Chapter 47: Sweet Chin Music
Five days had passed since the wedding proposals.
Morning light spilled across the Golden Storm City, casting long shadows through the imperial throne room where Hexia stood with maps spread across a marble table. The other heroes had already departed to their respective kingdoms, coordinating preparations for the coming monster rampage from the Lonely Druid's Dungeon.
Hexia's crimson eyes traced the economic reports before him—trade routes, tax structures, agricultural yields. The merged territories of former Kurakot and Valorian needed rebuilding, not just military fortification.
But first, corruption needed burning out.
"Lhoralaine."
The Six-Star General stepped forward, her blonde hair tied back in a severe military braid. She saluted sharply. "Your Majesty."
Hexia handed her a sealed folder. "Root out every corrupted noble from the former kingdoms. I want evidence. Documentation. Proof strong enough that even their families won't question the convictions."
Lhoralaine's black eyes hardened. "How thorough should I be?"
"Extremely." Hexia's voice remained flat. "If they accepted bribes, I want receipts. If they embezzled, I want ledgers. If they exploited slaves, I want witnesses. Build cases that make execution feel merciful."
A predatory smile curved Lhoralaine's lips. "Understood."
Sirenia, standing to Hexia's left as Imperial Advisor, cleared her throat. "And when you find them?"
"Public trial," Hexia said. "Then public execution. I want every noble in Azranelle to understand what happens when you steal from your own people."
"You're going to make this messy," Sirenia observed, silver hair catching the morning light.
"I'm going to make this loud." Hexia's expression never changed. "Fear keeps people honest when morality fails."
Lhoralaine departed with her folder, already making mental lists of targets. Sirenia watched her go, then turned back to Hexia with a raised eyebrow.
"She's enjoying this too much."
"She's good at her job." Hexia rolled up the economic reports. "That's what matters."
Before Sirenia could respond, Durgan Gearbeared burst through the throne room doors, his magnificent beard crackling with barely contained excitement.
"YOUR MAJESTY!" The dwarf engineer practically vibrated. "I heard you have BLUEPRINTS!"
Hexia gestured to another table where several rolled parchments waited. Durgan scrambled toward them like a child toward presents, unrolling the first blueprint with shaking hands.
His eyes went wide.
Then wider.
Then so wide they threatened to escape his skull entirely.
"What... what IS this?" Durgan's voice trembled with religious awe.
"Gatling gun turrets," Hexia explained. "Automated rotary cannons that fire five hundred rounds per minute."
"FIVE HUNDRED?!" Durgan's beard sparked with electrical discharge. "Per MINUTE?!"
"That's the slow one." Hexia unrolled another blueprint. "This is the Patriot missile turret. Heat-seeking rockets that lock onto targets and deliver explosive payloads from three miles away."
Durgan's hands were shaking. He unrolled the next blueprint.
"Minigun turrets for close defense," Hexia continued. "Tomahawk cruise missiles for siege warfare. Bunkers with 155mm howitzer cannons. All automated. All designed to face the dungeon entrance."
"Where..." Durgan swallowed hard. "Where did you GET these designs?"
"Past life." Hexia's tone suggested this was not a conversation he wanted to have. "Can you build them?"
"Can I BUILD them?!" Durgan's voice cracked. "Your Majesty, these weapons are—they're BEAUTIFUL! They're PERFECT! They're—"
"Can you build them in five months?"
Durgan's manic grin could have lit the room. "I'll build them in FOUR! DO-OSVIDANIA WILL HAVE COMPANY!"
"Don't blow up my capital."
"NO PROMISES!" Durgan gathered the blueprints like sacred texts, cackling as he sprinted from the throne room.
Sirenia watched him go, then slowly turned to Hexia. "You gave the mad bomber engineer blueprints for automated weapons of mass destruction."
"He's the only one capable of building them."
"We're all going to die." Sirenia sighs.
"Not before the monsters do." Hexia straightened the remaining maps. "Have faith in—"
The throne room doors slammed open again.
Kiara strode in, her fifteen elite warrior companions trailing behind her. The former slave girl—now Queen of Rokia—had grown into her power over the past months. Gravity magic crackled around her fingers, and her eyes held the fierce determination of someone who'd survived hell and decided to weaponize the experience.
