CHAPTER 224: THE FINAL SHOWDOWN (PART 2)

Zhao Yan didn’t answer. He pressed on, his sword singing as it clashed against another blade. The weight of the empire was in every strike, every step he took towards the heart of the Jade House.

Deng Mi was at his back, his movements sure and swift. Wei Ling took the lead for a moment, his saber a wall of steel that forced the enemy back. But still they came—Pei Rong’s men, driven by fear and the promise of victory.

The jade walls reflected the battle in a thousand fractured images. Zhao Yan caught glimpses of himself in those mirrored surfaces—blood on his face, his eyes alight with determination. A prince no longer content to watch the empire slip away.

A guard lunged at Deng Mi from the side, blade raised high. Zhao Yan moved without thinking, his sword sweeping out in a perfect arc that cut the man down before he could strike. Deng Mi grunted in thanks, his own blades cutting down another man as they pressed on.

"Almost there!"

Wei Ling shouted, his voice a ragged snarl as he parried a blow that would have taken his head.

They could see the pedestal now, the Jade Token gleaming in the flickering light. Its surface was carved with dragons and phoenixes, the ancient symbols of the empire, their eyes seeming to glow with a light of their own.

Pei Rong stood just before it, his eyes locked on Zhao Yan. "You’re too late," he said, his smile cold. "This is the end."

Zhao Yan didn’t answer. He stepped forward, his blade cutting through the last of the guards that barred his path. Deng Mi and Wei Ling were at his sides, their breathing heavy, their swords dripping red.

They stood together, a line of defiance in the ancient heart of the empire.

Pei Rong raised his hand, and his last command rang out—"Kill them!"

The final wave of guards surged forward, the Prime Minister’s most loyal, their faces twisted in determination. Steel met steel, the clash ringing out in the jade hall like a death knell.

Zhao Yan fought at the center, each strike of his blade a promise—to his father, to the empire, to Hua Jing waiting somewhere beyond these walls. Blood flew, pain flared, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Beside him, Deng Mi caught a blade across his arm, the cut deep, but he didn’t falter. Wei Ling’s saber shattered a spear in a single stroke, his movements sure and deadly.

Step by bloody step, they drove the guards back, their own bodies screaming with pain and exhaustion.

The last guard fell with a final, choked cry, his blade clattering to the floor.

Zhao Yan stood at the foot of the pedestal, his chest heaving, his face pale beneath the blood. The Jade Token lay within reach, its green light cool and unwavering.

He reached for it—

And a voice cut through the air, cold and mocking.

"Not so fast, Zhao Yan," Pei Rong’s voice cut through the charged air, his tone smooth and triumphant. His eyes glimmered with something close to madness as he stepped closer, each footstep echoing against the jade walls.

"Didn’t I tell you?" he said, his lips twisting into a mockery of a smile. "This already belongs to me!"

With a swift movement, he reached out—his fingers closing around the Jade Token resting on the pedestal, lifting it into the flickering light. The green glow of it seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, painting the sharp planes of his face in shifting, unearthly shadows.

"I have it!" he declared, his voice reverberating through the ancient chamber. "The power of the empire is mine! No one can take it from me now—no one!"

Zhao Yan’s heart thundered in his chest. A single breath, and then he lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air. But Pei Rong’s guards surged in to block his path—six men, their black armor glinting in the dim light, their blades ready.

"Stand back!" Deng Mi snarled, his twin swords flashing as he moved to meet them. Wei Ling stepped up beside him, his saber a wall of steel. The clash was immediate and brutal—steel ringing against steel, the air thick with the copper tang of blood.

But even as they fought, Pei Rong was already retreating, clutching the Jade Token to his chest like a prize he would never let go.

Zhao Yan’s breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed forward, fury and desperation driving his every strike. "Pei Rong! You cannot take it!" he shouted, his voice raw.

But Pei Rong only laughed—a short, sharp bark of amusement—and ducked through a narrow archway that led out of the Jade House.

"After him!" Zhao Yan barked. He cut down a guard who tried to block his way, his blade slicing clean through bone and flesh. Beside him, Deng Mi took a deep cut to his arm but didn’t falter, parrying and striking back in a fluid, merciless motion.

The last of Pei Rong’s men fell with a gurgling cry, and Zhao Yan, Deng Mi, and Wei Ling broke through the final barrier, bursting out of the Jade House into the open night.

The world outside was chaos.

The moon hung high above, pale and cold, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked courtyard. Fires burned in iron braziers, their light flickering over the twisted forms of the dead and dying. Steel rang against steel as scattered pockets of fighting still raged—a clash of loyalty and treachery, of ambition and survival.

But as Pei Rong emerged from the Jade House, the world seemed to hold its breath.

He stepped forward, the Jade Token held high in his bloodstained hands. The green light of it caught the eyes of every man and woman in the courtyard. Slowly, as if a single mind moved them, heads turned towards him—bandits and soldiers, courtiers and commoners alike.

A hush fell over the courtyard. Even the clash of blades faltered, the air thick with the sudden weight of realization.

"The Jade Token," someone whispered in the crowd, their voice trembling.

"He holds it,"