Overlooking the western continent from high above:
The land lay ravaged, marred by a straight, profound gorge stretching halfway across the province of southern You, culminating in a colossal crater, kilometers across, whose fringed edges radiated with a sprawling web of fissures, hundreds of meters long.
This rift exhaled a mist of dark emerald hue, which, though thin in appearance, obscured the depths completely, concealing its measure from even the keenest eyes.
Within the enormous depression, all was turmoil: swirling tendrils of that viridian fog drifted like cotton clumps, some wandering to brush unknown triggers, erupting into miniature twisters. Amid flashes of flame, arcane forces clashed and detonated, rocking the ground slightly beneath the force unleashed.
The terrain for hundreds of kilometers around this fissure and basin appeared as plowed farmland torn asunder—so much bare loosened earth and overturned rocky masses, stripped entirely of any trace of greenery, devoid of even the smallest sign of life.
Above it all, in the unseen skies where ordinary eyes never looked, erratic ripples of primal essence darted without rhythm, zipping ceaselessly across the wasteland. These energy bursts might wink out any moment or might collide, sparking fire from the heavens themselves or spiraling into a raw tempest of pure mana.
This spectacle of apocalypse—akin to doomsday’s eve—arose not over years or decades. No—a mere ten brief exchanges of blows from titanic warriors summoned its wrath.
Thus began this clash: Lord Hao Di and Habuz, upon that fateful first encounter, refrained from custom—heeded no reconnaissance nor measured one another through试探. As if bound by a mutual will, they charged straight at one another with their overwhelming power, striking their opening bell in unreserved force.
The moment Di Jian Tai E (Imperial Sword Tai E) collided with Everlasting Lance, a deep, sorrow-laden hum, mournful as distant weeping, spread far beyond. So keen it rang through the bones of Earth, whispers of its resonance reaching a radius beyond thousands of kilometers.
Lightnings cleaved into landfall, thunder shook the still of night, mountains trembled, spirits were muted.
Within the magical luminous curtains over the Aima city, two great dukes Duke of Demonblood and Duke of Spider stood clad head to toe. Their personal retinue was arranged in line behind; mana guns and other long-range weaponry readied with energies charged to the max—a solemn, silent, foreboding weight filling the air.
Vast distances away in a half-plane’s veil—it made no difference. Both Dukes sensed a horrifying, oppressive force and violent impact clearly even there, to the extent each felt a creeping weakness of will. Meanwhile, ruins on the ground narrated the unfolding spectacle.
Now, following that savage initial engagement, the arena was again cloaked entirely in a Domain. Viridian mists intertwined against amber dusk, clashing, roiling as though great storm clouds swept across gales. In midair, the very silhouettes of those two dueling titans were wholly obscured at the eye’s center.
With a breath of shock, Melanie murmured, “Good grief, Prince Habuz! Judging from appearance alone, who’d expect he would fight so ferociously?”
Giochi gazed toward the battlefield shifting slightly northwards, before flickered toward the silent, distant figure of Prettytiku, visible a mere few hundred meters distant from their observation post. The anxiety on his face was profound.
During that initial hard-press confrontation moments ago, though all saw how Habuz withstood the Emperor’s assault—the fact was undeniable: he fell into a weaker stance. He was resisting, even under threat of an Ascended King among the men-clan, even a freshly ascended, which gave them still a disparity in power tier to reckon.
Yet the contests of Princes of Blood could yield decisive judgments quickly, but not always life or death outcomes. In a war between two Primate Dukes—where both parties possessed might worthy of titles—it was expected for duels to stretch a day and a night when one party used a hit-and-run tactic. Thus, instead of that, Habuz chose to charge his most absolute techniques straight away—such behavior itself already signaled an ominous turn to come.
Upon hearing Melanie’s muttering just now, Giochi sighed softly in silent sympathy. But even so, it was Pretetiko—whose safety had always gripped him most—that stirred a greater fear within. For should Pretetiko face injury or harm under his own watch, it would summon not lesser misfortune but outright annihilation at worst. And should Habuz’s life ever face actual peril, he doubted Pretetiko, once roused, could restrain from intervening, no matter how grim the consequence.
In that moment Pretetiko—positioned ahead suddenly turned. Within several bounding steps, he had strode before Giotte.
“Announce below: speed preparations up. They must return directly here exactly in an hour, no exceptions. Should anyone dawdle or lag, leave them behind on Fiho’s Mainland—and make sure walk, not flown.”
“I understand,” said Giotte, inclining his head formally, although not suppressing an impulse to soothe him slightly. “And there is no cause for over-worry. Prince Habzu holds his strength. No harm may he suffer from an Ascended of Humankind.”
