PFC Chapter 564: Reversal of Heaven’s Mandate, a Mandate of Heaven Challenges a Crown-Level 15
Chapter 564: Reversal of Heaven’s Mandate, a Mandate of Heaven Challenges a Crown-Level 15
Reinhardt had been standing on the streets of the Red Emperor Capital for a long time now.
He wore a dusty gray cloak, his hood pulled low to cover most of his face.
People passed him by. Occasionally, someone would glance at him, but they quickly looked away. In this city, someone like him—while not common—wasn't exactly a rarity either. No one paid attention to a silent, motionless stranger.
Even though he had once been famous, no one recognized him now.
Reinhardt walked aimlessly through the streets, his gaze sweeping over both sides.
Shops lined the way; the crowds were bustling.
Intelligent beings of all races lived together in this city, their forms and appearances endless in variety.
There were goblins steering small golems as they hurried past, kobolds carrying baskets to pick fruits and vegetables, centaur patrols galloping by with clattering iron hooves, and even more kobolds weaving nimbly through the crowd.
The aroma of food drifted through the air, mingling with countless sounds, weaving together a vibrant tapestry of noise.
Just then, an ogre selling roasted meat pushed a food cart past him.A few young werewolves crowded around the cart, grinning, drool nearly spilling from their mouths as they clamored to buy. They squeezed together, their furry paws stretched out long, urgent whimpers escaping their lips.
“You little wolf pups, don’t rush, don’t rush.”
The ogre grilled the skewers, sprinkling them with salt and other spices. A rich, mouthwatering fragrance immediately spread through the air.
He handed the skewers out one by one, collected the copper coins, and casually ruffled the head of one young wolf. The cub squinted its eyes, tail wagging furiously.
Reinhardt’s gaze settled on one of the young werewolves.
The cub grabbed the skewer and took a huge bite, eating ravenously. Meat juice dripped down the corner of its mouth, but it didn’t even bother to wipe it away.
Another adult werewolf walked over—probably its father. He lowered his head and said something.
The cub immediately raised the skewer to its father’s mouth. The wolf father, in one swift motion, devoured all the meat, chewed a few times, and swallowed.
The little cub was stunned.
First, it stared blankly at its own empty paw. Then its mouth opened wide, and a sharp, piercing wail erupted.
The wolf father burst into laughter, revealing a full set of sharp teeth. He pulled out more money to buy another roasted skewer, shoved it into the cub’s mouth, and then hoisted the little one up, letting it sit on his shoulders.
The cub stopped crying immediately, clutching the skewer and gnawing happily, one hand still tugging at its father’s ear.
The wolf father carried him like that, gradually disappearing into the crowd, leaving behind only fading laughter.
“Fierce, cruel, ready to devour people…”
Reinhardt recalled the knowledge he had learned as a child.
Those textbooks described werewolves as ferocious beasts, depicting them as bloodthirsty, ruthless creatures that killed without reason, completely devoid of rationality.
Back then, he had believed it all, thinking werewolves were monsters.
But later, he learned that werewolves had once been transformed from humans—perhaps through a failed magical experiment or some kind of curse. Yet, there remained a close connection between werewolves and humans.
Even though they became more ferocious in temperament after transformation, their intelligence was in no way inferior to humans.
They had their own families, their own emotions. They were not the mindless, savage beasts that most people imagined. Their harsh and cruel behavior came from the fact that most werewolf tribes had no fixed home, surviving in the harsh wilderness. Humans, in the same situation, would not be much more civilized.
Reinhardt watched the retreating figures of the wolf father and son, and suddenly thought of his own father.
His father rarely smiled.
In his memory, that face was always stern.
Brows perpetually furrowed, eyes stern, lips pressed into a thin line. Every day before dawn, his father would drag him out of bed and force him to practice swordplay in the courtyard.
In winter, his hands would be frozen red, barely able to hold the sword.
His father would just watch from the side, silent, until he himself picked up the sword and tightened his grip on the hilt. Only then would his father give a slight nod.
“You are the hope of our family.”
His father always said that. “You cannot slack off. You cannot disappoint the family’s expectations.”
Back then, Reinhardt was still young. He didn’t understand what “the hope of the family” meant.
He only knew that he didn’t want to let his father down, because when his father was disappointed, that face became even more unpleasant—his brow furrowed deeper, his gaze colder. That silent stare was harder to bear than any scolding.
