NOVEL NEXT Chapter 174: The Desert Crown
The Sorcerer-Kings
South of the burned empire stretched the sands — an endless desert where caravans moved like rivers and oases bloomed like jewels. There, the Sorcerer-Kings of Dahran reigned, each wearing crowns of bone and sunstone, each bound by pacts older than dynasties. Their power was not armies or steel, but storms. With chants older than the empire itself, they bent dunes into mountains and winds into blades.
When news came that inevitability had crossed borders, the kings gathered beneath a blackened sun. Their decree was simple:
"Fire cannot survive the desert. Sands bury all."
And so they raised a storm to smother inevitability before it could reach their gates.
The Watchtower's Decision
In the fractured tower, Hei Long's women gathered closer, the heat of jealousy and devotion sharper than the desert sun.
Qingxue gripped her blade, pride burning. "Let them bury the horizon in sand. I'll carve mountains into dust."
Yexin smirked, her fan snapping open, illusions glittering like mirages. "Sands are nothing but lies. I'll make them drown in their own desert."
Yuran's glow trembled, but her voice steadied. "Even storms pass. Even deserts end. I'll hold us whole when the sand tries to break us."
Hei Long's cloak rippled, the cord at his wrist swaying like a pendulum counting down. His voice was calm, merciless.
"They believe sand buries fire. They forget: fire turns sand into glass."
The Storm
The desert roared. Winds screamed, dunes rose into mountains, the sky itself disappeared beneath a storm so vast that day turned to night. Lightning cracked from the clouds, summoned by shamans chanting in tongues older than memory.
Qingxue leapt into the storm, her blade flashing brighter than lightning, carving dunes into rivers of dust. "I am his edge!" she shouted, sparks clashing with sand.
Yexin's laughter echoed through the storm, illusions blooming into countless mirages. The Sorcerer-Kings' soldiers stumbled, striking shadows, drowning in dunes that weren't real. "Can you not tell desert from dream?" she mocked.
Yuran knelt in the heart of the storm, her hands glowing, spirit threads binding her sisters against the winds. Her tears burned as she whispered, "Even storms… cannot scatter fire."
Hei Long's Verdict
At last, Hei Long raised his hand.
The storm bent. Sand froze in midair, lightning cracked into silence. His shadow pressed heavier than the desert sun, his cloak flaring as inevitability turned dunes to glass.
The Sorcerer-Kings cried out, their crowns melting, their storms breaking, their palaces swallowed in molten fire.
"You believed sand buries fire," Hei Long said, his voice calm, merciless. "But fire turns sand into glass. And glass cuts deeper."
When dawn came, the desert shone like a sea of mirrors — beautiful, broken, and dead.
Aftermath
The Sorcerer-Kings were gone. Their crowns lay melted into shards of glass. The desert empire was ash, glittering beneath the sun.
Hei Long stood at the center, his women at his side, fire bound tighter than storms.
"The desert burns," he murmured. "The ice will break next."
And the world realized inevitability had devoured not only crowns and seas — but the desert itself.
The Warlords of Ice
North of the smoldering empire lay the Frozen Dominion, a land where the sun barely touched the horizon and the seas were locked in ice. Here, warlords ruled from citadels of frost, and cults carved prayers into glaciers older than dynasties. Their strength was not armies of men but winters themselves — storms that killed before steel was drawn.
When word of the Sorcerer-Kings' defeat reached them, the warlords gathered beneath the shattered aurora. The Frost Oracle raised her staff, her breath freezing midair, and spoke:
"Fire burns. But ice endures. Inevitability will break upon our cold."
And the north marched — not in thousands, but in storms.
The Watchtower's Resolve
Hei Long stood cloaked in shadow, the cord at his wrist swaying, his eyes turned north. His women gathered, fire bound tighter than crowns.
Qingxue pressed her blade into the floor, sparks leaping. "If ice endures, then I'll carve it until nothing remains but shards."
Yexin smirked, illusions shimmering like snowflakes. "Mirrors, storms, shadows — all the same. They'll strike at lies until they freeze themselves."
Yuran's glow flickered faintly, her prayer trembling. "If cold seeks to kill us, then I'll warm the fire with my last breath."
Hei Long's silence pressed heavier than glaciers. At last, he said:"They believe ice endures. They forget — even glaciers melt before fire."
The Storm of Frost
The northern armies came with blizzards at their backs. Warlords clad in furs led wolves with eyes like silver. Cultists raised chants that froze rivers mid-flow. The sky itself seemed to crack as the Frost Oracle summoned a storm that could bury cities.
Qingxue charged first, her blade clashing against frozen steel, sparks scattering across snow. "I am his edge!" she roared, her voice defying the storm.
Yexin's illusions bloomed into countless phantoms, weaving through blizzards, laughter sharp as icicles. "Strike me, strike me — which shadow is real? Freeze yourselves before you freeze me!"
Yuran knelt in the storm, her spirit threads binding warmth into her sisters' hearts, her glow flickering like fragile fireflies. "Even in the coldest night, I will keep fire alive."
Hei Long's Step
Hei Long raised his hand.
The blizzard bent. Wolves whimpered. The Frost Oracle's chant cracked into silence. His cloak flared, shadow swallowing snow, fire bending ice until glaciers wept as rivers.
"You believed ice endures," he said, his voice calm, merciless. "But ice melts. And fire consumes."
