Rise of the Peerless God of War

Chapter 20

The battle against the Shadow Moon Sect was brutal and swift.

Fire clashed with corrupted shadow magic in the space before Tianlong's tomb, but the cultists had made a crucial mistake—they were fighting in a place sacred to heroes, and the valley itself rejected their presence.

The sakura trees turned against them. The very ground beneath their feet became hostile.

You can't desecrate a hero's resting place and expect the land to remain neutral.

Within minutes, the surviving Shadow Moon Sect members were fleeing back into the forest, their leader's parting words echoing behind them: "This isn't over! Our masters will not be denied!"

Their masters. The celestial beings from other dimensions.

The ones who want to break into our world.

The ones we're trying to stop.

"Good riddance," Sera said, her shadows settling back into their normal patterns.

Good riddance. Until they come back with reinforcements.

Until their masters decide to take a more direct interest.

Until this becomes a real war.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, they had a tomb to explore.

Tianlong's tomb. The repository of War God techniques.

The place where I might finally understand what it means to carry this power.

The entrance to the tomb was magnificent—stone steps carved with intricate reliefs depicting battles from across the centuries. Ancient runes glowed along the walls, providing just enough light to see by.

Heroes. All of them. Every carving shows someone who died protecting others.

Someone who understood what sacrifice means.

But as they descended into the tomb, the first obstacle became apparent. The passage was blocked by a massive stone slab covered in ancient script.

A riddle. Of course it's a riddle.

Because the tomb has to test us one more time.

Has to make sure we understand what we're asking for.

"What does it say?" Jin asked weakly, still leaning heavily on Draven's shoulder.

Jin. Still hurt, still exhausted, but refusing to give up.

Still willing to see this through.

That's what heroes do. They don't quit.

Draven read the ancient script aloud: "What is worth dying for?"

What is worth dying for? The fundamental question of heroism.

The thing that separates heroes from everyone else.

The thing that makes sacrifice meaningful.

"That's... specific," Lyra said, studying the stone slab. "What happens if we get it wrong?"

Get it wrong? Look around. This place is designed to kill people.

Get it wrong and we probably die.

Small text at the bottom of the slab provided the answer: "Wrong answers trigger poison darts. Choose wisely."

Poison darts. Lovely.

Because apparently the valley's guardians weren't enough.

Because we need more ways to die.

"So what's the answer?" Sera asked. "What is worth dying for?"

What is worth dying for? I know this one.

The academy heroes' memories are full of people who found the answer.

People who gave everything for others.

"Others," Draven said without hesitation. "The answer is others. People you've never met, who will never know your name, who deserve to live free from fear."

Others. The strangers who depend on heroes.

The innocent who need protection.

The future generations who deserve a chance.

The stone slab pulsed once, then split down the middle with a grinding sound. The path ahead was clear.

One down. How many more to go?

The answer came as they continued deeper into the tomb. More stone slabs, each one carved with increasingly complex riddles. And each one deadlier than the last.

"When is retreat the path of honor?"

When staying would cost more lives than leaving. When your pride matters less than other people's survival.

"How does one defeat a superior enemy?"

By refusing to fight on their terms. By changing the rules. By understanding that victory isn't always about strength.

"What is the difference between a warrior and a soldier?"

A soldier serves something greater than themselves. A warrior serves their own desires.

With each correct answer, the path opened further. But the consequences of failure grew more severe.

Poison darts for the first wrong answer. Crushing walls for the second. Lava pits for the third.

The tomb doesn't just want to test our knowledge. It wants to test our commitment.

Our willingness to risk everything for the right answers.

"These aren't just riddles," Jin observed as they carefully navigated past a trap that would have filled the corridor with acid. "They're confessions. They're asking us to define what heroism means."

Jin. Even exhausted and injured, he understands.

These riddles aren't about knowledge. They're about character.

About proving that we deserve the power we seek.

The riddles became more personal, more challenging, as they went deeper.

"What price is too high for victory?"

The price that makes you no better than your enemy. The price that destroys what you're trying to protect.

