In the world of martial arts, the path to justice is often carved with the edge of a sword, not the ink of a judge's pen. Those who abide by the law expect rulers to dispense fair and just verdicts. However, warriors and cultivators have always known that true justice is something you seize with your own hands.
These two realms—the orderly courts and the chaotic world of combat—clash fundamentally over their beliefs, yet they share one undeniable truth:
Strength.
Without the intimidating presence of a powerful army, a judge's decree is just words in the wind. And if a cultivator's weapon is sharp but their skill is lacking, they'll never force their adversary to yield.
The Princess found herself ensnared in this brutal reality. She yearned for justice to prevail in her kingdom but was painfully aware of her inability to enforce it. Whether her mission was noble or misguided, without the might to bring it to life, her "justice" was nothing more than a balm for her conscience.
The answer to her relentless questioning was brutally clear.
"The Guild answers to only one power," Raiking declared, his voice as unyielding as steel. "Me."
To the Princess, that single declaration was like an executioner's sword slicing through centuries of human legacy. It turned the sacred laws of her ancestors and the very idea of justice into nothing but dust. He wasn't merely dismissing their civilization; he didn't even deem it worthy of acknowledgment.
Despair threatened to freeze her in place. What was the purpose of negotiating with a force as uncontrollable as a hurricane?
Yet, humanity's core was its relentless defiance against the divine. She pushed down her despair and posed her next question.
"Do you intend to wage war on our kingdom?" If he saw himself above the heavens, she needed to know if he planned to scorch the earth to prove it.
Raiking's face remained an unreadable mask. "Once one has tasted the eternal nectar of the Celestial Realm, why would they bother with the banquets of mere mortals?"
He wasn't a warmonger; they simply weren't significant enough to merit a war. It was a humbling realization, yet it brought a desperate breath of relief to her strained voice.
"Then, will you leave our lands?" she urged with her final question. If reasoning with him was futile, perhaps he could just depart.
Raiking's gaze shifted to the child cooing in Martha's arms. "If my daughter chooses to stay, I see no reason to deny her."
The Princess stared at him in silent horror. The peace of our kingdom. The lives of millions. All of it was at the mercy of an infant's whims.
The air was thick with tension, an almost tangible silence hanging over the wooden table like a shroud. As the Princess tried to calm her racing heart, the imposing figure of the giant, muscular woman across from her broke the quiet.
"Human woman," Dia'Tia's voice boomed, resonating through the hall with the force of a landslide. "What is your name?"
"My name is Aneller," she replied, holding steady in the face of the woman's overpowering presence.
"Aneller. As the Princess of Dawnfall, you must know well the chronicles of the Great War."
"Every royal is taught about the sacrifices of our forebears."
"Then you must be familiar with the legend of Dia'Tia."
A shiver crept down Aneller's spine. "Who isn't? She was the downfall of the vanguard. Her actions cost us the war."
"Indeed," Dia'Tia said, her giant shadow engulfing the floorboards. "That is what the historians claim."
Aneller's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting there's another truth?"
"Is there not always a shadow behind every light-filled tale?"
The Princess couldn't deny the logic. She had just survived a harrowing encounter with what was thought to be a world-ending threat, only to discover the creature's greatest concerns were a winter coat and a crib. If the present could be so misunderstood, surely the ancient past was no different.
"Enlighten me," Aneller urged, leaning forward with anticipation.
"The mastermind behind the Great War wasn't the Ancestral Demon," Dia'Tia proclaimed, effortlessly dismantling centuries of royal doctrine. "It was your ancestor, a human king."
"That's absurd!" Sir Lerikmen retorted, his fist striking the sturdy table with force. His unwavering loyalty to humanity overshadowed any fear of the creatures surrounding him.
The mounting tension in the room dissipated immediately as Princess Aneller lifted her hand. "Proceed," she commanded.
"Your Highness, you can't possibly—"
"I said, proceed," Aneller interjected firmly, her eyes locked onto Dia'Tia's weathered face.
"In the time before the Great War," Dia'Tia continued, her voice adopting an almost legendary rhythm, "there was a warrior whose prowess was unmatched. She achieved the unthinkable: she won the heart of a God." Dia'Tia's gaze briefly flickered toward Raiking. "Her power was so formidable that her mere presence served as a guardian, preventing the continent from tearing itself apart in chaos and bloodshed."
"This warrior..." Aneller whispered, "Was she human?"
"Yes."
Aneller's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "If she was truly as powerful as you claim, why has her legacy been erased from history?"
"Because while she stood as the epitome of human pride, the throne saw her as its deepest disgrace."
Aneller pondered, "To have her entirely erased from the royal annals suggests a transgression too grave to document."
"Transgression?" Dia'Tia retorted with a harsh, cynical laugh. "If loving a man is deemed a transgression, then tell me, Princess: which woman is free of guilt?"
The raw honesty of her words struck Aneller unexpectedly. "...Then reveal the truth you speak of. I need to see it myself to judge who truly carries the sins of the past."
Dia'Tia turned her scarred visage toward Raiking. "Can you do it?"
"I thought you had abandoned your quest for justice," Raiking observed smoothly.
"I have. I care little for the judgments of mortals," Dia'Tia replied, locking eyes with him. "But if the young phoenix has finally chosen to face her shadows, how can I refuse such a challenge?"
"Very well."
Raiking touched a finger to his forehead, drawing forth a glowing, silvery thread of his ancient memories. He flicked it to the center of the hall, where it unfurled like a tapestry of sheer light and shadow. This wasn't just any mortal conflict they were about to witness; it was the deepest scar in history—the pivotal moment that determined the outcome of the Great War.