My life as a king

Chapter 12: "The Dawn of Blood and Steel"

The first rays of dawn crept across the horizon, but the palace of Death Kingdom bore no semblance of tranquility. Its grand halls and courtyards, once pristine and majestic, were now bathed in blood and littered with the broken bodies of warriors. The night had been long and merciless—a battleground where the assassins and Roman's loyal forces clashed in an unrelenting storm of death and destruction.

The Turning Tide

Luke stood in the courtyard, his aura blazing like a blue inferno. His movements, sharp and precise, had kept the assassins' most elite warriors occupied. The Phantom Blade and the remaining two-star Aura Swordsmen threw everything they had at him, their strikes shaking the very foundation of the palace.

"You won't hold us off forever, Luke!" roared the Phantom Blade, his crimson aura pulsing violently as he launched another energy wave toward Luke.

Luke responded with a counterstrike, his sword releasing a blinding arc of energy that split the wave in two. The residual force shattered the surrounding pillars, sending debris raining down on the battlefield.

"You've underestimated me," Luke replied coldly, stepping forward with unyielding determination. "And you'll pay the price."

The remaining assassins divided their attention. One group continued to engage Luke, hoping to wear him down, while the rest pushed deeper into the palace.

The Inner Sanctum Breach

The inner sanctum of the palace became a blood-soaked war zone. Roman's system troops, forged through countless battles and imbued with unwavering loyalty, stood like a wall of steel against the assassins.

A squad of mercenaries attempted to breach the main corridor. Their leader, a seasoned killer wielding twin blades, darted through the line of defenders, aiming for a swift kill. But a young guard, his armor dented and bloodied, stepped forward. His sword, though trembling, met the assassin's strike with surprising ferocity.

"You will not pass!" the guard yelled, his voice echoing with resolve.

The clash was brutal. The assassin's twin blades danced like vipers, but the guard's raw determination and growing strength allowed him to hold his ground. With a desperate thrust, he pierced the assassin's chest, sending him crumpling to the floor.

The guards rallied around this moment, their morale surging as they pushed back against the invaders.

A Fight for Survival

Elsewhere in the palace, smaller skirmishes unfolded. Groups of assassins found themselves outnumbered as Roman's system troops regrouped and launched counterattacks.

One such battle occurred in the eastern wing, where a team of ten guards faced twenty mercenaries. Despite being outnumbered, the guards fought with a ferocity that left their enemies reeling.

The air crackled with energy as one of the guards, teetering on the edge of a breakthrough, unleashed a powerful aura strike. The attack tore through the mercenaries, leaving a gaping hole in their formation.

"Push forward!" the guard shouted, his aura glowing faintly as he stepped into the realm of a one-star Aura Swordsman. His comrades followed his lead, their swords cutting through the remaining mercenaries with ruthless efficiency.

Luke's Final Stand

Back in the courtyard, Luke was nearing his limit. His once-flawless movements were beginning to slow, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But his resolve remained unbroken.

The Phantom Blade, sensing an opportunity, pressed his attack. His strikes came faster and harder, each one aimed at exploiting Luke's fatigue.

"You're finished, Luke!" the Phantom Blade sneered, his blade aiming for Luke's heart.

But Luke, drawing on his last reserves of strength, parried the attack and countered with a devastating slash. His blade cleaved through the Phantom Blade's defenses, severing his arm and leaving him vulnerable.

The other two-star Aura Swordsmen lunged at Luke in desperation, but he met them head-on. With a final, earth-shattering strike, he dispatched them both, their bodies falling lifeless to the ground.

Luke staggered, his aura flickering like a dying flame. But he remained standing, his sword held high as a testament to his indomitable spirit.

The Aftermath

As dawn broke, the battle finally came to an end. The palace was eerily silent, the echoes of clashing steel replaced by the moans of the wounded and the cries of the dying.

Out of Roman's original 4,000 system troops, only 300 remained standing. Their armor was battered, their bodies bloodied, but their spirits were unbroken.

Among the survivors, a remarkable transformation had occurred. One guard had ascended to the rank of a two-star Aura Swordsman, his newfound power radiating from him like a beacon. Nine others had become one-star Aura Swordsmen, their auras marking them as rising stars within Roman's forces.

The rest of the survivors, though not yet at the level of Aura Swordsmen, had grown significantly stronger. Their battles against overwhelming odds had pushed them to the brink, sharpening their skills and fortifying their resolve.

Roman surveyed the scene from the safety of his chamber. Though his forces had suffered heavy losses, the battle had also solidified his power. The assassins' failure had sent a clear message to his enemies: the king was not to be underestimated.