Chapter 313: The War for the Dominion of the World

Within days, Qian Ye had become the focal point of the entire realm.

A fleet after another took off from various continents, converging toward the floating land of Qian Ye; they landed along the fringes of this continent and dispatched multitudes of warriors. One after another, cities fell, leaving blood-stained paths toward the imperial capital.

They certainly could attempt to land directly outside the capital. However nearly all such squadrons were annihilated before landing thanks to imperial forces, leaving only a handful who stepped off their transports barely alive—immediately to be destroyed shortly after.

Above Qian Ye, day and night were indescribable chaos—a relentless deathmatch between the Celestial Navy and the NeverNight fleets. Cutting-edge warships were wrecked continually, their burning wrecks crash into the earth below. The NeverNight armada seemed willing to die, battling their last vessel with grim desperation only to cease after its fall. Imperial forces did not show weakness, repairing battered spacecraft at rapid paces thanks to their numerous logistical strongholds across Qian Ye—resupply swifter by far than the invaders’.

Over Xilu and Felu—all lands rich with humans fleets soared skyward, packed with warriors heading to Qian Ye at full speed. Certain squadrons touched down deep in the battle-torn heartland forming new defensive troops mid-landing, while others arrived near borders where newly disembarked foot soldiers rushed directly into the front to meet dark race legions seemingly limitless.

Even the densest minds finally accepted the dire hour, with nowhere left for escape.

On the front line, an anxious general rushed about, coordinating a failing defense. Yet warriors thinned day by day—returning fire grew ever more fragile until only lonely gunshots pierced the air. Shocked and surrounded, the general found throngs of shadowed soldiers already standing around him.

Suddenly, he understood every one of his officers had already perished.

Calm spread across his face. He drew his blade toward an encroaching darkness and charged—never to be seen beyond the horizons he ran into next.

Within headquarters in rear-guard territory, a four-star officer heaved, “Position Number Four falls—the Tenth must hold. Who amongst you will assist?”

“I will!”

“None but myself!”

A roar of officers clamored enthusiastically—each one keen to engage.

Staring at familiar men—the seasoned general he mentored across years—the officer exhaled heavily, “Enough already, death awaits no day later than today. Old Wang—you go first.”

An officer approaching middle age delivered a military salute with a wolf-like grin: “Rest easy. I’ll be sure many shadows die alongside.”

Scant minutes passed before an assembly marched to reinforce the desperate frontline.

Fueled flame soon surged wildly across Qian Ye. The land that was once humanity’s pinnacle was reduced—as on the day first landed here—to ash-filled skies on every side.

Overhead in the constellations too, the celestial patterns intensified, until any commoner spotted the fixed star above, shining clear even through sun-filled skies.

Each day its presence strengthened—the radiant sphere swollen by increments, growing larger nightly to rival a chicken egg in perceived mass.

Within the Celestial Calculus Halls: grimness prevailed within. Every Celestium oracle gathered together clad entirely in white and focused intently maintaining their own arrays, all integrated collectively into but sections of far grander formations beyond comprehension’s edge.

Beyond the massive congregation’s hall a stage stood. Lady Li sat still and stoic dressed completely plain—as resignedly accepted fate’s decree.

LikewIse draped similarly stood Emperor Huang slowly moving amongst them scrutinizing arrays carefully one by one seeking any flaw undetected until that moment.

While some oracles bore composedness well and true—many were clearly young recruits recently drafted in replacements after previous oracles lost lives beneath Qian Ye’s blade.

Standing as the judge himself among them however made any murmur unspeakable with terror still held breaths captive—Emperor Huang’s arrival silencing all.

The days prior already had shown his wrath; he’d slaughtered numbers of senior lords with bare provocation. Several executions occurred without reasoning—carried out solely because of murmured contempt.

All officials long experienced with Huang’s ability to suppress rage for decades knew there’s logic behind every action—he was never acting in vain. Yet when justifications weren’t sought, that meant he’d exhausted patience to the bone. Add thoughts of looming disaster—no subject dared resist Huang.

