The stench hit Egon first.

It was thick, suffocating, clinging to the air like rot that had seeped into the very stones.

As Vienna and Noella watched, Egon walked slowly between the iron cages. His expression was calm, but his eyes sharp.

This was it.

One of the most important turning points in the entire story.

And this time, it would belong to him.

His gaze swept across the rows of prisoners until it finally stopped.

There.

"Cough. Cough."

Inside one of the darker cages, an old man lay slumped against the wall, coughing violently. His body was skeletal, his skin pale and stretched thin like paper over bone.

But that wasn’t what drew attention.

It was the horns.

Curved, goat-like horns extended from his temples, cracked and worn with age.

Egon’s eyes narrowed.

"Martial Emperor Wuhan..."

The name echoed in his mind like a forgotten legend.

A man who once stood at the peak of an era. A being who crushed kingdoms, shattered armies, and carved his name into history through sheer power.

And now, tragically reduced to this dying slave.

Egon stepped closer to the cage.

The old man coughed again, blood staining his lips. His breathing was uneven, fragile. Anyone else would have seen a corpse waiting to fall.

But Egon knew better.

Beneath that decaying shell was a monster.

One last ember of a dying sun.

And he was here to claim it.

The guard at the end of the corridor glanced lazily at Egon.

"You here to buy something?"

Egon didn’t even look at him.

"I want that one."

He pointed directly at the old man.

The guard snorted.

"That piece of trash? He’s half dead. Won’t last a day. Not even worth a copper."

"Then give him to me," Egon said calmly.

The guard shrugged.

"Fine. Saves us the trouble of dumping the corpse later."

The cage creaked open.

Chains clinked as the old man stirred weakly.

Egon stepped inside.

For a moment, he said nothing.

He simply observed.

The old man’s body was ruined. Internal damage. Soul core decayed. Poison traces. Years of torture.

This wasn’t natural decay.

This was deliberate destruction.

"Quite a heartbreaking fall," Egon said quietly.

The old man’s eyes flickered open.

Sharp. Even now, they were sharp.

"Cough. You talk too much... for someone so young and naive," the old man rasped.

Egon smiled faintly.

Good. Still has spirit.

"I brought you something."

From his sleeve, Egon pulled out a small flask.

The moment the scent spread, the old man’s pupils trembled.

Wine.

Not ordinary wine.

This was the exact same setup from the story.

Egon had spent the last of his spare coin to obtain it.

Because he knew.

This was the key.

The old man’s cracked lips parted slightly.

"Butterfly Wine..."

His voice was hoarse, almost disbelieving.

Egon crouched beside him.

"I’ll give it to you.".

Then he added,

"But I want something in return."

The old man let out a dry, broken laugh:

"Boy... look at me. What could I possibly give you?"

Egon met his gaze directly.

"Everything."

Silence fell between them. And the air grew heavier.

For a brief moment, the weak old man vanished.

And in his place...

A presence.

Faint, but unmistakable.

The shadow of an Emperor.

"You’re not ordinary, boy," the old man murmured.

Egon didn’t respond.

He simply held out the flask.

The old man stared at it for a long time.

Then, slowly, he lifted his trembling hand.

"I don’t need saving," he said. "I’m already dead."

Egon nodded.

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because I want your power."

Blunt. Honest. No deception.

The old man stared at him.

Then... He laughed.

For the first time, it was not bitter.

It was genuine.

"Good."

He grabbed the flask and drank.

The moment the wine touched his lips, something changed.

His breathing steadied slightly.

Not healed. But soothed.

Like a dying flame given one last flicker.

"It’s been a long time," he whispered.

Egon remained silent, waiting.

He knew what came next.

And just like the original story... It began.

"My name is Wuhan."

The old man’s voice carried a faint echo of the past.

"Once... they called me Martial Emperor."

His eyes stared into nothingness.

"I stood at the peak. No one could rival me. Nations feared me. Enemies trembled before me."

