2025-12-10 22:31:08The battlefield screamed. Dust clawed at his eyes, sand stinging his skin like tiny needles. The roar of combat hit like a tidal wave—deafening, relentless, impossible to ignore.
“Town militia! Spread out! Advance! Converge for the attack!”
“Shadowed Ones! Assault!”
Ares Valen’s voice cut through the chaos. Sharp, commanding, a blade slicing through silk. Every word carried weight, authority, fire. He didn’t just give orders—he owned the battlefield.
From the front, the town militia surged forward. Shields locked into neat, convex formations. The rhythm of their advance was steady, drum-like, a heartbeat amid the chaos. Behind them, the Shadow Regiment moved silently. Eleven masked figures slid forward, graceful and almost invisible, like smoke lifting off the desert floor. You could almost forget they were there, until an orc fell awkwardly into the sand, a sword buried where it shouldn’t be.
The encirclement snapped shut.
Even in this foreign desert, the orc wolf riders were terrifying. Massive beasts, muscles rippling, eyes glowing red, jaws foaming with rage. Ordinary Roman tactics strained under such momentum. Shields rattled. Spears bent. Formations wavered.
Ares Valen did not flinch.
He charged straight into the front. No ridge, no cover, just him. Crimson plume cutting the air like fire.
“Kill!”
The roar from his chest was more than a command—it was a force of nature. A declaration that the desert belonged to no one but him this day.
A wolf-beast lunged. Jaws snapping wide enough to swallow a man whole. Ares’s blade fell in a perfect, merciless arc. Greenish blood spattered across his armor and hair. He didn’t blink. Not once.
Combat Mode ignited.
Fear disappeared. Hesitation evaporated. Pain became a faint echo in the background. Precision replaced everything. Cold, exacting, unflinching. Every movement is measured. Every strike is decisive. Centuries of Roman combat doctrine thrummed in his bones. He wasn’t fighting anymore. He was executing.
The General’s Guard followed, loyal and iron-bound, struggling to keep up but refusing to leave him alone in the storm. Ares moved like living lightning. Another orc swung at him—parry, sidestep, rip beneath the ribs. Another fell silent before it could scream.
A knight trapped in the crush looked up in despair. Then his eyes widened. Ares’s horse vaulted over fallen bodies. Sword swung in a deadly arc, beheading the orc whose axe had hovered over the knight’s skull.
“General!” The knight’s voice cracked. Tears streaked through dust and sweat. They weren’t following a commander. They were following a man who bled for them, risked everything, pulled them back from death. Even the orcs sensed it.
“R-Roar! What a terrifying human! Who’s the real orc here?”
Ares ignored the outburst. Pain was irrelevant. Wounds opened like bruised flowers across his limbs, bleeding freely, but Combat Mode rendered it meaningless. His body moved like iron.
From the shadows came another command. “Kill!”
Eleven masked warriors of the Shadow Regiment erupted forward. Silent, swift, ghost-like. Each strike precise, elegant, fatal. Wolf mounts slowed under the relentless assault. Orc riders felt their courage drain like sand slipping through fingers.
At the front, the militia maintained rhythm. “Raise shields! Thrust spears!” Spears stabbed forward in perfect unison. Wolf riders, stripped of momentum, skewered alongside their mounts, were dragged into the sand. A final shriek cut through the air. Then silence.
Dust settled over a battlefield of orc and wolf bodies. Each one struck down, a testament to Roman discipline and strategy.
A chime echoed in Ares’s mind:
[Ding. Glorious victory. Enemy special cavalry: 38 eliminated. Roman casualties: zero. Reward: 1 Commander’s Star. Combat Mode: +1 level. Town militia strength +1. Shadowed Ones' strength +1. General’s Guard strength +1. War Glory earned: 3,800. Enter Roman City Interface?]
Enter.
The desert dissolved into streams of data.
Rome’s Golden LedgerThe city interface unfolded like golden parchment. Rome’s might, clear and precise:
Leader: Roman Senate
City: Rome (Large City) Public Sentiment: Loyal Population: 120,000 Public Order: 165% Treasury: 130,000 gold, 200,000 grain, 100,000 ironRedeemables glimmered: peasants, militia, youth army, diplomats, markets, training grounds.
Ares frowned. Even here, Rome’s chains gripped him. Farmland? Desert. Nothing would grow, no matter how much War Glory he spent. Reality outweighed mechanics.
