Royal Court Internal Strife, Various Factions Vie for Power

Chen Wuya had barely stepped over the threshold when the Misaligned Force inside him gave a violent tug, as if an iron wire were being pulled back and forth between his ribs. He made no sound, merely braced himself against a pillar with his left hand. Only when his fingertips touched the icy stone surface did he feel a measure of solidity.

The lamps deep within the main hall flickered, casting the carved patterns on the beams and pillars into alternating light and shadow. The Second Prince stood in the center of the hall, his back straight. His voice was not loud, yet it suppressed the entire room. "Those who lay down their weapons will not be held accountable for the past. Any who continue to stand in my way—beheaded."

Before his words had faded, an old minister clad in a robe trimmed with purple sable stepped out from the crowd. He cupped his hands respectfully, his eyes slightly lowered and his tone steady. "Your Highness's return is truly Heaven's blessing. We are willing to pledge loyalty to the rightful line and secure the foundations of the state together."

Chen Wuya watched the man's right hand. It slowly brushed over a bronze token at his waist, the motion so slight that it seemed he feared startling something. A wolf's-head design was carved along the token's edge—the very same design worn by the Third Prince's personal guards outside the stables last night.

Before he could think further, another voice abruptly rang out.

"Rightful line?" The speaker was a short, stout official with a shrill voice. "Three years ago, the late king ordered you expelled from the palace, cut off your stipend, and even struck your name from the clan register. And today, with nothing but a glowing stone, you want to