The Invincible Young Master

Crack!

The mansion's grand façade fractured, groaning under the strain of the intense battle raging within. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the once-lavish interior.

Suddenly, a portion of the wall exploded outward, sending a figure hurtling through the dust and into the courtyard.

The figure crashed down with a heavy thud, knees hitting the ground. As the haze cleared, the spectators gasped in recognition. It was Kieran, the infamous battle manic.

Blood trickled from the corner of his lips, smearing his rugged face—a clear sign of the fierce confrontation he had just endured.

Whispers spread like wildfire among the onlookers, their eyes darting between Kieran and the collapsing mansion.

"Where's Marquis William?" someone finally broke the tense silence.

"Is he trapped under the rubble?" another voice speculated, anxiety creeping into their tone.

The thought of Duke Red's heir being buried alive sent chills through the crowd.

The political ramifications would be disastrous—factional infighting, power struggles, and even civil war loomed as real possibilities. William's death could set the empire on a dangerous course toward chaos.

As the mansion continued to crumble, hope faded. But then, a shift in the debris caught their attention.

A massive wall moved aside, revealing an old figure standing resolute, holding up the collapsing structure with one hand, seemingly without effort.

It was the leader of the white-robed ascendants, his calm presence a stark contrast to the destruction around him.

Beside him, a shimmering barrier glowed faintly, shielding the group within from the devastation. Through the barrier, the crowd glimpsed the bloodied form of Marquis William.

He lay motionless on the ground, but the ascendants were already tending to his wounds, their healing spells weaving around him.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd. The sight of William alive, though injured, dispelled their darkest fears.

His survival meant the immediate threat of political and military upheaval had been averted. For now, the empire's fragile peace remained intact.

As Kieran stood, wiping the blood from his mouth, his battle-honed instincts sharpened.

The white-clad men were no ordinary ascendants; they moved with a confidence and precision that spoke of experience beyond the average ascendants.

His eyes narrowed as he focused on the old man. There was no mistaking it—this was the presence he had sensed before.

When Kieran first encountered him inside the mansion, there had been no time to react.

The old man had struck with blinding speed, his palm glowing with ethereal power as it slammed into Kieran's chest, sending him crashing through the wall and into the courtyard.

The searing handprint on his chest was a painful reminder of that devastating strike.

"A soul-tempering master," Kieran muttered bitterly, spitting out the words. His eyes, however, glimmered with grudging respect. Such masters were exceedingly rare, their strength far surpassing that of ordinary essence awakening ascendant like himself.

Yet, despite the pain and the formidable opponent before him, fear was absent from Kieran's eyes.

Instead, a fierce determination burned as he reached for his neck, revealing a crimson necklace hidden beneath his armor.

The artifact gleamed ominously, its significance immediately recognized by those knowledgeable enough to understand.

The old man's previously calm expression faltered as his gaze locked onto the necklace. His eyes widened in alarm.

"That's… an astral artifact, the Crimson Seal!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock.

The revelation sent ripples through the crowd, and even the ascendants showed signs of unease.

Across the continent, ancient ruins buried deep beneath forgotten lands held the remnants of a long-lost era.

These ruins were the final resting places of powerful treasures, relics of an ancient civilization.

Among the most coveted of these relics were the Astral Artifacts—items of immense power, capable of reshaping entire battlefields with their destructive potential.

The Crimson Seal was one of the legendary for its catastrophic power, a weapon of unparalleled devastation. When activated, it unleashed a force capable of turning everything within its range to ash.

The fact that Kieran possessed such an artifact spoke volumes about his standing and the emperor's trust in him.

"General Kieran, stop!" the old man's voice rose with urgency, his calm demeanor replaced with alarm. "There's no need for this. The artifact will destroy everything here—innocent lives included."

His words weren't just a plea; they were a warning.

The old man had seen the devastation the Crimson Seal could bring.

It was a weapon meant for the most dire of circumstances, and to use it here, within the empire's noble heart, would be an act of reckless madness.

As the tension thickened, the sound of galloping horses broke through the chaos.

Heads turned as a group of men, clad in deep purple cloaks, arrived with thunderous speed, their horses' hooves striking the cobblestone courtyard.

Spark, observing from a distance, sighed with mild irritation.

"Just when things were getting interesting," he muttered under his breath, his disappointment clear. Still, his eyes gleamed with curiosity as he watched the scene unfold.

The purple-clad men swiftly dismounted, their presence instantly commanding attention.

On their chests, they bore the unmistakable insignia of a lotus—a symbol known to all. These were the emperor's personal guard, the Imperial Lotus Guard.

The crowd's murmur grew louder, their awe and respect palpable.

"The emperor's men," they whispered, their reverence evident.

The Imperial Lotus Guard was feared and respected throughout the empire. Their sole duty was to enforce the emperor's will and maintain the stability of the realm. Answering only to the emperor himself, they were the empire's most potent symbol of control.