“3,800 points… now, what do I do with you?”
The Weight of a Crown
A bitter memory stabbed him. Upgrading the Leader’s Temple three times had burned the starting funds. Debt: -1,670 gold.
He gritted his teeth. “Patch the hole first. Exchange 2,000 gold.”
[Ding. 2,000 gold redeemed. Debt cleared. Cost: 1,000 War Glory]
Fair trade. Defense came next. If wolf cavalry returned, his territory would die before it could breathe.
“Exchange wooden palisade. 500 points.”
Population. Men. Workers. Soldiers.
“One peasant unit. 500 points.”
Food. Nothing else mattered without it.
“Exchange all remaining for grain.”
1,300 jin of grain appeared. War Glory depleted. Interface exited.
A Village Born from NothingThe desert stretched endlessly, yellow and silent. Yet along the Lan Nong River, life flickered. A palisade rose, uneven but sturdy. Smoke curled from new fire pits. 240 young peasants knelt, daggers in hand, crimson cloth draped over them. Gold and grain at his feet.
For the first time since arriving, Ares felt anchored. Roman soldiers cleaned the battlefield, wide-eyed, then erupted into cheers.
“Not that hard, huh?” he laughed, exhilarated. Reckless. Part of him wanted to ride back out, just to face another wave immediately.
[Ding. Campaign concluded. Exit Combat Mode and Commander Mode?]
Exit.
Heat drained from his blood. Body swayed.
[General’s remaining HP: 73]
[Warhorse buff removed]The war god vanished. A battered young man remained. Hands shook. Clothes tattered. Skin shredded. In his palm lay the severed head of an orc. Nausea hit him like a wave.
Did I… really do all this?
Pain screamed from ignored wounds. Blood filled his mouth. He collapsed.
“Combat Mode… overdraft on life.”
Darkness claimed him.
Dreams of Life LostSunlight brushed his face. Not a battlefield. Home. Wife smiling. Warm apartment. Familiar scent.
Then a hospital hallway. Cries of birth. Heart pounding. Legs trembling, he ran.
The baby cried.
“Mother and child are safe,” said a masked doctor.
He sank to his knees, sobbing. A father. But the child… green-skinned. Tiny fangs. Blinking at him.
“This… this isn’t—!”
He roared.
And jolted awake.
Awakening to Reality“Priest, sir?” A Shade Guard shook him.
Temple ceiling above. Leg throbbed. Nightmare faded like smoke.
“How long… was I out?”
“One full day and night, sir.”
He rose, limped to the copper mirror. Pale-blue hair. Bright eyes. Sharp brows. Handsome… but unfamiliar. Wife’s face. Child… life lost in a cruel twist.
The temple is empty, except for the towering Jupiter statue. Golden armor glimmered. Thunderbolt in hand. Chariots of sun and moon swirled.
He bowed.
“Lord Jupiter… Guardian of Rome… protect me. And… show me a way home.”
Light exploded. Golden radiance poured from the statue. A Roman sword hovered midair. Eleven Shade Guards dropped to their knees, chanting. He barely noticed.
A mechanical, divine voice thundered in his mind:
“Guardian God of Rome, Jupiter, bestows upon Caesar Yang the Sword of the War God. Grant Caesar Yang authority as a War Priest. Level 1 Priest Skill unlocked: War Roar.”
Ares’s breath caught. Battlefield had shown its strength. This? This was something more.
He was chosen.
