Chapter 120: Conquering King Pyrelis, King Marruis’ Confidence

Outside the Murrican Imperial Palace, the strategist Ramos had barely walked a few steps when he heard the proclamation—

King Marruis had declared himself Emperor.

His vision darkened for a moment, his heart sinking like a stone.

He had long known of King Marruis’s obsession with the imperial throne, a desire so deep-rooted that it had become an unshakable obsession.

Perhaps by claiming the title, King Marruis could break through his inner demons, advancing his cultivation even further.

But even if he did reach late-Level 4 , he would still lack the deep foundation needed to wield true power.

By declaring himself Emperor now, King Marruis had severed every escape route—

There was no turning back.

“A grave mistake…”

A melancholy sigh echoed beside him.

Ramos Miller turned to see a young scholar, dressed in simple robes, carrying a wine gourd at his waist.

This was Alfred, another of King Marruis’s military strategists.

Despite his unassuming appearance, Alfred’s cultivation had reached the peak of the Level 3 realm, standing at the very threshold of Level 4 .

Over the years, he and Ramos Miller had grown close, their ideals aligned.

Together, they had opposed King Marruis’s alliance with the demonic sect.

Together, they had warned against his reckless ambition.

And together—they had been ignored.

“Brother Han,” Ramos Miller greeted, watching as Alfred emerged from the palace gates.

In the world of cultivation, strength dictated respect.

Typically, a lower-realm cultivator would address a superior as ‘senior’.

But between Ramos Miller and Alfred, such formalities meant nothing.

They were comrades, and in this palace of treachery, perhaps the only ones who still clung to reason.

Alfred sighed, shaking his head.

“Brother Tian… this place is no longer safe for us.”

“You should consider your own survival.”

“The road ahead is long… I hope we may meet again.”

With a final bow, Alfred stepped into the sky, his body transforming into a streak of light, vanishing into the horizon.

He had made his choice.

He would abandon this so-called ‘Imperial Palace’ and seek refuge elsewhere.

As a strategist, Alfred understood the truth—

If he remained here, he would inevitably become a sacrificial pawn for the Velmorian Sect.

Ramos Miller had the cultivation of an early-Level 4  cultivator.

If the worst came to pass, he could still fight his way out.

But Alfred?

He was merely at the peak of the Level 3 realm.

One step away from Level 4 —

And yet, that single step was a chasm that countless cultivators failed to cross.

In the world of cultivation, the farther one climbed, the more difficult each breakthrough became.

Many had reached the peak of Level 3, only to die of old age without ever advancing.

For all the legends of destined heroes and divine talents, most cultivators were simply ordinary men, struggling against fate.

Alfred knew this.

And so, he chose to leave.

“Take care, Brother Han.”

Ramos Miller watched his friend disappear, making no attempt to stop him.

He would not drag Alfred into the storm that was coming.

For Ramos Miller could see it now—

No matter how this played out, whether Aragon State fell into the hands of the demonic sect or the Velmorian Sect’s ambitions crumbled—

A great storm was coming.

A storm that would shake all of Mist Province to its core.

For too long, the righteous and demonic sects had maintained a fragile balance.

The righteous factions of Mist Province had long suppressed the demonic path, forcing them into hiding and retreat.

For a time, the demonic sects had remained dormant, knowing they lacked the strength to challenge the righteous alliance.

But now—

Now, the demonic sects had regained their peak strength.

A new war between the righteous and the demonic was inevitable.

And the fact that the Velmorian Sect dared to openly interfere in Aragon State—

That alone was a declaration of war.

There was no way they would have acted so brazenly unless they had received approval from the upper echelons of the demonic factions.

“This is only the beginning…”

Ramos Miller muttered under his breath.

Boom!

At that moment, from within the Murrican Imperial Palace, an explosion of spiritual energy erupted.

Dozens of cultivators took to the skies, their robes fluttering in the wind.

King Marruis’s entire army was mobilizing.

