The grand hall of the False Buddha was alive with the murmur of his followers—mages, warriors, and guardsmen all shuffling in the oppressive atmosphere of the throne room. Golden statues of deities adorned the chamber, reflecting the dim light of torches that flickered with a strange, otherworldly glow. Incense hung heavy in the air, mingling with the false sense of sanctity that the place tried to exude but failed to embody.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors swung open, and a group of guards stormed in, their faces pale with urgency. The head guard, a burly man clad in black and gold armor, rushed forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he bowed deeply before the throne.
"My Lord!" the guard panted, sweat beading on his forehead. "We have grave news."
The False Buddha, lounging on his grandiose throne draped in red silks and cushioned with velvet, lazily lifted his head. He was a grotesque sight—obese, adorned in gaudy jewels, with a bloated face that spoke more of indulgence than enlightenment. His eyes, small and calculating, gleamed with mild irritation at the interruption.
"What now?" the False Buddha drawled, swirling a goblet of spiced wine in his fat fingers. "Is it another revolt? More of the rabble refusing to pay their tributes?"
The head guard hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking. "No, my Lord. It's the young man, the one who has been helping the people in the outer villages. He's… he's here."
The False Buddha arched an eyebrow, setting down his goblet with a loud clink. "Here? You mean he's been captured?"
The guard shook his head, nervously glancing around at his fellow soldiers. "No, my Lord. He's outside, standing at the entrance of the palace. He says his name is Surya and claims to be the young man who has been aiding the people of the Sacred Land."
The False Buddha's eyes narrowed, and a slow, mocking smile crept across his lips. He threw his head back and laughed, his chortles deep and rumbling, echoing through the chamber. The courtiers and guards exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to join in his mirth or remain silent.
"He shows himself before my palace?" the False Buddha sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "The fool must have a death wish to walk so willingly into the lion's den."
One of the guards stepped forward, emboldened by the False Buddha's amusement. "Shall we apprehend him, my Lord? We could take him to the dungeons, torture him for information, or—"
The False Buddha raised a pudgy hand, silencing the guard. "No," he said, his smile growing wider. "There will be no need for that. I will confront this so-called hero myself."
The room fell silent, every eye now focused on the False Buddha. It was rare for him to engage directly, preferring to send his enforcers to deal with any threats to his rule. This was a spectacle none of them had anticipated.
"My Lord," another guard spoke up, his voice trembling slightly, "is it wise to meet him? He is not without power. Zhi Long himself spoke of his strength."
The False Buddha's expression darkened at the mention of Zhi Long's failure. He clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering with a brief flash of anger before he regained his composure. "Zhi Long's weakness was in his awe of a mere child," the False Buddha spat. "He allowed himself to be cowed by words and tricks. But I am no such fool."
He rose from his throne, his immense form casting a shadow that loomed over the entire hall. The movement caused the ornaments on his robes to jangle loudly, echoing like a mockery of the temple bells that once rang through the Sacred Land. He spread his arms wide, addressing his followers with a grandiose gesture.
"This is a perfect opportunity," the False Buddha proclaimed, his voice booming with false confidence. "The people will witness their supposed savior fall before me, and they will see once and for all who their true leader is. Who their god is."
The courtiers and guards nodded, murmuring in agreement, though some could not hide the flicker of doubt in their eyes. The False Buddha's confidence was unmatched, but Surya's sudden appearance had shaken their faith, if only slightly. This young man was not just another rebel; he was something more—a challenge to the very foundation of the False Buddha's fabricated divinity.
"Prepare the courtyard," the False Buddha commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "I will greet our guest personally. Let the people see the fate that awaits anyone who dares to defy me."
The guards bowed and quickly dispersed to carry out his orders, their minds racing with the implications of the confrontation to come. The False Buddha watched them go, his smile returning as he imagined the spectacle of Surya's downfall.
As he waddled towards the doors, his heavy steps reverberating through the grand hall, the False Buddha's thoughts turned dark. This was no longer just about crushing a rebellious youth; it was about asserting his dominance, proving to all that he was untouchable, that his power was absolute.
He paused briefly, gazing out through the open doors where Surya awaited. The False Buddha's mind flickered back to the pact he had made, the dark entity that had granted him his strength and promised him Nirvana. To be challenged now, on the very steps of his throne, was an affront he could not tolerate.
"Let him come," the False Buddha muttered to himself, his voice low and filled with venom. "I will show him, and all who dare oppose me, what it means to defy a god."
With that, the False Buddha moved forward, ready to confront the young man who had dared to challenge his reign. Outside, Surya stood patiently, calm and unshaken, the sun casting his figure in a radiant glow that seemed to defy the storm gathering in the False Buddha's eyes. The stage was set, and soon, the Sacred Land would witness a confrontation that would echo through its history, challenging the very fabric of its false worship.