“Keep fighting! Break through!”

Feng Yan and the inner disciples continued to motivate their desperate group as they cut down the bandits. If they could just break out of this encirclement, some of them could run away and reach the safety of the nearby village.

Those left behind will have to face the wrath of those two Soul Core cultivators, but it was better than all of them dying here. And at least their memories would be avenged by the sect.

‘Let’s hope that weird armoured guy can hold the attention of those two bandit leaders for a while longer.’

The armoured stranger was a surprise to everyone. Who knew that there was someone sleeping inside the box all this time? Though he was an unknown, he wasn’t going to bet the survival of his fellow sect disciples on a stranger’s aid. It was already a godsent opportunity that the two Soul Core cultivators chose to target him rather than them.

‘We can handle these fodder troops. Just a little bit more time…’

“ [Mass Hold Person] ”

A strange voice sounded out from the nearby forest’s edge followed by a wave of blue light that struck every combatant in the battle, paralyzing their bodies. Some stood in place in the stances they were holding, others fell to the ground when they froze mid-jump or were in an awkward position.

Feng Yan struggled desperately to move his own body, but there was no response save for his eyes. Not even his Spirit Energy circulated at his command. He stood there frozen in place, staring at the equally-frozen bandit he was about to strike at, who was also moving his eyes desperately.

“There. Now, let’s start over.”

From out the forest’s edge came the armoured man, carrying one of the Soul Core cultivators under his arm. That cultivator, who would've been their executioner earlier, was now being lugged around like a sack of rice.

‘Who the hell is this guy?’

He set down the Soul Core cultivator in a standing position. He then walked over to where he and the rest of the disciples were.

‘Not good…’

With a touch of his armoured hand he unfroze one outer disciple, who collapsed on the ground. He immediately scrambled and kowtowed before the stranger. “Lowly disciple greets reverend elder!”

He saw the stranger pause, then heard him give a quiet chuckle before continuing. “Who is in charge of your group?”

The outer disciple peeked out from his kowtow and pointed. “Th-the inner disciples. Over there, reverend!”

Feng Yan cursed in his heart. ‘Why point at me directly?’ he thought bitterly as the stranger approached. With nothing else to do, he looked at the figure approaching him.

He was tall, at around seven feet, and wore mastercrafted set of polished armour. Not a single part of his body could be seen; even the gaps in the plate had chain-links or white cloth covering the body underneath. He wore an enclosed helm, eye-catching for the faceguard on it styled after an old man’s bearded face. A jeweled circlet of gold was affixed on the helm, and the rest of his armour was similarly bedecked and decorated in gems and gold.

The stranger undid the mystic art on him as he did the outer disciple. “Don’t do anything rash now.” he said, as he continued on with freeing the rest of the inner disciples.

Eight of them remained now after the fight. The stranger gathered them together and asked: “Now, let's have a peaceful talk.”

Bandits and caravans. Things haven’t changed at all since last he left. 'All I need now is a dashing horse as good-looking as me, and a noble lady in the carriage amongst the carts.'

After discussing the situation with these ‘inner disciples’, he made to help them given their recent sufferings. While others left to bury the dead, he and his new acquaintances bound and secured the remaining bandits.

Some of them displayed great feats of strength like that leader of theirs, so they could’ve easily slipped out of their bounds and fled. So he made sure they’d stay put with a bit of intimidation.

“Repent for your actions and behave, and you will be shown mercy.” he said to the bandits. “Try to escape, and we’ll see if your flight is faster than my power.”

The other leader, that hulking brute they called Captain Gong, was not here; his strike had caved in his ribs and he died (purely by accident, of course. He never meant to kill him). As for the rest, the bandits (and their secondary leader, who he bound with rope personally) kowtowed and obeyed.

‘Some respect at last. How refreshing.’

The rest of these ‘disciples’ (‘Were they a cult of some sort?’) began repairing their carts and loading what seemed to be meat onto the ones that could still be used. He, on the other hand, went over to his coffin after securing the prisoners.

The first thing he caught sight within was a white staff.

Aryon froze, then practically dove in as he made to seize the staff. After confirming what it was, he raised it and intoned:

“Greater Teleport, Tarminas!”

Nothing.

He tried a second time, yet nothing happened once again. His awkward actions drew the curiosity of the surrounding people, prisoners and disciples alike.

‘What in the world is going on?’ he thought in his running mind. ‘Why is the Staff of Kings here?!’

___

The Staff of Kings was the heirloom of his kingdom, Tarminas. It was the rightful weapon and symbol of power the king wielded.

The living king.

Aryon was dead.

In life, he was the king of Tarminas. He ruled, he fought, and he did his kingly duties respectfully and with full efforts. When he grew old he passed on his titles, heirlooms and and duties to his successor.

But before he died, he made a choice to live.

To live on as a Relic King.

Most of the Continent knew them to be animated constructs, golems of a sort. But they were the undead, brought to unlife with secret, stolen dark magic. Considered to be a necessity in the turmoil of the continent, the Kings of Tarminas could choose to live on as a protector of sorts, to be summoned in times of need.

Powerful energies stripped the flesh from their bones and bound their souls onto their skeletons, then they were locked away to sleep, hidden from the world at large until there was a need to see them.

Aryon made that choice and became what he was now. And he distinctly remembered giving the Staff to his greatest disciple, as all good Mage-Kings had done before. And he also recalled serving under different kings who also held the same Staff.

‘So why is it here with me?’

It could only mean one thing: a crisis had happened in the Kingdom.