Chapter 48: The Game begin
The great Golden doors of the Imperial Chamber closed with a whispering boom as Maelira departed, the hem of her borrowed cloak trailing in her wake.
Aung remained seated on the Lion Throne, his hands folded beneath his chin, golden eyes half-lidded, fixed on the shimmering projection flickering before him.
A pale-blue status screen hovered in the air. Only he could see it.
[Subject Scan: Maelira]
Level: 35 (Peak Human Tier)
HP: 12,540
Anja: 8,900
Blessings: Hidden
Titles: Hidden, Warrior Commander, The Fallen One
Skills: [Sword Saint's Resolve], [Unbroken Will], [Battlefield Instinct], [Command Aura], [Phoenix's Last Cry] , [Soul Mate to Emperor AUNG], [Divine Soul key to the Truth of the World: yet to be reveal(certain conditions required)]
Aung exhaled softly, almost a laugh.
"So, you are the third one…" he murmured, voice low enough that only the marble lions flanking his throne heard it. "The soul key."
His fingers hovered briefly over the console-like panel only he could command. Another window blinked into existence.
[Soulmate Bond: Detected]
Subject: Maelira → Link established: Dormant State
World Fragment Access: Sealed (Requires 3 Soul Keys)(Collect 3 soul of phoneixes)
He leaned back slowly, the heavy weight of the Imperial robe shifting around his shoulders like the coils of a patient dragon.
"So, it is not easy hah…" he sighed.
Night fell swiftly outside the palace. The sound of bells echoed from the towers, mingling with the soft crackle of autumn winds and drifting leaves.
Inside, however, Aung's world was a map of moves, a lattice of schemes and counter-schemes unfolding with every breath.
He raised a hand.
"Thamain. Min. Remain."
General Thamain Zeya — the blade of the Empire — stepped forward, his armor clinking softly, the shadow of a smirk always playing about his face.
Prime Minister Min Ye Kyaw Htin approached more cautiously, his brow furrowed with concern.
Aung flicked his fingers. Holographic maps of the continent burst into a shimmering view between them, alight with red, gold, and black markers.
"The Eastern Alliance is fractured," Aung said quietly. "They will panic when we move."
Thamain chuckled. "Panic can be useful."
Aung's lips curved faintly.
"You, Thamain, will march on the fallen fortress. One hundred thousand Imperial troops. Silent movement. No banners. No anthems. I want them there like a whisper in the dark."
The general's eyes gleamed.
"And Min," Aung continued smoothly, "you will take another hundred thousand. March east. Offer military aid. Offer a temporary truce."
Min stiffened. "They will think it's a trick."
"They will," Aung agreed softly, "but they will have no choice. Zaharat and Venaria are desperate. Ilsar will fold under the weight of popular panic. Qashir and Dhakar can refuse, but their citizens will hear the truth soon enough."
"And if they still refuse?" Min asked.
Aung's smile was cold.
"It does not matter. Our forces will dig in along the defensive perimeter. Let them sneer — the people will see who stood against the dark."
He reached out, tapping Maelira's marker on the map.
"Bring her with you, Min. Make her the guest general of our expedition."
Min raised an eyebrow. "You want to parade the fallen vice commander of the Eastern Alliance in front of their own people?"
"Not a parade." Aung's eyes glimmered. "Let her stand before them. Let the people hear her warning. The nobility can plot all they like — but the masses will remember whose banners came to save them."
Min's voice softened. "Brother… is it wise to leave the capital so vulnerable?"
Aung rose slowly, the heavy cloak rippling like a cascade of molten gold.
"There will be fifty thousand Royal Guards left behind," he said calmly. "And besides—"
His lips curved in a smile that made Min shiver.
"I am here."
Thamain gave a bark of laughter.
Min grimaced. "The opposition… they will move earlier than expected, since a million people in the capital have only a minimum amount of guards. You know they will not wait until the coronation."
"I know." Aung's voice was velvet over steel. "Let them."
Min swallowed. "You want to draw them out?"
Aung turned, his profile etched in firelight and shadow, the coronation crown gleaming on the pedestal beside him.
"I have been patient long enough," he murmured. "When they move, they will fall."
For a moment, the air in the room thickened. Thamain felt it. Min felt it.
It was as though the temperature dropped — yet the air sizzled with raw, unrestrained power.
Aung's eyes flared gold.
His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"No mercy for the ones who fall into evil."
As the palace grew still and the midnight hour approached, Aung made his way through the torchlit corridors to the private quarters of Queen Mother Mya Theingi — now the Minister of Ceremonies.
She rose the moment he entered, graceful in her flowing white robes, her eyes as sharp as the day she had first ruled beside the late emperor.
Aung offered her a rare, respectful nod. "Mother, I require your counsel."
Without hesitation, she inclined her head. "Say the word, my son."
"I want every former noble, every mayor, and every senior bureaucrat summoned to the throne room by tomorrow night," Aung said quietly. "They will attend in full regalia. We will discuss the coronation plan before the court. You will oversee it all."
The Queen Mother's brows lifted, but she folded her hands serenely. "It shall be done, Your Majesty."
Aung stepped closer, his voice lowering to a hush.
"There will be blood, Mother. The stage is set, and those who conspire against this throne will reveal themselves before that hour is done. You are not to worry, no matter what happens. Do you understand?"
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them.
Then the Queen Mother smiled faintly — the smile of a woman who had survived emperors, coups, and war.
"I have worn the veil of the living and the shroud of the dead, my son. You need not warn me of blood."
Aung's eyes gleamed. "Good."
And with that, the Emperor of the Pagan Empire turned, his cloak trailing behind him like a living shadow, leaving his mother to summon the storm.
Later that night, alone beneath the moon, Aung sat cross-legged in his bed chamber,
The final status screen hovered before him.
[Jason's Status Update ]
Level: 999 (Ascended)
Title: Divine Monarch of Frost and Flame
HP: ∞ (Boundless Vitality)
Anja: ∞ (Infinite Divine Reserve)
Attributes: Enhanced to Divine Scale
New Skill: [Frost Sovereign's Domain] – Absolute control over ice, capable of freezing time itself within a designated area.
Aung exhaled slowly.
Jason.
The name burned in his mind — another of the "three." Another link in the chain that bound worlds.
Soon.
But first let's take out the rotten moles.
When dawn came, the city was abuzz with movement.
Thamain's banners slipped quietly from the west gates, vanishing into the forested passes.
Min's legions fanned east, a golden tide against the pale light.
Maelira rode with them, clad in black-and-silver mail, the Imperial Peacock gleaming at her throat. The people watched in wonder as she passed — the ghost of a fallen fortress, reborn.
And in the heart of it all, the capital waited.
High above, upon the ivory balcony, Aung watched the sun rise over the world he was about to remake.
"Three keys," he murmured, fingers folded before his lips.
"Three souls."
His eyes glowed.
"And the game begins."
(Continue….)