"You promised," Kiara announced without preamble.
Hexia didn't need clarification. "I did."
"Personal training. You swore it."
"I did."
Kiara's elite warriors shuffled nervously behind her—fifteen kids ranging from twelve to sixteen, each one marked by Myraelle's blessing, each one carrying trauma from their former slavery. They'd received basic combat training from IronForge soldiers, but that wasn't enough.
They wanted the legend.
They wanted the Swordsman of Rolling Heads.
Hexia studied them for a long moment, his crimson eyes weighing, calculating. Then he spoke.
"I will train you. But not in swordplay."
Kiara's expression flattened. "What?"
"Fists. Kicks. Grappling. Throws." Hexia's tone remained absolute. "Hand-to-hand combat that makes weapons optional, not necessary."
"No." Kiara's voice hardened. "I want to be like you. I want to wield a sword. I want to be a legend—"
"Then learn to kill without one first." Hexia's interruption was surgical. "Anyone can be dangerous with a blade. True warriors are dangerous with nothing."
One of Kiara's companions—a thirteen-year-old named Rhaine with burn scars covering half her face—stepped forward hesitantly. "But... swords are cooler..."
Sirenia snorted behind her hand.
Kiara's eyes blazed. "I refuse. Teach me the sword, or this deal is off."
Hexia considered this. Then: "A duel. Tomorrow. You and me. No weapons. If you land one clean hit, I'll train you in swordplay. If you can't..."
"I accept." Kiara's response was immediate, confident, almost smug.
She had Myraelle's blessing—the same divine enhancement Hexia possessed. Physical strength. Enhanced reflexes. Supernatural durability. In her mind, without his Trinity sword, Hexia's advantage evaporated.
She was about to learn a painful lesson.
---
**The Next Day – Imperial Training Grounds**
Word had spread like wildfire.
Emperor Hexia—the Swordsman of Rolling Heads, the man who'd turned battlefields into graveyards—was dueling Queen Kiara in unarmed combat.
The training grounds were PACKED.
Every hero had returned. Nerissa sat in the front row beside Durgan and Durin, munching popcorn she'd learned to make from Hexia's cooking lessons. Elaine lounged elegantly with Karlugus and Aelindra, already taking mental notes. Kraignor stood like a mountain with Grome and Hargen, arms crossed, expression neutral but eyes interested.
Kragwargen had claimed an entire section with Magnus and Sergius, the centaur warchief studying the arena with tactical precision. Ethene sat in her compressed human form beside Titania and Solaria, her golden eyes gleaming with barely suppressed amusement.
Sirenia and Lhoralaine had positioned themselves ringside, both wearing matching expressions of concern mixed with morbid curiosity.
"This is going to be a massacre," Sirenia predicted.
"She has the same blessings he does," Lhoralaine countered. "Same strength, same speed, same durability. Without his sword, they're evenly matched."
Sirenia just smiled. "You've known him longer than I have. When has Hexia ever needed to be armed to be dangerous?"
Lhoralaine opened her mouth to argue, then closed it then stated. "You know what? You're right, sirenia."
In the center of the arena, Kiara stood opposite Hexia, her fifteen elite warriors clustered at the edge, cheering their queen. The youngest—a ten-year-old girl named Lyssa—waved a crudely drawn banner that read: "KIARA WILL WIN!"
Hexia stood perfectly still, hands at his sides, expression empty.
King Dutz TearTee, serving as referee, raised his hand. "Rules are simple: unarmed combat only. First to yield or fall unconscious loses. BEGIN!"
Kiara didn't hesitate.
She exploded forward with blessed speed, closing the distance in a blink. Her fist shot toward Hexia's face with enough force to shatter stone—
Hexia tilted his head six inches left.
The punch whistled past his ear.
Kiara pivoted, throwing a knee strike at his ribs—
Hexia shifted his torso, the knee passing through empty space.
A spinning back-fist aimed at his temple—
Hexia ducked, the strike cutting air above his head.
"STOP DODGING AND FIGHT ME!" Kiara snarled, unleashing a flurry of strikes.