The Frozen Dominion shattered. Warlords bowed, cults collapsed, the Oracle herself turned to frost and broke.
Aftermath
When dawn broke, the north was no longer white. It was blackened, steaming, rivers of melted ice running into the sea.
Hei Long stood at the edge of the ruin, his women at his side, inevitability burning brighter than any crown.
"The ice is ash," he murmured. "The sky will fall next."
And the world realized inevitability had devoured even winter.
The Gods of the Air
Far above oceans and storms floated the Sky Archipelagos — islands suspended on ancient formations, their temples reaching higher than thunderheads. Here dwelled the Sky-Cults, who crowned themselves gods, claiming dominion over storms, winds, and the heavens themselves.
When whispers reached them of inevitability burning empires, seas, and glaciers, the Sky-Priests laughed from their temples. Their decree was arrogant, absolute:
"Fire cannot fly. Fire bows to heaven. We are gods, and gods do not burn."
And so the archipelagos stirred. From their floating sanctuaries, they readied legions of winged disciples, storm-eagles, and priests who wielded lightning as their scripture.
The Watchtower Looks Up
Hei Long stood upon the fractured tower, his cloak whispering in the wind, the cord at his wrist swaying like the measure of storms. His women gathered near, their jealousy and devotion burning hotter after the frozen march.
Qingxue lifted her blade, eyes narrowing at the skies. "Then I will cut the heavens until gods fall bleeding."
Yexin smirked, her fan flicking, illusions twisting into feathers of foxfire. "Gods are only men who convinced themselves to fly. I'll remind them how far it is to fall."
Yuran's glow trembled faintly, her prayer softer but no less steady. "Even skies end where fire touches. I will bind us until the clouds themselves burn."
Hei Long's silence pressed heavier than the storm. At last, he spoke:"They call themselves gods. Gods burn best."
The Descent of the Sky-Cults
From the floating archipelagos came their answer. Winged disciples soared with spears of lightning, storm-eagles shrieked, and the priests raised chants that split the heavens. Clouds blackened, rain poured in sheets, thunder cracked across the continent.
Qingxue leapt first, her blade cleaving lightning into sparks. "I am his edge!" she shouted, carving storm after storm.
Yexin's laughter echoed above the thunder. Illusions multiplied her into a hundred winged shadows, each mocking the priests' chants, scattering their formation until even gods doubted their divinity. "Which prayer reaches heaven now?" she jeered.
Yuran knelt in the rain, her spirit threads binding light into warmth, steadying the fire against the storm. "Even gods cannot scatter fire," she whispered, her tears blending with rain.
Hei Long's Verdict
Hei Long raised his hand.
The storm bent. Thunder died. The floating islands trembled as inevitability pressed against the formations that held them aloft.
"You believed fire bows to heaven," he said, his cloak flaring. "But heaven bows to fire."
The archipelagos cracked. Islands fell from the sky, temples shattered, gods screamed as they plunged into burning seas.
Aftermath
When dawn came, no floating islands marred the horizon. The sky was empty, the clouds silent, the heavens themselves burned to ash.
Hei Long stood at the cliff's edge, his women at his side, their fire bound tighter than storms or gods.
"The skies are ash," he murmured. "Only the world remains. And inevitability consumes the world."
Collapse of Faith
The sky was silent. The floating islands of the archipelagos had fallen into the seas, their temples shattered, their priests drowned. For centuries, the Sky-Cults had claimed divinity, ruling not by crown but by worship. Now their gods lay burned, their prayers unanswered, their heavens ash.
Across the world, faith trembled. Some believers fell to their knees, broken by despair. Others screamed rebellion, calling Hei Long a demon who had killed the gods. But most whispered a truth heavier than any hymn:
"If gods burn… then he is more than a god."
Temples emptied. Shrines cracked. Priests fled into hiding. The world no longer bent its knee to heaven. It bent toward inevitability.
The Watchtower After Victory
The watchtower was quiet, but not peaceful.
Qingxue sat sharpening her sword, her eyes sharper still, pride unyielding even as longing softened the edges.Yexin sprawled across cushions, illusions flickering faintly, her smirk sharp but her hunger sharper.Yuran knelt beside Hei Long's cloak, her glow trembling but steady, her devotion binding them all.
They were no longer sparks. No longer rivals. But jealousy burned brighter than ever, colliding in glances, in breaths, in silence too heavy to ignore.
Embers Collide
Qingxue broke the silence first. She leaned close, lips brushing Hei Long's hand with a prideful claim.Yexin laughed, her fan snapping shut, her illusions curling around Hei Long's shoulders as she pressed closer, her kiss mocking but trembling with need.Yuran trembled, her tears falling, but she kissed his cloak softly, fragile but steady, devotion deeper than pride or hunger.
Three flames. One fire.
Hei Long did not speak. He let the fire consume itself, binding them tighter with silence heavier than crowns, heavier than gods.
The Horizon
The world was ash — throne, sea, desert, ice, and sky all consumed.
But the horizon still stretched wide. Beyond deserts, beyond oceans, beyond skies, whispers told of continents untouched. Realms where inevitability had not yet walked.
Hei Long stood at the tower's edge, his cloak rippling, the cord at his wrist swaying. His women burned at his side, their jealousy and devotion sharpening into inevitability's fire.
"The gods are gone," he murmured. "The world is next."
And dawn broke — not golden, not gentle, but red, as though the horizon itself had caught fire.