Final Lord

Chapter 315 The Sword Saint Carrying Fire
King Charlie of the Bucks stood on the highest terrace of the palace, his face beneath the gilded crown obscured by the twilight.

His slender fingers unconsciously caressed the rim of the crystal glass, his amber pupils reflecting the gradually lighting up of the capital, as he waited for a pre-existing signal.

As the tenth star climbed to the top of the clock tower, the hurried footsteps of the secret agents broke the stagnant air.

"Your Majesty!" The spy slammed one knee on the marble floor, dew still clinging to the gaps in his armor. "Duke Crimson Flame..."

"He rebelled?"

Charlie whirled around, the crystal glass clattering against the railing. But the spy's next report caused his pupils to contract sharply—

"No! Your Majesty, he did not."

The Crimson Flame Sword Saint, having removed all his armor and insignia, now carried a blazing crimson greatsword on his back and walked alone towards the palace!

"what?"

Charlie's fingers suddenly clenched, oblivious to the crystal shards piercing his palm. He strode to the edge of the terrace, his gilded cloak fluttering in the night wind.

Following the trembling fingertips of the secret agent, on the central avenue of the capital, a faltering yet determined figure could be seen slowly making its way forward on the road paved with blood and fire.

……

The blazing flames of the Crimson Flame Greatsword were particularly dazzling in the night, the leaping tongues of fire coiling around the old man's battle-wounded body like living creatures. The ancient runes on the sword's spine were fully activated, the bursting crimson light scorching the pebbles along the way into a lava-like state.

The flames were not outwards, but rather burning inwards at the swordsman himself—the Crimson Flame Sword Saint's back was already torn open, with wisps of smoke rising from the charred flesh, and each step left behind charred footprints emitting smoke.

“Use your body as a sheath.” Charlie’s voice suddenly became hoarse, and the beaded curtain of his crown gently bumped against each other with his trembling breath.

This is the oldest atonement ceremony of the Crimson Flame Clan. Only members of the clan who have committed unforgivable sins will burn their flesh and soul with the flames of their ancestral sword.

"His Majesty……"

The detection crystals of several court mages suddenly burst forth with blinding light, illuminating the image of the Crimson Flame Sword Saint and revealing even more terrifying details.

The old man had the emblem of the Stag Kingdom carved on his chest with a red-hot dagger, and wisps of white smoke were still rising from the festering wound. At his graying temples, the crimson family crest, symbolizing his ducal title, had been gouged out, leaving only bloody grooves.

This epic warrior, who had single-handedly suppressed a rebellion in the North, had now completely abandoned his defenses, allowing the flames of the Crimson Flame Greatsword to devour his life force inch by inch. His steps grew slower and slower, yet he maintained impeccable aristocratic bearing, even controlling the trembling caused by pain to a minimum.

There was no pain on his face, only determination.

"What the hell is going on!" Charlie suddenly smashed the crystal glass against a pillar, the flying shards bouncing across the gilded floor tiles. "What is Lord Chi Yan trying to do? Is this how you interrogate me?"

In the Royal Palace Square, more and more nobles and commoners were drawn to the strange phenomenon.

The crowd parted automatically like the receding tide, then quickly regrouped after the elderly person passed by.

Women covered children's eyes, nobles knelt on one knee to show respect, and even patrolling soldiers froze in place, not daring to step forward to stop them.

Crimson flames roared along the central avenue of the capital, illuminating the night sky as if it were daytime. Everyone recognized the figure walking through the fire—it was none other than the Crimson Flame Duke, who had protected the Duchy of Stag for half a century!
The Crimson Flame Clan, the founding fathers of the Stag Kingdom, have guarded the frontier for generations, their loyalty forged in iron and blood. The Crimson Flame Sword Saint, in particular, is the most dazzling genius in the family's history. At the age of thirty, he entered the Epic Realm, single-handedly suppressing the northern rebellion and intimidating the Rock Beach Kingdom. His Crimson Flame Army has twice saved their lord, achieving unparalleled merit.

He himself was the dean of the Royal Academy of the Duchy of Buck, with countless students under his tutelage, and countless nobles in the Duchy of Buck had benefited from his kindness.

If the Bucks King is the roof of the Bucks Duchy, then the Crimson Sword Saint is the main pillar supporting that roof!
His crimson greatsword has cleaved countless fiery and bloody chasms for the Duchy of Sturgeons. No one in the world is unaware of his name!

But now, this epic warrior removed his armor, shouldered a burning crimson greatsword, and let the flames consume him as he walked toward the palace in the most tragic way. Every step he took felt like stepping on the hearts of everyone present, heavy and awe-inspiring.

"In the end what happened?"

Why did the Crimson Flame Duke immolate himself?

"Could it be... that something has happened to the kingdom?!"

The commoners clutched their clothes, the nobles were pale, and the soldiers' hands trembled slightly as they gripped their swords. Fear and unease spread like a plague; everyone realized—this was no ordinary event!

The fact that the Crimson Flame Sword Saint could act in this way must be due to a momentous event that could shake the very foundation of the Stag Kingdom!

Someone whispered, "Could it be... that someone in the Crimson Flame Clan is plotting a rebellion, and the Crimson Flame Sword Saint has discovered it?"

"Impossible!" someone immediately retorted. "The Crimson Flame family has been loyal and valiant for generations, how could they betray us?"

"Could it be... that the king is going to settle scores with his meritorious officials?"

"Hush! Be careful!"

Discussions rose and fell, but no one dared to draw a conclusion. They could only watch helplessly as the figure moved forward in the flames, charred flesh peeling away to reveal stark white bones, yet the Crimson Flame Sword Saint remained calm, as if he had long since disregarded life and death.

—What could possibly make an epic-level powerhouse willingly endure the pain of being burned alive?
No one knows the answer. But everyone understands that after tonight, the fate of the Buck Kingdom will likely change...

As the old man finally knelt before the main gate of the palace, the burning greatsword suddenly emitted a resounding clang like a dragon's roar. Under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, this sword saint, who had once struck fear into the hearts of the three great duchy allied forces, slammed his forehead heavily against the blood-stained steps:

“This old minister… Chalk Red Flame! Requests an audience with Your Majesty.” His voice was as hoarse as the scraping of rusty iron.

As the last word fell, the flames of the greatsword suddenly surged, completely engulfing the old man's figure.

The towering pillar of fire illuminated half of the capital and also revealed King Charles's instantly pale face.

Chark Red Flame!
It had been so many years; he hadn't mentioned his full name in all those years. From the moment he became an epic, his name had lost all meaning, for he alone represented the entire Crimson Flame Clan.

Now that he had given his full name, it meant that he was no longer representing the Crimson Flame Clan, nor the Grand Duke of Crimson Flame, but himself—a friend of King Charles the Stag.

Charlie's face gradually regained its color, his pale features transforming into a statue imbued with life, radiating a renewed sense of majesty. He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air from deep within his throat, an air that seemed to bear an immense weight, turning into a wisp of smoke in the glow of the gilded candlestick.

"Summon Chi Yan to the study for an audience." His voice was like tempered iron, each word carrying undeniable power. "You don't need to come along; I'll see him alone."

(End of this chapter)