BOUND BY A MORTAL FLAME

The Young Lord Command

*Chapter 4: 🏇The Young Lord’s Command🏇*

**{Devil Realm}**

When he spoke, the room fell silent on its own. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came from obedience. It was deeper, heavier. The kind that came when even the air itself decided it was safer to hold its breath than to disturb him. Dust motes hung frozen in the torchlight above the great hall. The banners of the Fu clan, black with purple embroidery, stopped swaying though the doors had just been thrown open. Outside, a hundred armored guards stood motionless, their halberds pointing skyward. Inside, fifty of the most powerful men in the realm knelt on cold marble.

Then he turned around.

“Young Lord Fue.”

“Young Lord Fue.”

The words moved through the hall like a tide. They started at the front where the highest-ranking officials knelt, and rolled back to the lowest clerks at the rear. Every voice was identical in tone. Fear had stripped them of individuality. The name itself felt dangerous to say.

Fue didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to. His black robes dragged across the floor with a sound like a whispering blade. His hair, black as the void between stars, fell past his shoulders. But it was his eyes that made men drop to their knees without being told. They weren’t human. Not anymore. One was gold, burning like a dying sun. The other was purple, swirling with a flame that shouldn’t exist in the Mortal Realm. When those eyes landed on you, you felt your bones turn to water.

“My Lord, the throne can’t stay empty for too long,” Assistant Xing said. His voice didn’t shake. That was why he was Assistant Xing. But sweat was running down his temples despite the cold in the hall. “You have to go through the Life Tribulation this year, My Lord.” He spoke the words like a man placing a stone on a scale. Deliberate. Final. The Life Tribulation was not a suggestion. It was law. Older than the Fu clan itself. Any heir who refused it, forfeited all claim to the throne. It was a step to achieve the title 'Demon Lord's.'

No one else dared to speak. To add to Xing’s words was to draw attention. To draw attention was to die. So they stayed silent, and fear sealed their lips shut.

“Assistant Xing,” Fue called.

The name drifted through the silence like smoke. Soft. Almost lazy. But everyone who heard it felt their skin crawl.

“Yes, My Lord,” Xing replied instantly. He placed his right hand over his heart and bowed his head. “I am here.”

“Should I call you Assistant Xing, or Uncle?” Fue asked. His voice was slower now. He was tasting the words. “You were my father’s brother before he died. Blood doesn’t lie, does it?”

The question wasn’t a question. It was a trap.

“I wouldn’t dare accept the title of Uncle while we’re in court, My Lord,” Xing said without lifting his head. “Protocol must be observed. The court must see impartiality.”

“Oh? Really?” Fue’s lips curved. It wasn’t a smile. It was the baring of teeth before the bite. “As you wish, Assistant Xing.” He said the title like it was a curse. Like he was giving Xing permission to die later rather than now. The torches on the walls flickered violently, though the doors were sealed and no wind had entered. The temperature in the hall dropped ten degrees.

“Leader Fu, can you continue? I lost track,” Fue’s gaze snapped away from Xing and landed on a trembling man in blue robes at the left side of the hall.

“I…I…I was just saying…you’re the most rightful Lord I’ve ever seen, My Lord,” he stammered. The words came out in a rush, tripping over each other. “Since Lord Lee passed, there has been no one with your presence. No one with your vision. The realm needs you on the throne, My Lord.” He was shaking from head to toe, like a hen caught in a storm. His teeth chattered audibly.

“Better,” Fue said simply. He smiled again, and the room grew colder. “I’d already misjudged you and was thinking of how to turn you into soup. Your bones would make a good broth, I think.”

A few people gasped before they could stop themselves. Then immediately regretted it.

“Pardon my incompetence, My Lord,” Fu pressed his forehead to the floor hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were trembling so badly he could barely keep them over his chest in the old custom of submission. “I speak only from loyalty.”

“About the Life Tribulation—you have to go through it, My Lord. It’s for your own benefit,” Leader Mun, one of the three senior chiefs, finally found his voice. He was older than the rest, his beard white, his back slightly hunched. If he was afraid, he hid it better. “The ancestors demand it. The realm’s fate is tied to the throne. Without a crowned Lord, the borders will weaken. The Devil Realm stirs again.”

