Chereads / Baki: Martial System / Chapter 120 - The Judgement of Kings (1/2)

Chapter 120 - The Judgement of Kings (1/2)

Note For Trying to Decipher the Conversation:

As you read this chapter, be aware that the dialogue between Kuzan and the Emperor is intentionally complex and may seem hard to follow. Their conversation reflects the intricacies of two minds operating on a level far beyond our understanding. Each exchange is layered with subtext and nuance, jumping between topics as they pick each other's brains. Embrace the challenge, and allow yourself to explore the depths of their exchange. If you don't understand a section of the convo, ask it in the comments and I will explain.

[Unknown POV]

The grand doors of the royal library groaned as they opened, revealing a silhouette framed by the dimming firelight. The heavy wooden doors crashed against the stone walls with an echo that reverberated through the vast, silent hall. It was as though the very atmosphere recoiled in anticipation of what had entered, the air itself trembling beneath the weight of his presence. Flames in the torches flickered, subdued in reverence, refusing to illuminate the figure cloaked in shadow.

The Emperor had arrived.

No announcement was necessary. His presence alone carried more authority than any herald could convey. His aura was suffocating, ancient, as though centuries of history and power walked alongside him, unseen but undeniable. To stand in his path was to confront the weight of time itself.

Kuzan, seated comfortably in a chair, did not move. He did not need to. His eyes followed the Emperor's deliberate steps, every inch of his form radiating an absolute, unyielding authority. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire, the faint rustle of pages from unseen corners, as if the library itself had paused to witness this meeting.

Kuzan was not afraid, nor impressed. He had already accepted the impossibility of what he was seeing—a man who by all accounts was supposed to be dead now stood in front of him. The world Kuzan found himself in was filled with wonders and contradictions; the mere fact that this Emperor still drew breath was only another mystery in an endless sea of questions.

But now was not the time to ask how this man had "cheated death" or if the legends of his demise were exaggerated. There was something far more pressing on Kuzan's mind.

The Emperor came to a stop, the shadows around him thickening, as though the darkness clung to him like a lover, unwilling to part. His eyes—ancient, calculating—finally settled on Kuzan. There was no warmth in them, only the cold gaze of someone who had seen too much, learned too much, ruled for too long.

His lips parted, and his voice, deep and resonant, rumbled like distant thunder. It filled the library with an unspoken promise of power and consequence.

"What do you want?"

The question cut through the air like a blade, sharp and direct. Four simple words—but they carried with them a weight that struck at the very core of the conversation they were about to have. They were not just words; they were a challenge, an acknowledgment, a recognition. It was the language of power, of men who understood the currents of ambition.

Kuzan blinked, then smiled—a slow, knowing smile.

'Finally.'

It had been too long since someone had spoken to him like this. He had been surrounded by small minds, by people who had tried to grasp his motives with trembling hands, never fully understanding. But here, standing before him, was a man who recognized ambition, who welcomed it.

Kuzan inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the game they were about to play.

[Four hours later…]

The library, once a place of quiet study, had transformed into a battlefield of ideas. Scrolls lay unfurled across the long oak table, maps littered the surface, and documents passed between the two men like weapons exchanged in a duel. The firelight cast flickering shadows across their faces as they debated, strategized, and dissected the world's complexities with a precision only masters of power could wield.

The Emperor was everything Kuzan had anticipated—and more. He wielded his words like a general commands an army, each sentence calculated and deliberate. His insights were vast, his knowledge encompassing not just the present state of the world but its history, its soul. It was clear that he had not merely read through Fiana's notes—he had consumed them, processed them, and understood them on a level that bordered on supernatural. His experience as a ruler, as a man who had shaped nations and seen the rise and fall of empires, was evident in every syllable.

To say the Emperor was leagues beyond Fiana would be an understatement. While she had knowledge, he had mastery. Where she saw challenges, he saw solutions already formed in his mind, as if he had anticipated every problem before it arose. It was not that he was more intelligent—he was simply more seasoned. He carried the weight of a man who had lived through a thousand battles, both political and literal.

But Kuzan was not intimidated. He matched the Emperor's strategies with his own, weaving unconventional tactics into their discussions. He challenged the Emperor's assumptions, introduced new perspectives, and showed that his ambition was not mere rhetoric but grounded in a deep understanding of the political landscape. The Emperor, though intrigued, was also amused—his eyes gleaming with an appreciation for the game they were playing.

Eventually, their conversation shifted, the topics of power and politics giving way to something more personal.

"You've done your homework," the Emperor remarked, leaning back, his hands folded before him. His tone carried a note of admiration, though faint. "But tell me, Kuzan—what is it you truly seek? Power? Change? Or something more elusive?"

Kuzan met the Emperor's gaze, unwavering. "Surely you've already heard of my ambitions from Fiana, have you not?"

