The passage opened without warning.
One step they were confined by stone and shadow; the next, the cave gave way into a vast, cathedral-like chamber. The ceiling soared high above, jagged and broken, yet somehow deliberate—as though carved by calamity rather than time.
A pale mist blanketed the ground.
It did not obscure vision. Instead, it softened the world, blurring edges and dulling sound, as if reality itself had learned to speak in whispers here. Each breath Chen Yuan took felt heavier than the last, not because the air was thick, but because it carried memory.
Blood.
War.
Regret.
At the center of the chamber stood the sword.
The Conquest.
It was embedded in a raised stone dais, neither thrust violently nor carelessly abandoned. It stood straight, dignified, solemn. A single ray of sunlight pierced through a裂 in the ceiling, descending like a divine judgment and resting squarely upon the blade.
The steel was dark—neither rusted nor polished—but saturated, as if it had drunk so much blood that color itself had surrendered. Ancient inscriptions ran along its length, faint yet resolute, refusing to fade despite the centuries.
Lu Fu froze.
His breath caught, his legs trembling as if they no longer remembered how to move.
"T-this…" he whispered. "This is no legend."
Chen Yuan barely heard him.
Because someone stood before the sword.
A man clad in full armor knelt at the foot of the dais, one knee pressed into the stone, head bowed, both hands resting upon the pommel of the blade. His posture was rigid, reverent—unchanging.
Statue-like.
Yet undeniably alive.
The armor was exquisite.
Layered plates overlapped seamlessly, engraved with sigils of dominion and conquest. The metal bore no rust, no decay, yet it was scarred—each mark a story of war etched permanently into its surface.
And on the chest plate—
A banner.
Not merely the Heavenfall Empire's insignia.
The imperial insignia.
Lu Fu's face drained of all color.
"No…" he breathed. "That armor… only one man was permitted to wear it."
The mist shifted.
Slowly, the kneeling figure raised his head.
The moment his gaze met Chen Yuan's, the chamber shuddered.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
Pressure crashed down like a collapsing sky. Chen Yuan's knees bent involuntarily, his cultivation flaring as his body screamed in protest. This was not killing intent. This was authority—absolute, merciless, and ancient.
The man rose to his full height.
The armor moved with him, joints whispering like distant thunder. Beneath the helmet's shadow, eyes burned—not with madness, but with a cold, unwavering will that had once commanded empires.
His voice echoed without sound, reverberating directly within their minds.
"Another comes to claim me."
Lu Fu fell to his knees.
"Your… Your Majesty," he stammered, forehead pressed to the stone. "Heavenfall's last emperor. Sovereign of the Crimson Era."
The man's gaze did not linger on him.
It remained fixed on Chen Yuan.
"Names no longer matter," the emperor said. "Titles have rotted. Only duty remains."
He turned, standing between Chen Yuan and The Conquest.
"I am its chain," he continued. "Its warden. Its penance."
The air grew heavier with every word.
"I conquered the world," the emperor said calmly. "And in doing so, I drowned it in blood. When Heavenfall collapsed beneath its own hunger, I sought eternity—not salvation."
His gauntleted hand tightened around the sword's hilt.
"And eternity answered."
Lu Fu trembled violently.
"The… the binding ritual," he whispered. "It was real…"
The emperor inclined his head slightly.
"My soul was shackled to this blade," he said. "So long as it stands unconquered, I remain. To guard it. To test those who would wield it. To ensure no coward, no tyrant, no unworthy soul repeats my sin."
His eyes narrowed.
"Leave," he commanded.
Lu Fu did not hesitate. He scrambled backward, fear overwhelming reverence.
But Chen Yuan did not move.
Not because he was fearless.
But because something inside him resonated with the sword.
The system remained silent.
No guidance.
No warning.
Only one immutable truth pressed itself into Chen Yuan's mind:
This is the threshold.
The emperor regarded him anew.
"You are different," he said. "You do not reek of ambition. Nor do you tremble beneath authority."
Chen Yuan steadied his breath.
"I did not come to rule," he replied. "Nor to conquer the world."
The emperor's gaze sharpened.
"Then why are you here?"
Chen Yuan looked past him—at the blade, at the sunlight, at the weight of history embedded within steel.
"Because strife will not wait for me to be ready," he said. "And if I do not grasp power now, others will decide my fate for me."
Silence fell.
The mist stilled.
Then, slowly, the emperor laughed.
It was not mocking.
It was… tired.
"Very well," he said, drawing the sword from the stone.
The sound it made was not metal on rock.
It was the sound of a battlefield awakening.
"Come, inheritor," the emperor declared, armor blazing with crimson light. "If you wish to claim The Conquest—"
His stance shifted.
Perfect.
Unyielding.
"—then conquer me first."
The chamber sealed itself.
And the trial began.