Adventure Time Rebellion: Fight for the Throne

Chapter 42: The Golden Sun (2)

Malric pressed forward. "That influence... is exactly what this old man hopes to benefit from."

He leaned in slightly, dropping the polished tone, allowing just a flicker of desperation beneath the surface. "I want you to persuade the princess to accept this marriage. My son Zarek is... utterly infatuated with her beauty, her fire, her name. It's no secret. You've seen how he looks at her."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "And why, exactly, would I do that?" His tone was sharp as broken glass. "I serve Her Highness. I don't argue with her will, let alone betray it—unless I see that she's wrong. And in this matter... she isn't."

Malric's smile didn't fade. In fact, it grew more sinister, his eyes gleaming with a deeper card yet to be played.

"What if I told you," he said slowly, voice thick with venomous weight, "that the Golden Sun Sect is preparing a proposal of their own?"

That gave the young man pause. Malric saw the flicker in his eyes and struck harder.

"Yes," he continued, now fully in control. "They plan to offer the princess's hand to their young lord—Lucien Blaze. And unlike my son, he's not just in love. He's ambitious. Powerful. Connected. The kind of suitor that even a princess... cannot reject."

The words hit like a boulder crashing into lava—violent and sudden. The young man's expression darkened, and his fists clenched slightly at his sides.

"You're bluffing," he muttered, though the confidence in his voice was fading.

Malric didn't let up. "Am I?" he said smoothly. "The Blazing Spear Sect has spent years planting eyes and ears within the ranks of the Golden Sun. It's cost us dearly—but the fruits have been sweet. We hear their secrets. We know their moves before they make them. And I assure you... this one is real."

The young man didn't answer.

But he didn't need to.

Malric had already seen what he wanted in his eyes—panic, disbelief, frustration. He knew the name Golden Sun wasn't thrown around lightly. It wasn't just the strongest sect in the Fire Lands... it was the dominant force. The one sect even the royal palace couldn't cross without bleeding.

Outsiders might see the Golden Sun as just another elite faction, but any native of the Fire Kingdom knew better. The sect didn't wield direct rule over the throne... but they didn't need to. Their power was like sunlight—unavoidable, oppressive, and blinding.

Malric leaned in for the kill. "Now imagine the optics," he whispered. "If she marries my son—Zarek—people will see it as mutual affection, perhaps a noble alliance. But if she marries Lucien Blaze, a man she's never met, it will look exactly like what it is: a forced union. A power grab. A statement that even the throne bends to Golden Sun."

He paused for a moment, then added with smug emphasis, "And if that happens, the palace will be seen as weak. Submissive. Others will follow their lead. The balance will be broken."

He pulled back, hands behind his back again. "But if she marries my son instead... well, no one needs to know how it truly came about. No shame, no whispers. No risk."

The young man didn't speak. His silence said more than words.

Malric's grin widened. "Heh, from the Blade's silence, I suppose I can ask him to summon the princess to meet her future husband."

And that was it. The final provocation.

The young man finally moved. He didn't respond to Malric. He didn't argue. He turned his back and walked—up the palace stairs, head held high.

For a brief moment, Zarek and the elders exchanged smiles. A premature taste of victory filled their chests. They had come expecting resistance, but now... it seemed things were going smoothly. Too smoothly.

But then, at the top of the stairs, the young man stopped.

He turned, slowly, and faced the gathered servants standing like statues along the grand hallway.

"As I said earlier," he began, his voice calm but laced with cold finality, "Lord Malric Emberfall, his son, and the elders will honor us tonight by dining with us. Prepare the finest dishes. Spare no expense. And ensure their chambers are readied with the highest comforts."

There was a pause—a glimmer of relief among the guests.

But then he continued.

"And at dawn," he said, voice cutting like a blade of ice, "pack their belongings and ready their horses. I know Lord Emberfall isn't famous for his patience, after all."

The blow landed like thunder.

Malric's face twisted in disbelief. Even the fire torches along the walls seemed to dim as the humiliation settled in.

The young man turned again, cloak swirling, and disappeared down the corridor.

The wind outside howled through the open gate—long and hollow. The silence left in the aftermath was heavier than stone.

A few servants failed to stifle their chuckles, covering their mouths as they looked down, the tension briefly broken by the sheer boldness of their master's insult.

Malric Emberfall burned inside. His pride had been scorched in public.

"No, don't bother!" he shouted furiously, voice cracking with rage. "We're leaving now! But remember this, Blazing Blade—don't come crawling to us when it all begins. Because we won't lift a finger then!"

He spun on his heel, Zarek seething behind him, and the five stormed out, their egos shattered beneath their fine robes.

The door slammed shut.

The music stopped.

And the palace returned to silence.

Without a word, the young man moved toward the other side of the palace, his footsteps now quieter, heavier.

He entered the training grounds—a vast, sandy arena hidden behind stone walls. The doors closed behind him with a deep echo.

Alone now, he shed his upper garments, revealing a sculpted body tinged with the fireblood hue of his people. Muscles coiled with tension. Rage. Doubt.

In his hand, a sword appeared, crackling with energy. Its hilt burned yellow. Its blade radiated with searing heat.

"Mertens on one side..." he whispered, fire flaring over his skin.

"And now Lucien Blaze on the other..."

He gripped the sword in both hands. His left foot dragged across the sand, planting him in a warrior's stance.

Then—he roared.

A fiery arc exploded from his blade, blasting away sand and searing the walls around him.

"Is even the sky itself standing in my way?!"

The fire shot upward, stretching ten meters into the air like a living pillar of flame.

"I don't care anymore... if you won't be mine—then you won't belong to anyone!!"

He slammed the blade into the sand with all his might, sending a violent crack across the training ground, fire licking the edges like molten veins.

"Or else... my name isn't Silman Ben."

His eyes blazed—not just with fire, but with fury. With love. With obsession.