His father never praised him, either.
The first time he defeated a child his own age, he thought he would get a word of praise. His father just gave a cold “Hmm.”
Even when, as a teenager, he stepped into the legendary realm, throwing the entire Theo Kingdom into an uproar with countless people coming to congratulate him, his father only nodded and said, “Not bad.”
Later, he became the hope of Theo.
Everyone called him a genius, the Light of Theo, the hero who would lead the kingdom’s revival and overthrow the Red Iron Dragon’s tyranny.
Those praises came in a deluge, and he couldn’t help but be intoxicated by them. But it was on that very night, when he was at his most triumphant and full of spirit, that danger crept in silently.
As he was debating whether to answer the challenge, his father came.
That night, his father had an honest, heartfelt conversation with him for the first time. For the first time, he smiled at him.
His father said, “How could you lose? You are the most talented person I have ever seen.” His father said, “I will watch you. I will be proud of you.”
That was the first time he had seen his father smile.
It was also the last.
Thinking back now, his father had pushed him onto this path with no intention of letting him turn back.
Reinhardt closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Some memories, for a human, were already very distant.
A hundred years of time was enough to blur and fade most past events. But thinking about them now, they were still vivid, as clear as if they had happened yesterday.
He continued walking forward.
The streets grew wider. The buildings grew taller.
This should be the central area of the Red Emperor Capital now. The flow of people was even denser. Here, he could even see some towering golems standing at street corners, silently watching the bustling crowds.
Their bodies were covered in runes, and occasionally they would take heavy steps to patrol the streets.
However, the liveliness here had nothing to do with Reinhardt.
He was immersed in his own memories, thinking of the former King of Theo.
After his conferment ceremony, he had been invited to the royal court.
The sun was warm that day, the breeze just right.
The old king took his hand, standing on the palace balcony, pointing to the streets below, saying, “Reinhardt, look at the people living here. They are my subjects, and they will also be your subjects.”
“The future of Theo rests on your shoulders.”
The young Reinhardt, with a solemn face and a solemn voice, declared that he would not disappoint their expectations and that he would definitely protect this kingdom and these people.
The old king patted his shoulder, his eyes full of relief.
Another memory flashed, and he thought of his last meeting with the old king.
At that time, he was barely breathing, covered in blood and mud. His body was pierced by the arrows of Aola’s Edge, and countless arrow rays were still wreaking havoc inside him.
Every single part of his body ached.
Every muscle, every bone, every cell screamed in agony.
He did not wail or struggle because of the pain.
His heart was dead. He just wanted to quietly wait for death. Occasionally, a few stifled, numb whimpers like a stray dog would escape his lips due to the pain.
At that time, he didn’t want to think about anything, didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted to close his eyes and be done with it all.
It was then that the king’s aged face appeared before him.
He struggled to sit up but could only lie helplessly on the stretcher, saying in a hoarse voice that he had failed the king’s expectations and begged for forgiveness.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the blood and grime.
But the king, also in tears, held his hand tightly and said, “Reinhardt, my poor child. The one who should ask for forgiveness is me. I shouldn’t have put you on the stage so early. I shouldn’t have placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders. You are still a child.”
“Go. Go far away.”
“Forget your former identity and start a new life. As for Theo… remember, you owe this kingdom nothing. Lay down your burden and live a life that is your own.”
Afterward, the king spared no expense to save him and secretly sent him out of Theo.
After leaving Theo, Reinhardt thought about letting go of the past and starting a new life. But guilt clung tightly to his heart, like a thorn lodged deep within.
On one hand, he knew he was not all-powerful, not skilled in statecraft. The revival of the kingdom couldn’t depend on one person alone; it required so much more.
But on the other hand, he found it hard to completely let go.
Those expectant gazes, those voices of praise, those hopeful faces… always appeared before him in the dead of night. He felt he had let too many people down, betrayed the king’s trust, and failed the hopes of an entire kingdom.
Later, he went to the Arotala Continent.
He went to the most dangerous places and did the craziest things.
He had fought giant beasts in the deep sea, the water stained red with blood; stood alone against storms on snowy mountain peaks; searched for lost ruins deep in the desert…
Every time, he survived. Every time, he grew stronger.
Until he could no longer get stronger, reaching the limit of his being.
He returned.
He still couldn’t let go of Theo.