The Emperor's lips curled into a thin smile. It was not a smile of warmth, but of amusement. "She was tight-lipped, I must say. Loyal, that one."

Kuzan chuckled softly, recognizing the skill of his liaison. "So she stayed quiet after all. Good."

The Emperor remained silent, waiting, as though he had all the time in the world. When Kuzan finally answered, his voice was calm but resolute. "Strength."

"Strength," the Emperor repeated, as though tasting the word. His expression shifted subtly, surprise flickering behind his eyes, but he concealed it quickly. "Is that all?"

Kuzan nodded. "Strength is the foundation of everything."

The Emperor's gaze darkened slightly, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "I've met many men who sought strength. Politicians who crave control, criminals driven by greed, saints motivated by virtue. Strength, in itself, is a dangerous pursuit."

His voice dropped, carrying a weight that was hard to ignore. "I've seen people do unimaginable things in the name of strength. Some would move mountains for loyalty, for family. I've known saints who've committed sins that would make the devil shiver. Crooks who've done good for reasons only they understood." His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. "But you, Kuzan… you're different. I've never met anyone as convoluted as you."

Kuzan raised an eyebrow, not insulted, but curious. "What? Mad you can't see through me?"

The Emperor laughed, deep and genuine, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the library. "No. Quite the opposite." He paused, eyes locking onto Kuzan's with an intensity that made the air feel heavy again. "I see traces of everything in you."

He began counting on his fingers. "I see your love—there are things you hold dear. I see your contempt—your desire to 'clean up' this kingdom is evident." His voice grew louder, more forceful, each word striking like a hammer. "More than anything, I see your impatience. You're annoyed by the world around you, aren't you? Annoyed that it can't keep up with your ambitions."

Kuzan felt a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, but also something deeper. The Emperor's words cut too close to the truth.

"And yet…" The Emperor's tone shifted once more, darkening, his eyes narrowing to slits as he studied Kuzan. "I can't help but second-guess myself when I look at you. Is this all a façade, Kuzan? A clever fabrication? Or is your pursuit of strength truly genuine?"

The Emperor's gaze pierced through Kuzan like a blade. It wasn't a question of facts or history—it was a question of essence, of what lay beneath Kuzan's ambitions. The Emperor, with all his experience, could read men like books, could see through the most sophisticated lies, yet Kuzan remained an enigma. Every answer the Emperor thought he had was contradicted by another facet of the young man before him.

"You spoke of strength, and I can see it in your eyes. You crave it—perhaps more than anyone in this world. But strength like that… it doesn't arise from nowhere." His voice lowered to a near whisper, yet the power in it remained undeniable. "So I ask you, Kuzan… Who are you?"

The words hung in the air like a command, heavy and unyielding. This was not a simple inquiry. This was a challenge, a demand for the truth. The Emperor wasn't interested in Kuzan's origins, his background. He was asking for something more profound—something fundamental.

Kuzan hesitated, for the first time since their conversation began. Not because he was afraid, but because he didn't yet fully know the answer himself.

The Emperor's gaze deepened. For all his power, for all his mastery, he could not decipher the enigma sitting before him.

His children—gifted with foresight, truth-seeing, and the ability to gauge worth—each had talents that allowed them to see into the hearts of others. Yet, the Emperor had surpassed them all, not through magical gifts, but through experience. He had lived through enough bloodshed, betrayal, and diplomacy to see into the souls of men.

Yet this man, this creature...

He defied understanding.

One moment, the Emperor saw a ruthless butcher, driven by a thirst for slaughter and war. The next, he saw a scholar, peaceful and inquisitive, devoted to knowledge. He saw a man broken by the path he had taken, filled with regrets—yet in another instant, that same man radiated pride, contentment, as though his life had unfolded exactly as he had wished.

The contradictions continued to unravel before the Emperor. He saw a lion, proud and regal, a serpent coiled in venomous deceit, a monster willing to sacrifice anything in pursuit of his goals. Yet, within that same soul, there was a saint, a man who would save the world if given the chance.

The Emperor, always certain, always decisive, was for the first time unsure of what to do.

Should he be wary? Should he offer support? Should he strike now and rid the world of this anomaly? Or should he entrust the future of the kingdom to the whims of this unfathomable boy?

The treasurers he possessed made it impossible for the Emperor to not make a choice, for there far too much to gain, and even more to lose...

For the first time in many years, the Emperor's heart hesitated.

The silence stretched on, thickening the air between them, until it became almost tangible. Kuzan's amusement faded into boredom as the Emperor's expression remained unchanged, his thoughts an impenetrable fortress. Despite the significance of the moment—their conversation teetering on the edge of something far more profound—the boy sighed, lounging back in his chair with a casualness that belied the tension in the room.

