The Sovereign Chronicles novel Chapter 9

After downing six bowls of the fiery liquor, Kaelen finally hit his limit. His head throbbed and spun violently. Slumping back into a pile of hay, he passed out almost immediately.

In his sleep, he seemed to return to his childhood, carried back to the distant Stormhold Citadel.

He saw his mother, his father, his little sister, and the familiar faces of his people.

The citadel was filled with laughter and joy. It was a perfect, blissful scene.

Kaelen ran forward excitedly, throwing himself toward his loved ones, but though they stood right in front of him, they seemed completely blind to his presence. He screamed, waved his hands frantically in front of their faces, but no one reacted.

Slowly, horrifyingly, everyone went dead silent. They tilted their heads, staring up at the sky with hollow, expressionless eyes.

It began to rain. A freezing, icy drizzle that soaked into their skin, causing everyone to violently shiver.

Suddenly...

The scene shattered like a broken mirror. With a deafening crash, the shards rained down, and everyone dissolved into the freezing downpour.

The storm intensified, plunging the entire world into total darkness.

The citadel was gone. His family was gone. Kaelen suddenly found himself standing in the center of an apocalyptic, endless battlefield.

Countless beings slaughtered each other in a frenzy of blood and iron. War cries shook the heavens, and grotesque, towering monstrosities roared amidst the carnage.

Oceans of heaven-scorching fire and world-tearing hurricanes engulfed the land.

The earth splintered. The sky collapsed. It was the end of all things.

Amidst the absolute destruction, a single, blinding crimson ray of light cleaved through the darkness, severing the celestial flames like a newly birthed sun. The terrifying beam pierced the battlefield, radiating an aura of absolute slaughter that made all living things wail and shattered the courage of gods.

Kaelen stumbled blindly across the ruins, instinctively drawn toward that tyrannical light. But suddenly, the crimson beam stopped. It locked onto him from across the abyss. A suffocating ocean of killing intent boiled into the sky and crashed down upon him.

Kaelen's soul violently convulsed. He shot up, gasping for air.

A dream! A nightmare!

Drenched in a cold sweat, his drunkenness entirely evaporated. He sat there, chest heaving, until he could finally swallow the dry lump in his throat.

Why had he dreamt of that?

He hadn't dreamed in years.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, his throat parched and his head splitting, he crawled to his feet and stumbled into the courtyard to get some water.

In the desolate, moonlit yard, the Old Man sat beneath the ancient tree. He was casually twirling a pitch-black dagger between his fingers. It was forged from an unrecognizable material—like dark iron or black obsidian—completely matte, yet radiating a bone-chilling aura.

"Huh?" Kaelen's gaze was drawn to the dark blade. He shook his head violently, thinking he was still trapped in the nightmare.

"Old Man?" Kaelen called out twice.

The Old Man ignored him, slowly raising the black blade into the air.

As Kaelen stared at it, a freezing terror inexplicably seized his heart. For a split second, he was back in the nightmare, drowning in the apocalyptic killing intent. It was the exact same sensation—the horrific feeling of being locked onto by Death itself.

Kaelen carefully took a step back, but the feeling of being targeted only intensified.

The dark dagger seemed to possess an unnatural, malevolent sentience that made his blood run cold. Yet in the Old Man's withered hands, it behaved as docilely as a pet, spinning gracefully between his fingertips.

Any remaining alcohol in Kaelen's system vanished entirely. He watched the Old Man and the black dagger with extreme caution. He had seen the Old Man practice throwing knives before, casually tossing iron scraps around the yard. Intrigued, Kaelen had spent two days mimicking him, realized its potential, and secretly forged nine blades of his own. He had trained relentlessly for three years to use them for self-defense.

It was that exact technique that had allowed him to catch Moria off guard and gain the upper hand.

"Its name is Netherward." The Old Man opened his withered right hand. The black blade hovered perfectly still above his palm, the tip pointing downward. The dark metal bled an eerie, freezing mist that seemed to distort the very air around it.

"That dagger..." Every hair on Kaelen's body stood on end. He unconsciously retreated another two steps, staring at the weapon in sheer horror.

Suddenly, the Old Man's right hand twitched.

In a fraction of a second, the black blade let out a shrill metallic shriek and vanished in a blur of speed.

A terrifying shockwave of pure killing intent erupted across the courtyard, instantly drowning the entire mountain.

In that exact moment, across the thirty peaks of The Azure Sky Sanctum, numerous elders simultaneously snapped their eyes open. They had caught the faintest tremor of an aura that made their very souls shudder.

Kaelen stumbled backward in terror, but the blade was already pressed against his forehead. It moved like a streak of light, completely impossible to track.

It neither advanced nor retreated. Its razor tip barely grazed Kaelen's skin.

The blade was impossibly cold, feeling as if it would freeze his very soul.

"Old Man... what..." Kaelen didn't dare breathe. Sweat cascaded down his face. He felt the absolute certainty of death; it was as if the grim reaper was physically embracing him. His entire body felt violated by the chill, his lungs refusing to work.

"Do not use it recklessly before you reach the Mystic Warrior Tier." The Old Man pushed his right hand through the air.

With a sickening *shhhk*, the black blade sank directly into Kaelen's forehead.

In an instant, it was as if Kaelen had been cast into an abyssal glacier. Bone-shattering frost rapidly spread through his veins, every cell screaming as it was pumped full of freezing mist. Even his breath seemed to crystallize.

His vision spiraled. He couldn't tell if he was in agonizing pain or simply passing out. He collapsed heavily onto the dirt. Just as he tried to open his mouth to speak, pitch-black mist violently erupted from his pores, rapidly engulfing his entire body.

In his fading consciousness, he saw the Old Man walk toward him, hands clasped behind his back. The only thing he could focus on were the Old Man's eyes—they were like endless abysses, threatening to devour reality itself.

"Am I dreaming again?" Kaelen murmured weakly as his head hit the ground.

Everything felt utterly surreal, both hallucinatory and terrifying.

A dream. It had to be a dream.

When Kaelen finally opened his eyes again, it was late morning. He was actually lying in the dirt of the courtyard, the warm sunlight washing over him, making him feel incredibly comfortable.

"Why am I sleeping out here?"

He stretched his arms forcefully. His entire body felt light and completely revitalized. The bone-crushing chill from last night was entirely gone.

"I definitely dreamt that. That liquor is way too strong. Never drinking that much again."

Kaelen bounced to his feet and immediately began his morning conditioning.

He threw a few heavy punches into the air, then summoned electrical arcs, preparing to run through the first three phases of *The Titan's Vigor*.

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