2025-12-10 22:31:55Thunder rolled—not from the clouds above, but deep inside Ares Valen’s mind. The prompts kept coming. Relentless. Mechanical. Cold. Like a clock that wouldn’t stop ticking, reminding him of every choice, every point spent, every decision that had led him here.
“Ding… Roman Youth Army, Team 3, successfully redeemed—4,500 points of War Glory consumed.”
“Governor’s Residence—2,500 points consumed.”
“Town Barracks—1,200 points consumed.”
“Town Streets—900 points consumed.”
“Wooden Wall and Training Grounds—1,620 points consumed.”
“8,020 catties of grain—8,020 points consumed.”
Each announcement landed like a boulder thrown into a still pond. The ripples didn’t fade—they surged outward, shaking the Tianyan Continent as if the world itself were breathing, quivering beneath some unseen hand.
Then light. Blinding, impossible light. Marble buildings descended from the sky, polished to perfection, reflecting the sun in dazzling bursts of light. Wooden palisades twisted and warped, solidifying into walls that could withstand any siege. Streets of polished stone appeared beneath clouds of dust. Whole structures—the kind seen only in paintings or ancient scrolls—existed. From nothing.
At the center of it all, a red wave surged forward. Four hundred eighty young men, Team 3 of the Roman Youth Army. They moved with a precision that made the very air tense, pride radiating off them like heat. Crimson cloaks whipped in the wind. Bronze helms shone like fire under the sun. Shields struck the ground in perfect rhythm, sending vibrations up into the crowd’s hearts.
The townsfolk and refugees froze. Mouths open. Hearts hammering. Magic? Gods? No. Something they couldn’t even name.
“G-Goddess of Light…” a woman whispered.
“They… they fell from the sky!”
“Kneel! KNEEL!” a man shouted, shaking uncontrollably.
And they obeyed. Kneeling. Trembling. Praying to powers that would never answer. But the “miracle” before them? Not divine. It was Rome.
Rome Reborn in the Wilderness
Ares Valen ascended the freshly formed marble stairs. His golden cuirass glinted in the sunlight, almost blinding him for a moment. He paused at the top, breathing in the astonishing view. Below him, chants of “Long live Caesar!” rolled across the square like thunder.
It hit him harder than any collapsing building. These weren’t units. Not at all. They were alive. Vibrant. Too real to be some game illusion. Every detail matched the Divine Hidden Warriors’ reports: the Senate, temple priests, teleportation gates, soldiers. All real.
But who had orchestrated this? Who had pulled the invisible strings? He didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Only the weight of responsibility pressed down on him. Heavy. Suffocating.
Below, Yaretian transformed. Refugee shelters became Roman frameworks. The Governor’s Residence rose at the street’s end, marble and immaculate, proud as if daring the world to challenge it. Barracks would house a thousand soldiers. The training grounds sprawled across half the town, soon to become the War God Plaza—where warriors would be forged in fire, blood, and sweat.
“In your name,” Ares Valen bellowed, voice carrying across the square, “these barracks shall be the Roman Youth Camp! And this training ground—the War God Plaza!”
“Long live Caesar!” the youths shouted back, voices crackling like wildfire.
Ares felt a pang he could not name. He was sixteen. Sixteen years in body, yet the years behind his eyes felt older than centuries. Watching them, he remembered laughter, chaos, foolishness from another life—college campuses, friends, reckless energy. All gone. Here, youth was sharpened, tempered, burned into soldiers. Fire and blood, nothing gentle.
The Price of Discipline
Outside the wooden wall, silence pressed down like a heavy hand. Ten militia deserters knelt in the sand, hands bound, faces streaked with tears.
Lucius stood over them, gripping the Sword of the War God. Stern. Unyielding. Yet behind his eyes, a flicker of sorrow lingered.
“Deserters are the shame of Rome! Decimation Law—EXECUTE!”
The sword rose. Fell. Heads rolled. Blood seeped into the sand. Roman blood. Roman hands.
Ares hesitated. They’re just militia…
Lucius’s words cut through doubt like steel. “General. Break the law, and Rome has no legions. Only armed mobs.”
And so the executions continued. Silence and terror intertwined with the heat of the setting sun. Rome was forged on bones. Tianyan Continent would learn the same lesson.
The Whisper of Trouble
Inside the town, awe clung to the air like dust. But whispers slid through the crowd like shadows.
“What is that ability? Forbidden magic?”
“Impossible. That child… he shouldn’t even be alive.”
Carmel, mustache twitching nervously, watched Ares with growing dread. Emiyas, beside him, stiffened, uneasy.
Then a small figure emerged. A girl. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Trembling. Head down.
Ares slowed. “You are…?”
Her blue eyes lifted, lips quivering. Emotions tangled—fear, hope, grief. Then she leapt into him, sobbing violently.
“Beggar Prince… M-Meibao’s grandpa… they were killed by bad people…”
Her tears fell onto his armor. Her arms clung to him as if letting go would shatter her. Memories flooded his mind—not his memories, yet they felt real. The starving boy was saved by this girl and her grandfather. Without them, Wol Town would have claimed him long ago.
He stroked her hair gently. “Meibao… It’s okay. From now on, I’ll take care of you.”
Two lives. One promise.
The Nineteenth Prince Declares His Authority
Ares lifted his voice across the chaotic square.
“Listen! I am the Nineteenth Prince of Tyland! Royal House of the Purple Iris! Baron of Wol Town! Wol Town is gone—this is your home now, Aretian!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Carmel paled. Alive? Powerful? Changed? And he had witnessed it all. Terror gripped him like a vice.
He whispered a spell—jagged, forbidden. The air trembled as it left his lips.
“Death Coil!”
Black mist erupted beneath two Roman soldiers. Tendrils writhed, crushing, constricting.
“AHHH—!”
Bodies shriveled. When the mist cleared, only two decades-old corpses remained.
Ares felt cold sweat trickle down his spine. Magic. Deadly magic.
A Fool’s Final Mistake
Bang! Two black-cloaked mages smashed the wooden wall, creating a crude escape route.
“Heh… Emiyas, stay if you want. I’m leaving!” Carmel shouted, darting through the opening.
A cold wind brushed his neck. The world flipped. Headless, he collapsed. Blood sprayed like a crimson fountain.
A figure appeared beside him. Silver mask. Black armor. Twin daggers dripping with blood. Shadow made flesh.
“Death…”
Carmel’s head rolled away, dragged by a desert mouse into its burrow.
The remaining mages froze mid-spell. Limbs stiffened, fell to the sand. Dead. Silence returned to the desert.
Aretian—The Birth of a New Power
The Roman Youth Army tightened its formation. Refugees gaped. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Ares stood in the center. Marble buildings gleamed. Soldiers roared. Civilians trembled. Death lingered in the air like smoke.
Not long ago, he had been a starving boy wandering Wol Town’s markets. Now? Prince. Warlord. Rising power. Commander of Rome itself.
The world had no idea what was coming.
The sands whispered his name. The wind carried it. And Aretian’s heart—Roman resurgence—beat for the first time.
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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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