Lace Glory Universe King GL - Chapter 25

They boarded the first ship at dawn, leaving the Jianmu Forest behind and heading straight toward Heluo.

Wu Zetian’s dark cloak was already thick with dust, and Nüwa’s blue traveling garb, after a night of turmoil, also looked rather bedraggled. Blending in among the crowd of sea-crossing travelers, they were no different from those weary wanderers making long journeys.

The waves rose and fell, cold winds whipping up white crests. Beneath the damp, chilling mist, the dark-blue seawater battered against the sides of the ship.

Wu Zetian pulled her cloak tighter. Though the north wind was bitter, for the ship it was a tailwind—this voyage back to Heluo would be much swifter than the trip out.

Back in the Lingwa Temple, when Nüwa had questioned her, Wu Zetian had claimed she went personally to the Canyon to safeguard the gemstone. That, of course, was only an excuse. Having ruled Heluo for years with enlightened diligence, she understood the importance of conserving strength and avoiding reckless wars. Expansion for its own sake had never been her desire. Yet Heluo’s greatest lack had always been the sea. As her empire grew stronger, that small imperfection sprouted like a seed and slowly bloomed into ambition.

When Galo reported that the Demonstone was being coveted, Wu Zetian’s first thought was to harness its power to reshape her armies for naval warfare—and bring the eastern seas under her dominion.

But now, things had come to this pass. Gazing at the fickle waves, she sighed. Was she truly not destined to conquer the seas? No—this was no question of destiny, only setbacks along the way.

The first priority was to reclaim her rightful throne. But the ally she had brought along this time… was rather unusual.

Thinking of her, Wu Zetian felt uneasy. She turned her head—and there Nüwa was, sound asleep despite the ship’s swaying.

After a whole night ransacking the Yuheng Bureau, Nüwa was now slumped against the grimy porthole, lost in deep slumber.

With the tailwind, the journey was faster—two days later, landfall on Heluo’s coast came into view.

As the ferry docked, Wu Zetian heard a long, sharp cry of an eagle. Looking up, she recognized it instantly—the falcon she had kept at Ziwei Palace.

Its call echoed shrill and mournful, circling several times overhead before flying off. Normally, that hawk was tended by a keeper and only dispatched with messages—always released by Shangguan Wan’er herself.

Lost in thought about the hawk, Wu Zetian and Nüwa stepped off the pier—only to walk into an ambush.

A faint whistle pierced the air—then volleys of arrows shot toward Wu Zetian from all directions.

“Watch out!” Nüwa yanked her backward.

An iron-tipped arrow ripped through Wu Zetian’s cloak, grazing her ribs.

One barrage ended, and another followed. They ducked behind an abandoned vessel for cover. The attackers were hidden among trees and shacks, scattered but coordinated.

Wu Zetian and Nüwa unleashed their magic at once. Golden orbs and radiant matrices exploded, shattering branches and rooftops with thunderous force.

To stall any advance, Nüwa invoked Divine Radiance Construction, layering several spatial matrices. They collided into one another, generating blasts that slowed the enemy’s approach. But beside her, the Empress was pale, leaning against the rusted hull in silence.

“What’s wrong?” Nüwa asked—then saw the truth.

Wu Zetian had been struck—the arrow had pierced her side, blood pouring freely.

It was only a physical wound, yet why so severe?

Clasping her hand, Nüwa realized with alarm—Wu Zetian’s mana was completely drained. She could no longer summon any spells.

The delayed explosions still thundered outside, but their foes pressed forward swiftly.

Clad all in black, masked, and moving in tight formation—clearly, they had long lain in wait.

They had planned well, striking only when their prey was most vulnerable.

The only choice now was to flee.

Nüwa traced a rift overhead, lifted Wu Zetian by the shoulder, and carried her into the portal.

City of a Thousand Caverns. Beneath the Defense Tower.

Across the land of Kings, the finest healing ground was at the western Sunset Sea, where the towering Crystal Nexus stood. But it lay far away, and any fallen hero had to endure a grueling trek to reach it. Otherwise, there were only three defense towers planted with healing fruit—much slower to take effect. These three stood in the City of a Thousand Caverns, the Northern Wastes, and the Eastern Sea.

Wu Zetian lay unconscious. Nüwa knew it was not blood loss but mana depletion. Examining her closely, she realized the truth: the Empress had never properly recovered from her wounds at the Canyon. Sustained only by the Eye of the Phoenix, she now collapsed under the ambush, her strength completely gone. Nüwa blamed herself—she had overlooked her companion’s frailty all along.

