2025-12-10 22:31:45The northern plains stretched endlessly. Barren. Empty. Relentless. The wind cut across the yellow sand, carrying tiny whirlwinds and the desperate cries of men fleeing for their lives. “Everyone hurry—get inside the village up ahead!” someone shouted. Like water bursting through a broken dam, the survivors surged forward, stumbling over the uneven ground. Panic drove them. Instinct drove them. Fear made their legs run faster than their minds could catch up.
Among the crowd ran Emiyas. Once, he had been a palace guard of the Kingdom of Tyrande. Now, every limb screamed for rest. His lungs burned. His muscles protested with every step. And yet, he did not slow. Discipline was carved into his very bones, stronger than iron, deeper than pain. Around him, others dropped shields, weapons, even shoes. Not him. He ran in chainmail, silver rings clinking softly with each stride. For an ordinary man, it would have been unbearable. For Emiyas, it was nothing.
“There… was no village here before…” A flicker of doubt, quick and fleeting as a sparrow, crossed his mind. But there was no time for questions—not here, not now. In this desolate frontier, survival was not about thinking. It was about reacting. Fast. Correctly.
Three forces dominated these lands: the barbaric Luen Tribe, marauding half-orc clans, and scattered humans barely clinging to life. The figures ahead were human. That was enough. Emiyas didn’t hesitate. He sprinted toward the open palisade, his boots kicking up sand and dust.
“Emiyas.”
The voice cut through the wind—cold, raspy, unnerving. Kamel. “There are troops inside that palisade. Something’s wrong.”
Two black-cloaked figures trailed the mage, their movements stiff and unnatural, stalking like predators on tiptoe.
Emiyas glanced at Kamel, calm but brimming with disdain. “Honorable Dark Mage Kamel, if you don’t want shelter, go ahead. Run to the First Fortress. I won’t follow.”
Two years of forced cooperation had taught him one thing: Kamel was dangerous. Remorseless. A fugitive of the Holy Church’s Inquisition, hiding in the prince’s retinue to conduct god-knows-what dark experiments in this forsaken wilderness.
A humorless, icy chuckle followed. “Hehehe…”
Emiyas ignored it and pushed harder, sprinting toward the gates, each breath sharp and ragged, heart hammering like a war drum.
Inside Aretien
“Hurry! Move aside! Let them in!” Ares Valen barked, his voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.
The town militia moved swiftly, forming a passage three men wide. Refugees poured into Aretien, trembling, terrified, clinging to the rough wooden walls as if the splintered planks could save them from certain death.
But the barbarians were close. Their roars tore across the plains, echoing off the distant hills. Every few seconds, another scream shredded the air, another body hit the yellow sand. Crimson stains spread, stark against the sun-baked earth. These weren’t men. They were monsters. Muscles knotted like twisted ropes of steel, eyes wild, faces smeared with blood. Some had long braids matted with gore. Others casually dangled human heads from their belts, trophies of slaughter.
Ares Valen’s jaw tightened. The fight had begun.
The First Clash
“Town militia—shields up! Advance!”
Clatter—clatter—clatter. A hundred twenty militia moved as one. Shields overlapped like ironwood, spears angled outward like deadly fangs. They marched toward the barbarians, who were too busy in their killing frenzy to notice the disciplined advance.
Ares had taken a grave risk by rescuing the archers and light infantry. Without them, defending the flat, open plains of Aretien would have been suicide. With them… maybe, just maybe, he could hold the line.
And then he noticed it. Among the refugees, faces that didn’t belong—suspicious, calculating. Hidden Ones, he realized. Silent. Lethal. Waiting. Always waiting.
“Shields—thrust!” Spears shot forward. Barbarians dropped, heavy thuds echoing across the field. Victory? Not yet.
Then—a roar. A sound that shook the ground and rattled teeth.
The barbarian chieftain had noticed the formation. Horned helmet gleaming, towering above the rest, he beheaded another victim before fixing bloodshot eyes on Yang Feng’s troops. “Raaahhh!”