Prettydark’s face wore gloom as he slowly, wordlessly, shook his head. With those unspoken words between the two, he once turned to watch the far-off spectacle, where the battlefield had moved once more across Bubei’s territories this time.
For was not he the Demonblood Duke, heir blessed with two Primordial Bloodlines? Was not Habuze—a newly risen Progenitor among bloodkind? In this world, the only being truly to command dread or reverence was perhaps only the one enthroned upon Sacred Mountaintops—the Supreme Overlords.
And indeed… yet battlefields are treacherous no matter who takes the stage.
At that moment, in skies atop a modest rise, Lord Hao faced Prince Habuze across.
They found themselves beyond the fringed edge of Bubei Province where it borders the shadow territories to the northwest. Due to barren soils unfit for living—no significant shadow race settlements closer than a dozen ki away—they gazed on untouched emptiness, a wild natural barrier of uninhabited terrain.
Beyond, upon this gentle plain’s slopes below—lie crumbled ruins modestly-sized, at one time possibly a simple village perhaps. The remnants, wind-scathed and blackened, suggested long abandonment—obliterated once in flames of war centuries distant.
Now, the ruins gaped torn open as by an immense slicing knife; one half broken down steeply in clifflike fashion, dropping a gaping descent of dozens of yards. Across its sheer broken edge, layers of earth showed, though with unexpected cavitations—dark hollow holes lining that fractured interior’s surface, leading into passages none knew where.
Such detail spoke clearly. Beneath the surface, a grand hidden structure, long concealed—perhaps even buried by the annals of ancient conflict. Likely to be totally destroyed, obliterated upon the Aima-city assault that had leveled so similar a ruin. But due—yes, due to that small but significant intrusion… many such remains have surfaced recently, secrets unveiled.
Lord Hao now said gently, “Years back, a noble lord nearly laid your trap-lab beneath my teacher—today you’ve returned, so may here become where bone meets final peace. Does the spot serve you adequately still?”
Habze watched without flinching, though crimson fog veiled even his pupil. He held his stare silently. No urge stirred within Lord Hao to rush or press further, hand drifting behind back, gripping his blade like pillar-root anchoring itself. From stance still as a mountain yet deep like oceans, he seemed part merged entity with land and rock itself—solid, immense.
“You are Emperor Qin.” Habuze uttered his first words since engaging battle. A brief silence, then, “you have something to ask me.”
Those two statements held certainty, neither queried, stated instead. Lord Hao’s gaze never wavered.
“What were the names of those in command over the empire when my ancestors made those accords with your faction?”
He then added softly, “Back then… I killed too speedly—some who might’ve lived and revealed secrets.”
Men were sharp in intellect. Habuzu understood instantly: hasty murder of direct offenders cut ties trailing backward to those shadows lurking behind true plots.
A hush fell briefly within his heart, before he asked in even tone, “Your Highness—the illustrious Empress’ clan, surely their acts bear telling?”
Unfazed, the Emperor’s tone chilled, “Dead now, are your collaborators and partners? Let us speak of what remains… if anyone slipped your net, let that slip now end here.”
Then finally, something stirred beneath the Prince’s mask of stillness—those veiled mists dissolving for a moment, as skies of deep azure reflected into blood-dark pupils. Eyes suddenly clear, still water.
“I was not the bait-layer in that trap. In truth—I suspect now—I too was prey. This settlement was one base among Evernight Parliament’s covert sites—an origin facility dedicated to exploring Human genetic essence. In their studies, bloodkind’s lowest strains and sanguivorous slaves—were the control subjects. At the time… not newly-appointed, yet still junior upon my council—I attained half-access into its workings.”
“One day I was warned—our secret hide had been unmasked. An Imperial elite force marched imminent destruction upon it at hand.”
“Indeed, as for those clandestine labs hidden among the Men’s soil, should concealment fall away, retreats became law. Defense neither worth effort nor practical in futility. Still—a plan presented itself—one daring faction believed that capturing live members with little effort could turn a new test subject of the Elite Legion to use.”
“And on the selected captives’ list—a name intrigued me: Lian Qianye… a certain notation beside—”son of Commander Lian”—”
“…many years later before I realized fully: only an adopted boy he was.”
A stillness emanated as Lord Hao listened with outward calm—neither reaction betrayed, mask impassive. His gaze never flicked.
“At outbreak… your position did not rest within battle’s center?”
