Simple. Simple. As if claiming the throne of the empire was no more than buying a fistful of rice from the market.

Regardless of the stated simplicity, the seriousness of the situation was unquestionable. The Markand Clanmaster wasn’t making a joke. He was here to stake his claim as the next Emperor, and they would need to deal with it appropriately.

Rieren’s mind raced a little. If he was making such a bold claim—treasonous too, of course, but bold nevertheless—then what about the others? Had Clanmistress Avathene and Kalvia lost the support of the other Archnoble clans? What of the Arteroth, or the Clanmaster leashed by Silvas? Were they in on this, or were they waiting to see the outcome before acting?

There was no point in wondering without proof. Whatever the case, their response here had to be the same.

A complete eradication of any and all threats.

The throne of the Elderlands had been passed down through the imperial Zhouven clan for generations. That was how the Elderlands had come to be formed in the first place. Not once had they ever relinquished to any illegitimate claimant, not once had any upstart—Archnoble or otherwise—ever sat on it without the imperial clan’s backing.

They couldn’t start now. Wouldn’t. The last thing Kalvia needed was to start her reign with a disastrous defeat at the hands of some Archnoble attempting to seize away her rightful place.

There was one small benefit, however. Judging by the looks of things here, the imperial clan was fully behind their stated heir.

“What gives you the right to propose such a ridiculous claim?” Zhalen asked.

He was ready to fight. Rieren could see it in his posture, in the way thorny vines were arrayed around his arms. It was good to see that he had recovered well from his battle against Rieren.

The Markand Clanmaster spread his arms. “What gives me the right?” He laughed. “I am one of the most powerful men in all of the Elderlands. That is my right. Might is right, boy. What is the Emperor if not the position of greatest strength?”

“That is an extremely reductive view of the greatest office in the Elderlands,” Kalvia said, hiding nothing of her disdain. “Do not besmirch it with your filthy lies.”

“Oh, please. Let us be realistic here. The fact of the matter is that strength is the underlying prerequisite for all that is great in our world. With no strength, you are nothing. Just like you, you bastard.”

The imperial clan members bristled. Zhalen looked like he was about to charge the Clanmaster and bite his face off. Even Rieren felt a minor tick of annoyance at the brazen abrasiveness.

Kalvia flushed at the direct insult, but she was calmer than most. “Strength, is it? Is that all that that pervades that thick skull of yours, Markand? Strength. No wonder your little clan is no more than an anthill when compared to the greatness that graces that rest of the Elderlands.”

Markand only laughed at the returned insult. “Is that all you are capable of, bastard?” His eyes glinted, a light so sharp, it could cut with a look. “I had my eye on you for a while, you know. The imperial clan proclaiming an illegitimate heir? Why could our esteemed Emperor never beget a true child of his own? Why did he leave behind a weak regent for his own gains?

“And then I realized. You want to lecture me about greatness. About grandiosity. About things that supersede mere strength. Well, you talked of filth earlier, yes? The notions you allude to are nothing but filth.”

Kalvia snorted. “As if you would know, you numbskull. You might have better luck convincing a boulder with your arguments.”

“Oh, but do hear me out, Your Majesty. You see, the Forborne Emperor did what he did because of personal belief. Because of his ego.”

“You don’t even know what you speak of.”

“Oh, do I not?” The Markand Clanmaster turned his head lazily to the side, staring off into the distance. Pretending they were no threat at all. Just another insult. “Look at him, fighting them single-handedly as though he truly believes he alone can take them all. That’s why he ascended, isn’t it? Leaving us to deal with our mundane little world while he becomes a god.”

“He didn’t become a god just to enjoy divinity, you fool,” Kalvia growled. “He did it—”

“To save us, yes. I am aware of the magnanimous rumours. That’s what you put your little faith in, isn’t it?” Markand shook his head like he was dealing with an unruly child. “Get it through your thick head, girl. No one here is fooled. He did it because he believes he belongs in the realm of the gods. Because he thinks he is the only one worthy.”