"When is mercy a weakness?"

When it enables greater suffering. When it allows evil to flourish.

"How do you forgive the unforgivable?"

By understanding that forgiveness is about freeing yourself, not excusing them.

Each answer drew on the accumulated wisdom of heroes who had faced impossible choices. Each riddle forced them to confront the moral complexity of wielding power.

This is what the tomb really protects. Not just techniques, but understanding.

Not just power, but wisdom.

The knowledge of when to fight and when to show mercy.

When to stand firm and when to bend.

When to sacrifice and when to preserve.

"My grandfather would have loved these," Draven said as they solved another riddle about the nature of courage.

Grandfather. The man who started me on this path.

Who gave me the Echo Heart and trusted me to use it wisely.

Who believed I could become something more than the hollow prince.

"He sounds like he was a wise man," Lyra said.

Wise. Yes. Wise enough to know that power without wisdom is destruction.

Wise enough to prepare me for this moment.

Wise enough to trust that I'd find the right path.

The final riddle was the most challenging yet. The stone slab glowed with ominous light, and the text seemed to shift and change as they read it.

"How do you know when you've become the monster?"

The question every hero fears. The line every wielder of power must guard against crossing.

The thing that keeps heroes awake at night.

Draven stared at the riddle for a long moment, feeling the weight of everyone who had answered it before him.

How do you know when you've become the monster?

When you stop asking the question.

When you believe you're beyond judgment.

When you think the rules don't apply to you.

"You know you've become the monster," he said slowly, "when you stop questioning whether you might be one. When you believe you're beyond reproach, beyond the possibility of being wrong. A hero doubts. A monster doesn't."

The most important lesson of all. The thing that separates protectors from tyrants.

Humility. Self-doubt. The willingness to question your own actions.

The understanding that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The final stone slab didn't just split—it crumbled to dust, revealing the path to the tomb's heart.

We did it. We answered every riddle.

We proved ourselves worthy.

We understood what the tomb was really asking.

But as they approached the final chamber, Draven felt a presence that made his blood sing with recognition.

War God Tianlong. He's here.

Waiting for us.

Ready to judge whether we truly deserve his legacy.

The chamber ahead pulsed with ancient power, and in that pulsing, Draven heard the whisper of a voice that had been silent for three centuries.

"Welcome, young inheritors. You have proven your wisdom. Now let us see if you have the courage to claim what that wisdom has earned you."

Courage. The final test.

Not just the courage to fight, but the courage to accept responsibility.

The courage to become what the world needs.

The courage to be heroes.

Sera almost slipped into a spike pit hidden beneath false stones. Only Lyra's quick thinking and wind magic saved her from being impaled.

Close. Too close.

Even with all our wisdom, we're still one mistake away from death.

Lyra herself nearly got crushed by a stone block that dropped from the ceiling. Jin's weakened earth magic barely managed to deflect it.

The tomb isn't done testing us. Even at the very end, it demands perfection.

Demands that we prove we understand the cost of the power we seek.

And Jin, still weak from his earlier sacrifice, stumbled and would have fallen if not for Draven's support.

Jin. Still here. Still fighting.

Still willing to see this through despite everything it's cost him.

That's what heroes do. They don't give up.

They don't quit.

They keep going, no matter what.

The final door stood before them, carved with symbols that seemed to shift and move in the torchlight. At its center was a depression clearly meant for blood—the ultimate sacrifice.

Blood. Of course it ends with blood.

Of course the final test requires us to literally give part of ourselves.

But as Draven prepared to cut his hand, something unexpected happened.

The door began to glow with silver light—the same light that came from his Echo Heart pendant.

The door recognizes me. It knows what I carry.

It knows I'm already connected to the heroes who came before.

I don't need to spill blood. I've already paid the price.

I've already proven myself worthy.

The door swung open without requiring any sacrifice, revealing the chamber where War God Tianlong waited.

Time to meet my predecessor.

Time to claim my inheritance.

Time to become what I was always meant to be.

A War God.