“She’s still very weak. Only when these healing fruits bloom can she slowly recover her mana,” Galo observed, crouching to inspect the Empress’s wound.

“How long until she fully recovers?” Nüwa asked.

“Twenty-one days. The growth cycle of the three healing flowers is fixed—it cannot be hastened,” Galo answered truthfully.

Nüwa fell silent. Twenty-one days—by then, Sikong Zhen’s pagoda might already be complete, and it would be too late.

After settling the Empress beneath the tower, Galo invited Nüwa to rest in her home within the cavernous city.

The Galo clan had guarded the City of a Thousand Caverns for generations. Her dwelling resembled a fortress, spacious and cool within. Breezes blew constantly through the cliffs, and high-arched windows cast dappled light across the stone floor with an austere grace.

This was not the first time Nüwa and Galo had met.

Back then, Galo had mistakenly trusted the Empress, hoping she could help uncover the one coveting the gemstone. Instead, Wu Zetian’s own ambitions were revealed—seizing the stone in the Canyon for herself. On learning this, Galo had immediately reported it to the Inverted Heaven. The priesthood debated, and Nüwa volunteered to reclaim the stone herself. Seeing the Empress barely escape with her life, she chose to wait and watch, conserving her move.

“Why would you ever tell the Empress about the Demonstone absorption ritual?” Nüwa asked, disbelieving Wu Zetian’s claim. With Galo’s lineage, surely she could not have betrayed such a secret.

“What?!” Galo’s shock was genuine.

Nüwa explained: the stone was now in Sikong Zhen’s hands, and both he and Wu Zetian knew the ancient ritual. The Empress had said it was Galo who revealed it during her audience at Ziwei Palace.

Galo’s brow furrowed as she replayed every detail of that evening.

“Could it be…?”

Nüwa caught her meaning at once.

That night, the Empress had hosted a banquet. Present were only Wu Zetian, Sikong Zhen, and Galo. They drank merrily. After one too many cups of imperial wine, Galo had felt herself succumbing to a stupor. Servants had helped her away. When she awoke, a writing desk lay before her—brush, ink, and paper. The ink on the brush’s tip was half-dried, soon tidied away by maids.

“It must have been the wine. I must have written it down, unaware,” Galo admitted bitterly.

“The details matter little now.” As Nüwa suspected, the Empress had lied.

“But if the stone is with Sikong Zhen, why not seize it yourself? Why burden yourself with a wounded Empress?” Galo asked.

“Don’t forget—the three who stole the stone from the Dragon King all gained the power of Storm Awakening. Only with Di Renjie and the restored Empress can we stand a chance,” Nüwa reminded her. The Demonstone had not appeared for ages, and she would not forget its nature.

“It was my carelessness,” Galo murmured.

Nüwa thought back to her lone infiltration of the Yuheng Bureau and sighed. “Besides, the stone’s precise location is not easily uncovered.”

Since that night, Sikong Zhen had been far more cautious. Though the wounded Empress was no threat, should the priesthood be alerted, he dared not leave the stone unguarded—he carried it with him at all times, even drawing on it in battle.

And so, the very next morning after Nüwa’s appearance at Yuheng, Sikong Zhen entered the palace.

With attendants dismissed, only “the Empress” and the Grand Minister remained.

“My loyal subject, what news do you bring?” The puppet-empress sat on the throne, every detail flawless.

“Your Majesty, I bring grave tidings,” Sikong Zhen said with a faint smile, striding boldly forward.

The automaton’s gaze followed him as he drew near.

“Hissss—”

Blue lightning leapt from Sikong Zhen’s hand, striking the puppet’s chest at point-blank range.

“You—” Only a single word escaped before the figure froze, its gaze fixed, now nothing more than a jeweled machine.

Standing over the slumped figure, Sikong Zhen lifted the crown and opened its head, murmuring, “Too dangerous for the treasure to remain here. Better in my care.”

Inside the clockwork skull, nestled among gears, gleamed the radiant Demonstone.

He slipped it beneath his breastplate, then closed the mechanism.

“Reset mechanism.”

Click-clack—the gears whirred. The puppet’s eyes rolled, then settled back.

“Please assign a directive.”

“Operate as the Empress has been programmed,” Sikong Zhen commanded, retreating to the hall below.

“Confirmed,” replied the puppet.

He remembered well his visit to the master of automata, and the exquisite creation named Daji.

“My loyal subject, what news do you bring?” the throne-figure repeated.

Sikong Zhen bowed. “Your servant merely comes to pay respects. Nothing further to report.”

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