Fantasy World: I Can Travel To Cultivation World

The old king remained calm, showing no fear. He stared at the severed head, studying it carefully. Then, he smiled, nodded, and said, "Yes, this is indeed the rat from the House of Savoy. After hiding for so long, it has finally been silenced."

Turning to Luis, the king added sincerely, "Thank you, warrior, for this great gift to the Modiwen family. How can I repay you?"

Luis nodded with a smirk. "Well, I do have something in mind."

"Just name it," the king replied with confidence. "If the Modiwen family possesses it, we will not hesitate to give it to you."

Luis's smirk turned into a cold laugh. "Oh, you have it, all right," he said arrogantly. "I want your head."

"What?" The old king froze, momentarily stunned, as if he had misheard.

But Luis didn't wait for a reaction. In a flash, his right hand shot out like lightning, aiming straight for the king's chest.

The old king, however, was not entirely unprepared. With a swift movement, he stepped back just in time to avoid the strike.

Luis pressed forward, closing the distance instantly. His blade gleamed as he swung it toward the king's neck.

At the same time, the Blood Slaves launched their own assault, tearing into the elf guards and Prince William, leaving them no chance to respond.

The old king continued to retreat, his eyes betraying a mix of shock and unease. He could sense Luis's aura—it was clearly that of a third-tier warrior. But his strength… it was overwhelming, enough to match the king's own power.

Even worse, the king felt his body weakening as the fight dragged on.

This unnatural strength, of course, came from Luis's mastery of the Dragon Python Swallowing the Sky Technique, a powerful body cultivation method. With it, Luis's physical form was as strong as a spiritual warrior's, capable of matching Foundation Builders and overpowering even fourth-state knights.

Just as the king prepared to counterattack, several figures appeared out of thin air, surrounding him.

"What?!"

The old king looked around, his shock turning to despair. The coordinated attacks came from all sides, leaving him no time to react.

In mere moments, a decisive blow landed, and his head was torn clean from his body.

"His Majesty!"

The hall descended into chaos. The guards, stunned by the sight of the fallen king, lost all will to fight. But they had no time to recover—the Blood Slaves quickly finished them off, leaving no survivors.

--

A violent gust of air surged through the hall as one of the Blood Slaves crashed through the roof and ascended into the sky.

In the silver moonlight, the Blood Slave's figure was starkly outlined, his massive wings giving him the appearance of an angel from heaven.

But when he spoke, his voice was anything but angelic—it resonated like the roar of a demon god bent on destruction:

"Your king is dead. Run for your lives!"

The astonished half-elves stared upward, their eyes wide with disbelief.

Moments later, two severed heads fell from the sky.

Boom… Boom…
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The heads landed with heavy thuds, silencing the battlefield below.

Then, as the soldiers began to recognize the grim trophies, a wave of shock rippled through the crowd:

"It's His Majesty the King!"

"It's Lord Diego!"

…

The deaths of the king and the rebel leader sent waves of panic coursing through both factions.

Among the Silvermoon Guards and the rebels alike, a shared question began to surface: If the leaders are dead, what are we still fighting for?

At that critical moment, someone with enough authority and respect in both camps could have stepped forward to restore order. But no such figure appeared.

Instead, chaos reigned. No one knew who first dropped their weapon, but like the fall of a single domino, the act set off a chain reaction.

One by one, the soldiers—exhausted and demoralized after fighting through the night—abandoned their weapons and fled in all directions.

When the first rays of morning sunlight illuminated Silvermoon City, the once-beautiful garden city was unrecognizable.

The rebellion had plunged the city into utter chaos, unleashing a Pandora's box of hidden darkness.

Theft, rape, arson, murder... countless atrocities had unfolded during the long night.

Adding to the carnage, the disorganized remnants of the army, fleeing the palace, wreaked further havoc.

By dawn, Silvermoon City had become a living hell.

Of course, this hell was reserved for the half-elf civilians.

The half-elf nobles, sheltered within their fortified castles and protected by their private armies, remained largely unaffected by the devastation around them.

At this moment, no royal noble families remained alive. The king and the prince were dead, leaving only Queen Elsa as the sole survivor.

Under the escort of numerous guards, she entered the Royal Palace.

Soon, Queen Elsa and her entourage successfully made their way into the palace. However, the once-majestic halls had long since lost their original grandeur. Bloody corpses lay scattered everywhere, a grim reminder of the recent violence.

This coup had come swiftly and ended just as abruptly.

Like a sudden summer storm, it had swept through, washing away the old order and leaving a new world in its wake.

For the half-elf civilians, the political struggles of the nobles had never been of much concern. They had little objection to Queen Elsa inheriting the throne and becoming the ruler of the Half-Elf Kingdom.

Furthermore, for the half-elves, who had a deep appreciation for beauty, the elegant and stunning Queen Elsa was far more appealing than the aging and stern King Modiwen.

If a poll were conducted in the Half-Elf Kingdom at that moment, Queen Elsa's approval ratings would undoubtedly eclipse those of the Modiwen family.

While the coup caused significant upheaval among the half-elf nobility, no one dared to challenge Queen Elsa's authority.

Despite ascending to the throne, the coronation ceremony could not yet take place. The only entity qualified to crown Queen Elsa was the royal family of the Azov Kingdom—the Azov family.

To this end, Queen Elsa had already dispatched an envoy to the Azov royal city. Barring any unforeseen complications, the Azov family was expected to send their own envoy to perform the coronation soon.