The Guardian gods

Chapter 879

"Rubbish!" Chen suddenly snapped, throwing the thick pamphlet onto the polished floor.

None of it made any logical sense. It was just a collection of desperate make-believe theories designed to bleed away imperial resources without producing anything remotely fruitful. They were trying to build a bridge across a chasm they didn’t even understand.

As the papers scattered, the sitting shadow of the old man brushed across Chen’s peripheral vision.

The reaction was instantaneous. Without a single thought, a brutal, absolute instinct took over. A massive pillar of solid ice erupted from the floor, completely encasing the old man in a frozen tomb. Simultaneously, Chen blurred backward, instantly creating a safe distance between himself and the throne. His mana flared, ready to tear the room apart.

But his eyes widened in genuine shock as he watched the ice.

Instead of trapping the intruder, the solid, unbreakable block simply lost its form. Without a sound, the dense ice dissolved, turning into a soft, harmless cascade of white snow that drifted gently to the palace floor. Sitting perfectly untouched in the center of the powder, the old man offered a faint, knowing smile.

Chen opened his mouth to demand who the intruder was, but the words died in his throat.

Right before his eyes, the old man’s face began to blur and shift, the illusion melting away to reveal a sharp, distinct countenance. It was a face Chen recognized with absolute clarity, a face that had haunted the darkest corners of his nightmares for as long as he could remember.

Seeing the middle-aged man standing before him, Chen’s heart began to hammer violently against his ribs. The grand, imposing throne room suddenly felt suffocatingly small, and his vision swam. He stumbled backward, his hands frantically reaching out into the empty air until they caught the edge of a marble pillar for support.

"Father..." he managed to choke out, the word tasting like ash.

Murmur looked at his son’s trembling form, his expression one of cold, deeply rooted disappointment. He let out a low, mocking hum. "Even with all that power, you still are just a pathetic, frightened little boy."

The words acted like a splash of boiling oil on Chen’s fragile composure. The sheer terror in his chest suddenly violently inverted into a desperate instinct for survival.

Before the insult could fully echo through the vault of the ceiling, the space between them fractured. Murmur’s head snapped back as he was violently thrown backward, pinned y against the wall of the palace. A massive blade of dense ice had manifested out of nothingness, its razor-sharp tip pressed directly against his throat, drawing a microscopic bead of blood.

Chen stood a few paces away, his breathing ragged, his hand extended and trembling with a mixture of fear and absolute fury.

Murmur didn’t flinch. He slowly raised a single eyebrow, looking down at the frozen blade touching his skin, and then back at his son.

"What are you doing here?" Chen snarled through gritted teeth.

Murmur’s smile only widened, an unsettling, hollow expression. "Normally, a man returns home after being away for a long time," he said softly.

But as the words left his mouth, the figure pinned to the wall began to shimmer and dissolve into thin air. Simultaneously, the voice continued, smooth and unbothered right from behind Chen’s shoulder.

"Or were you desperately hoping that I never came back?"

Chen’s instincts screamed, but he did well to hide his surprise. He forced his body to turn slowly, facing Murmur, who was now leaning casually against a pillar just a few feet away, staring at him with those calculating, judgment-filled eyes.

Chen took a deep breath, forcing the frantic beating of his heart to slow down. He gathered his shattered composure, piece by piece, wrapping it in the cold arrogance he had cultivated over the years.

"You have one thing wrong, old man," Chen said, his voice steadying into a cold, authoritative figure. "I am no longer the pathetic boy you knew. I am now a Paragon, and I am the Emperor of this land."

He walked back over to the dais, his steps slow and purposeful, and sat back down upon his obsidian throne. He leaned back, resting his hands on the armrests, looking down at his father.

"You shall address me as such," Chen commanded, his eyes flashing with lethal intent. "Now tell me, why are you intruding upon my palace before I have the entire nation made aware that an assassin threatens their leader?"

"Leader? Emperor?..."

Murmur paused, the words hanging in the air as he stared at his son. Then, a low, genuine laugh rumbled from his chest, echoing off the high stone ceiling.

"Good. You have indeed grown," Murmur said, a glint of appreciation cutting through his eyes. He understood the underlying threat laced into his son’s words perfectly.

The boy was acknowledging his position. He was a puppet, yes, but he was a puppet who now wielded immense power and adoration among the populace. If Chen raised his voice right now, if he forced a confrontation that brought the imperial guards and the public rushing into this room, Murmur would be backed into a corner. He would be forced to eliminate Chen or reveal the devastating truth to the people, that their glorious Emperor was nothing more than a puppet on a string.

And that was a secret the ruling clans or himself could never allow to get out. To keep the illusion alive and maintain stability, the clans backing Murmur would be forced to outwardly obey the "Emperor’s" every command, granting Chen a massive wave of temporary control. It was a clever piece of political leverage.

Murmur shook his head, the amusement fading back into his usual unbothered demeanor. "Relax, Chen. Your throne holds no interest to me. You have done well enough as a leader. Though there were a few... hiccups along the way, you have recovered the territory well."

Chen’s face betrayed absolutely nothing. He sat motionless on his obsidian throne, a mask of cold stone, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Not so gullible anymore, huh?" Murmur said with a faint, amused smile as he casually sat back down in the chair he had occupied earlier, crossing one leg over the other.

Then, the trace of amusement vanished. His countenance shifted, the lighthearted mockery bleeding away to reveal a cold seriousness that made the air in the throne room grow heavy.

"I have returned because I truly have missed home," Murmur stated, his voice dropping into a low tone. "And because your sister, Yuki, will be needing our help soon. When that time comes, I would like for us to offer her our full support."

Hearing the sudden mention of his sister took Chen completely by surprise. He hadn’t thought of Yuki in a long time. Truth be told, she hadn’t thought of him either or at least, she had never shown it. In all the years that had passed since she left, she had never once tried to reach out, never sent a single missive to check if he was even still breathing after she abandoned him alone to face the terrifying whims of their father.

Hearing that she was supposedly in trouble now, Chen scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter.

"She has no need for my help, and she certainly has no need for yours," Chen said coldly. "What kind of twisted plan do you have cooking in your mind to drag her back into your web?"

Murmur looked at him, his gaze entirely unbothered by his son’s hostility. "She needs my help, Chen. She just isn’t aware of it yet. Just like you will also, one day, desperately need my help."

The sheer absurdity of the statement broke through Chen’s stoic facade, and he fell into a full-blown, mocking laughter. The sound echoed loudly through the large empty hall. He leaned forward on his throne, his eyes boring into Murmur with pure disdain.

"I care absolutely nothing for your plans, and even less for your supposed help," Chen said, his laughter dying down into a low hiss. "Since you claim this throne isn’t what you seek, then get out of my sight. Crawl back into whatever dark hole you’ve been hiding in."

As the harsh words left his mouth, Chen’s muscles coiled tight, every instinct screaming at him to brace for impact. He braced himself for a sudden flash of agony, a brutal crushing weight on his chest, or at the very least, a terrifying flare of murderous intent.

But nothing happened. All he got in return was an empty, unblinking stare from his father.

The silence in the hall stretched, thick and suffocating, making Chen’s mind race. He began to question if the man sitting before him was truly the same monstrous figure he had grown up fearing. Something had fundamentally changed. From the very beginning of this interaction, Chen’s mind had been quietly observing the inconsistencies.