Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 114: King Who Smiles While Bleeding

King Who Smiles While Bleeding

Far off, where the trees grew thick and quiet, Victor sat still, his breathing slow. Meanwhile, Lane spoke carefully with members of the Redcliffe line, words measured. The forest held him like a secret. Her voice carried across stone steps leading down into shade. One moment stretched while thoughts settled beneath mossy bark. Another ended near an old path worn by deer.

Fog crept forward, slow as a held thought, slipping through old trunks, pooling near roots before lifting in pale sheets close to where he remained unmoving. Silence filled the woods - an odd kind of hush. Not even animals called out. Not one wing stirred above. Air stumbled when nearing him, catching itself, pulled back by some unspoken knowing that presence meant pause.

Victor remained seated on a flat stone, legs crossed, spine straight, unmoving.

Black hair stirred faintly against his sharp features. His golden eyes were closed, yet his presence pressed outward like a silent storm. Around him, the natural mana of the forest pulsed—drawn in slowly, steadily—blending with the element of mist that wrapped around his body like a second skin.

Each breath he took was deep.

Controlled.

Heavy with power.

But his mind...

Was no longer here.

For the past few days—

He had been seeing things.

Visions.

Not vague dreams.

Not illusions.

They felt... real.

Too real.

Fragments of lives that were not his.

Faces he had never met—

Yet felt like he had known for lifetimes.

Powerful figures.

Warriors.

Kings.

Monsters.

All of them... connected by something he couldn’t grasp.

Victor’s brows furrowed slightly.

Why...?

The question lingered—but the answer never came.

Instead—

Another vision pulled him in.

Night.

A battlefield.

Cold.

Silent.

The sky above was painted in deep violet, the moon hanging low, casting pale light across a land soaked in blood.

Broken armor littered the ground.

Shattered weapons.

Bodies.

So many bodies.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air so thick it almost choked the lungs.

At the center of it all—

Stood a young man.

No older than twenty.

Black hair fell loosely around his face, strands stained dark with blood. His skin was pale—unnaturally so—and under the moonlight, it almost seemed to glow faintly.

His features were sharp.

Striking.

Too perfect.

And when he smiled—

Two faint fangs revealed themselves.

Small.

But unmistakable.

His eyes—

Were red.

Not just red.

They burned.

Like blood set on fire.

Behind him—

A small girl.

Human.

Barely seven.

She clung to the torn fabric of his coat, trembling violently, her tiny fingers shaking as she tried to hide behind his back.

Her eyes were wide.

Terrified.

Tears streaked her cheeks, her breath coming in broken sobs she tried desperately to silence.

She didn’t understand what was happening.

Only that—

Everything around her was death.

And the only thing standing between her and it—

Was the man in front of her.

Opposite him—

An army.

Hundreds.

All clad in black armor.

All silent.

All watching.

Pale skin.

Red eyes.

Fangs.

Vampires.

But they weren’t whole.

Their armor was broken.

Their weapons chipped.

Some leaned on each other to stand.

Others barely held themselves upright.

They were wounded.

Exhausted.

Yet—

They still stood.

And their eyes—

Held something heavier than fear.

Resolve.

One of them stepped forward.

A soldier.

His armor cracked across the chest, blood seeping through, his grip tight around his weapon despite the tremble in his hands.

His voice broke the silence.

"Why are you doing this, Emperor?"

The word hung in the air.

Heavy.

Bitter.

The young man—the one they called Emperor—tilted his head slightly.

Then—

He smiled.

Not gently.

Not kindly.

But with a sharp, almost mocking amusement.

"Are you guys idiots?" he said casually, as if they weren’t standing in a graveyard of their own making. "Why am I doing this? Isn’t it obvious?"

He glanced back slightly.

At the girl.

Then forward again.

"It’s to protect this girl."

The words were simple.

But they struck harder than any blade.

The soldiers shifted.

Some lowered their gazes.

Others tightened their grip.

Shame flickered.

But it didn’t break them.

"You do know what will happen," the soldier continued, voice heavier now, almost pleading beneath the steel, "if we don’t give her as a sacrifice to the God of Destruction... our race will go extinct."

The Emperor didn’t hesitate.

"Of course I do."

