Capital of the Great Dalenhart Empire.
Linglong Pavilion.
A towering structure in the heart of the capital, Linglong Pavilion was famed far and wide—not only for its exotic cuisine, but also for its luxurious design and the colorful tales exchanged within its halls.
Every day, the main floor bustled with lords, merchants, travelers, and wandering scholars.
At the center of the room stood a raised platform, where a silver-bearded storyteller waved a folding fan dramatically.
He thumped the stage with his hand.
"It's said that ten years ago, within the Sacred Sanctuary of Flame, a child of divine fate was born. A child who bore the image of a thousand Buddhas."
"They say the heavens opened above the monastery. Golden light poured down, stretching across the land. Every man or woman touched by it was healed of disease and sorrow…"
The room fell silent in awe.
Then the storyteller leaned forward.
"That child, that destined monk—what became of him?"
He smiled.
"That, dear listeners… you'll have to hear tomorrow."
Groans of frustration echoed through the crowd.
"You're stopping there?!"
"You just got to the good part!"
A thick-set man in the front row hurled a silver coin onto the stage.
"Keep talking."
Several others followed with coins, and the storyteller grinned.
"Ah, such generosity. Very well, allow me to continue…"
He fanned himself with theatrical flair.
"That divine child should now be around eighteen. Surely, he remains cloistered in the mountain, reciting sutras and meditating upon stars."
The crowd let out a collective groan.
"That's it?"
"All that for a boy who never left his cave?"
Some rolled their eyes. Others muttered their skepticism. Visions of divine light and miraculous healing? Likely nothing more than fiction.
What no one noticed was the quiet figure in the corner.
A young monk in plain gray robes.
He sipped his tea calmly, eyes amused.
Aeron Vale, the very monk of legend, shook his head and smiled.
"So I've become a bedtime story."
He didn't mind. The rumors had been growing ever since he was declared the "Living Buddha." Between the old monk's portrait and the elders' silent acceptance, word had spread across the land.
Finishing his tea, Aeron rose, left a few coins, and stepped outside.
---
The capital's streets were paved with polished stone. Banners flapped gently in the breeze, and vendors shouted in every direction.
As Aeron walked deeper into the city, the crowds thinned.
Soldiers began to appear, patrolling in tight formations. Their eyes were alert, armor gleaming.
Ahead stood a massive gate of steel and jade, flanked by dozens of elite guards.
Beyond it lay the Imperial Palace.
Even from a distance, Aeron could see rooftops of gold and marble, rising like mountains.
---
At that moment, a carriage rolled through the gates.
Within it sat a middle-aged monk in crimson robes, his face thoughtful.
He was one of the Queen Mother's spiritual advisors, known throughout the capital. In recent years, she had invited more monks into the palace, seeking divine guidance.
Today's meeting had been particularly exhausting.
"Her questions are getting harder," the monk muttered, massaging his temple.
He lifted the curtain and peered out—
And his breath caught.
A young monk was walking near the outer palace road.
"That face…"
He stared harder.
The gray robes. The calm eyes. The features matched the portrait sent by the Sanctuary years ago.
"It's him."
He descended from the carriage immediately, approaching with cautious reverence.
"Buddha?" he asked.
Aeron turned. "You recognize me?"
The monk bowed deeply.
"I once trained at the Sanctuary of Flame. It is an honor."
Aeron nodded, unsurprised.
Monasteries tied to the Sanctuary were scattered across the empire. Some monks, like this one, had risen to positions of quiet influence.
"What brings you to the capital?" the monk asked.
"The Imperial Martial Vault," Aeron replied plainly.
"I intend to enter and study the arts within."
The monk's face shifted.
He hesitated.
"That… may be difficult."
---
The Imperial Martial Vault was the most guarded structure in the entire empire.
It held not gold, not treasure, but knowledge—the collected martial wisdom of the entire world.
Over a century ago, the empire's founder, Emperor Kael Dalenhart, had traveled the continent. Every sect, every monastery, every school of combat—he had visited them all.
Their techniques, their scriptures, their secrets—he took them.
Some surrendered willingly. Others… less so.
Today, all of it rested in the Vault.
---
"Only royals may enter," the monk explained.
"Or generals with immense merit. Even I have never glimpsed its walls."
Aeron was silent.
"But," the monk said quickly, "there is a way."
He outlined a plan.
"Come with me. I will introduce you to the Queen Mother. Over the next few months, visit often. Make yourself known. When the Emperor's birthday arrives, present a rare gift. If he is pleased… you may be allowed entry."
The monk's eyes were hopeful.
It was the only viable path.
---
Aeron listened quietly.
Then, with a faint smile:
"Too much trouble."
---
The monk blinked.
"I—pardon?"
"Too slow. Too complicated."
Aeron turned toward the palace gates.
The monk's eyes widened in alarm.
"You can't possibly—"
But Aeron had already taken a deep breath.
He stepped forward.
And with a voice as calm as the sea, he spoke.
"The monk Aeron Vale requests entry to the Imperial Martial Vault."
---
The first word was soft.
The second echoed.
By the fifth word, the air shook.
By the final word—
The heavens trembled.
---
BOOM.
Sound erupted like divine thunder.
Shockwaves tore through the air, slamming into the palace.
The elite guards—eight thousand warriors trained to the pinnacle of mortal strength—collapsed, eyes rolling back, unable to withstand the pressure.
Eighteen Innate Commanders, bleeding from the ears, dropped to their knees.
From the depths of the palace, four hidden Grandmasters flared to life, attempting to resist the intrusion—
They failed.
Their spiritual defenses crumbled in mere moments.
The entire palace, once the most secure fortress in the empire…
…fell silent.
---
The monk behind Aeron stared in horrified awe.
His mouth moved, but no words came.
He had spent decades near royalty.
He had seen generals destroy mountains. He had heard the roar of war dragons.
But this?
This was something else.
---
This was a Living Buddha who no longer asked.
This was a god who declared.
---
(End of Chapter 9)