Hexia evaded every single one without moving his feet.
Head weave. Shoulder slip. Torso rotation. Minimal movement. Maximum efficiency.
The crowd was silent, mesmerized.
Then Hexia moved.
**Ura-nage.**
He caught Kiara mid-punch, stepped past her centerline, wrapped his arm around her waist, and arched backwards. Kiara's world inverted as she was slammed spine-first into the ground with enough force to create a small crater.
The impact would have killed a normal person.
Kiara, blessed by an angel, merely had the wind knocked out of her.
She rolled to her feet, gasping. "Lucky—"
**Uchi-mata.**
Hexia's leg hooked behind hers, sweeping her supporting leg while his hand controlled her upper body. She crashed down again, harder this time.
"Stop—!"
**Kata-guruma.**
Hexia lifted her across his shoulders like she weighed nothing, then THREW her bodily into the ground. The arena floor cracked.
Kiara's elite warriors were no longer cheering. They were staring in horror.
"She's... she's getting destroyed," Rhaine whispered.
Lyssa's banner drooped.
Kiara staggered upright, her pride refusing to let her stay down. Blood trickled from her nose. "I'm not done—"
**Seoi-nage.**
Hexia grabbed her arm, turned his back to her, pulled her over his shoulder, and SLAMMED her into the ground with the full rotation of his hips behind the throw. The impact echoed across the training grounds.
"KIARA!" her warriors screamed.
She rose on trembling legs, fury burning in her eyes. The gravity magic around her intensified, the ground beneath her feet cracking from the pressure. "FIGHT ME PROPERLY!"
Hexia's expression never changed.
**Maki-komi.**
A sacrifice throw where Hexia deliberately fell while pulling Kiara with him, using his body as a fulcrum to amplify the impact. They hit the ground together—Hexia on his back, Kiara face-first.
The splat was sickening.
**O-soto-gari.**
Before she could recover, Hexia swept her leg from behind while pushing her chest, dropping her straight onto her back. Again.
Kiara lay there, staring at the sky, her body screaming in protest despite Myraelle's healing blessing keeping her bones intact.
"This... this isn't fair," she wheezed.
Hexia stood over her, offering his hand.
She took it.
The moment she was upright, her fury reignited. She threw a wild haymaker—
Hexia shifted his stance.
**Chain punches.**
His hands blurred. Three strikes to her solar plexus in one second. Kiara stumbled back, wheezing—
**One-inch punch.**
Hexia's palm touched her sternum. Barely any visible movement.
Kiara FLEW backwards fifteen feet, landing hard.
"HOW?!" she screamed, pain and frustration mixing in her voice. "I HAVE THE SAME BLESSING! THE SAME POWER!"
Hexia finally spoke, his voice flat. "Blessing gave you strength. Not skill. Strength without technique is just flailing."
Kiara forced herself upright again, her legs shaking. Blood ran from her nose, her lip split. But her eyes... her eyes burned with something beyond pain.
Not defeat.
Determination.
"Then teach me," she gasped. "Teach me your skill."
"You haven't landed a hit yet." Hexia's tone was merciless. "You haven't earned it."
That ignited something feral in Kiara. She charged again, throwing everything she had left—
And Hexia decided to end it.
But not with brutality.
With showmanship.
Sirenia's eyes widened. "Oh no..."
"What?" Lhoralaine asked.
"He's showing off."
Hexia struck a pose—feet wide, arms spread, chin tucked.
It was utterly ridiculous.
The crowd didn't know what to make of it.
Then Kiara lunged—
Hexia broke the stance, ducked her strike, hooked her arm, and drove her face-first into the ground.
**Pedigree.**
The impact left a Kiara-shaped imprint in the arena floor.
She staggered up, dazed, swaying—
Hexia measured the distance, tuned up the band by stomping his foot rhythmically—
**CRACK**
**Sweet Chin Music.**
His boot connected with her chin with supernatural precision. Kiara's head snapped back. Her eyes rolled up.
She fell like a puppet with cut strings.
Unconscious before she hit the ground.
The arena was silent for exactly three seconds.
Then it EXPLODED.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
"I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!"
