Chapter 229: Chapter: 229 They attacked this soon?

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“I must hold on until I get any response from the Zakir Empire…”

Ravan’s voice was low. Almost dry.

He stepped down from the highest platform. Each step felt heavier than it should.

The throne behind him looked taller now. Farther away. As if it did not belong to him.

“The empire can’t spare any more powerhouses here…”

He rubbed his forehead.

The Zakir Empire had moved all their strongest experts to the eastern border. Their banners were raised high.

Their armies stood ready. Priests gave speeches. War drums sounded often.

They created fear.

And because of that, Indrath had to respond.

Indrath sent their own powerhouses east.

They could not risk an invasion.

That single move had saved him.

If Zakir had not done that… if they had stayed quiet… Indrath would have sent an Ascended expert north long ago.

And one Ascended was enough.

Just one.

Ravan stopped walking. His jaw tightened.

“I would already be dead.”

The words came out softly. Calm. Too calm.

He resumed pacing.

“I still have the clown… and that thing.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

The clown from Axian was unstable. Strange. Hard to control. But useful.

And that thing…

He did not even like thinking about it.

It was not a weapon he fully trusted.

It was not something he fully understood.

But it was power.

And right now, he needed power.

Still… even with those two, it would not be enough if Indrath sent a true Ascended.

His chest felt tight.

“This stalemate…” he muttered.

Seven years. Seven years of fighting. Seven years of blood. Seven years of waiting.

Nothing changed.

No side won. No side collapsed. Just slow damage. Slow loss. Slow exhaustion.

If he could not break this balance, then all of this would mean nothing.

All the deaths. All the risks. All the pain he forced his body through.

For nothing.

He stopped again.

His fingers began tapping against his palm. Fast. Uneven.

“And Kamesh Sant…”

His face hardened.

Seven years ago, Duke Kamesh Sant was at the late stage of Grandmaster.

Now?

Peak.

Just one step away from Ascended.

One step. Ravan felt his throat grow dry.

“And Vined…”

Vined had been early stage. Now he was mid stage. They were moving forward.

Growing stronger.

Climbing.

While he…

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Seven years. Not one step forward.

Not one. He forced his way into mid stage.

He damaged his own base. He told himself he would fix it later. But later never came.

Every time he tried to push deeper, it felt blocked.

Like a door that would not open. Like a wall that would not break.

If Kamesh Sant breaks through first…

If even Vined breaks through first…

Then it will be over. Not a long battle.

Not a dramatic final stand.

Just over.

An Ascended entering the north would crush everything.

Walls.

Armies.

Hope.

Ravan let out a slow breath. His hands were shaking now. Slightly. But enough.

He clenched them tightly.

“I cannot lose.”

He said it quietly. Not proudly. Not confidently. Like a man trying to convince himself.

Snow hit the windows again. The sound was soft. But in the silent hall, it felt loud.

He looked toward the doors of the throne room.

No messengers. No letters. No answers.

Zakir was still silent.

And silence was killing him.

“I must hold on…”

He repeated it again. But this time, it sounded weaker. Holding on was not a plan.

It was delay.

And delay only works until someone stronger grows tired of waiting.

Ravan slowly walked back toward the throne.

He did not sit. He stood in front of it.

Looking at it.

A king in front of his own seat.

And for the first time in years, a small thought crossed his mind.

What if this throne was never meant to last?

That thought scared him more than any enemy.

Because enemies fight from outside.

But doubt…

Doubt grows from within.

“Haaa…”

Ravan sank into the throne. The wood felt cold even through his thick coat.

“It seems my only way is to wait…”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Waiting.

That was all he had left.

The world was in chaos.

Every empire on the continent of Elora was watching the Indrath Empire and the Arya Empire carefully.

No one trusted them. No one liked how powerful they had become.

But fear was stronger than dislike.

They were the economic super giants of the continent.

If any empire attacked Indrath or Arya openly, trade routes would close the next day.

Ships would stop moving. Caravans would stop crossing borders. Markets would freeze. Food prices would rise.

Metal would become rare. Medicine would vanish from shelves.

And when trade stops, people starve. Not soldiers. Citizens. Children. Old men. Farmers. Merchants.

An empire could survive losing a battle.

But it could not survive hunger spreading in its own cities.

That was why no one dared to move.

Only someone like the Zakir Empire, with its strong belief system and deep internal control, could take such a risk.

They were less tied to trade. Less dependent on outside flow. They could endure more chaos.

Ravan slowly opened his eyes.

“And me…”

His lips curved into a bitter smile. He would have starved already.

If it were not for the support from the continent of Axian, the north would have collapsed in the first year.

Indrath had isolated them. Trade routes were cut. Merchants stopped coming.

Their iron, fur, and minerals could not be sold. And their farms…

He looked toward the frost-covered windows.

In this bone chilling cold, only a few crops could grow. Short season. Poor harvest.

Thin soil. The north was strong in war. But weak in food.

If Axian had not sent grain and dried goods, his people would have turned against him.

Not because they hated him.

But because empty stomachs do not care about loyalty.

“Haaa…”

He sighed again.

“It seems… I should not have messed with them.”

The words felt heavy. Regret was clear in his eyes now.

Seven years ago, when his plots were exposed, he had only two choices.

Submit.

Or fight.

And Ravan did not know how to submit.

He chose war. He told himself it was strength.

He told himself it was pride. He told himself it was destiny.

But now…

Now he wondered if it was just fear of losing face.

If he had bowed his head back then, perhaps the north would still trade freely.

Perhaps his cultivation would not be blocked by stress and damage.

Perhaps he would not be sitting here, waiting for help like a cornered man.

His fingers tightened on the armrest.

“There was no other way…”

He said it quietly.

As if defending himself in front of an invisible judge.

“My plans were exposed. My name was already stained. War was the only path left.”

That was what he believed. That was what he told himself every night.

But deep down…He knew something painful. War had not been his only path.

It had been the only path he could accept.

Snow continued to hit the windows.

The throne room felt colder.

Ravan sat there in silence. A king surrounded by walls. A ruler held up by foreign grain.

A warrior waiting for another empire to decide his fate.

And for the first time, the war did not feel like a battlefield.

It felt like a slow punishment.

“Hah….” Ravan pushed himself up from the throne again.

Sitting still was worse than pacing.

“I should cultivate for a bit…” he murmured.

His voice was flat.

Cultivation used to excite him. It used to feel like climbing a mountain with clear sky above.

Now it felt like hitting the same wall again and again.

Since his progress became stagnant, every session felt heavy. Forced. Bitter.

Still, it was the only thing he could control.

Politics were uncertain.

Allies were silent.

Enemies were growing stronger.

But cultivation… at least that depended on him.

Even if the result was nothing.

He walked down the platform slowly. His boots echoed against the stone floor. The hall felt colder now.

He moved toward the large doors of the throne room.

His hand reached for the iron handle.

Just as his fingers touched it—

Dong.

Dong.

Dong.

Dong.

Dong.

The warning bell exploded through the palace.

The sound was deep. Loud. Urgent.

It was not a drill.

It was not a signal for assembly.

It was the alarm.

Ravan froze for half a second.

Then his heart dropped.

Cold.

Heavy.

His eyes widened.

“No…”

He pulled the door open violently.

The sound of the bell continued.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

Outside, guards were already running.

Servants were panicking.

Soldiers were shouting orders.

Ravan stepped into the corridor and began moving fast.

Not walking.

Running.

His long coat flowed behind him.

Boots struck the floor hard.

Echo after echo followed him through the stone halls.

Panic appeared clearly in his eyes.

“They attacked this soon?” he muttered under his breath.

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