“Despicable lies, like I said earlier.”

“No. This, all this, is mere ego at play. And that ego can only be backed up by true strength. Something you do not possesses.”

Kalvia was fuming. It wasn’t just her either. The other imperial clan members all protested the Markand Clanmaster’s insinuation that the Forborne Emperor’s intentions were selfish. Zhalen was shouting enough to drown out the distant clamour of the battle.

Rieren could feel some of their frustration. More than some, in fact. She had known the old Emperor more than well enough to see exactly why he would take such a decision. Rieren knew that his heart was in the right place. But giving in to their anger at the Markand Clanmaster’s insinuations would only be playing into his hand.

But what was his hand here?

She tried to look around, tried to see if anything was unusual here. There had to be a reason why he of all people had come here of all places. Alone at that too. Why hadn’t he brought his clan, his son that Kalvia had defeated? What was his game here?

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He was never going to convince the imperial clan of his position. The only thing Rieren could see being a possibility was forcing them to accept his claim by—

Rieren’s eyes widened. Her soul screamed in alarm.

By taking Kalvia.

She twisted her head around, trying to discern anything that stood out in her surroundings. There was nothing. Just imperial clan members around them.

Rieren focused Essence into her eyes, tried to see things through her spiritual sight. The mundane wasn’t reliable. Most of what she saw wasn’t surprising. The imperial clan members were all awash in deep-green-and-gold glows within their spirits, including Kalvia and Zhouven. Meanwhile, the Markand Clanmaster had a toxic green swirl within him.

But there was one key difference. One of the clan member’s spirit wasn’t gold. Wasn’t any shade of green either.

It was red. No. Not quite red. Maroon.

When Rieren blinked back to her regular vision, she found that the clan member in question was a little too close to Kalvia. Rieren tutted. Such a basic plan. Remis Sharan was losing her touch.

It was a little dangerous to act so suddenly in such a tense situation. One wrong motion, and she would start a fight that might lead to devastating consequences.

But Rieren was done with this—as it had been correctly termed—farce.

One step to her right, with Silken Passage activated in the next instant, took Rieren right next to Sharan. Wily woman was unfortunately ready for any quick reactions. Just as Rieren reached her location, she opted to give up on her prey and leap backwards out of Rieren’s reach.

Then she cackled.

The sudden motion had startled the others. They all tensed, then looked around to see one of their own starting to remove the outer green-and-gold robes plus the cloth hat covering up her jagged hair. A quick swipe with her hand rubbed off the makeup that hid Remis Sharan’s scars. She was herself again, crooked slash of a smile once again free for all the world to see.

Rieren ignored the theatrics and kept one eye on the Markand Clanmaster. He hadn’t moved. Nor did he look surprised. Just dully angry, perhaps disappointed that whatever he and Sharan had planned had been foiled.

Still. She wouldn’t put it past him to act impulsively and try to take advantage of the situation anyway.

More than that, though, Rieren had to wonder what Sharan was doing with yet another Clanmaster in her pocket. When in the world had she twisted the Markand patriarch around her finger just as she had done to the Aryoventos Clanmaster?

“Why am I not surprised to see you here, Sharan,” Rieren said.

“It would have worked!” Remis Sharan had a mischievous glint in her eye. Her words were for the Markand Clanmaster. “I swear! There was no way she should have seen this coming.”

“The point remains that I did see it coming. From leagues off, I might add.”

“What’s going on?” Kalvia asked.

Zhalen echoed her confusion. “Who in the world is that?”

“The real mastermind behind much of our troubles,” Rieren said.

“Troubles?” Remis Sharan made a disgusted noise in her throat. “You wound me. The godless Banishedborn’s plans would never have come to fruition if not for my troubles. How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

“It is one thing to assist Starloper with the Banishedborn issue. It is another to manipulate your way to the very throne of the Elderlands, Sharan. You are acting too fast. Too quicky, on your own impulses, with little regard for others. Even for those who used to be your allies.”

