Rogg stood tall—his figure towering like a mountain. In his hand, he held Thalasson, the ancestral trident passed down through generations of emperors—over two meters long, triple-bladed, glowing with a soft flame that pulsed like the heartbeat of royal blood.
Before him stood Thaldrim Covarthis, former Minister of the Doliex, a traitor to his own kind. His eyes burned crimson with rage and vengeance. In his grasp was Mournveil, the heirloom sword of House Covarthis—dark violet, almost black.
Everyone—soldiers, elders, ministers, even the citizens crowding the palace steps—held their breath.
"Rogg…"
Thaldrim's voice was hoarse, yet sharp—like a serpent ready to strike.
"…I swear, today I will shred your honor just as you shredded my pride in the arena before."
"I challenge you, Rogg…"
Rogg raised his chin.
"You come with vengeance. But I stand with truth. Today, only one of us will leave this place alive."
And with that, Rogg descended into the arena to face Thaldrim Covarthis.
It didn't take long for their blades to meet.
DRANGG!!!
They moved at the exact same moment.
Mournveil screamed through the air, thirsty for blood.
But Dragnir spun, deflecting and redirecting the blow with flawless precision.
Rogg's body twisted, moving like a muscled dragon.
With one powerful thrust of his spear, he sent Thaldrim flying back several meters. The ground shook beneath them.
"You're still fast, Thaldrim. But not fast enough."
Thaldrim hissed, then roared, unleashing a furious flurry of slashes—blindingly swift, striking like shadows aiming straight for Rogg's heart from every angle.
But… none of them landed.
Rogg spun Dragnir, slicing through the illusion with a single sweeping arc. Red flames flared from his weapon, and with a sharp forward throw—Dragnir impaled Thaldrim's shoulder, piercing through his body and halting him instantly.
Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to stop.
Thaldrim staggered, blood dripping from his lips. But he hadn't yielded. He tore Dragnir from his flesh, cast it aside, and lunged for a final strike—
"GRAAAAAAHH!!"
That… was his last mistake.
Rogg met him barehanded.
With immense force, he seized Thaldrim's wrist, twisted his body mid-air, and slammed him onto the stone floor of the arena. The impact echoed throughout the palace.
Thaldrim tried to rise.
"You… coward…"
"No. I am the justice that came too late."
Rogg reclaimed Dragnir, and without a flicker of hesitation—drove it straight into Thaldrim's heart.
"For your betrayal… for all the blood you've spilled… and for the shame you've brought upon your own people… your sentence is DEATH!"
DRRAAAAGGHHKK!!!
The spear twisted—ripping through Thaldrim's body. Blood gushed. The ground trembled. Thunder seemed to roll across the heavens—as if the sky itself bore witness to justice fulfilled.
Thaldrim's corpse lay motionless in the center of the arena.
Rogg stood over him.
His spear pointed skyward. His face was carved from stone—showing not a trace of mercy.
Everyone present—imperial soldiers, ministers, nobles, the people—none dared to speak.
This… was power.
This… was conviction.
This… was a true leader.
Rogg turned his gaze in all directions.
"Hear me, all of you.
Today, I did not merely execute a traitor.
Today, I restored the honor of the Empire.
And from this moment on...
I am the 16th Emperor of Whiteheaven."
Knees buckled.
One by one, they bowed.
Xaverius nodded.
Magnoli smiled with pride.
Damerius lowered his head in acceptance.
Brando, Vuuxi, Robb, Josia, and the entire forces of the Dark Legion and Hollow Creed struck their chests in unison—
"Long live Emperor Rogg!"
Then...
from the highest tower of the palace, a new banner was raised.
Blood-red. Gold. Black.
With the emblem of Thalasson's trident and Dragnir's spear crossed over a snow-capped mountain.
A new era had begun.
The era of Emperor Rogg Robelix—the Dark Conqueror, Protector of the Sacred Land, Heir of Truth.
For a moment… silence fell across the realm.
Not a sound was heard. Even the wind seemed suspended in the air.
Todius stood frozen, his eyes locked on the figure now towering in the arena. Before him stood Rogg—like the living shadow of a legend—commanding, formidable, radiating an aura that made the entire world feel small.
It wasn't just his strength. Not merely his tactics or skill in battle. But something deeper, more stirring… as if he were a descendant of the god of war.