Emperor Marruis could no longer wait.

He mobilized his entire palace, summoning every last warrior under his banner.

With the Velmorian Sect backing him, he was ready to march upon King Pyrelis—

To take his head, to seize his lands, and to declare his rule absolute.

At the same time, he did not forget to spread his proclamation across all of Aragon State.

His intent was clear—

He would claim the throne not in secrecy, but in grand, undeniable spectacle.

And once King Pyrelis’s head was displayed, all of Aragon State would recognize the inevitable truth—

That Aragon State had only one ruler.

Him.

Half a month passed.

The news of King Marruis’s self-coronation had spread like wildfire.

Across the three provinces and seventy-two counties of Aragon State, uproar erupted in every faction.

Even though the royal lineage had long been exterminated, not even the most powerful of the Eight Kings—King Zachary—had dared to declare himself Emperor.

By tradition, if any of the Eight Kings wished to claim the throne, they were still bound by ancestral law—

They would first need to offer sacrifices to their forefathers, seek the approval of the past emperors’ spirits, and conduct a series of sacred rituals.

This was the proper path to ascension, according to the ancient edicts of the family.

If a common noble house or rogue cultivator had declared themselves Emperor, it might have been overlooked.

But King Marruis was a direct descendant of the royal bloodline.

His reckless ascension was nothing short of an insult to the ancestors themselves.

Had he possessed overwhelming power, perhaps none would have dared to challenge him.

But as the weakest among the Eight Kings, his actions were seen as nothing less than madness.

When news of King Marruis’s self-proclaimed ascension reached King Chiron, his rage was thunderous.

The noble and commanding figure, clad in a black python robe, rose abruptly, his face contorted with fury.

“That bastard King Marruis!”

“A lowborn wretch—spawn of a mere palace maid!”

“The Grand Emperor only granted him his title because of his minor talent in cultivation.”

“And now this mongrel dares to reach for the throne?”

“Unforgivable!”

“He must be executed!”

King Chiron’s voice boomed through the great hall, shaking the very pillars of the palace.

His hands clenched into fists, his killing intent radiating like a storm.

“Commander Philip!”

A shadowy figure stepped forward, kneeling before the throne.

“You are to march at once, with an army of one hundred thousand.”

“Bring me King Marruis’s head!”

“I want it on a pike before my throne!”

His voice was a roar, filled with the authority of a warlord.

Of all the Eight Kings, King Chiron held the second-largest domain, surpassed only by King Zachary.

And even he had not dared to declare himself Emperor.

Yet this laughable King Marruis, who was on the verge of being crushed by King Pyrelis, now had the audacity to crown himself?

King Chiron’s fury burned hotter than ever.

In his mind, the imperial throne belonged to him alone.

Not to King Zachary, and certainly not to a dying fool like King Marruis.

Crash!

The sound of a shattered wine cup echoed through the hall.

One of King Chiron’s most trusted advisors stepped forward, his expression calm despite the volcanic rage filling the chamber.

“Your Majesty, calm yourself.”

“King Marruis is already doomed.”

“King Pyrelis has launched a full-scale assault—his lands will be divided before long.”

“Let him enjoy his delusions of grandeur in his final days.”

“To send troops now would be a waste of your resources.”

“Better to bide your time, strengthen our fortifications, and amass greater power.”

“When the time comes, the imperial throne will be yours by right.”

His voice was measured, steady, the wisdom of a seasoned strategist.

The court fell silent.

King Chiron’s gaze flickered, his breathing heavy.

Then, slowly—

A smirk spread across his lips.

“Yes…”

“Yes! You are right.”

“Let that fool King Marruis chase his pathetic dream.”

“Soon, he will be nothing more than a name in history—a warning to those who dare to overstep.”

“And when the time is right… the throne shall be mine.”****”

“All of Aragon State… shall bow before me.”

The flames of ambition and war continued to burn.

And as each King prepared their own machinations, the balance of power in Aragon State was set to collapse entirely.