At first, Reinhardt thought that whether through battle or negotiation, he would fight for the freedom of the people of Theo.
He thought, even if he had to risk his life, he had to do something. But what he didn’t expect was to see a Theo completely different from the one in his heart.
Revival?
Hah. Under the leadership of the Aola Kingdom, Theo was so prosperous that it far surpassed its peak in history.
The cities were more prosperous, the people more affluent, the streets cleaner, the order more structured.
It was already striding down a broad, glorious path, growing stronger day by day. The people were filled with pride. What revival was there to speak of?
He stood on the streets of Theo, watching the passersby, seeing the smiles on their faces, and suddenly felt a sense of release.
It was then that the dark clouds that had weighed on him for years finally split open, letting in a sliver of light.
Light seeped through.
The threshold between him and the Mandate of Heaven, which had once been like a mountain pressing down on him, too thick to be moved, had suddenly become clear and tangible, within reach.
He finally understood. What had been blocking him was nothing else but those obsessions he couldn’t let go of.
But in the end, it was still just a little short.
A pair of cold, indifferent vertical pupils were entrenched in his mind, impossible to shake off.
Every time the night was quiet and deep, those eyes would appear, looking down on him from on high, making him toss and turn, unable to sleep.
That was the Red Emperor.
No, it wasn’t just the Red Emperor.
What held him back, in essence, was still himself.
It was the child who had been strictly disciplined by his father, living under expectations from a young age. It was the genius who carried the hopes of an entire nation, elevated far too high. It was the failure who was gravely wounded without even seeing the Red Emperor’s face, whose confidence was utterly shattered. It was the coward who fled to another continent to survive, forever unable to face the past.
These emotions tangled together, coalescing into a giant beast entrenched in his heart, tormenting him day and night.
And so, Reinhardt came to the Red Emperor Capital.
He crossed streets that grew wider and wider, finally arriving at a massive square. In the center of the square stood a statue of the Red Emperor. He stopped and looked at it.
It was more vivid and lifelike than the statues in the Theo royal city.
Every scale’s detail was clearly visible, every horn curved just right, every line of muscle was filled with a sense of power.
The great dragon raised its head and lowered its gaze, as if overlooking the entire city.
Reinhardt looked seriously at this statue and let out a long breath.
Then, he started walking again.
He hadn’t come here to see a statue.
He wanted to see the real Red Emperor, to face this Scarlet Emperor Cangxing.
Not for revenge, or to prove something, not even to conquer his fear. It was simply because he needed a full stop, an ending, a ritual that would allow him to truly let go of the past.
The giant beast that had haunted his dreams for most of his life, he wanted to face it once in reality.
Even if he died.
Even if he was shattered to pieces.
Even if he couldn’t even draw his sword.
No matter what, he had to go.
The sounds around him suddenly became clear. Sunlight fell on him, warm. The noise, the clamor, the bustling crowd—all of it suddenly felt real.
Reinhardt lifted his head and looked at the sky.
In the clear blue sky, a few white clouds floated. At the edge of his vision, the majestic dragon court rose like a marvel, piercing into the clouds. It was the highest place in this city, the place closest to the sky, and also where the Red Emperor stayed day to day.
Reinhardt took another step.
His pace grew faster, his head also gradually lifted, as he walked toward the direction of the dragon court.
The cloud-piercing building gleamed with a metallic sheen under the sunlight. Huge platforms extended upward, layer upon layer, with great dragons circling, taking off and landing on each one. Their wings, when spread, blotted out the sky, and when they landed, the ground trembled slightly.
The higher it went, the fewer dragons there were, but the larger they were and the stronger their aura.
The very top was hidden within the clouds, impossible to see clearly.
Reinhardt stood at the foot of the dragon court, looking up at its invisible summit.
Some dragons had already noticed him.
A few young Aolan dragons circled in mid-air, their cold gazes fixed on him, but he paid them no heed. He just stood there, quietly staring upward.
A few seconds later, Reinhardt took one step.
*Buzz!*
The moment his foot landed, heaven and earth transformed.
The clear sky seemed to be violently clenched by an invisible hand. The brilliant sunlight was extinguished in an instant.
Thick, dark clouds surged from all directions, rolling and roaring, gathering above the dragon court into a canopy that blotted out the sky. Layer upon layer, pressing down very, very low, as if one could reach out and touch them.
A few young Aolan dragons circling at a low altitude let out enraged roars, shaking the land around them.