"He… he truly doesn't belong to this world," Todius whispered, his voice barely audible, eyes unblinking.
Dorges, standing beside him, gave a slow nod. "I didn't expect it… He's far greater than we imagined. Even after defeating me and Damerius before… his power still grows."
Todius clenched his jaw. "With everything he now commands… who could possibly stop him?"
Just then, Rogg raised the imperial trident—Thalasson—high into the sky. The subtle flame running along its blades pulsed like royal blood.
He called out, voice thundering and cutting through every soul.
"Who else dares stand against me?!"
His words boomed through the palace like a quake. The imperial troops watching could no longer hold firm. Their knees weakened. Their heads bowed. In their hearts, something shifted—they no longer saw a warrior... but a true emperor.
But the moment was shattered by a woman's voice—firm and burning.
Empress Xienna rose from her seat. Her eyes were sharp, full of defiance.
"You… you seized the throne with strength and tyranny," she cried, slicing the air with her tone. "But have you ever asked the people? Have you ever asked if they even know you? Who are you, other than some vague legend? The lost son of Brovos? You've done nothing for this empire. You are not worthy to lead it!"
Rogg met her gaze, unflinching.
"I've seen with my own eyes… the suffering of the people of Whiteheaven under your rule. Slavery. Inequality. Power drained by you and your ministers to enrich yourselves. While the people… starve! You live only for the palace, as if the world belongs to you alone. If so, then you should've let the other lands stand free. Independent. Freed from the grip of rulers who've long lost their conscience!"
Tension crackled in the air. But before anyone could speak, Aelthar's voice rang out, sharp and cold.
"So you think… becoming emperor is that simple? You think you can rule Whiteheaven by your own mind? With an iron fist and loud words? You think that's enough?"
Rogg stared deep into Aelthar's eyes. His voice dropped, but each word carried the weight of truth.
"No. I do not stand here by my own strength."
He raised his hand, pointing to each person who now stood with him.
"Look… If not for Prince Xaverius, if not for Prince Magnoli, would I have come this far? If not for Damerius, who gave me the chance to see the truth about Whiteheaven… would I have understood? If not for the Doliex people—my mother's blood—who now stand behind me… would I even be able to stand here today?"
His eyes blazed with sincerity.
"Yes, I am the son of Brovos. But that's not what brought me here. What brought me here… is destiny. And every step of that destiny… I fought for it with blood and will."
There were no more words of resistance.
With steady steps, Rogg climbed the palace stairs—one by one—until he stood before the throne of the Whiteheaven Empire.
Then, he sat.
With dignity.
With conviction.
With a silence that felt sacred and absolute.
Xaverius, now serving as the Grand Vizier, stepped forward carrying the imperial crown. With both hands, he raised it high—then slowly lowered it onto Rogg's head.And the moment the crown touched his hair, Xaverius's voice rang out:"Long live Rogg Robelix, the 16th Emperor of Whiteheaven!"
The cry shook the heavens.One by one, soldiers, nobles, ministers, and citizens alike fell to their knees and cried out together:"Long live Emperor Rogg!"
"This is the moment!" Rogg's voice thundered, echoing across the grand hall and freezing everyone in place."The time of reckoning has come! For anyone who has broken the law, justice will be served—regardless of their title, their lineage, or their throne. The law and justice must reign above all!"
He took a breath. His voice deepened, commanding the space and every soul within it."Therefore, I declare: the Ministers and officials who conspired with Empress Xienna... shall be stripped of their titles, their wealth, and their nobility. They are hereby returned to the status of commoners, with no right to regain power... not even as merchants."
A heavy silence fell like fog upon the hall.
Rogg turned toward Empress Xienna. His gaze carried respect—but no mercy."Empress Xienna," Rogg began, his voice slicing through pride like a blade through silk, "I wish to honor you as I would honor my own mother. You, along with Concubine Netia and Concubine Triana, will always be mothers in my eyes... But justice must still be upheld."He inhaled, then declared with firm conviction,"You, Empress, shall be exiled to Larfex. For the rest of your life, you are forbidden from setting foot in this palace or involving yourself in the Empire's politics."