“Leader Mun, rest assured,” Fue’s voice echoed through the hall. It was the same soft tone, but now it carried the promise of violence. “I have no intention of abandoning the throne.”

“Alright…My Lord,” Mun bowed deeply and stepped back into line. He’d said what needed to be said. Whether Fue listened was beyond his control.

“The Life Tribulation will start tomorrow at dawn,” Fue announced. The words were simple. But they fell like a guillotine blade. “Be present, or don’t be at all.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out. He didn’t use the side door. He walked through the main gates, and the massive iron doors opened on their own before he reached them. One moment he was there, and the next, only the scent of cold iron and burnt ozone remained.

“Thanks for your generosity, Young Lord!”

“Thanks for your generosity, Young Lord!”

The shouts were immediate, frantic. Fifty men shouting in unison, bowing according to their old custom. Gratitude for a monster who had decided not to kill them today. The sound was almost pathetic.

After Fue was gone, the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Shoulders that had been locked in place relaxed. Breaths that had been held for minutes were released in shaky exhales. The color slowly returned to faces drained of blood.

“I almost died,” one official whispered, pressing a hand to his chest as if to make sure his heart was still beating.

“Commander Xin, I already wet myself,” Leader Mun admitted openly. He didn’t even try to hide the shame. Survival mattered more than pride. “I felt it run down my leg.”

“Leader Mun, if the Young Lord had asked me anything, I swear I would’ve collapsed,” Xin said, gulping water straight from a clay jar. The liquid spilled down his chin and soaked his collar, but he didn’t care. His hands were still shaking too badly to hold the jar properly.

“Everyone, stop the gossip,” Assistant Xing said sharply. The moment he spoke, the hall quieted again. They all flinched, as if his voice alone could summon Fue back. “The Young Lord isn’t that scary. He’s just…direct.”

“Assistant Xing, you’re lucky,” Leader Fu muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “The Young Lord treats you nicely because you’re his uncle. If he looked at me like that for more than three seconds, I’d be dead before I could blink.”

“Assistant Xing, have you forgotten the rumors?” Leader Xue added, his voice low enough that only those nearby could hear. “That the Young Lord eats humans? That he drinks their blood to stay young? That he keeps the bones of his enemies in his palace? Who wouldn’t fear someone like that?”

“Enough,” Xing said. There was no anger in his voice, only exhaustion. “It’s fine. Just prepare for tomorrow’s Tribulation. The Young Lord has spoken. If you’re not there, don’t expect mercy.”

“I won’t be available—my daughter’s sick,” Commander Xin said suddenly. His voice was too quick. Too eager.

“I need to take my wife for treatment,” Leader Mun excused himself, avoiding Xing’s gaze.

“I have a family gathering tomorrow. My youngest son is being named.”

“My mother’s sick. She’s been coughing blood for weeks.”

“I need to take my son to his appointment with the physician.”

One by one, they all made excuses. Reasonable excuses. Polite excuses. Lies, every single one. They knew it, and Xing knew it too. No one wanted to be present when the Young Lord faced the Life Tribulation. To watch was to be noticed. To be noticed was to die. The Tribulation was supposed to be witnessed by the court. But this year, no one wanted to witness.

“Okay, no problem,” Xing said after letting them finish. His tone was light, almost cheerful. It made the words that followed hit harder. “I’ll let the Young Lord know you’re all busy. I’ll tell him you have family matters. Wait and see what happens to your families tomorrow.”

Fear, cold and sharp, gripped the room again. Faces that had just regained color went pale. Children were suddenly sick. Wives suddenly needed husbands. Mothers suddenly needed sons, all lies.

“We won’t miss it, My Lord,” they answered in scattered, broken voices. The bravado was gone. The excuses were forgotten. Only fear remained.

“Just try not to show up tomorrow,” Xing replied mockingly. The ghost of a smile touched his lips before he turned and left the room. His footsteps echoed long after the door closed behind him.

The hall was finally empty. But the fear remained.