The Conquerors Path Chapter 976 - 974-Bad Fate.....Bad Luck.

A secret smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth as I listened. Even though the world still perceived me as fragile, another wave of turmoil had washed over the city. It wasn't long ago that the arrival of Fenrir plunged everything into madness, and now, fresh chaos was stacking upon the old. However, this event was different. This was a declaration. My declaration.

Admittedly, there were plenty of safer, more calculated, and diplomatic ways to handle this. But choosing those paths would have only invited a mountain of other complications later. This specific action was a statement intended to echo across the entire goddamn world. It was a warning to every rising shadow power that might think of haunting me or those I hold dear—especially my family.

Through this move, I have signaled to every watchful eye that I am no easy prey. I have shown them that I hold cards they should rightfully fear. Naturally, such a bold step comes with its own risks. My enemies will become more cunning; they will strike harder and hide deeper in the shadows. But that is a price I am willing to accept.

Sifting through these reflections, I found the strength to stand tall on my own. My borrowed powers would likely vanish soon. I turned to offer a smile to Eleanor, whose eyes were trembling as she gazed at me. By doing this, I had shattered the shackles that confined her. It wasn't a permanent fix, but with the situation now so warped, their "side of reason" had evaporated. Along with it, the chains forged by their oath had been severed.

"I did well, didn’t I?"

I directed the question and a grin toward Eleanor. She seemed to be in a daze before she finally responded with a proud smile of her own.

"Yeah, yeah, you did..."

Her words made me smile, and I was prepared to say more when I suddenly went rigid. The warmth left my face, replaced by an expression of icy indifference.

"Hahahahahaha... I suppose fate truly has turned its back on me!"

My laughter carried a bone-chilling edge.

[The fate of a conqueror is not a blessing. Every existence in the universe resists being conquered. One who carries the fate of a conqueror will perpetually face opposition. This is doubly true if you have managed to offend fate itself.]

[No. Even Fate isn’t that petty. This is simply the friction of the world's natural laws fighting against a conqueror—someone who stands outside the established narrative. As previously mentioned, the issues with the 'starter pack' as you defined them are gone. But the fate you possess is inherently antagonistic toward fate itself. Simply put, your streak of misfortune has officially begun.]

[No. This is the result of the world's accumulated desire to resist finally breaking open. All that bad luck has converged at once.]

Driven by those thoughts, I vanished from my spot. I tore through the surrounding pack as if they were made of nothing but paper, making my way toward a concealed area within the academy. The moment I arrived, a familiar voice cried out.

"Brother!"

Despite my current state, Elda recognized me instantly. She called out from within the safety of a barrier. The pin I had gifted her, tucked into her hair, had generated a protective field that kept her unharmed. Yet, I could see the lingering fear and the shock of the danger she had just faced vibrating through her body.

While these small thoughts crossed my mind, my consciousness remained sharp and frigid. I was consumed by a fury potent enough to level this entire floating continent. My gaze shifted to the six men surrounding the barrier. Their eyes bulged as they looked at me, their bodies paralyzed with fear. The disgusting lust on the faces of three of them was plain to see.

"Ready to die?"

I asked, my tone deceptively light.

.....

Third Person POV:

Across the various archery towers of the world, humiliation was being dealt simultaneously. The tower masters, the esteemed Quiverlords, were all being suppressed. The shame burned through them like a searing blade to the heart. Their sacred grounds, symbols of their prestige, were being trampled upon.

Mighty vessels hovered in the firmament, their weaponry surrendered. Formidable guards stood at their posts, yet their very names and titles were being used to hold them down. That had been the grim reality until five minutes ago. Suddenly, everyone began acting strangely, as if something monumental was unfolding. Then, as the six-minute mark approached, something massive happened.

It felt as though the very fabric of space above them had been torn asunder. A crushing, overwhelming force bore down on everyone present. Amidst that pressure, a single arrow made of pure light streaked through the air. Before anyone—even the elite guards or the high-ranking Imperials—could move, the arrows found their marks.

It wasn't a slaughter. Instead, like shimmering stars, blue lights descended from the heavens like comets. For a heartbeat, it resembled Divine Judgment. These lights moved with surgical precision, striking every member of the War Council. The ships remained unscathed, but every guard and council member standing outside was hit in the same instant.

It truly looked like the hand of God, albeit one directed solely at the War Council. Total confusion reigned; before anyone could process the event, the targets were all down. No one was killed or even badly injured. It was as if the arrows had merely lulled them into a peaceful slumber.

However, some among them began to turn red, screaming on the ground in agony. It required no brilliance to understand what was happening: the corruption hidden within them was being dragged into the light. Everyone saw their sins laid bare. It was a level of public disgrace never before seen. Never had the War Council endured such a blatant mockery of their power and identity.

This scene repeated at every location occupied by the council. To the observers, it appeared as though a God was protecting the archery association. In a single heartbeat, all the lost pride and simmering rage were replaced with vindication. With a solitary move, Austin had restored everything they had lost. He had shielded them and reclaimed their honor while punishing those who dared target them.

It was a magnificent turning point, a moment that would etch the legend of Austin into the world for the next thirty years. This was the birth of a myth, a story that the world itself would whisper for generations. This was the moment the world learned a vital lesson: crossing Austin Lionheart, regardless of your status or Cultivation level, would bring about relentless consequences.

The history books that Austin would write had begun. The opening page was a display of his overwhelming power, announced to every corner of the globe.

....

Meanwhile, after Austin’s departure, Elda remained in the room. Seeing the grim expressions on the faces of Austin and the others, she knew something terrible had transpired. It was yet another reminder of the heavy burden resting on her brother's shoulders. He had just bested a Juggernaut through sheer force, yet he wasn't even granted a moment to savor the victory before rushing off to face the next crisis.

It felt unjust. Her brother should have been occupied with the normal concerns of someone his age. Instead, he was weighed down by the destiny of a hero—a fate he never sought. He was forced into endless battle, perhaps sacrificing a peaceful life in the process. Elda loathed that reality.

She wished for him to be happy, liberated from the world's pressures. But she realized that, for now, she lacked the strength to change his path. The best she could do was ensure she wasn't a weight dragging him down, but rather someone who could stand by him. That became Elda’s new ambition.

With those resolved thoughts, Elda walked out of the room. Her mind was a whirlwind of complex emotions regarding her friends, the dragon princess, and the heavy duty her brother carried.

As she moved to meet her friend, a voice called out to her.

"Student Elda?"