Calm response—”No, it didn’t…”
“I had my personal hidden motives inside that laboratory—reason sufficient to make me cautious and alert. Curiously enough—I had earlier obtained reports through clandestine intel from other channels indicating Commander Lian conducting tests on a new breed of weapon just beyond range here. Calculating, that very blast-radius might heavily wound even a Ducal-tier foe.”
Upon his words… sudden shadows swirled within Emperor’s vision—glimpses reflecting cold death in his eyes.
“My decision thereafter? That scheme—it bore no purpose serving me. Whosoever laid it—Parliament’s doing? Lian’s? I cared nothing to become the trap-maker’s pawn. Thus, contrived excuses for deliberate delay. Two hours passed.”
“I arrived too late for battle’s crescendo… everything already over… at first appearance—an Imperial failure in its attempt. I sought the boy’s ID emblem, torn limb that it was from one teenager, and eventually passed all recovered remains back to Commander Lian.”
After long silence, the monarch looked upon him for full measure before voicing yet one final inquiry—”And the Evernight liaison… you have since dispatched them?”
Crimsons deepened within Prince but eyes remained still, voice measured: “Killed by my own hands he was.”
With no surprise or tone change, Hao replied only this:
“You divined behind that liaison a greater power—a figure whose station stood no less, perhaps more mighty than yourself in ranks… which led you wisely to avoid open provocation in those days.”
And so, between two men of intellects, neither needed speak aloud the understanding. Words unsolved, yet unsolved matters were settled.
Lord said at last:
“So be it; all I required understood now. Gentleman—have you final offerings for this conversation’s conclusion?”
For answer, he turned his gaze in distance—”Do you know—if I wished visitation upon one of the old Lian strongholds—near these parts, it yet stands?”
Emperor nodded—”Of course. My permission yours.”
The route, though running vertically along Bubi’s width—from the small, scarred town to the Northern Command’s long-forsaken frontline barracks—it mattered little; for titans such as themselves, a brief flight across mere provinces meant no distance longer than heartbeats might measure between two seconds of their eternity.
The command outpost was long-forsaken. No iron remains nor wooden traces. Even beams on window frames vanished as had outdoor stairs—one skeletal framework carved from heavy stone remaining as the last vestige of human design. From inside yawning dark portals through door and high window, emptiness stretched outward in endless echo across all floors.
The commanding tower held supremacy of height within the ruined fortress. Upon its rooftop deck did Prince Habuse land—uncaring whether the Emperor descended at his distant ten-foot mark.
Together, turned their focus earthinward.
Unexpectedly, the map and war chamber preserved every artifact—still bearing both desk-shelved study corner and the war-scholars’ planning zones: sand-tables arrayed; battle-scroll cases stood in rows beside the grand strategy table and weapon racks untouched.
Some forgotten hand must have seen care given. How many war-torn transitions must that hidden place evade—how many sieges passed this room untouched.
As he reached the patio balcony, Habu’s palm rested against the long glass-pane—secured shut via bolted pins—forcing it free sent splintered wood scattering. As he took those decisive few steps forward.
Lord Qian moved to the study desk—its wooden panels clean and maintained, no evidence left in disarray; neither hidden missive nor hidden cipher. Only faded newspapers and common reference booklets, no signature notes scrawled by commander Lin himself anywhere.
He turned, about, nearly—except he caught boot’s kick against a fallen object. Looking downward revealed a simple carved wooden box—its lid barely cracked open as though it once struck hard and toppled.
The moment his eyes recognized the shape within his gaze—a familiar, old shape from past reflections—his heart gave one great wrench.
This object—among Commander Lin’s treasured possessions worn against him in all journeys past.
Within the box remained jagged, torn, and ruined ID tags belonging not merely to soldiers—each a relic of past war—each bearing singed edges from battlefires long past; each represented memories too sacred to leave.
And though he had vowed never to let their names fall, he found himself now—another fading echo in some unknown child’s mind, remembered briefly until forgotten as they’d done.
Meanwhile, Habuze wandered his quiet study—gazing but never handling any articles within reach. Only after minutes’ pause did he finally break his observation—
“You have him,” Habuze murmured, nodding subtly.
Silent, as if in acknowledgment, Lord Hao replaced the lid onto the now-closed box—rested the vessel evenly, perfectly centered on wooden bureau. With silent finality, he strode outdoors through the great glass-pane doors—disappearing into moonlight.
Habu remained briefly. Yet, not even a moment later, joined the Emperor outside upon the platform beyond.
He took his measured two paces and stilled.
Then spoke softly:
“Here is fine. I’ve favored this place more.”
A single nod.
