The Azure Phoenix Blade

Prelude: The Traitor's Night(III)

The Traitor’s Night

III. The Final Stand

Rebel forces closed in from all sides. The remaining imperial guards—barely a dozen—fought desperately around Darius and Quentin Mo.

Quentin Mo slammed his staff into the ground again, cracking earth and stone in a spiderweb pattern and blasting debris outward.

Darius charged forward, sword work direct, short, and lethally precise—like imperial edicts: no flourish, only death when they landed.

Poison already coursed through his veins.

Each strike grew heavier; black blood ran down his arm onto the hilt.

Conrad advanced slowly with his halberd, patient as a predator waiting for the prey to exhaust its last will.

“Hand over the Azure Blade,” he said. “Better than letting it rot in the mud with you.”

Darius parried two blades on his right. “What you want has never been just the sword.”

“True,” Conrad nodded. “The sword, the throne, the legitimacy... and more.”

Darius’s breathing grew labored. He suddenly gripped Quentin Mo’s arm with surprising strength.

“Quentin, listen,” he said urgently. “Return to the capital. Take Eleanor and the children.”

Quentin Mo’s eyes reddened. “I will fight our way out with you first!” Darius shook his head.

His face had turned deathly pale, but his gaze remained steady. “The arrow was poisoned. I know my own condition. Tonight is not the night for you to die for me—it is the night for you to carry my will back.”

Quentin Mo’s throat tightened. “I will not leave.” Darius turned his sword and pressed the Azure Blade—symbol of Xiahou legitimacy—into his hands.

The weight burned like hot iron. “Give it to Celeste in the future. Julian, Damien, and Sylvie are still young. Eleanor knows no martial arts. She cannot hold an entire palace of blades alone.” Quentin Mo’s eyes were bloodshot, but no words came.

“Quentin Mo!” Darius suddenly shouted, voice carrying imperial authority that silenced the battlefield for a breath. “This is my final command. If you still recognize me as emperor, go.”

With that, Darius turned and charged into the thickest enemy formation, fighting with desperate fury. Sun Magnus lunged from the side, spear thrusting toward a vital point.

Quentin Mo tried to turn back, but Darius elbowed him aside. The spear pierced through Darius’s back and out his chest. Time seemed to slow. Rain sounds faded.

“YOUR MAJESTY—!” Quentin Mo roared.

Darius shuddered but refused to fall. He drove his sword into the mud to prop himself up, half-kneeling like a tattered banner still refusing to lie down.

Conrad stepped forward, composure cracking. “Why go to such lengths? If you had yielded earlier, you could have lived.” Darius looked up, blood pouring from his mouth, and smiled faintly. “If all you wanted was my life, you wouldn’t have gone to such trouble tonight. You’ve always been like this—taking something isn’t enough. You need others to kneel and offer it willingly.”

Conrad’s expression darkened, revealing raw malice. “And you? Born with the crown prince’s status, Father’s favor, ministers’ support...” His voice trembled slightly. “Even *her*—she was yours.” Darius’s eyes widened in shock and sorrow. “Eleanor...?” The name shattered Conrad’s remaining calm. “You don’t deserve to call her that!” In the chaos, blades struck. Despite his wounds, Darius still fought on until Chen Hawke’s dagger found its mark from behind.

He finally collapsed forward, still gripping his sword. Turning his fading gaze to Quentin Mo and the Azure Blade on his back, he forced out his final words: “Quentin... the promise.” His head drooped. He was gone. Only the sword in the mud held his broken body upright in the rain and fire, as if still propping up a crumbling empire.

Quentin Mo’s teeth ground audibly. He secured the Azure Blade on his back, swept his staff in a devastating arc to break through the encirclement, and roared: “Imperial guards! Those who stay and cover our retreat are brothers. Those who escort me out are loyal subjects!” The few remaining guards answered without hesitation. Some threw themselves into arrow storms, others grappled enemies into flames, buying a narrow path with their lives.

Quentin Mo seized the chance and vanished into the stormy night without looking back.