Chapter 1275: The Crown Was a Cage
Ethan stared at Zareth II, the confusion in his eyes deepening by the second.
Calling his own people slaves.
Could a country like that really last?
And on top of that... this "king’s" condition was awful.
The golden armor covered him head to toe, yet he moved like a puppet with rusted joints. Even that threat just now had come out in broken pieces—every few words, his arm would tremble again, and he couldn’t even keep a steady finger pointed at Ethan.
Ethan couldn’t help sizing him up.
Is this guy seriously that... weak?
Maybe he never got a sip of that miracle juice Rhazek had been bragging about.
Zareth II tried to take another step forward.
His body suddenly folded.
A violent cough rattled out from inside the golden helmet.
He froze, one hand covering the mouthpiece. The coughing grew heavier and heavier, like hard objects were clacking together inside his chest.
Ethan stopped too.
A few drops of black liquid slipped through Zareth II’s fingers and splattered onto the floor.
Not red blood.
Motor oil.
Then a few tiny parts fell out from under the mask—little metal components. A gear clinked against the ground and rolled right up near Ethan’s boot.
Ethan looked down at the pieces, his expression snapping tight.
Mechanical?
Again?
Rhazek. Naiseman. Those stiff-moving figures they’d seen along the way...
They weren’t normal living beings at all.
They were mechanical lifeforms.
Zareth II hadn’t even straightened up yet when Ethan’s white sphere shot out.
They were close.
The instant the lightning left his palm it cracked the sound barrier, a ring of pressure exploding behind it as it slammed straight into Zareth II’s chest.
Bang!
The golden armor caved inward.
Lightning drilled through the metal shell and spread along the inner structure. Ethan closed his eyes, letting his consciousness ride the white arcs into Zareth II’s body—ready to seize control the way he’d taken Rhazek and Naiseman.
But he quickly realized something was wrong.
There was no stable energy to latch onto.
Inside Zareth II, gears, pipes, mechanical joints, and leftover biological tissue were stitched together... but no power stayed inside for long.
When energy appeared, the whole body activated.
After a short duration, that energy would vanish again—so cleanly that Ethan couldn’t even find a trace to follow.
Like a limited-time trial card.
Time’s up, the power arrives.
Time’s up again, the power leaves.
And right now—
The power arrived.
Zareth II’s hunched body snapped upright.
Dense mechanical turning filled the armor. The arm that had been shaking and limp a second ago lifted again—steady, controlled.
He tilted his head toward the round opening in the ceiling.
Behind him, a mechanical sand table unfolded.
Metal rings revolved around it slowly, while fine golden sand formed two distinct outlines in the center. The beam of light pouring down from the ceiling refracted through the table, splitting into two rays—each one landing on Rhazek and Naiseman.
The brothers still stood there in the posture they’d been frozen in, skulls pierced through by Ethan’s lightning.
As soon as the light hit them, their bodies began to melt.
Silver-white metal collapsed from the head down. Shoulders and arms followed. The rigid shells lost all shape, turning into scalding molten iron.
Both massive bodies vanished in moments.
The burning liquid spread across the palace floor. Wherever it went, carpets and decorations were eaten through, and the air filled with a sharp, choking stench.
Ethan was still wrapped in multiple layers of golden shield.
When the molten metal reached his feet, it only left faint red ripples on the barrier.
He stepped right into it.
His soles never touched the liquid—his shield took all the heat and force. Ethan took two steps forward and condensed another white lightning sphere in his palm.
He raised it in front of Zareth II’s face.
"What the hell are you?"
Lightning popped and snapped densely in his grip.
Zareth II didn’t look especially tense.
His voice stayed lazy. He didn’t even glance at Ethan. The golden scepter only angled slightly, pointing toward the mechanical sand table behind him.
Then Zareth II turned and walked back to the throne.
His back looked strangely lonely, and his steps slowed again. By the time he sat down, the borrowed power was already fading—his shoulders sagging, heavy and weak.
Ethan frowned.
He was about to repeat the trick and drive another sphere into Zareth II’s body, when the warning inside him flared hard.
The danger wasn’t coming from the throne.
It was coming from beneath his feet.
Ethan didn’t hesitate. He slammed the sphere into his own body.
White lightning spread through him as his outline broke apart into black particles. The moment the particleization finished, he slipped past the edge of the throne and re-formed behind Zareth II.
Almost at the exact instant he moved, a blue-white laser lanced down from above.
Sssst!
It punched through where Ethan had been standing.
The expensive carpet burned away, revealing not stone—but tightly packed mechanical structures underneath. Metal layers extended deep, gears and energy lines still running.
Ethan glanced down once, a bad feeling rising in his gut.
Don’t tell me this whole palace is the inside of a mobile turret.
White lightning gathered in his palm again.
But before it could fully take shape, the floating golden scepter slid sideways, cutting in between Ethan and Zareth II.
It released an invisible pressure.
The lightning was forced back into Ethan’s palm before it could form.
And in that same moment, the palace fully shed its disguise.
Gold decorative panels in the walls split open, exposing dense piping inside. The gems on the pillars dimmed, replaced by layers of mechanical ports and weapon modules.
The floor, the walls, the throne—even the structure above where Ataneya had smashed things open—
All of it belonged to one colossal machine.
Yet at the heart of all that metal and circuitry, there was still one thread of real biological presence.
Zareth II.
The final king.
He sat on the throne, physically connected to the mechanical palace. Metal pipes pierced the back of his armor and spread outward through the throne, branching into the structure around him. Every time the machine acquired energy, Zareth II would briefly regain enough power to move.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed the golden scepter.
He didn’t aim it at Ethan.
He hurled it down instead.
Clang!
The scepter struck the floor and rolled several meters away.
Zareth II twisted around, staring straight at Ethan behind the throne. The mask hid his expression, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
"Please..."
The voice came from inside the helmet.
This time there was no majesty—no lazy arrogance, either.
Only a plea on the edge of collapse.
"Please stop it."
Zareth II clutched the throne’s armrest, like he could force himself to stand, but he didn’t have the strength.
"I don’t want to anymore..."
His words sped up, desperate.
"I don’t want to be emperor anymore."
Metal fingers gouged into the armrest, leaving visible dents.
"Kill me!"
Zareth II looked up, his voice almost turning into a roar.
"Now! You—"
He didn’t finish.
His body lost support all at once.
His head slumped to the side, and the golden armor went still again—silent, lifeless.