The Unified Sovereign Token of Jiuzhou hummed in Frank’s right hand with the thickness of a collapsed star.
Around its smooth, bevelled edges, tiny sky currents swirled in tiny vortices.
Faint auroras of cyan, violet, and gold light rippled across the polished jade-and-steel composite face, projecting tiny, light-projected silhouettes of mountain ranges, winding river deltas, and thriving cities across Frank’s knuckles.
Five hundred thousand fighters knelt on the flat stone slabs, their eyes fixed on Frank in breathless, stone-hard excitement.
In ten thousand years of mortal history, every text that mentioned the Sovereign Mandate described an earth-shattering coronation ritual. The Ascendant would bite his tongue, spit a mouthful of gold-tinted blood essence onto the ancient object, and bellow a royal oath to Heaven and Earth that shook the seven realms.
Dynasties would change their banners. Sects would surrender their treasuries.
The new Sovereign would take his seat upon a golden throne forged from dragon bones, issuing twelve royal edicts of subjugation before beginning his march toward the sky gate.
Emperor Zhao of the Great Da-Qi Dynasty, kneeling beside Saint Preceptor Kong, wiped sweat from his chin. Then he whispered through trembling lips:
