As James entered the city, the stark beauty of the marble and gold buildings around him seemed almost mocking. James knew that the destruction he had promised was imminent, and the stage was set for the battle that would decide the fate of the Frostbane clan and the empire itself.

  James rode into the capital, the gates opening with a slow creak as the guards — all members of the Windstride clan — reluctantly stepped aside. He had long ago called back his own men with the impending war in mind. There was no need to fulfill the guard quota anymore. The Blackbear clan must have done the same.

  The fear was palpable in the air, hanging thick like an omen. The city, once bustling with life, now stood in eerie silence. It had never truly been home to the Frostbane people; those few who had called it their home had long since returned home. The few citizens who remained were scattered, their faces twisted with the same dread that gripped the guards. They knew what was coming, and it was clear they did not expect to survive the coming storm.

  The clash of the three clan leaders would shake the city to its core, and all those caught in the middle would either be trampled beneath it or be swept away by the chaos. The city had never known a more uncertain fate. And James could feel the weight of that uncertainty pressing down on every step he took.

  He passed through the desolate streets, eyes scanning the faces of the few remaining souls who wandered aimlessly, their hopes long extinguished, waiting for the inevitable.

  As James entered the palace, it was clear that even the Windstride clan had pulled back most of their forces. The front door was only guarded by a single soldier, and not a single mage could be seen. They were likely saving their strength for the coming war. James' eyes scanned the young guard standing in front of him. The boy seemed to be barely sixteen, still in the early stages of manhood. A shame, James thought, that such a young life would end so soon.

  Without a word, the guard stepped aside, allowing James entry into the palace. Inside, the halls were eerily quiet. Dust had begun to accumulate in the corners, a sure sign that even the servants had abandoned their posts. James couldn't help but think how much this place mirrored the state of the empire — once a place of grandeur and power, now decaying and left behind.

  He was met by what remained of the royal guard — five men, all from the Windstride clan. They stood with an air of readiness, but there was a weariness to them, as if they, too, knew the inevitable was coming. James could feel the faint traces of power emanating from them. It wasn’t strong enough for grand spells, but it was more than enough to make them formidable compared to regular soldiers. These men had likely been trained in more subtle, tactical magic, the kind that could turn the tide in small skirmishes but would struggle against the overwhelming power of clan leaders like himself.

  James' thoughts swirled with ruthless determination. They’ll try to get the heir out, he mused, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the royal guards. They’ll try to run, to protect him, but it won’t matter. I’ll have his head before I leave this city. He could already picture them trying to smuggle him out of the city, making some desperate bid to escape the inevitable.

  But the thought of that boy fleeing, of his bloodline surviving, was unacceptable to James. The Frostbane clan had suffered for too long. The pact had kept them chained for years, but once the emperor died, all those chains would break. He could already feel the surge of power rising within him He would kill the heir. He would end their line right here in the capital, before their forces could regroup and flee. No one would stand in his way.

  As James walked deeper into the palace, his mind was already calculating the inevitable confrontation. The guards surrounding him were no threat — his attention was fully on the prize ahead. And with every step, the reality of the end of this chapter of history began to feel more and more certain.

  James was led into the room where the emperor lay, surrounded by Edrin, Ulric, and the heir, Xan. The guards were nowhere to be seen. The emperor, frail and on his deathbed, seemed to have already lost much of his former strength. The heavy air of impending doom surrounded the room, thick with the weight of the end of an era.

  Edrin stood protectively in front of the heir, his eyes locked on James with an intensity that showed he was prepared to defend the boy at all costs. His posture was solid, like a shield ready to block any incoming blow. Ulric, on the other hand, leaned casually against the back wall. To the untrained eye, he seemed almost at ease, but James could feel the powerful energy circulating within him. Ulric was preparing himself, his magic constantly feeding his muscles, a strength that his clan had honed over generations. It wouldn't matter much, though. Despite the power Ulric was channeling, James knew that all three of them—Edrin, Ulric and him were equal in terms of strength. And James, though not concentrating power like the others, was confident that his abilities would be slightly stronger than theirs in a direct confrontation. The true battle would come when the pact was broken.

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  James thought to himself how foolish they were. They were unaware that once the emperor died, the pact that had kept them suppressed would be destroyed. The floodgates would open. Their powers would rush back to them in full force, causing them to overload from the sheer magnitude of the influx. It would stun them, if only briefly, long enough for James to take the advantage.