Rogg's voice quivered with reverence as he turned to the other two consorts."To Concubine Triana... I hope you accept your fate with a generous heart as the new Mother of the Empire.And to Concubine Netia—Mother... I know I can offer you the world, but still, you would choose to remain a mother to the poor, just as you have for decades.You may have declined the title of Mother of the Empire, but in my eyes... you are a mother to countless souls."
Gasps echoed from every corner of the hall.Even the princes—Prince Todius and Prince Dorges, sons of Concubine Netia—exchanged confused looks.
"Mother...?" Todius's voice broke the tense air. "All this time... we barely saw you. You always said you were busy with religious affairs... But all of this—what does it mean?"
Rogg looked at them deeply."Many pure-hearted people choose silence. Because in a world ruled by power and injustice, a single misstep can destroy everything."
Vuuxi, standing not far away, offered a quiet, knowing smile. He knew the truth: it was Concubine Netia who had moved the invisible hands among the orphans, nurturing them. Some had even risen to become loyal soldiers of Damerius and Magnoli—members of the Hollow Creed.
Dorges looked at his mother, eyes glistening."You... knew all of this from the beginning?"
"How is it," Todius cried out, voice cracking with guilt, "that Rogg knows more about you than we, your own sons?"
Concubine Netia smiled—a weary, yet fulfilled smile."I only did what needed to be done..." she said softly, but her words pierced the heart."All of this... was to protect you. If Damma Lorexius and Triana could be cast aside so easily, what fate would await you?We, the Torens, are but a small people—seen only as builders. Even our own Minister has sided with the Empress's coalition from the start."
Zephyron, Minister of the Torens, could only bow his head in shame.
Though Concubine Triana considered him a traitor to the Empire, she was powerless to act—Minister Zephyron's faction had long been entrenched under the Empress's cruel rule.
Her hands trembled as she spoke."I cannot change the world. But I can love. And I can protect... even if it means becoming a shadow in the dark."
The silence was deafening. Tears welled in the eyes of many.
"It's enough, Mother. Thank you—for all that you gave me when we first met, even when we were strangers. You gave me guidance, you gave me purpose... when I was just a lost traveler in the Guava Valley," said Rogg with a soft smile toward Netia.
Rogg stood tall again, voice steady."As for the lands... I now reassign them, in accordance with our tradition."
One by one, he declared:"Patisia goes to Damerius.Whitesand to Todius.Blacksand to Dorges.Larfex—to be led by Neroxius, under our Grand Vizier, Prince Xaverius.Smokeland—to our sister... Brisena."
But Prince Neroxius was not in the palace that day. He remained in Larfex with his colleagues.
Then Rogg turned to Magnoli and Xaverius."Magnoli will serve as the High Strategist, and alongside Xaverius, you will oversee the people and the governance.As for Minister of War? That duty is yours, Vuuxi."
The room held its breath. No one dared to speak—as if the will of the heavens had been proclaimed.
"Does anyone object?" Rogg asked.
No one answered. Silence was loyalty.
But Rogg wasn't finished. He turned to Ministers Eryndor and Aelthar.
"Oh yes... I almost forgot," he said, his voice now sharp as a whip."Eryndor. Aelthar. You are both sons of Larfex. I grant you pardon... but only on one condition: you must go to war with me."
The two ministers glanced at each other, tension tightening their faces.
"What do you mean, Emperor?" Eryndor asked cautiously. "You rule now... who else is left to fight? All imperial troops serve you!"
Rogg's gaze burned like coals."Don't mistake your numbers for greatness, Eryndor. The Larfex may be many—but true strength... is not measured in numbers.I will not allow rebellion. I will not tolerate poison in this empire!"
Before they could respond, Rogg continued.
"And one more thing. I present to you my cousin... Josia Aedrin."
A wave of hushed whispers rippled across the room.
"She is of mixed blood—Larfex through her mother, Doliex through her father. I appoint her to govern the Mountain Larfex."
Shock froze the air.
The Mountain Larfex—stubborn and isolated in their ancient ways—would now be ruled by a half-blood? No one had seen this coming.
Rogg's decisions struck like a storm. Swift. Final. No time for doubt.
"Being Emperor... handling all this... makes my head spin," Rogg said with a faint smile."But if this is the price to see the people of Whiteheaven prosper... then I will pay it."