Arcane King.

The thread that separated the Twelve Gods of Heaven with 9th Ascension entities of the mortal realm.

"However," Yueling continued, her tone lightening like storm clouds parting, "that was before certain... interesting players entered the game. That boy who charmed Ao'kai into action? He's got the whole board thinking. Even old Shengzong might pause before moving against someone who can make dragons dance."

"Iskandaar," Ha-Yun whispered.

The Monarch sighed, closing his eyes. Was her father still hoping it wasn't him? 

"Mmm." Yueling's grin showed too many teeth. "The little thief who owns phoenix fire and demon steel, who courts dragons and tames wolves. He's either the stupidest mortal born in a millennium, or..." She trailed off, tails curling with private amusement.

"Or?" the Monarch prompted.

"Or he's exactly what this stagnant world needs, you see. A wild card in a game where everyone's been playing the same hands for centuries." She moved toward the door, her form already beginning to shift back to the harmless old woman. "The System itself is changing, you know? Maybe it'll take some three hundred years or more for it to properly settle, but it is changing. Something big is coming. You can feel it, can't you?”

“....”

She smiled slowly, her lips growing old and wrinkly. “Prepare your defenses, Your Majesty. Stock your granaries, sharpen your swords, and pray to every god who might still be listening. The storm that's coming will reshape maps."

Just before the transformation was completed, she looked directly at Ha-Yun. "Princess. I think that boy didn't save you out of mere sentiment. He's playing a game whose rules haven't been written yet. And whether you'll be his queen or his pawn..." The fox-goddess winked. "Hah. Well, that depends entirely on how well you learn to play."

The Namja of Eastern Cheonghae hobbled out, leaving behind only the lingering scent of moonflowers and the weight of prophecy. 

Ha-Yun stared at the ceiling, her body aching and her mind racing.

Iskandaar had saved her kingdom while preserving its honor. He'd made a god move mountains without showing his hand. 

And somewhere out there, he was probably smiling that sharp smile that promised beautiful catastrophe.

Queen or pawn, huh? She thought. At least I'm still on the board.

****

The rain started as Prince Lin Feng finished flogging his third general.

Not heavy rain – just that persistent drizzle that worked its way through armor joints and made everything smell of rust and defeat. The camp sprawled across the valley like a wounded beast, forty thousand soldiers reduced to barely twenty-five thousand, their morale shattered worse than their battle lines.

This was his opportunity. His chance! When else could the third prince ever lead a war army? He’d messed up. And he was angry.

"Cowards!" The prince's voice cracked on the word, all his aristocratic composure abandoned in favor of raw fury. Blood splattered his silk robes from where the whip had torn through General Chen's back. "You ran from ONE DRAGON! One!"

"Your Highness," General Ma ventured, still on his knees in the mud, "with respect, it was Ao'kai. The Green Scale King himself. No mortal army could–"

The whip caught him across the face, leaving a red line from temple to jaw.

"No mortal army?" Lin Feng laughed, high and hysterical. "We HAD their princess! Victory was in my very hands! If that beast hadn't interfered, Goryeo would be mine! SHE would be mine!"

Always about possession, thought Captain Wei from his position by the command tent, never about strategy. But he kept his face carefully neutral. Speaking truth to princes was a swift path to shallow graves.

The camp stretched for miles, cookfires struggling against the rain, soldiers huddled in whatever shelter they could find. They'd run for two days straight before Lin Feng finally called a halt, more from exhaustion than tactical sense. Now they squatted in this valley like beaten dogs, trying to pretend they were still an army instead of a mob that happened to wear matching armor.

"Your Highness should consider our next move," suggested Lord Jiang, the only advisor who'd managed to keep his dignity during the retreat. Water dripped from his perfectly waxed beard. "The Emperor will expect a report. We need to frame this... carefully."

"Frame it?" Lin Feng spun on him, eyes wild. "How do you frame 'a god decided we couldn't have Goryeo'? How do you explain that to an Arcane King?"

Thunder rolled across the valley, but it sounded wrong. Too rhythmic. Too... deliberate.

"Your Highness," a scout stumbled into the command area, face pale beneath the mud. "The perimeter guards... they're not responding."

Lin Feng opened his mouth to scream about incompetence, but the words never came.

The howl that pierced the night wasn't thunder.

Howls filled the air. Fear replaced rage. Boiling blood cooled. They came from every direction at once. Wolves the size of horses, their fur silver-white like moonlight given form, except for three whose coats were black as the spaces between stars. They moved through the camp like death's own poetry, every strike precise, and every kill clean.

A soldier raised his spear toward one of the beasts. The wolf flowed around the thrust like water, jaws closing on the man's throat with a crack that echoed despite the rain. Another tried to run – a black wolf materialized from shadow itself, taking him mid-stride.

"F-form ranks!" General Ma screamed, but his voice was lost in the chaos. "Protective circle around the Prince!"

It didn't matter. These weren't normal wolves. They moved with intelligence, with purpose, and with terrible coordination. When soldiers tried to group together, the wolves would split them apart. When they scattered, they were hunted individually.

The white wolves were horrifying enough, their presence turning the rain to mist that obscured vision and muffled sound. But the black ones... they seemed to exist partially outside reality, appearing from nowhere, vanishing into nothing.

Prince Lin Feng watched his army die.

Not defeated or routed. But slaughtered.

Twenty-five thousand men, and only twelve wolves.

The mathematics of it broke something in his mind. The monsters’ [Skills] took out a dozen lives at a time, and sometimes hundreds. What was going on?!

This is impossible, he thought, watching a silver wolf tear through a squad of elite guards like they were made of paper. T-this can't be happening.

