Region 2...
Head City...
Regional Lord's Palace...
The sun sank low over the marble spires of the palace, painting the sky with streaks of crimson. It was as if the heavens themselves sensed the blood that was about to be spilled.
Inside the towering gates, the guards moved lazily, laughing and exchanging jests. Rumors had been swirling for days — that the rampant Prince Balek had demanded fealty. But the Regional Lord had dismissed it all with a wave of his hand and a bark of laughter.
"Tell Balek to go to hell."
Those six careless words now sealed the fate of Region 2.
At the palace entrance, a muffled thunder broke the afternoon calm.
Balek stood before the gates, his cloak fluttering, his face shadowed, a storm made flesh. His men — a band of elite warriors, clad in black armor stitched with crimson threads — fanned out beside him.
"Break the gates," Balek said, voice low and cold.
Without hesitation, one of his lieutenants stepped forward, swung a massive hammer — Boom! — and the palace doors shattered like brittle glass.
The guards barely had time to raise their swords before Balek surged forward.
In one fluid motion, he raised his blade — an Earth Rank, High-Grade Sword, humming with energy — and cleaved the nearest guard's head from his shoulders, the cut so clean it was almost beautiful.
Blood sprayed across the polished floors as Balek and his men swept into the palace like an avalanche.
This slaughter wasn't born of mere ambition. No, it was rage, cold and pure.
Balek had sent a courteous message expecting loyalty; instead, he'd been spat on.
What the Regional Lord didn't know was that Balek was no longer a mere Ocean Opening Realm cultivator at the 8th rank.
He had ascended — three full tiers up — now standing proudly at Rank 1 of the Ocean Flooding Realm. A monstrous leap that few could ever hope to achieve.
The palace guards, misjudging their foe, were overwhelmed within minutes.
Steel clashed, bodies fell. The shrieks of the dying echoed off the marble walls, mixing with the metallic stench of blood that thickened the air.
Balek moved with the fluid grace of a predator, cutting through opponents with a terrifying calmness, his blade a silver blur under the floating magical bulbs that lit the grand corridors.
Cries for mercies were sent around by the regional palace guards and soldiers of the region, but it fell on deaf ears. They had ignored his hand and have incurred his wrath.
---
Inside the Throne Hall...
The massive double doors slammed open.
Balek strode into the opulent hall, blood dripping from his blade, his steps slow, deliberate — a king claiming his throne.
On the high dais, the Regional Lord stood alone, the last flicker of a dying regime.
His robes were soaked in sweat. His legs trembled so fiercely it seemed he might collapse.
As Balek approached, the once-proud regional lord of the great region 2, which could stand on a footing similar to the empire's capital, was reduced to such a state that he had no gut left in him, he dropped to his knees like a bag of cement.
"Lord Ba-Balek," he stammered, voice cracking. "I-I was foolish. I did not recognize the height of Mount Kilimanjaro before me. Please, show mercy... I-I will surrender. I will relinquish the seat and pledge loyalty... Please—"
His words spilled out in frantic gasps, his mouth quivering as he stared at Balek's approach.
The prince's sword glowed ominously in the magical light, reflecting in the Regional Lord's wide, terrified eyes.
The corpses of the palace guard were stacked like cordwood beyond the broken doors. Blood pooled on the grand marble floor, glistening under the suspended lights.
Balek said nothing at first, only stopped a few paces away, regarding the man with cold disdain.
"You had your chance," he said finally, his voice low, heavy. "You chose to mock me.
Now — it is time for judgment."
He raised his blade — and for a moment, it was as though the whole world held its breath.
But instead of waiting for death, the Regional Lord suddenly laughed — a high-pitched, cracked, maniacal laugh that sent chills down even Balek's hardened soldiers' spines.
"Heheheheh... You think you'll claim Region 2 so easily?" the Regional Lord wheezed.
His hand flashed inside his robe — pulling forth a gleaming Explosive Talisman inscribed with pulsing crimson runes.
With a wild, defiant shout, he hurled it at Balek's descending sword.
The talisman and the blade met mid-air — BOOM!!!
The explosion tore the hall apart.
Marble pillars cracked and tumbled. A shockwave of flame and energy hurled Balek backward like a ragdoll, slamming him against a shattered pillar.
The Regional Lord was gone — reduced to ash and bloody mist.
Balek lay amid the rubble, his robes torn to shreds. His face was torn open along one cheek; ribs peeked out from under ripped flesh on his side. Blood streamed down his brow into his eyes.
But he stirred — and slowly, almost contemptuously, pushed himself to his feet.
His cultivation — his new, monstrous strength — had saved him.
From the shredded folds of his robe, he produced a small jade vial. Uncorking it, he poured the glowing potion down his throat.
The healing was near-instant.
The torn flesh knitted itself back together. The broken bones realigned and mended with a series of sharp cracks.
Balek stood whole once more — though his robes still hung in tatters, a savage badge of honor.
Moments later, his men — bloodied but victorious — rushed into the hall.
Seeing their leader alive, they dropped to one knee, relief and awe in their faces.
Balek sheathed his blade with a quiet shhhhht.
His voice rang out in the wrecked, burning throne room:
"Gather every treasure, every artifact, every scroll worth keeping.
Loot everything.
And burn this palace to the ground."
He turned on his heel, walking away through the smoking ruins like a god descending from the heavens.
From this day forward, Region 2 belonged to Prince Balek.