Dance Of The Dragons
Chapter 302 : The End Of A Reign (3)

Chapter 302: Chapter 302 : The End Of A Reign (3)

Xie Jianzhi met Liu Wenyuan outside the Eternal Spring Palace. He clasped the omega’s hand tightly, and together they stepped through the dimensional portal, along with a horde of demons who had come to invade the Golden Dragon Palace that night.

When Zhang Fengxi’s troops arrived, they only managed to catch small demons who did not have time to escape.

As they crossed the threshold, they were met with a sickening stench of blood and burnt flesh. Their eyes widened in horror as they took in the gruesome scene before them. The palace courtyard was a bloodbath. The bodies of innocent people lay scattered everywhere, their limbs twisted and their faces frozen in masks of terror.

Following Zhang Fengxi’s lead, the troops cautiously made their way through the carnage, their boots crunching on shattered glass and broken bones. They passed the bodies of young children, their lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. They saw the mutilated corpses of women and men, their flesh torn and their blood staining the ground.

"Check for survivors," Zhang Fengxi ordered his men.

"Yessir!"

Zhang Fengxi tucked away his blood-stained spear, its crimson tip still gleaming under the pale moonlight that streamed through the shattered windows. The once vibrant halls of the palace now echoed with an eerie silence, broken only by the creaking floorboards beneath his heavy boots. His footsteps echoed through the ghastly corridors, each sound a stark reminder of the carnage that had just unfolded.

A gust of ominous wind howled through the palace, carrying with it the chilling scent of death. The wind rattled the windows, their broken hinges groaning in protest, sending shivers down Zhang Fengxi’s spine. The once majestic palace, now a desolate ruin, seemed to weep for its fallen inhabitants.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and blood, a nauseating reminder of the violent massacre that had just taken place. Zhang Fengxi’s eyes darted around, as if looking for a certain individual among the fallen.

He came across several bodies that lay scattered across the marble floors, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The once pristine walls were now stained with blood, their vibrant colors replaced by a macabre tapestry of crimson and gore.

As he approached the study, a faint glimmer of morning light pierced through the partially open doors, casting an ethereal glow upon the threshold. Zhang Fengxi’s heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of anticipation and dread. With a trembling hand, he pushed the doors open, revealing a scene that would forever be etched into his memory.

The once majestic study, a haven of knowledge and wisdom, now lay in a state of disarray. Scrolls lay scattered across the floor, their precious wisdom trampled upon in the chaos. The air hung heavy with the scent of blood and decay, a nauseating reminder of the violence that had transpired within these sacred walls.

In the center of the room, sprawled upon the cold, unyielding floor, lay the lifeless form of the Heavenly Emperor. The once vibrant ruler of the Heavenly Realm, a figure of immense power and authority, now lay vulnerable and defeated. His once majestic eyes, once windows to a vast and ancient wisdom, now stared vacantly into the abyss, their light extinguished forever.

Zhang Fengxi approached the fallen emperor, his heart heavy with grief and disbelief. The Heavenly Emperor, the embodiment of heavenly order and harmony, had been struck down in cold blood, his life taken away by a merciless hand. The very foundations of the Heavenly Realm seemed to tremble under the weight of this heinous act.

"Your Majesty."

Zhang Fengxi knelt in front of his late liege lord’s lifeless body. He reached out and closed the sovereign’s eyes as one final act of loyalty.

With hearts as heavy as the stones beneath their feet, the soldiers moved with somber determination, their faces etched with grief and disbelief. They carefully lifted the lifeless bodies from the cold, unforgiving floor, their hands gently cradling the forms that had once breathed life into the palace.

As the coffins arrived, the fallen comrades were carefully placed inside. The dark, wooden frames of the coffin offered a stark contrast against the backdrop of the carnage. Each coffin represented a life snuffed out too soon, a story left untold, a dream forever unfulfilled.

In the hushed stillness of the grand hall, a solemn ceremony unfolded, a delicate dance between life and death, between reverence and respect.

Amidst the sprawling expanse of the Golden Dragon Palace, a solitary structure stood in stark contrast to the vibrant grandeur that surrounded it.

The palace mausoleum, a lone building crafted from weathered stones, exuded an aura of solemn reverence and unspoken grief.

Its untypical dome-like roof, unlike the traditional pointed roofs of the palace’s other structures, served as a poignant reminder of its unique purpose: to serve as the eternal resting place for the fallen members of the royal family.

Upon receiving the notification of the Heavenly Emperor’s passing, the mausoleum’s heavy doors creaked open in a somber manner.

With faces full of grief and solemnity, the mausoleum attendants poured out of the mausoleum building and marched toward the study.

Gently, they lifted the Emperor’s body from the ground. The weight of his earthly burden seemed to have lifted, leaving behind a mere shell of the man who had once commanded the respect and admiration of an entire empire.

With meticulous precision, they began the task of cleansing the Emperor’s body, removing the traces of the violent end that had befallen him. They worked with gentle strokes, their movements a testament to their deep respect for the deceased.

The water in the washbasin was tinged with crimson, a stark reminder of the bloodshed that had stained the palace. Yet, as the attendants worked, the water gradually cleared, the crimson hues replaced by a shimmering clarity.

The Emperor’s body was then adorned in his finest imperial robes, garments that spoke of his former majesty and power. The robes were intricately woven with threads of gold and silver, each stitch sang praises to the skill and craftsmanship of the imperial artisans.

Finally, the Emperor was laid to rest in a magnificent ice coffin, a vessel crafted from the purest crystal, its surface gleaming like a thousand diamonds.

The ice, carefully preserved from the depths of the highest mountains, would ensure that the Emperor’s body remained pristine until the day of his burial.

Zhang Fengxi stood vigil beside the ice coffin, his gaze fixed upon the Emperor’s serene face.

One by one, his subordinates came to report their findings.

Among all, the most surprising one regarded the Empress.

The Eternal Spring Palace had also been ravaged by the demons, but the Empress’ body was nowhere to be found.