But the next moment, the roars were caught in their throats.
An aura infinitely close to, and still rising to, the Mandate of Heaven spread out, freezing them in place.
Their wings were spread stiffly, their bodies suspended in mid-air. They couldn’t even blink. The pressure was like a mountain, pressing down on every single scale.
Reinhardt lifted his head. The hood of his cloak was blown back by the gale, revealing a weathered face.
For his age, among legendary beings, he was still quite young, far from the age of decline. But his face was already etched with wrinkles.
His temples were graying, his eyes sunken, his skin rough, his lips cracked.
It was a face weathered by countless storms, carved with the marks of time.
But he took another step.
The second step.
*Boom!*
It was as if an invisible hurricane had exploded, sweeping away all dust and debris in the vicinity.
Reinhardt’s spine straightened a bit, the wrinkles on his face faded a few degrees. Among his hair, gold began to re-emerge, like sunlight piercing through dark clouds.
Several great dragons swooped down from higher platforms, full of anger and wariness.
But they still couldn’t get close.
The aura grew stronger and stronger, like an invisible wall, isolating them outside. They could only circle on the periphery.
Reinhardt continued to walk.
With the third step, a faint glow began to emanate from around him, pure and blazing. It was as if something was burning inside him. Light radiated from beneath his skin, growing brighter and brighter.
Lightning began to snake through the dark clouds, silver-white light illuminating half of his face.
One could see that his face was visibly becoming younger. The sunken eyes were gone, wrinkles receded like a tide, and his skin regained its firmness and luster.
The fourth step.
*Boom! Crash!*
A thunderbolt struck, exploding into a sky full of electric light.
Countless bolts of lightning roared and tumbled in the sea of clouds, silver snakes dancing wildly, illuminating the entire sky. The celestial phenomenon changed drastically. The wind howled, clouds churned, and thunder and lightning intertwined.
At this moment, Reinhardt’s golden hair had completely replaced the gray, becoming thick and lustrous again, flying in the wind.
His spine was as straight as a sword, every inch of his muscles reshaping.
Reinhardt raised his foot, suspending it in mid-air.
After a moment’s pause, he stepped down again.
*Boom!*
The light around him burst outwards like the explosion of a sun.
In that instant, the entire dragon court was illuminated.
The great dragons circling in the sky instinctively closed their eyes. Some were even forced back by the brilliance. When they opened their eyes again, they saw a young man of about seventeen or eighteen.
His golden hair was bright, his brows and eyes sharp, his spine straight as a sword. He radiated a sharp, pure aura.
He stood at the foot of the dragon court, looking up at the sky.
The weariness and world-weariness were completely gone from his face, replaced only by the former youthful vigor and sharpness of his prime.
The steps Reinhardt had taken seemed slow yet were fast, as if in the blink of an eye, as leisurely as a stroll, he had broken through to the Mandate of Heaven. But only he knew what was behind these steps.
Years of torment and pain, countless sleepless nights, agonies that could not be spoken of.
“Human! You dare trespass into the dragon court?! You are seeking death!”
From the sky, an irate Aolan dragon roared. The might of the Mandate of Heaven did not frighten the dragons here.
Reinhardt ignored them.
He raised his head and looked toward the top of the dragon court, hidden above the clouds. He knew that the one he wished to see was there, perhaps looking down upon him right now.
He took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and said, “I request an audience with His Majesty Ignas.”
His voice paused for a moment, then rang out again, word by word: “The human, Reinhardt, challenges you.”
A being of the Mandate of Heaven challenging a crown-level entity.
Those who didn’t know the situation might think that crown-level was a higher realm than the Mandate of Heaven. They might think this young man had lost his mind. But Reinhardt knew very well what he was doing.
He wasn’t trying to win. He just wanted to face it.
Amidst the thick, dark clouds, the great dragons looked down at this minuscule figure. Their eyes held little emotional fluctuation. They just watched, as if looking at a dead man.
But Reinhardt paid no heed to those gazes.
He looked upward, waiting for a response.
The wait was not long.
After a few seconds of silence, a low voice came from the top of the dragon court, piercing through the clouds and thunder, landing clearly in his ears.
“Come up.”
Two simple words, impossible to discern any emotion.
Reinhardt broke into a brilliant smile.
Then, without further hesitation, his figure leaped into motion. He resolutely flew up into the thick, dark clouds above.