Chapter 7 Yan Chuan (4)

The commander in black armor instantly felt his hair stand on end, an overwhelming sense of death enveloping his entire being. How could this be? The youth before him was but a frail boy, his strength no more than the third level—how could he inspire such fear in me?

Because the youth had stepped forward, the two of them now stood so close that those behind could not discern his movements. Yet the middle-aged eunuch at the side saw everything with clarity.

The youth abruptly raised his right hand, his fingers curled into a claw, the tips glowing faintly with gold. With astonishing speed, his hand shot forward and pierced the black-armored commander’s throat.

A sharp hiss sounded as blood spattered across the back of the youth’s hand. The human body’s most vulnerable point—the throat—had been run through by a single strike.

The commander froze, his eyes wide in utter disbelief.

With a thud, the youth kicked the rigid commander away. The man seemed to lose all strength, dropping his long blade, clutching his ruined throat, and staring at the youth in horror. The youth’s expression remained icy, but in his right hand he gripped a bloodied, mangled mass—a piece of the man’s windpipe.

With a single clawed hand, the youth had torn out the commander’s throat.

All around, the soldiers felt their scalps prickle with fear. Was this truly the bastard child they had thought could be slaughtered at will?

Seeing the gaping wound at their leader’s neck, the black-armored soldiers instantly lost all will to fight.

A shout erupted: “Run! Run for your lives!”

The black-armored soldiers scattered in a panic.

“Loose the arrows!” came a cry from the distant ranks of the Royal Guard.

Arrows whistled through the air, a volley after volley. Most struck the legs of the fleeing soldiers—aimed to hinder, not to kill.

In the blink of an eye, nearly a thousand Royal Guardsmen surged forward, swiftly capturing the fleeing and wounded black-armored soldiers with lightning efficiency.

“Forgive us, Your Highness! We have arrived too late to protect you!” As they secured the prisoners, the soldiers quickly knelt to beg forgiveness.

“I, Huo Guang, failed in my duty to protect you. Please punish me, Your Highness!” Huo Guang also knelt on one knee.

At that moment, every soldier outside the bamboo hut—except those still pursuing and guarding the prisoners—knelt on one knee in apology.

“Protect me?” The youth narrowed his eyes.

“Protecting the sovereign”—such words were reserved only for emperors. Yet in this life, he was a prince. Why address him as if he were an emperor?

“Your Highness, have you forgotten your past again?” the middle-aged eunuch suddenly asked.

“Oh?” The youth looked at him.

“Yes, it is the ninth day of the ninth lunar month again. Your Highness, this humble servant has been ordered to care for you for seven years now. Every year on this day, you lose your memory, forgetting everything of your past, and I am tasked with telling you all that came before,” the eunuch said respectfully.

Every year on the ninth day of the ninth month, he lost his memory? The youth’s expression shifted as realization dawned. The will of his previous life, stored within his Heavenly Gate acupoint, surged forth every year on this day, overwhelming his current self. The strength of his former will far surpassed anything in this life, so each annual tempest washed away vast swathes of his current memories. Now, his memories of this life were completely scattered.

“Your Highness, your surname is Yan, your given name is Chuan,” the eunuch said with reverence.

“Yan Chuan?” The youth repeated the name softly.

After a moment’s silence, he finally nodded. “Very well. From now on, I shall be Yan Chuan.”

He accepted his name in this life.

“You are the highest-ranking prince in the Great Yan Empire—a prince of peerless honor, granted the title ‘King Equal to the Emperor.’ Your status is second to none, equal even to His Majesty himself,” the eunuch declared solemnly.

“King Equal to the Emperor?” Yan Chuan raised a brow.

As an emperor in his past life, Yan Chuan understood well: just as there cannot be two suns in the sky, nor two sovereigns in a nation, the emperor stands alone above all. No one may rival the emperor’s majesty; to grant such a title as ‘King Equal to the Emperor’—absurd, unthinkable. How could such a rank exist?