He reached inward—calling on the Divine Eros Faerie, letting its sensual, pulsating energy expand. A beacon. A guide.
That's when he felt it.
The pull.
It wasn't direction. It was destiny. A magnetic force humming in his bones, whispering seduction through the ether. Not in words—but in hunger.
Power. Purpose. Promise.
His steps quickened. His heart raced. His spirit trembled.
He didn't know where he was going—only that he had to get there.
Then he saw it.
Rising like a mirage at the far end of the abyss: a towering golden palace, five stories high, glittering under no sun. Runic lines pulsed like veins across its surface. Divine beasts sculpted from obsidian snarled at the sky, frozen mid-roar.
He stopped and stared, breath caught in his throat.
"…What the hell is that?"
The palace was an architectural impossibility. Not just ancient—timeless. Crafted from materials he didn't recognize. Radiating power, even in silence.
No doors. No windows. No clear entry—except a massive sealed gate.
He approached cautiously. Tried pushing it open. It didn't budge. He pushed harder—only to be flung back by a soft but unyielding force.
On the base of the gate, he noticed a faint engraving.
> "Only those destined by heaven may enter."
He stared at it. Then, slowly, pressed his palm to the gate.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes, summoned his Ascension Spirit. The Divine Eros Faerie bloomed behind him—its glow seductive and divine.
Power surged into the door.
Click.
The gate creaked open, groaning like a titan waking from slumber.
---
The Sanctum of the Sovereign
Inside… was stillness.
The first floor looked nothing like what he'd imagined. Not a battlefield, not a treasure vault—a study. Elegant and intimate. Bookshelves lined the walls. The floor was tiled in polished gold. Overhead, chandeliers of spirit flame floated in the air, casting soft, soothing light.
At the center stood a long mahogany desk.
And atop it, a single tome.
Travis extended his senses—nothing hostile. No guardians. No traps. Just an overwhelming feeling of reverence.
He stepped forward.
The moment his fingers brushed the tome, runes flared across its surface. The book opened itself, and words burned across the page, not inked but etched in light:
> "Congratulations, chosen soul.
If you stand here, you are no accident. You are fate's design.*
I am LIONHEART—Empress-tamer. Heaven's Scourge. The Last Dual Sovereign.*
This palace is my legacy.*
Within you will find techniques that make kings kneel, treasures that tempt gods, and the knowledge to make the stars your throne.*
If I live—come find me.*
If I'm gone—carry my name like thunder.*
P.S.—No beauty should ever go unconquered."*
Travis blinked. Then laughed.
"…Of course. A pervert's legacy."
He shut the book, but a smirk danced on his lips.
His eyes scanned the room. Jade slips glowed with ancient wisdom. Primordial pills shimmered in crystal vials. A dagger carved with celestial maps floated in stasis above a pedestal.
This wasn't just a sanctuary.
It was an arsenal.
A forgotten king's inheritance.
He took a deep breath.
"Well then, Lionheart… Looks like your legacy has found a new heir."
The control room was silent—a strange, still silence that reverberated through Travis's bones as he stepped inside. The walls were sleek, metallic, and smooth, the surface of each panel hinting at advanced technology far beyond his world's comprehension. Every corner held latent power, dormant yet alive, like a sleeping beast waiting to awaken.
In the center of the room stood a solitary throne—more than just a seat. It was a command chair, poised as if awaiting its rightful ruler.
Travis couldn't help but feel the gravity of the moment. His fingers brushed over the panels, feeling the intricate grooves of the dormant systems. He didn't need to understand the technology to sense its weight—the sheer potential locked within this room, this palace. He knew that this place held answers. Answers that could shape his fate.
With a steadying breath, he sat down in the chair, his back straight, his mind sharp. The throne adjusted with a soft whir, conforming to his body. The moment he settled in, the floor beneath him trembled. A dark golden pillar rose from the ground, its surface adorned with celestial symbols that pulsed with quiet energy. At the apex, a square cavity glowed faintly—a perfect cradle for the core cube.
"Blood and spirit…" Travis muttered, remembering the cryptic notes from Lionheart.
He pressed his thumb to the cube, a small prick of blood falling onto its surface. A pulse of energy surged through the room.
The palace came alive.
Lines of vibrant azure light exploded from the core, fractals of power weaving their way across the walls, the floors, the ceiling. It was as though the entire palace had been slumbering, and now, at his touch, it was stretching out, waking from a long, forgotten dream.
A voice filled the room—silky, omnipresent, and timeless.
"My dear master, welcome to the Yin-Yang Palace."
The words didn't seem to come from any one direction, but echoed from every corner, wrapping themselves around him like a velvet caress.
Travis's lips curled into a smirk. "No hologram?"
The voice responded with playful sincerity, "My previous master preferred discretion. Would you like me to manifest a form? I have 6,742 avatars archived—from battle-maidens to fox spirits. It is a trivial request."
"Later," Travis waved a hand, dismissing the idea as he stood, already moving toward the exit. His fingers closed around the cube, its pulse now synchronized with his own. He could feel its rhythm—a heartbeat of something far greater than himself.
This palace—this place—was now his.