Scattered barbarians abandoned their trophies, converging on the intruders. Even the earlier refugees gave Ares a pitying glance before staggering toward the palisade. They knew what was coming. And so did he.
The Transformation
“Formation—retreat!”
Their goal had been achieved. But the chieftain sensed the prey slipping.
“Roooar!” The ground trembled beneath him.
Then it happened.
Bodies swelled grotesquely. Muscles bulged like iron. Veins writhed beneath the skin. Height surged from two meters to over three. And then—a blur.
“Ahhhh!” A militia soldier was ripped apart by a barbarian who had been dozens of meters away just moments before. Instant acceleration. Berserk. Pure nightmare.
“Roar! Roar! Roar!”
More afterimages tore through the formation. Screams erupted. Shields shattered. Men flew like rag dolls. Ares’s mind raced. These were not men… not beasts… monsters.
The militia line collapsed. Time to act.
He activated the skill buried deep in his War Priest bloodline:
War Ritual Skill — War Roar!
Blue veins bulged along his temples. Muscles tightened beneath golden armor. His grip on the War God’s Sword trembled with raw, unbridled power.
“UWAAAHHH—KILL!”
A shockwave erupted—not merely sound, but force, physical, explosive, sweeping outward and flattening everything before it.
Thunder on the Battlefield
The chieftain took the first hit. Like a hammer. Blood erupted from eyes, ears, nose, mouth—seven openings at once. He was thrown into the air, twisted grotesquely, and crashed down. Mind gone.
Ares lunged. The War God’s Sword gleamed like a cold star. One strike—flesh and bone fell like wet parchment. Blood arced through the air. The chieftain split in two. His spirit drifted faintly into the blade, eternally bound.
The front lines shattered. Berserkers tumbled, dazed, unconscious, hurled aside.
“Kill!” Ares charged through the carnage. Blood boiling. Mind ice-cold. Commander Stars is enhancing him. Every Roman technique unleashed: swordsmanship, grapples, brutal cuts. Limbs flew. Weapons shattered. He was no longer human. Thunder God reborn.
Collapse of FanaticismThe Luen Tribe had worshipped the Thunder God for generations. Now… legends had come alive. Ares, clad in golden armor, roaring with divine fury. Fear replaced frenzy.
The first barbarian fled. Then dozens. Then hundreds. The formation dissolved. Both armies collapsed, retreating in opposite directions.
Ares froze. “…They ran?” Barely twenty dead. Nearly a hundred capable fighters, and they fled.
No time to dwell. Horn blown. Militia shattered, fleeing without looking back.
Then—whoosh. Arrow. Berserker dead. Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh! Archers returned, raining vengeance. Blood, screams, the plains painted red.
AftermathDing.
Battle result: Narrow Victory
Enemies eliminated: 97 special infantry Town militia casualties: 61 dead, 49 wounded Town militia strength increased to Level 2 Reward: 9,800 War Glory Enemy chieftain slain: Bonus 10,000 War Glory Influence increased: 1-StarAres exhaled. Relief and exhaustion washed over him. The world was insane—but at least the rewards were real.
“Enter exchange interface.”
City of Rome — Military ExchangeA holographic interface unfolded:
Leader: Roman Senate
City: Rome (Large) Population: 120,000 Public Order: 165% Growth: +7% Resources: Gold 140,000, Food 300,000, Iron 100,000Units available:
Peasants – 39 squads (500 War Glory) Town Militia – 20 squads (1,000 War Glory) Roman Youth Army – 10 squads (1,500 War Glory)Buildings available:
Governor’s Residence – 2,500 Town Barracks – 1,200 Wooden Walls – 720 Town Market – 700 Town Streets – 900 Blacksmith – 700 Training Grounds – 2,100 Horse Ranch – 3,500Ares considered his options. Expand too fast, and the town dies. He chose:
Exchange: 3 units Roman Youth Army
Build: Governor’s Residence, Barracks, Streets, Wooden Walls, Training Grounds Convert remaining resources into foodAretien would rise—or fall.
And as the wind howled across the plains once more, one truth rang out clear: the Thunder God had returned. And the world would never forget.
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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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