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Chapter 143: The Martial War God
“They fled? The royal battle guard actually fled?”King Uhtred of Tyland stood upon the highest tower of Huana Duo, his hands resting heavily on the cold stone parapet. The wind tugged at his cloak and carried with it the distant clang of armor and iron. Around him gathered princes in jeweled robes, ministers with drawn faces, and noblemen who no longer remembered how to speak.Below the walls stretched a sight so vast that it seemed unreal.An ocean of soldiers.Nine hundred thousand.Their banners swayed like a forest of iron trees. The sky above them looked dimmed, swallowed by scarlet and gold standards that moved in steady waves. Sunlight flashed across polished armor in blinding bursts. The ground trembled under the synchronized march of countless boots. Even from this height, the sound was relentless. It seeped into bone and breath alike.“Father… what are we to do?”The eldest prince stepped forward, though his voice betrayed him. It cracked despite his effort to appear compos
Chapter 142: The Martial God Realm
The Weight of HistoryHistory remembers the War of the Gods as a distant blaze that burned too brightly and then collapsed into ash. When it ended, the world did not shatter. It changed. The old era faded, and what scholars now call the Age of Magic quietly took its place.In the present age of the Tianyan Continent, five beings alone are acknowledged as true Main Gods. They possess divine realms of their own and command the faith of uncounted millions. Their names are spoken with reverence and fear alike.The Dark Nether God.The Goddess of Light.The Martial God of Valor.The God of Adventure.The Holy Law God.Of these five, two stand far above the rest in influence. The Goddess of Light and the Dark Nether God receive the faith of nearly four-fifths of the continent. Their Churches, known as the Light Alliance and the Dark Alliance, spread across lands ruled by non-human races. They rarely clash directly, yet their rivalry shapes politics, wars, and destinies alike.Humanity, by c
Chapter 141: Wolf Cavalry Raid
“He is not my father. He is not my king. I hate him. And I hate that fool as well.”Ailina’s voice trembled in the darkness of the underground corridor. Whether the tremor came from anger or heartbreak, even she could not have said. Sometimes the two felt the same.She stood beneath flickering torchlight, no more than seventeen, slender and tall in a way that made her seem almost fragile. Her pale blue hair fell to her hips, catching the light like silver water against the damp stone walls. In another place, under a summer sky perhaps, she would have looked ethereal. Here, in the bowels of the royal palace, she looked like a caged star.If one observed her carefully, one might notice something familiar in the curve of her brow, in the sharpness of her gaze. A faint resemblance to the Holy Emperor, Ares Valen.“Ailina, do not speak that way.”The woman inside the cell stepped forward. Chains around her wrists shifted with a soft metallic sound. Though hardship had carved subtle lines a
Chapter 140: The Month of Harvest
Autumn arrived on the Tianyan Continent without ceremony.There was no warning. No grand signal. One morning, the air simply felt different. Cooler. Lighter. As if the world had taken a quiet breath and decided to change its mood.The wind slipped across stone walls and bare skin like cold water, gentle but persistent. It left behind a faint ache that crept into muscles and bones, the kind you only noticed after standing still for too long. Wherever it passed, green did not disappear at once. It hesitated. Then slowly, almost reluctantly, it surrendered to gold.Leaves loosened their grip on ancient branches and drifted down in lazy spirals, as though the land itself were shedding an old layer it no longer needed.“Dark Alliance. Dark God Realm. Three years.”Ares Valen spoke the words softly, barely louder than the wind. He repeated them once more, letting them settle in his chest.Three years.He stood alone on the highest balcony of the imperial palace, hands resting on the cold st
Chapter 139: Goblin Machinery
“The Eighteen Dwarven Principalities share a common enemy with you.”Dwarf King Ovgar’s voice echoed throughout the Holy Imperial Palace, deep and steady, like stone grinding against stone. Every word he spoke carried confidence, the kind that came from centuries of pride and a belief that his people still stood at the center of the world.“As long as you are willing to supply one third of your mithril production to the dwarves, the Holy Mountain of Light, the Alps, will be burned to ash. Five hundred thousand dwarven warriors will march at the front of your Holy Legion.”The declaration was bold. Heavy. Almost theatrical.It sounded convincing. Impressive, even.Ovgar spoke as if the matter were already decided, as though this alliance were a gift rather than a demand. He did not notice the brief change in Ares Valen’s expression. It was subtle, lasting no more than a heartbeat.Disdain.Five hundred thousand dwarves as a vanguard.At first glance, it sounded like an offer no empire
Chapter 138: Azure Blood
After Yana finally explained everything, the truth settled in.Not all at once.Not gently.It came like a slow pressure against the chest, the kind that makes breathing difficult before the pain even arrives.Ares Valen understood. Completely. And with that understanding came the sharp and deeply uncomfortable realization that he had been wrong. Not slightly wrong. Not misguided.Wrong in a way that could never be undone.The so called azure blood of the Naga sea sirens was never a racial blessing. It was not divine favor, nor a miracle gifted by the sea gods. It carried no glory. No honor.It was something far more fragile.Far more cruel.Azure blood was the maiden’s blood of a young Naga sea siren.Nothing more. Nothing less.Among their kind, it existed only once in a lifetime. One single moment that could never be repeated. The instant a sea siren surrendered her first night, the azure blood vanished forever. No ritual could recover it. No god could restore it. Once gone, it was
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