  Edrin’s voice broke through James's thoughts. “I see your armies have already marched here,” he said, his voice steady but edged with the tension of knowing what was coming. “We won’t give you the capital that easily.”

  “That’s fine,” James replied with a dark smile, the hint of a bloodlust that came with knowing the power he was about to wield. “My men will happily shed your blood.” He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the trio before him, his gaze locking onto the heir, Xan. “And I’ll be taking more than just this from you.”

  Ulric’s eyes flashed with manic excitement. “Ahhahaha, I can’t wait,” he exclaimed, the thrill of battle evident in his voice. His fingers twitched slightly as if itching for the clash to begin.

  “Aheheha... cough... cough...” The sound came weakly from the emperor's lips, a hollow, rasping laugh that sent a shiver through the room. It was the laugh of a man who had accepted the inevitable, who mocked his own mortality even in his final moments.

  Edrin stiffened at the sound, his protective stance shifting subtly as if shielding the heir from the palpable tension. Ulric opened one eye, his lean against the wall now seeming deliberate, calculated. James’ gaze never wavered, fixed on the dying man who had once held sway over all the clans.

  “Even on your deathbed, you laugh,” James said coldly, stepping closer. “What’s so amusing, old man?”

  The emperor’s eyes, dim and clouded, turned toward James. His voice, though weak, carried a bitter edge. “You think this... changes anything? You squabble for the scraps of an empire... while the world waits to devour you all.”

  Edrin’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Ulric smirked, his excitement at the impending clash barely contained. James, however, narrowed his eyes, his voice low and deliberate.

  “Your time is over,” he said. “And with it, the shackles you placed on us. The pact dies with you.”

  The emperor chuckled again, his breath hitching. “You fools... you think power will save you. It will destroy you.”

  And with that, the emperor exhaled one final, rattling breath, his chest falling still. The silence that followed was suffocating, the room heavy with the weight of his passing. James felt it immediately—the shift, the magic binds unraveling as the pact was dismantled.

  A surge of power, ancient and long-suppressed, erupted from the emperor's lifeless body like a bursting bubble. The room shook with the force of the shockwave, a tangible ripple of magic spreading outward. It coursed through James' veins, a cold, raw energy that defined the strength of his clan. It had finally returned to him in its full might, a chilling embrace that felt like home.

  For a brief moment, the room was chaos. Edrin and Ulric, already condensing what little power they could access, were overwhelmed by the sudden flood. Their bodies faltered, trembling under the weight of their unsealed strength. Milliseconds passed as they struggled to control the overload, their minds and muscles stunned.

  It was all the time James needed.

  With a cold determination, he launched forward, his speed like a phantom's whisper. As he moved, he drew his blade—a masterpiece of cold, black alloy unique to his clan. Its hilt was bare, unadorned, a testament to function over flourish. Yet, even without embellishment, its beauty and craftsmanship shone through, an unmistakable symbol of his clan.

  In an instant, James crossed the room. His blade gleamed ominously, slicing through the air with a chilling whistle. In one fluid motion, he slashed, cleaving the heir's body in half. Blood sprayed across the stone floor as Xan's lifeless halves fell, his weak presence snuffed out before he could even react.

  James turned immediately, his focus shifting to Edrin. But the moment had passed. Edrin's fingers moved with a precision born of desperation and fury, releasing his spell in an instant. A burst of light and heat erupted from his hand, a blazing firebolt streaking through the air toward James.

  James twisted his body mid-step, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectile. It smashed into the palace wall with devastating force, disintegrating the stone entirely and obliterating several houses beyond the structure. The explosion's shockwave sent dust and debris billowing into the air, a grim reminder of the destructive power they wielded.

  The three men froze, their gazes locking across the ruined hall. For a brief moment, silence fell, thick and oppressive. The tension between them was palpable, their full power now unrestrained and crackling in the air like a gathering storm.

  Edrin’s mana burned fiercely around him, a roiling inferno that pulsed with his anger and determination. His eyes glowed with a fiery intensity, the heat from his aura making the very air shimmer.

  Ulric leaned forward slightly, his grin feral and wild. His strengthening magic coursed visibly through his veins, muscles swollen with unnatural might. He radiated raw physical power, his body a weapon forged for destruction.

  James remained steady, gripping his blade with one hands. The cold aura surrounding him deepened, frost spreading across the ruined floor and walls, creeping closer to his foes. The air around him grew frigid, each breath visible in the icy haze.

  The room was a battlefield waiting to ignite, their energies swirling and colliding in the charged space