"DID HE JUST—DID HE—"
Kiara's fifteen elite warriors were frozen in shock. Their queen—their blessed, powerful, unstoppable queen—had been systematically dismantled by a man using nothing but his body.
Nerissa was laughing so hard she'd spilled her popcorn. "THAT WAS AMAZING!"
Elaine's perfect composure had shattered into open-mouthed amazement. "He just... he POSED..."
Kraignor's stone face had cracked into something resembling a smile. "Showmanship. Respect."
Ethene was outright grinning. "Two thousand years, and I've never seen anyone turn combat into theater."
Kragwargen was taking mental notes. "Those throws... those TECHNIQUES..."
Sirenia had her face in her hands. "He's such a dork."
Lhoralaine was scribbling frantically on parchment. "I need to learn ALL of those—"
Durgan stood on his seat, beard crackling with electricity. "YOUR MAJESTY! TEACH ME THE KICKING THING!"
Hexia stood in the center of the arena, perfectly still, perfectly calm, as if he hadn't just demolished a blessed warrior without breaking a sweat.
He knelt beside Kiara's unconscious form and cast healing magic. White light flowed from his hands, mending her injuries, bringing her back to consciousness.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She stared up at him, tears of frustration streaming down her face. "I... I couldn't even touch you..."
"No." Hexia's voice was quiet. "You couldn't."
"Then... then I don't deserve the sword."
"No." His crimson eyes held hers. "You don't. Not yet."
Kiara's lip trembled. Her fifteen warriors rushed into the arena, surrounding their queen, supporting her as she sat up.
"But," Hexia continued, "You deserve to learn. All of you do."
The sixteen kids froze.
"Tomorrow," Hexia said, standing. "All of you. Training begins at dawn. I will teach you fists, kicks, throws, and grappling. And when you've mastered those..."
He paused.
"Then I'll teach you the sword."
Kiara's tears shifted from frustration to relief. "You... you'll really—"
"I keep my promises."
The crowd erupted again.
But this time, it wasn't just spectators.
Magnus Creed pushed through to the arena edge. "Your Majesty! I want to learn those throws!"
Sergius Rook followed. "The kicking technique—I need it!"
Aelindra Galestrider called out. "Can those punches work at range?!"
Grome Bloodaxe bellowed. "TEACH ME TO MAKE PEOPLE FLY WITH ONE HIT!"
Hargen Purger's quiet voice somehow cut through. "I need the silent killing methods."
Karlugus Navixtus looked almost embarrassed. "The... the posing. Does it have tactical value?"
Titania Flamedancer was already stretching. "If Hexia uses it, it must be powerful!"
Solaria Ignia adjusted her glasses. "I want to understand the physics of the Sweet Chin Music—"
Durgan had already started building a training dummy. "I'M MAKING PRACTICE TARGETS!"
Durin was testing hammer throws. "CAN I THROW PEOPLE LIKE THIS?!"
Even the heroes were interested.
Nerissa leaned toward Hexia with a sly grin. "So... you're starting a dojo now?"
Elaine's strategic mind was already whirring. "Unarmed combat training for all companions would significantly increase our tactical versatility—"
Kraignor simply nodded. "Good. Weapons break. Bodies don't."
Kragwargen was calculating. "How many can you train simultaneously?"
Ethene laughed, flames dancing in her eyes. "The Swordsman of Rolling Heads becomes the Teacher of Flying Bodies. I love it."
Hexia looked around the arena at thirty-plus eager faces—heroes, companions, Kiara's warriors, even some palace guards who'd crept closer.
Everyone wanted to learn.
Sirenia leaned close to Lhoralaine. "He's going to regret this."
"Completely," Lhoralaine agreed.
Hexia's flat voice cut through the chaos. "Fine. EVERYONE who wants to learn—training grounds, dawn, tomorrow. No exceptions. No complaining. If you can't keep up, you're dismissed."
The crowd cheered.
Kiara, still sitting on the ground surrounded by her companions, managed a smile through her split lip. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Hexia looked down at her, and for just a moment—just the briefest fraction of a second—his expression softened into something almost kind.