But Iskandaar Romani – though the prince didn't know that name yet – had counted on exactly this reaction. These soldiers had marched to Goryeo prepared to die gloriously in battle. They'd imagined death by sword or arrow, falling as heroes in their Emperor's name.

They hadn't imagined being hunted like rabbits by creatures from nightmares.

"Your Highness!" Captain Wei grabbed the prince's arm. "We need to flee!"

"...Flee?" Lin Feng's laugh had no sanity in it. "To where? They're everywhere!"

And they were. In less than twenty minutes, an army had become an abattoir. Bodies lay twisted in positions that suggested they'd died running, fighting, praying. The rain washed their blood into growing rivers that turned the valley floor into red mud.

One by one, the howls stopped. The killing stopped.

The silence that followed was worse than the screams.

Prince Lin Feng stood in the center of a perfect circle of corpses, untouched, unbloodied except for the splatter from his own whipping of generals who now lay among the dead. His legs trembled, and shamefully, he felt warmth running down them that had nothing to do with rain.

One of the silver wolves padded forward through the carnage. 

As it moved, its form shifted, condensing, reshaping. Fur became skin, paws became hands, and suddenly a young woman stood before him, nearly naked and yet magnificent and terrible.

[Lilian Lunewolf, Moon's Warden, Level 100]

Her silver hair was plastered to her skin by rain, but her red eyes glowed with their own light. She moved with the grace of a predator, slowly walking forward and backing the prince against the command tent.

"P-please," Lin Feng stammered, all his aristocratic arrogance evaporated. "I'll give you anything. Gold, land, titles-!"

Lilian's laugh was worse than any wolf's howl. "Gold? From a prince who pisses himself at the first real danger?" She leaned close enough that he could smell the copper of blood on her breath. "You came to destroy a country. You came to enslave a princess. You came to kill children. How can gold compensate for those intentions?"

"Listen, listen! I was following orders! The Emperor commanded–"

"Shh." Her finger pressed against his lips, the nail sharp enough to draw blood. "I'm not the one you need to convince."

Lin Feng's back hit something solid. Not the tent. Something else. He turned, and his heart forgot how to beat.

Another woman stood there, but where the wolf-girl radiated savage beauty, this one was elegance incarnate. Silver-white hair like spun moonlight, eyes the color of winter sky, and a smile that promised exquisite endings.

[Nebula Carlstein, Witch of Crimson, Level 97]

"Hello, little prince," she purred, and her voice was all the sophisticated cruelty his tutors had warned him about when they spoke of vampires. "My, you're trembling. Are you cold?"

"V-vampire," he whispered. Then, desperate hope filled him. "Werewolves! This girl here is a werewolf! You're enemies with the wolves, right? Ancient enemies! Save me and I'll–"

Nebula's laugh was crystal breaking. "Enemies? Oh, you sweet prince." She glanced at Lilian, and something passed between them that the prince couldn't read. "We've found common ground recently. Amazing what shared interests can accomplish."

She traced a finger along his jaw, the touch gentle as a lover's. "You know what the real tragedy is? You're not even important enough to kill. You're just... useful."

"Useful?"

Her fangs extended, perfect and terrible. "Well, marginally. Your presence is going to be helping us out immensely. Perhaps buying us months of time. But first..."

She pulled him close with inhuman strength, and he felt her breath on his neck. "First, you're going to tell us everything. Every plan, every secret, every whispered conversation you've overheard. And you're going to do it willingly."

The bite was almost gentle.

Prince Lin Feng's scream was lost in the rain as Nebula's fangs pierced his neck. But it wasn't death that flowed into him – it was something worse. Her blood mixed with his, her will overwrote his own, and suddenly his mind wasn't entirely his anymore.

[Enthralled]

She pulled back, licking blood from her lips with delicate satisfaction. The prince swayed, eyes glazed, a puppet with cut strings waiting for someone to pick them up again.

"There we go," Nebula cooed, stroking his cheek. "Much better. Now, let's discuss what you're going to tell Emperor Shengzong when you return. Alone. The sole survivor of a massacre that no one will quite believe."

“Your vampire bites are as gross as I remember, eugh." Lilian grimaced and then smiled in anticipation. "Make sure not to mention the Heavenly Demon at all."

"The... Heavenly Demon?" Lin Feng's voice was hollow, automatic.

"Iskandaar Romani," Nebula clarified, adjusting his collar with mock tenderness. "The man who just erased your army without ever showing his face. The one who made gods and monsters dance to his tune. The architect of your complete humiliation."

She stepped back, admiring her handiwork. A prince broken, enthralled, transformed into a living message of warning. She’d have felt really guilty if this were an innocent man, but it wasn’t. Iskandaar can be really ruthless at times.

"Run along now," Lilian commanded, already shifting back to wolf form. "You have a long journey ahead, and we have a city to return to. My dear is probably wondering what's taking so long."

The two women vanished into the rain and shadow alongside the wolves, leaving Prince Lin Feng standing alone among twenty-five thousand corpses. His mind, no longer entirely his own, began walking south toward the capital, carrying news of a massacre that would shake an empire.

Behind him, the valley filled with the sound of rain on armor, rain on blood, rain on an army that had ceased to exist.

What, more than anything, was the message?

That the Heavenly Demon had never even needed to appear.

**

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The Veiled Man Note: I know some of you only prefer Iskandaar's POV, but at one stage of a long-going story, other POVs are necessary. Since you guys enjoyed the few Third Person POVs Book-4 covered, I'm having some fun writing more in this book! Trying to make them as enjoyable as possible, building anticipation and hype.

The chapter was supposed to be 50% more longer! Sorry, I’ve got a very important day tomorrow, so I couldn’t find the time. But on its own it's a decent different pov chapter.