The answer came too easily.

Too calmly.

That... hurt more than denial.

"Then why?" the soldier demanded, his voice rising, cracking under the weight of everything he believed. "Why, Emperor? You—the one the council chose... the one we raised as our ruler... our savior... our saint!"

His breath shook.

"You saved us. Protected us. Led us."

A pause.

Pain bled through his next words.

"Why do you betray us... our race?"

The Emperor didn’t react immediately.

For a moment—

He just stood there.

Then—

He sighed.

Not tired.

Not regretful.

Just... honest.

"I didn’t betray you guys."

His red eyes softened slightly.

"I just want to save this girl."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"I think this is right. You think what you’re doing is right."

His gaze sharpened.

"So we’re the same."

The air tightened.

"I’m not here to judge you."

Then—

His smile turned feral.

His fangs more visible now.

"I just don’t like the idea of sacrificing an innocent girl to save my own ass."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"You would sacrifice our entire race... for one girl?" the soldier whispered, disbelief laced with anger. "I can’t believe I once recognized someone like you as Emperor."

The Emperor laughed lightly.

"Hey," he said, almost amused. "I don’t plan on sacrificing our race."

His eyes gleamed.

"I’ll save both."

A step forward.

Confidence.

Absolute.

"How can I claim to save an entire race... if I can’t even save one measly girl?"

The soldiers stiffened.

"And Emperor?" he added casually. "You’re the ones who gave me that title."

A shrug.

"I never asked for it. I just do what I want."

That—

Was the breaking point.

The soldier’s expression hardened.

All hesitation burned away.

"I guess... there really is no convincing you."

He lifted his weapon.

"Men—apprehend him."

A pause.

His voice dropped.

Heavy.

"If you cannot... do not hesitate to kill our Emperor."

The words hurt him.

Every syllable.

"But the girl must come with us. Unharmed."

The army moved.

Slowly at first.

Then all at once.

They surrounded him.

Not carelessly.

Not foolishly.

They knew.

Even wounded.

Even unarmed.

He was a monster.

A wounded beast.

And those were always the most dangerous.

—

From the back—

Arrows flew.

But not ordinary ones.

Silver.

Pure.

Glinting under moonlight.

The moment they cut through the air—

The Emperor laughed.

Low.

Dark.

Amused.

"You’ve fallen this low...?"

There was something almost... disappointed in his voice.

Silver.

To a vampire—

Was agony.

Even touching it burned.

Like sin made physical.

Like poison for the soul.

The soldiers’ jaws tightened.

Shame flickered again.

But they didn’t stop.

They couldn’t.

The arrows struck.

Some he caught.

Others—

Pierced him.

Shoulder.

Side.

Arm.

His body jerked slightly with each impact.

Smoke rose faintly where silver met flesh.

A faint sizzling sound echoed.

Yet—

He didn’t scream.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t slow.

He looked... almost bored.

The arrows he caught—

He threw back.

Each one precise.

Each one controlled.

Striking hands.

Shoulders.

Limbs.

Disabling.

Not killing.

The vanguard closed in.

Blades drawn.

Teeth clenched.

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

His hands—

Bare.

But sharper than steel.

He slipped between them like a shadow, fingers slicing through tendons, snapping wrists, tearing weapons from their grip.

Blood sprayed.

Bodies fell.

Yet—

He never struck to kill.

Even now.

Even surrounded.

Even wounded.

He held back.

And that—

Made the fight harder.

Longer.

More painful.

Wounds accumulated.

More arrows.

More cuts.

Blood soaked his clothes.

Yet—

He smiled.

Still smiling.

—

The commanding officer stepped forward.

His eyes... conflicted.

He had known this man.

Before the title.

Before the throne.

Back when he was just—

A fighter.

A man who laughed.

A man who saved others without thinking.

"Why...?"

His voice cut through the chaos.

"Why do you still smile in such a desperate situation?"

Steel clashed behind him.

Men fell.

The Emperor turned slightly.

Still smiling.

"Why do you always gamble your life for others?"

The question lingered.

Heavy.

Personal.

Real.

The general’s grip tightened.

"You’ve always been like this..."

His voice dropped.

Almost... tired.

"Why?"