Dressed in the black dragon robe that only the four continental emperors could wear, Zhenwu Shenquan crossed his arms behind his back and ambled into the conference room. His shimmering golden hair swayed at his back. His eyes, of the same hue, shone like resplendent stars, pulling in the gazes of all that glanced his way.
"Zhen...Zhenwu Shenquan." The sudden appearance of the True Martial Divine Fist, only true king of the Empire, petrified even the Great Preceptor.
State rulers might style themselves as kings and queens, but outside their domains, their titles had no worth, not even comparable to the lowest of spirit nobles. As far as the empire was concerned, they were the managers of the various pseudo-mortal states, not monarchs in any right.