"Make a decision, Mr. Emperor," Kuzan taunted, his words cutting through the thick silence like a blade. He had seen through the Emperor's hesitation, piercing the carefully maintained walls of stoicism with unsettling ease. "Or should I call you Your Majesty? You look like you're trying to solve the world's problems in one sitting."

The Emperor remained silent, his eyes studying the boy as if trying to decode a language only Kuzan understood. His hesitation only fueled Kuzan's growing impatience.

"You're really overthinking this, Mr. Emperor." Kuzan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his voice light but taunting. "What makes me so dangerous for pursuing something that everyone dreams of? Isn't that what makes us human? Even children dream of being the strongest. Why shouldn't I?"

The Emperor's eyes flickered, his brow tightening just slightly. He was listening, but still guarded.

"I'll tell you this," Kuzan continued, his voice growing softer, more contemplative. "If one is born as a male, at least once in his life, he'll dream of becoming the strongest man alive."

The words hung between them, simple yet profound. They struck a chord in the Emperor's mind, resonating with truths that even he could not dismiss. Kuzan's gaze, sharp as ever, locked onto him, daring him to refute it.

"So why is it so confusing that I'm chasing this edge?" Kuzan's tone shifted, now more pointed. "You can't possibly be this juvenile, can you?"

The Emperor's expression hardened, the faintest trace of irritation surfacing.

"Juvenile?" the Emperor repeated slowly, as though tasting the word. Kuzan's lips curled into a smirk at the reaction he had coaxed out.

"What's juvenile about chasing this path, oh great Mr. Emperor?" Kuzan leaned back again, feigning nonchalance. "Are you really so shortsighted to believe your calling is so much more beneficial than mine? Greater, by what metric? The people you've helped?" His eyes narrowed, his words cutting deeper. "Just looking at you, I'm sure you've got the blood of countless people weighing on your conscience."

The Emperor's eyes gleamed with a quiet, dark amusement as he allowed himself a small smile. "It's not a competition," he said calmly, his tone rich with subtle authority.

Kuzan rolled his eyes. "Of course it's not, but you're making it sound like it is. If it's not some moral high ground you're standing on, then what is it?"

The Emperor chuckled softly, but there was a weight behind the sound, a heaviness that spoke of years of experience. "We're talking in circles, Kuzan."

Kuzan paused, watching him carefully. There was something beneath the Emperor's words, something more personal. A flicker of understanding passed through the boy's eyes.

"Hmmm," the Emperor mused, his tone shifting, becoming more thoughtful. "You speak of strength, of chasing this dream, this creed. But when I look into your eyes, boy…" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze penetrating. "I see no joy when you speak of it."

Kuzan stiffened, his amusement waning.

"You've sacrificed much to get where you are, haven't you?" The Emperor's voice was calm but piercing, and Kuzan's mask of indifference faltered for a brief moment. "You're far from juvenile, boy. I apologize if I offended you, my friend."

The sudden shift in tone caught Kuzan off guard. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, suspicion creeping into his expression. "Oh, not at all, Your Majesty," he replied, voice laced with mock formality. "You can speak openly with me, you know. After all, honesty is the best policy, right?"

The Emperor snorted, shaking his head, but his gaze remained locked on Kuzan, studying the boy with renewed interest. "Easy for you to say, when you constantly deflect my questions and dodge the truth. Yet you expect me to lay my soul bare, compelled to answer every little challenge you throw my way."

"I deflect?" Kuzan raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "I'm simply protecting my… privacy. Can't a man hold onto a little mystery?"

"Mystery or manipulation?" The Emperor's tone was sharp now, cutting through Kuzan's defense. "You demand transparency from me, yet you reveal so little of yourself."

The Emperor found himself, for perhaps the first time in a long while, at a loss. The man sitting across from him—young, unassuming, yet so dangerously perceptive—had somehow managed to wrestle control of the conversation. Kuzan, with his calculating gaze and subtle jabs, had shifted the balance of power. It was an unfamiliar feeling for the Emperor, a man who had spent decades mastering the art of negotiation, always possessing the larger stick, always dictating the terms.

And yet here he was, facing someone who held the upper hand, or at least made him feel that way.

"So, Your Majesty," Kuzan's voice cut through the silence, pulling the Emperor from his thoughts. "You've had a lot to say about my goals and my resolve… but what about yours?"

The Emperor, ever the strategist, raised an eyebrow but kept his expression neutral. "Why don't you guess?"

Kuzan leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. A playful smirk danced on his lips as he studied the Emperor. "Alright… let's see. You know what I see when I look at you?"

The Emperor fell silent, intrigued by the direction in which Kuzan's thoughts might wander.

Kuzan's eyes sparkled with a piercing clarity, as if he were peering through a veil of illusions.

"I see a dead man walking."