"You've survived slavery. Torture. Hell itself. You think I'd let you stay weak after that?" He offered his hand again. "Stand up, Queen of Rokia. Your warriors need to see you don't quit."
Kiara took his hand, and this time when he pulled her up, she stayed up.
Her fifteen companions surrounded her, their faces shifting from shock to determination.
"We're doing this," Rhaine declared, touching her burn scars. "All of us."
"Sweet Chin Music," little Lyssa whispered reverently. "I'm gonna learn the Sweet Chin Music."
"I want the throw that makes craters," another companion added.
"I want the one-inch punch!"
"I want the flying kick!"
"I want the SHOWMANSHIP!"
Hexia watched them, these broken kids who'd found strength in each other, and made a mental note:
Teaching sword technique would've been easier.
This was going to be exhausting.
But as Sirenia slipped her hand into his, and Lhoralaine stood at his other side with a proud smile, and thirty companions gathered around him all talking at once about techniques they didn't understand—
He realized something.
This felt... good.
Teaching. Passing on knowledge. Building something beyond destruction.
He'd spent so long being the blade that cuts.
Maybe it was time to be the hand that guides.
"Dawn," he repeated, louder. "Don't be late."
The crowd began to disperse, buzzing with excitement.
Kiara's warriors helped her limp out of the arena, already arguing about who would master which technique first.
Nerissa passed by Hexia, still grinning. "You know you just volunteered for the hardest job in the empire, right?"
"Teaching is harder than fighting," Hexia acknowledged.
"And you're doing it anyway."
"I keep my promises."
Nerissa laughed, shaking her head. "You're growing soft, Hexia."
"Don't tell anyone."
As the training grounds finally emptied, only Sirenia, Lhoralaine, and Hexia remained.
Sirenia squeezed his hand. "That was incredible. And ridiculous. And somehow both at the same time."
"The posing was unnecessary," Lhoralaine observed, but she was smiling.
"It was absolutely necessary," Sirenia countered. "Did you see their faces?"
Hexia said nothing, but the corner of his mouth might have twitched.
Just barely.
Lhoralaine studied him for a moment, then spoke quietly. "You're not the same person who left Korn Village."
"No." Hexia's crimson eyes held hers. "I'm not."
"Is that good or bad?"
He considered the question. Thought about the Ayronee who'd jumped off a roof. The Hexia who'd killed fifty bandits without feeling anything. The emperor who now stood surrounded by people who actually gave a damn.
"It's different," he finally said. "Different is enough."
Sirenia kissed his cheek. "Different is good."
Lhoralaine nodded agreement. "Different is growth."
Hexia looked at them both—his Imperial Advisor and his Six-Star General, his companions, his... his people.
"Tomorrow's going to be chaos," he predicted.
"Absolutely," Sirenia agreed cheerfully.
"Complete disaster," Lhoralaine confirmed.
"Thirty students with no idea what they're doing."
"Thirty-ONE," Sirenia corrected. "I'm joining too."
Lhoralaine's eyes widened. "Wait, you already know how to fight—"
"I want to learn the Sweet Chin Music." Sirenia's grin was unrepentant. "That kick was AMAZING."
"...I want to learn the Pedigree," Lhoralaine admitted quietly.
Hexia looked between them, these two women who'd fought over him, killed for him, refused to let him die alone.
"Fine. Thirty-two students."
They walked toward the palace together, the setting sun painting the Golden Storm City in shades of orange and red.
Somewhere in the distance, Durgan's manic laughter echoed as he began construction on automated turrets.
Somewhere else, Kiara was explaining to her fifteen warriors that yes, they absolutely HAD to wake up at dawn even though they hurt everywhere.
And in the palace, maps and blueprints and economic reports waited.
But for now, in this moment, Hexia walked between two women who loved him, toward a future that no longer felt like a prison.
Tomorrow, he'd teach.
Tonight, he'd rest.
And in five months, when the monsters came pouring from the Lonely Druid's Dungeon, they'd find an empire defended not just by automated weapons and tactical genius...
But by warriors who'd learned that sometimes the most devastating weapon was the one you carried in your bones.
Heads would roll.
But first, bodies would fly.
---
To be continued…