The Supreme War God Has Returned!

*****

West End Battleground.

If one were to speak of the most dreaded, ruthless, horrific, and nightmarish battleground, one so ancient that it has become the very symbol of death, doom, and destruction, then one is inevitably speaking of West End.

This was no ordinary battlefield… no.

It was a graveyard posing as land, a cursed stretch of earth where millions of soldiers had already fallen and where countless legendary cultivators… names once capable of shaking kingdoms, had met their ends in the most ruthless, unceremonious ways imaginable.

West End was a place that had tasted far more battles than celebrations… if it had ever tasted celebration at all.

It was a destination every soldier prayed never to see, the sort of place gossiped about in hushed, horrified voices, as though merely saying its name aloud might summon misfortune.

As a soldier, being assigned to West End was far worse than receiving a death sentence. At least execution promised a swift end… a single moment of terror, then darkness.

But West End… it had patience, able to kill you inch by inch, etching pain into your bones and terror into your soul long before death finally arrived.

Out of the seven days that made up a week, a soldier stationed at West End fought for no fewer than five days.

And the remaining two? They weren’t rest days. They were waiting days… days spent sleeping with weapons clutched to the chest, eyes half-open, and nerves stretched so tight they threatened to snap at the slightest sound, because battle could erupt at any given moment.

A cough, a signal flare, and a single misplaced footstep were all it took.

For over five centuries now and counting, this has been the unchanging situation at the West End.

So much blood had been spilled here to the extent that it had long surpassed the region's rainfall many times over.

In fact, the soil and vegetation had long since lost their original color, permanently stained a deep crimson red, all thanks to the excess blood spilled.

And the burial grounds… no, calling them burial grounds was nothing but being generous.

They were continents of human carcasses, vast expanses several times larger than the lands occupied by humans in thriving cities, and rows upon rows of nameless graves, many without complete bodies, and many without markers… because when death became this common, even mourning grew tired.

Five centuries ago, no one could have imagined that a conflict that began so insignificantly would swell into something so monstrous.

It had started with a misunderstanding, a sliver of envy, and a spark small enough to laugh at in hindsight.

That spark had ignited into open hostility, and before the world could even blink, five nations had joined forces to wage an all-out war against a single country.

Every single day at West End filled soldiers with the same two questions… questions that gnawed at the mind like starving beasts:

‘Will I survive tomorrow?’

‘Is today the day I die?’

Surviving a battle here wasn’t something you celebrated. In fact, it didn’t bring joy. If anything, it brought dread, exhaustion, and a deep kind of guilt.

You survived while your comrades didn’t. You lived while others were reduced to memories and screams. And worse still… You never knew whether the next clash would finally collect you as well.

That had always been the truth of the West End.

Always. Well… Except today.

….

At this very moment, West End was the complete opposite of what it had been for five long, blood-soaked centuries.

It was late into the night, yet saying the atmosphere was merely joyful would be the understatement of the century.

West End had never… not even once witnessed this level of madness before.

Millions of soldiers from Country Aran were gathered outside their tents, and right now, every last one of them appeared as though sanity had finally abandoned them.

Some laughed hysterically, some screamed until their voices cracked, and others simply stood there, staring at the sky like men who had just woken from a nightmare they had assumed would never end.

“WHOOOOOO!!!”

Their roars tore through the night, echoing endlessly as though the heavens themselves were cheering alongside them.

The ground trembled, mountains quivered, vehicles rattled, and tents shook violently, appearing as though they were trying to join the celebration.

Battle-hardened soldiers… men who had stared death in the eye more times than they could count, were on their knees at this moment, sobbing without restraint, and pressing their foreheads into the dirt as tears streamed freely.

“Victory at last!!!” they howled, uncaring of shredded throats, ruined voices, or dignity long since buried at West End.

Fireworks exploded wildly overhead, clashing violently with the deafening crack of gunfire fired straight into the sky. It was reckless, loud, and completely undisciplined.

However, absolutely no one cared.

“All hail the mighty Supreme War God!!!”

The chant spread like wildfire… no, like an avalanche, crashing through the battlefield with unstoppable force, filling the air until there was no space left for silence itself.

These were men war had brutalized, men forged through endless slaughter, and men who had taken lives without blinking, watching their comrades die without screaming.

Yet right now…

They looked like men who had spent their entire lives confined to the hospital beds, only to suddenly discover they could run, laugh, and breathe.

And how would they not?

The war that had lasted centuries… the nightmare that had consumed generations… had finally ended.

That’s right.

It was over.

No one… absolutely no one had foreseen that the war would end just like that.

Not the soldiers, not the generals, and not even the most optimistic fools.

It made no sense, none whatsoever... especially because not long ago, another major battle had concluded, one in which thousands of soldiers had died, and in the end, no victor and no vanquished. Only more names added to the burial grounds, and more hatred carefully piled away for the next clash.

And yet… yet…

Without any warning, ceremony, or even a single drumbeat to announce it, their pillar, the highly respected, near-mythical Supreme War God of Country Aran, had ventured alone into enemy territory.

No army had followed him, no banners had flown, and no allies had flanked his sides.

Yet even so… he had crushed the enemies.

He had torn through their commanders and leaders like a storm tearing through paper walls, and single-handedly, he had broken the backbone of five nations, ending a war that had claimed millions of lives, destroyed entire bloodlines, and caused far more suffering than any benefit for Aran.

Even now, it still felt unreal, like some cruel hallucination brought on by exhaustion and blood loss.

Soldiers slapped themselves awake, dread enveloped others, half-expecting someone to scream “Just kidding!” at any moment.

Some stared blankly into the distance, their minds refusing to accept the truth… because hope, after five centuries, felt more dangerous than despair.

None of them had ever imagined something like this.

Sure, they all knew their Supreme War God was monstrously powerful. But this? It went way beyond strength and logic.

Five countries had joined forces to annihilate Country Aran, and their combined might was several times more terrifying than Aran’s remaining strength.

While Country Aran had bled itself dry over the centuries, its resources stretched to the breaking point, and its soldiers drafted until even cooks carried weapons, the enemy still possessed reserves upon reserves.

Fresh troops, hidden weapons, and untouched stockpiles.

Rumors even say a few deity-level cultivators were lurking within their main fortress… existences so powerful that even mentioning them made people lower their voices instinctively.

And yet…

One man, a single individual whose appearance was recognized by fewer than a handful of people within the country, had ventured into their midst and destroyed the combined forces of five nations.

So how could the army not celebrate?

At this moment, even the most iron-blooded and cold-hearted commanders… men known for punishing soldiers to their limits, were on their knees, their bodies trembling as tears carved paths through their dirt-streaked faces.

Their eyes burned crimson, not from rage, but from overwhelming relief and peace.

They could finally return home, see their loved ones again, hold their children, and sleep peacefully without anticipating a sudden attack.

It was…

“Glory be to the Supreme War God!”

“Live long, Sir Supreme War God!!!”

“All hail the Supreme War God!!!!”

Their chants rolled endlessly across the camp, crashing against the night like unrestrained thunder.

Excitement and relief spilled everywhere, uncontained, and unstoppable… like men who had been drowning for centuries only to finally break the surface.