Zhao Yan stepped forward, his voice steady and resolute, his words cutting through the tense air like the edge of his blade. "Even the heavens do not want you as the ruler. Everything you have worked hard for was all for nothing!"
Pei Rong's eyes widened, the madness in his gaze flickering and then solidifying into something sharper, darker. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one pulling at the ragged edges of his pride. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled with rage.
"You—!" he spat, his voice raw with fury. "You dare speak to me of fate? I am the rightful ruler! I have the Jade Token—no… I had it… and I will have it again! Over my dead body will I let you take this from me!"
The crack in the Jade Token at his feet glowed faintly, almost pulsing like a heartbeat, as if the soul of the empire itself was mourning what it had been forced to endure. But Pei Rong ignored it, his entire focus locked on Zhao Yan, his expression contorting into a snarl.