Behind his back a swirling, scaled apparition of coiled twin-snakes—flashed once and was gone again; from above, endless tendrils of obsidian-hued mana cascaded in torrents into Emperor’s arms and form—draining all the boundlessness of the battlefield’s once-robbing field to his person—and slowly, the vast domain that veiled all the sky began to peel away.
Now, every high-ruler of Empire and Evernight sensed simultaneously a veil had been pulled aside.
Through his deep-sight, Prettiku saw his final vision.
The last flicker of black-mist and fading twilight dissolving. A ruined bastion of heavy stone—moonbeams spilling down onto open rooftop stage. Before the gaze arose two solemn shadows locked as mirror against mirror.
Blade sheathed behind, Eternal Lance retracted, reshaping to living fog of Prince Habuze once more—no longer held between them.
Only… not withdrawal in heart, battle ceased not in mind.
The very next moment, two swift steps launched—impact, collision, eruption.
Bursts of raw Arcane essence bloomed; streaks of brilliant, flaming light trailing storms of wind—flaring into a tapestry of light woven by the storm.
With each motion from Emperor Qian’s form—an ever-turning swarm of phantom creatures, twisted and bestial, formed in coils about his armaments in an ink-stained aura.
Meanwhile, Prince Habuze cloaked himself in dense, inner-bound flames of heart-dark ember. Glyphs flared one after one—golden letters—manifesting briefly upon striking fists, only vanishing again like candleblown breaths.
Hand against weaponless-hand—Prince Prettiko nearly recoiled at what came into view in stunned horror.
In this high-level engagement between sovereign titans, keeping space between was the highest rule of thumb. Unarmored grappling, more perilous than blade-to-blade melee—often tantamount to suicidal gambits.
Though not unexpected coming from an Ascended of Human race, rarely had one of the Darkness Nobility engaged so recklessly.
The question in every soul’s silent fear—if already out-powered—should Habu even dare accept the duel barehanded?
As if the very moment Prettiko cried realization aloud—
The signal vanished. For distant sight, the connection was short in life.
Teeth clenched, the Prince roared as summoning to nearby warlocks:
“Prepare for Aima Translocation—!”
Even mid-order:
A shrieking, sharp cry like the air split open beside him—a deafness gripping him momentarily in terror.
By the instance he grasped this inner warning for what it was… he felt hair rising on ends—bellowing aloud in panic—
“Release the sand soldiers immediately!—Positioned toward the Human Passes now! AIMA, initiate Void-translation immediately—Begin ten-sec countdown!!!”
Before finishing sentence—a black oval vortex coalesceed mid-air above. With little fanfair, Prettythik launched himself forward into its depths, the famous technique of Shadowborn known as Void-step. Though his image vanished before the cry had finished echoing across the sky over that sky-city.
Every mighty figure upon Aimagrave turned in dread.
Among those present the Grand Archmage was calmest. With but raising a commanding hand—order rang:
“Position yourselves! Execution, commence—Prince Prettet has perceived approaching doom!” The sorcerers and researchers dispersed—scurrying to posts amidst motion and commotion like ants responding to an unseen threat.
The Dukes of Shadows found themselves still somewhat dazed, but then the Grand Sage delivered a sharp blow straight to one broad shoulder of Duke Giocce with one powerful palm.
“Giocce junior—you ready up our forces now—countdown lasts only ten minutes.”
The Shadow Duke almost wanted to ask something—only then Aimagate quaking violently in deep tremors. The metropolis gave forward in a tilt nearing thirty degrees. And with a massive wave, cascading down, legions of warrior-ranks surged from street nook and alleyway alike—once standing in their places like ancient, unmoving stone statues—and now leaping forth as if swept away in tidal flows onto lands below.
Giotte stood for one daze-length in disbelief.
His rigid neck turned to find—finally, the nature of their alarms.
Far, far beyond—on the visible fringe of horizon—rushing forth—came one meteor blazing through space—closing upon them at speeds beyond visual tracking. Just as front lines of those first sand-soldiers spread their presence, their path was now the very path of the on-comer.
A boom, like crashing thunder, split atmosphere—then a blinding light—a beam splitting the heavens like a gods-raking stroke tore through the sand ranks as a flash.
Where warriors stood only moments before—now all crumplingly collapsed in the aftermath, disintegrating with their falling—to grains of sand, like a thousand falling towers turned fragile in seconds.
Clear-cut the formation like a divine slash carved.
Levin-Strike!—Signature ability of Emperor Chingyang Wang of the Great Kingdom of Qin.
Need one further inquiry be required to guess the identity of the one fast descending?
Unnecessary in truth.
He had come for purpose.
None questioned it.
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