In the stillness of the throne room, Rui Xuan remained seated, his eyes fixed on the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls. Each woven thread held a story, each scene depicted a chapter in the grand tale of his empire. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the room, as if the very spirits of his ancestors were whispering their counsel.
As the echoes of the encounter lingered, Rui Xuan's thoughts turned inward. The weight of his purpose bore down on him, a responsibility he carried not only for himself, but for the legacy of those who had come before him. He knew that his pursuit of vengeance was not only personal—it was the culmination of a duty bound by blood.
"The Manty Empire," he mused aloud, the words resonating in the chamber, "a tapestry woven with threads of triumph and tragedy. Each ruler has left their mark, each decision a stitch in the fabric of our history."