His fingers tightened slightly.

"I had everything. Power. Glory. An empire built on my fists."

His expression darkened.

"But I lost it all."

Egon listened carefully. This wasn’t just a story. This was history.

"My wife...The Empress. Beautiful. Intelligent. Ambitious."

A bitter smile.

"I thought she stood beside me."

His eyes turned cold.

"But she stood behind me."

The meaning was clear.

Betrayal.

"She colluded with my enemies. Opened the gates from within. Poisoned my Soul core to rot. Sealed my power."

His breathing grew heavier.

"I fought. Even then, I fought. I killed them all."

A faint, terrifying pressure flickered for a split second.

Even now.

Even dying.

The man was monstrous.

"But in the end, I fell."

He closed his eyes.

"And my daughter..."

Egon’s expression shifted slightly.

Here it comes.

"She was taken."

Silence.

A long, heavy silence.

Then Wuhan opened his eyes again.

And this time, he looked directly at Egon.

"You want my power?"

Egon nodded.

"Yes."

"Then listen carefully."

What followed was not just instruction.

It was inheritance.

Techniques. Breathing methods. Combat principles.The flow of energy. The essence of martial intent.

It poured into Egon’s mind like a storm.

Not through words alone.

But through something deeper.

Complete comprehension.

Ding!

[ You have gained an auxiliary skill: Overlord’s Martial Style. ]

[ Overlord’s Martial Style ]

> A supreme combat art forged through absolute domination. It contains 9 perfected forms, each embodying a different path of slaughter, control, and supremacy. Every movement transcends technique, bending power, intent, and even causality to the user’s will.

There are no limits.

No counters.

No end.

It is a style of endless evolution... and unlimited destruction.

Egon’s eyes widened slightly.

This was beyond anything he had expected, even with his knowledge of the story.

Feeling it directly was different.

This was the path of an Emperor.

A road paved with blood, will, and absolute dominance.

Minutes passed.

Or perhaps hours.

Time lost meaning.

When it ended, Egon was breathing heavily.

His mind burned.

But his eyes...

His eyes were shining.

"Good," Wuhan muttered weakly. "You are indeed capable of carrying it."

Egon clenched his fists.

He could feel it.

The foundation had been laid.

This was only the beginning.

But it was enough.

More than enough.

Wuhan slowly reached into his tattered clothing.

From within, he pulled out a small bracelet.

It was simple. Unassuming.

But the moment Egon saw it, he felt something.

Legacy.

"This is my family heirloom," Wuhan said as he handed it over.

Egon took it carefully.

The moment it touched his skin, a faint warmth spread through his arm.

"From today... you are my successor."

Egon nodded.

"I understand."

But Wuhan wasn’t finished.

His gaze sharpened one last time.

"And more than that... You are my son-in-law."

Egon blinked in surprise as this was completely not included in the plot.

"What?"

"My daughter, If she still lives. She is the last of my blood."

"You must find her and protect her."

His grip tightened weakly on Egon’s sleeve.

Then, with a faint smile,

"And if you can, make her happy. Tell her I loved her, even in death."

Egon looked at him. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes.

Then he nodded. "I will."

Wuhan exhaled slowly, feeling long lost relief.

For the first time, his expression was peaceful.

"The Martial Empire is no longer what it was. So be careful. Your enemies will be many."

"And her mother... Do not trust her ever."

Egon memorized every word.

The next moment, he old man’s hand fell.

His chest stopped moving.

Martial Emperor Wuhan was dead.

Egon stood there quietly.

Even when Vienna and Noella stood behind him, he didn’t move.

Then he looked down at the bracelet.

"I got it."

It wasn’t just about power. Nor about responsibilities.

But a future.

A connection. A new path.

Everything was aligning.

He turned and walked out of the cage.

Behind him, the body of a legend lay in silence.

But his legacy lived on.

Inside Egon.

And this time the story would not follow its original path.

This time, the Emperor would rise again.

Through him.