For just a heartbeat, Remis Sharan did look chagrined. Like she’d had second thoughts about her intentions before she had turned them into actions, and Rieren’s words had brought them to the surface of her mind. That was good. Rieren had meant it sincerely. She had never been friends with Sharan before, but they had worked together to a strong extent. They had been allies.

In this life, however, Rieren was loathe to call her anything close.

“I do what I believe is right,” Remis Sharan said. The earlier glint in her eye had given way to true anger. “Just like we all do.”

“Not all of us.” Rieren pointed a finger to the Markand Clanmaster over there. “That one does it all just to sate his persona ego, according to his own words. You certainly picked a prime candidate for manipulation.”

“Cease your prickly little words, mongrel,” the Markand Clanmaster said. He glared at Rieren with the same anger that his coconspirator possessed. “All this drama you concoct does nothing to refute the underlying dilemma for you. Your would-be Empress has nothing of the strength required to rule the Elderlands. There is no two ways about it.”

“We refute your underlying dilemma,” Kalvia said. “Strength isn’t everything.”

Remis Sharan laughed, apparently regaining her earlier equanimity. It was less emotionally impactful to deal with Kalvia than with Rieren. “Perhaps so, perhaps not. But let’s get all of ourselves on the same page, shall we? Regardless of whether you agree with this dilemma or not, the point is, Lord Markand is stronger than you.”

“But that doesn’t—”

“Hold on, now. Let me finish.” Her grin was that of a shark sensing blood in the water. Rieren frowned. Monkey’s balls. They had walked right into something terrible, hadn’t they? “There are only two ways out of this conflict, Your Majesty. Either you surrender your claim to Lord Markand, or you get yourself embroiled in another conflict.”

“A conflict he’s sure to lose,” Zhalen said.

“Are you so certain? There are others who will rally to Lord Markand’s cause. Others who believe you don’t deserve the throne, regardless of what the imperial clan says. Other clans that want to take hold of greater power. This will spill out to bloodshed, to a loss of the unity and cooperation that the old Forborne Emperor was so desperate to enforce. Unless…”

“Unless only we fight,” the Markand Clanmaster completed with a grin.

None of them answered. Not immediately. The pitfalls were too evident for all of them to reply.

It was out of the question for Kalvia to take on the Markand Clanmaster directly. She might have been able to trick and surprise her way past slightly stronger opponents in the Trials of Ascendance, but as her final battle against Rieren had proved, she couldn’t win against someone truly more powerful than her.

But she couldn’t just relent to another empire-spanning conflict either. It would be a terrible blow to the start of her reign if it was actively contested by a large contingent of the very populace of the Elderlands.

Remis Sharan had successfully manoeuvred them all into a quagmire. It was easy to see how she could make Clanmasters like the Markand and the Aryoventos do her bidding.

Rieren placed a hand on Kalvia’s shoulder. A silent understanding passed between them.

The only way through this was to play into their enemies’ hands and still win.

Rieren stepped forward. “I second the notion of direct battle, to spare our people a drawn-out conflict.” She met the Markand Clanmaster’s eyes. “But I have an amendment that you will abide by, should you choose to proceed with this.”

“What amendment?” he asked.

“It will not just be you fighting against the other claimant to the Elderlands’ throne. If you wish to bully a weaker a cultivator with your superior strength, then allow me the grace to do the same.” Rieren smiled. “Let us make this a two-against-two confrontation. You and your partner here, Remis Sharan, against me and the Empress. Do you agree?”

“We agree!” Sharan said before the Clanmaster could speak.

It was so delightful to see the triumph in his eyes dim as he never got the chance to even consider the implications of Rieren’s counter-challenge.

“Excellent,” she said. “Then let us begin!”

With a laugh of crazed delight, Remis Sharan started stepping through the crowd of imperial clan members she had fooled.

Rieren, however, had already stated her intention. She attacked.