Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 20: Breaking Point
The field was dead silent.
A moment ago, the world had been fire, steel, and fury. Now, it was nothing but the weight of unspoken threats, of careful movements, of warriors staring each other down, all of them balanced on the edge of a knife.
Tension coiled like a drawn bowstring, stretched tight, seconds from snapping. Every breath, every twitch of a muscle, felt like a lit match hovering over a pool of oil.
Qin Liangyu's grip on her spear tightened, her gloves creaking from the pressure. A single bead of sweat traced down her cheek, vanishing into her collar. She could feel it. The slow, inevitable descent into bloodshed.
Musashi rolled his shoulders, shifting his stance ever so slightly. His knuckles turned white around the hilts of his wooden swords. His brow furrowed, deep lines forming between his eyes, veins bulging in his forehead. The samurai did not fear battle. He feared wasted effort. If they fought now, would it be for the right reasons?
Lapulapu exhaled through his nose, a slow and controlled breath. His shield was slightly raised, his center of gravity lower than before. He was a fortress, but even stone cracked under pressure. His body was already spent from the fight against the serpent. Another battle so soon would push him to his limits.
Yasuke stood like an iron statue, massive frame scarred and bleeding. But unbroken. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His kanabo was heavy in his grip, but he still had strength left. He was not one to fall before his duty was fulfilled.
Jeanne clenched her jaw, fingers tightening around her spear. Her heart pounded against her ribs—not from fear, but from the weight of everything hanging in the balance. This wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't what any of them wanted. But if it came to it, she would fight.
And then—
Click.
BANG!
The gunshot tore through the silence like a blade through flesh.
Not aimed at anyone. Not yet.
Musashi didn't turn. He already knew. The corner of his lip twitched.
Billy.
Perched in the trees above, revolver in hand, its barrel still smoking. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes? Sharp. Cold. Ready.
"Now, now," he drawled, twirling his gun. "I get that y'all wanna kill each other real bad, but ain't we all just a little too tired for that sh*t?"
Another click.
From another vantage point, George adjusted his aim. His rifle was already lined up, steady, unwavering. A silent declaration that the next shot wouldn't be a warning.
The battlefield—once again—held its breath.
No one moved.
The world balanced on a fragile thread, stretched between steel, fire, and the weight of unspoken choices.
Then, from the depths of the shadowed forest, two figures emerged.
They moved without sound, their presence cutting through the battlefield like a blade through silk.
The first was a woman—beautiful, poised, dangerous.
Her alabaster skin gleamed under the fractured moonlight, her silver hair styled into sharp, cat-like ears. Deep red lips curled slightly, as if amused by the tension in the air. But it was her eyes that drew the most attention—calm, knowing, like the surface of an untouched lake.
She wore form-fitting black, her every curve accentuated, every step controlled. Coiled around her waist, like a living extension of herself, was a long, whip-like tail. At its tip, a curved Khopesh-like blade gleamed, a predator's fang.
Beside her, a man walked with effortless grace.
He was smaller, lean, but no less imposing.
His dark hair was woven into intricate braids, pulled into a high bun held by two golden hair sticks. His long black robe flowed with every movement, embroidered silk catching the light in faint glimmers.
But beneath his elegance, there was something unsettling. A quiet, effortless confidence, as if he belonged here more than anyone else.
In his hands, folded like delicate works of art, were twin-bladed fans. Their curved edges gleamed, whispering of unseen deaths. They were weapons, and they were waiting.
Their arrival was no coincidence.
They had been watching.
Waiting.
Choosing the moment that best suited their own agenda.
The silence stretched, thick with anticipation.
Were they allies? Enemies? Or something worse—predators circling wounded prey?
The thin thread holding this fragile truce together had just become even thinner.
The man stopped first, just within striking distance. His fox-like eyes flickered between each person, studying, measuring. He didn't just look. He saw.
His gaze lingered even on the shadows beyond the battlefield, as if he could see something no one else could.
Then, he smiled. Not wide, not forced—just a small, knowing curve of his lips.
The kind of smile that made it impossible to tell whether he was being friendly, or if he already had a plan for everyone in the room.
"Hello, everyone," he said smoothly, voice carrying a quiet amusement.
"I'm Qin Shi Huang."
Silence.
The name hung in the air, suffocating in its weight.
Musashi's brow furrowed slightly. He knew that name. He was no scholar, but there were figures in history you couldn't ignore.
Qin Shi Huang. The First Emperor of China.
Qin Shi Huang, still smiling, let the silence stretch before speaking again.
"I see you've all had quite the… disagreement." His gaze flickered toward the medallion still lying untouched in the dirt. "Funny thing, really. Everyone shed blood for it, and yet, no one dares claim it."
His companion—the silver-haired woman—tilted her head slightly, watching them like a cat watching mice.
Qin Shi Huang continued, his voice light, casual.
"Now, I'm not here to tell you what to do." He raised one delicate hand, his fingers barely twitching. "But isn't it exhausting? Fighting, bleeding, breaking yourselves apart over a piece of gold?"
His words settled over them, an unseen pressure filling the space. Qin Shi Huang stepped forward again, just enough to toe the line of their invisible boundaries.
"Let them have it."
Qin Liangyu tensed. "But, Your Majesty—"
Yasuke's eyes narrowed behind his fearsome oni mask. His grip on his kanabo didn't loosen.
"At ease, Qin Liangyu. Yasuke." Qin Shi Huang's voice was calm, but there was no room for argument. "You're both in no condition to fight. That poison still lingers, and you inhaled most of it. This isn't something you can just shake off."
He glanced at the battlefield—the blood, the monster dead bodies, the many craters, especially the exhaustion in every fighter. "I won't allow any more unnecessary deaths."
Qin Shi Huang's lips curled slightly, fox-like amusement dancing in his eyes.
"You should all take a look at yourselves. Dirty, exhausted…" The silver-haired woman beside him wrinkled her nose, arms crossed. "I wouldn't touch any of you."
Qin Liangyu exhaled sharply, then clapped her hands once. "Fine. As His Majesty commands."
Yasuke gave a slow nod. His muscles were still tense, but he understood the order.
"So, do we have a truce?" Jeanne asked, her voice steady but cautious.
Qin Shi Huang nodded. "Of course."
He let the silence hang for a moment, then smiled again.
"But… I have a few conditions."
His gaze swept over, lingering on each of the fighters. Even his sharp eyes flickered to the treetops—where Billy and George up top of the cliff, had made no effort to hide themselves.
"Let's talk," he said smoothly. "Like civilized people."
He smiled.