In skies above the capital, brilliance illuminated perpetually amidst fire rains, streaks of colored lights illuminated skies frequently.

In their wake landed Master Zhang Baoqian battered from combat; clothes torn beyond recognition now worn beyond any purpose, new injuries layering old across his body.

Glimmers subtly shivering around Zhang, subtle rumbles vibrating faintly at his every movement. His entourage kept distant out of fear until Zhang dispersed his glowing veil naturally.

Upon his reemergence—his attendants assisted Qingyang Wang in removing his shattered armor and attending his grievous wounds.

Undressing fully Zhang sat unmoving, several physician rushing forward. Every visible piece of his frame carried scar upon scar where each cut marked countless past battles—some faint, barely healed. As medical treatment ended—another aide approached bearing translucent emerald-colored elixir, swiftly drank in a single gulp by the general.

As it worked—heat radiating over Zhang’s visage like the flush of alcohol, he spoke softly.

“I shall sleep these hours. Do not disturb under no circumstance.”

Orders concluded—Zhang shut his eyes and dropped asleep immediately. Swift attendants built a secluded tent for rest until awakened once more when summoned.

Yet above all still nobody truly knows the endless void’s depths and numbers of dukes and kings hidden across the astral beyond ready to meet with war. The number of conflicts he already faced against the holy mountain remained known exclusively to him.

Beneath the protective shields above the capital, although unable to enhance Zhang’s natural strength substantially, still provided enormous advantages—greatly decreasing energy spent while accelerating defense mechanisms and healing processes ten fold.

Leveraging these natural terrain benefits, Zhang has valiantly guarded capital defenses ceaselessly. For several nights he stood defiant repelling endless NeverNight attacks relentlessly day and night.

Amongst the stars, lay two gargantuan dreadnoughts visible at glance—the private craft of Night and Demon Emperor, respectively.

They simply stayed silent in endless vigil overhead. Watching the battle unfold.

A few days passed—remaining warships above Qian Ye thinned drastically; Most vessels were torn into debris in previous ferocious first days of carnage—those still intact now few and far between.

But despite this fact—NeverNight continued their suicidal barrages; The first and second fleets of Imperial Honor Guard were fully spent now. It came down to the battered last squadron—the Third fleet—holding the line with help arriving only from occasional reinforcements from noble household minor navies which barely kept any resistance.

Such balance only temporary.

As more waves from opposing sides drew slowly toward them, the furthest twin continent’s squadrons still unengaged and fresh for battle, soon marking the very final death knell for the entire empire fleet in outer orbit when they arrived.

Imperial War Council sat within hallowed halls occupied by battle-scarred leaders of various aging and youth-filled years listening to grim figures scrolling on monitors in cold unreadable manner.

They—these warlords—were war hardened men but never experienced loss like the first days brought. Now their hearts have steeled at every statistic displayed, no matter scale it represented, they saw not lives lost, they viewed numbers coldly.

Nobody dared contemplate further meaning hidden behind them.

A messenger officer burst inward delivering: “Recent update from 11 this morning until 13, expected ground force casualties and house units losses approximate around one hundred eleven thousand personnel; Loss also involved another six warships including another pair capital grade.”

Walking away quietly the officer vanished as silence fell again.

Eventually murmured an elder: “…Two capital class… Was that supposed to represent last of its kind?”

“Third House or Lee families likely hold a few reserves hidden elsewhere.”

“Useless. Even they come, their effort shall not matter. Without terrestrial cover, their ships cannot break their way past into the capital skies regardless.”

A middle aged captain proposed:“Distribute arms. Preemptively prepare urban close fight defense.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

With no fleet overhead guarding anymore even powerful city-based defenses might soon fall quickly as enemy legions approached directly into city perimeters perhaps even teleporting battalions directly from orbit inside its borders.

It’d been centuries since war last reached this city. Yet now—as history turned page—it would be doomed and incinerated in battle’s merciless flame, just like in days gone past.