Adventure Time Rebellion: Fight for the Throne

Chapter 41: The Golden Sun (1)

The young man stood by one of the tall palace windows, his sharp amber eyes narrowing with visible irritation. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, as he gazed down at the spectacle unfolding below. The sight before him was nothing short of breathtaking—though to him, it only stirred annoyance.

Outside, the central courtyard of the Fire Kingdom pulsed with fiery celebration. Hundreds of Fire People spun and danced in a perfectly synchronized rhythm, their bodies twisting with grace and precision as they followed the commanding beats of deep war-drums and the haunting melody of blazing flutes. The music was both intoxicating and grand—almost powerful enough to distract one from the true purpose of this performance.

But not him. He saw through it.

Brilliant tongues of flame burst into the sky at regular intervals, erupting in spirals and pillars as part of a magical light show that ignited the crimson clouds above. The heat shimmered across the marble ground, and the scent of charred incense hung thick in the air. In the midst of this extravagant pageantry, a grand procession made its way with deliberate pride toward the palace gates.

Every steed, every polished chariot, bore a fluttering crimson banner. Each flag was adorned with the unmistakable emblem of the Blazing Spear Sect: a fierce flame of blood-red hue, pierced diagonally from the lower right by a long, deadly spear. There was no mistaking the message—they were here with pride, purpose, and intimidation.

Leading the parade were two infernal horses, their manes and hooves ablaze with controlled fire, snorting smoke with every step. One walked just slightly ahead of the other. On the first horse sat an aged warrior, his skin as red as dried blood and his bright orange beard like molten copper. Despite his age, his back was straight and his gaze sharp—the unmistakable aura of command.

Behind him, astride the second horse, rode a younger man clad in ceremonial armor. He wore a smirk that reeked of self-importance and a gaze that surveyed the palace like it already belonged to him. His features were handsome but arrogant, framed by a fiery orange mane that revealed his lineage instantly—his resemblance to the man before him was undeniable.

"The Blazing Spear Sect..." the young man at the window muttered, bitterness lacing every syllable. His eyes flared with contempt. Without waiting another second, he turned and strode purposefully through the corridor, his footsteps echoing with the weight of authority.

As he neared a grand hallway, he instinctively passed by a chamber draped in silk and flameglass—Flame Princess's quarters. Without even looking, he called out calmly, "Don't trouble Her Highness... this servant is enough." His tone was polite, but distant, signaling he knew she was already preparing to come out.

Without descending the stairs, he vaulted over the banister, landing gracefully with a dull thud in front of the palace's enormous main gate—just as it began to creak open. Through it stepped five figures: the old man and the young heir from the horses, followed by three elders cloaked in deep robes that shimmered faintly with enchantments. Each one radiated an aura of wisdom, pride, and danger.

The elder in front stepped forward and raised his voice with practiced ceremony: "The leader of the Blazing Spear Sect greets the Blazing Blade, arm and pillar of the great Fire Queen."

The young man—Blazing Blade—regarded them coldly. His expression remained unreadable, his arms once again crossed. His eyes flicked over the party without an ounce of deference.

Everyone in the Fire Lands knew the Blazing Spear Sect. Their name was etched into the soil, burned into the walls of every city, whispered in both awe and caution. No one would mistake their significance—but this young man clearly didn't care for theatrics.

After a moment, he let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "Heh, Lord Malric Emberfall... The honor of this royal palace being graced by your visit is a blessing that embarrasses this junior."

The sarcasm beneath his formal words was razor-sharp.

His face hardened as he continued. "I wonder what the occasion is? Could it be that Your Excellency simply wished to dine with us today? If so, perhaps a prior announcement would have been polite."

A cold silence fell over the guests. His veiled insult—disrespect veiled as formality—was impossible to miss. The servants watching nearby flinched, some even holding their breath. They had expected diplomacy and hospitality. Instead, their master was being... himself.

It was obvious to everyone why the Blazing Spear had come. No one stages a royal-level procession like this without intention. The fiery dances, the banners, the pomp—it was the ancient language of proposal. Even a newborn could decipher it.

Malric Emberfall, the elder, forced out a chuckle, though it sounded more like a strained cough. "No, no... it seems you've misunderstood us."

He gestured toward the young man beside him, who stepped forward with smug elegance. "I am here today to ask for the hand of the esteemed princess—for my son, Zarek Emberfall."

Zarek gave a shallow bow with a hand to his chest, voice dripping with false humility. "The humble Zarek Emberfall greets the Blazing Blade."

The young man's brow twitched. His arms remained folded. "Oh, so that's how it is..." He tilted his head with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Could it be, then, that the Blazing Spear Sect no longer honors the princess's wish to delay her marriage?"

Those words hit like a slap. The elders flinched. The princess's desire to postpone any engagement was not a secret—it was a decree. From high nobles to low-born servants, even animals across the kingdom seemed to know it. To press on in spite of it was to question her authority. Or worse... to try and overwrite it.

"W-what an odd assumption, Blazing Blade," Tarnis Emberfall stammered, trying to inject some lightness into the growing tension.

"We merely thought," added Jorren Emberfall, fingers threading together calmly, "that our young lord and Her Highness would make a perfect couple—blessed by the heavens themselves."

But their flattery found no purchase.

Malric Emberfall ignored them both and leaned closer to the Blazing Blade. His voice dropped to a whisper. "It seems Lord Blade won't be cooperating with this old man."

"Cooperating how, Lord Emberfall?" the young man asked coldly, his voice clipped and precise. The irritation in his eyes now gleamed like a sword freshly drawn—sharp, dangerous, and ready to cut.

Malric Emberfall didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled, the expression smug and knowing, like a hunter who had already seen his prey step into the trap.

"Your Excellency is the princess's advisor and pillar," he said with a respectful nod that was utterly hollow. "I am certain you're second only to her in power—some might even argue you're her voice when she chooses silence. And if rumors are true, she has altered critical decisions before, simply because you whispered counsel into her ear."

The young man said nothing, his jaw flexing.