Chapter 1
> The Despot Li Longting and the Li dynasty have lost their right to rule. They have ashamed their ancestors, ashamed the Empress of the Heart Flames with their rampant disrespect for order. Their exorbitant lifestyle is sustained by the blood of the common men and their golden palaces are built on the bones of hardworking labourers. Their lust knows no bound, their greed has no limit, and their arrogance surpasses the heaven itself. They must pay their sins in blood, for the sake of the people and of the Empire. Today shall mark the end of their unworthy rule.
Speech by the exalted Emperor Shan Fuqiang, 1476 SY,
Compiled by the Imperial Archives.
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The journey to reach the heavens begins with the first twelve steps. The ‘Foundation’ as many would call it - the foundation of a man’s Golden Temple. This was the case for every soul, from the welp struggling under the weight of poverty and disease, to the heavenly prince of the Midlands. Any could access these welcoming steps, and almost as many would eternally rest on these few steps. Of a thousand men, only one would ever climb past the First Floor. The First of Nine.
The unworthy, living in squalor outside of the Empire, would call such thinking preposterous. It was only natural. After all, they separated the realms of the First Floor with great zealotry, believing that each of these minor, insignificant steps was worth a single dime. They call those on the tenth step ‘Masters’, the eleventh ‘Grandmasters’, and the twelfth ‘Lords’. Of those that went beyond, they were the ‘Ascended’. As if a mere soldier could be a master of anything; as if the Second Floor could be at all equal to the Fifth. Such unbridled arrogance stems from ignorance. And such ignorance required a harsh remedy. One which he had time and time again dutifully doled out, so much so he had long lost count.
And yet, at times, Elzo-rath could not help but envy these weaklings. He could not help but yearn for the bliss and joy ignorance brought. He yearned for the simple pleasures of life without the unbearable burden of knowledge. Not merely knowledge of the heights this world possessed, but also of the unspeakable events that regularly occurred within these vast lands; of what his friends had done; of the atrocities his own flesh and blood had committed.
It all made him nauseous.
He was no stranger to bloodshed. He had cleared entire clans out of existence. He had suppressed rebellions and slaughtered opposing armies. He was not the sole person responsible, of course; he had never been in command in any such event. Regardless, he had been involved and his hands were far from clean. Yet, the conflict within himself left many questions. The sort he’d rather not answer. The sort he’d much rather ignore.
And so, once again, he found himself in the dirt and grime of the Imperial Arena. A place for those with no scruples: whether it was the bloodthirsty audience who roared at every chopped head, some of them little more than children; or the people running the show, whose wealth was entirely dependent on perpetuating extreme violence, whose profits scaled with the degree of pain and screams; or the dregs of the nobility, who were supposed to uphold order and justice, but failing that, they whiled away in brothels, restaurants, and fighting pits; or even the gladiators themselves, most of whom were criminals or war prisoners, now stopping at nothing to grasp that tiniest glimmer of life.
He briefly wondered when the last fighter was freed… probably before he first came here.
He had no right to lecture others when he was the prime participant in these ‘Games’. His actions did not necessarily make his words wrong, but they were naturally discredited.
Elzorath tilted his head, a spear whistled through the air, and he gave a quick punch. His opponent, a man taller than two metres, was smashed to the ground, his chest caved in and his neck immediately broke in a sickening crunch. Three attacked at once. He grabbed two by arm and smashed them into each other. He then used the ‘paste’ to block the other’s strike. Decisively, the man ran. He was cut down by two others, who looked at him with hope. Misplaced hope.
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They knew that, but desperation cared little for logic. A moment later, he gripped the necks of these hopeless optimists and gave them a loving squeeze. They barely managed a squeak.
The last “contestant” had his back turned to him, his body shivering uncontrollably. They were the same age, the same size, and Elzo-rath had even suppressed his realm to match his opponent – the first Step of the Second Floor. This was the strongest of the bunch by far, whilst also carrying the most potential. As the scion of a recently-abolished noble house, he should have been better. Been firmer. Been braver.
But a quivering mess was all that he was. Elzo-rath roared, his voice louder with each step forward. “Stand up. Your ancestors once stood at the top of this continent, some of the bravest souls that had graced these lands. Even if you are a fraction of what they were, do you want to shame them with your death? Don’t you have a spine?”
The young man hesitated. It was a subtle thing, barely more than a twitch. He could almost sense the raging battle in the coward’s mind, as his body fought against itself. Yet, for all his ‘effort’, the young man still cowered, still kept his position, still shivering as if the Snow Rider had just run by.
Elzo-rath gripped the young man’s neck while talking over the latter’s incessant begging, which soon turned into incessant screaming, “Since you clearly don’t deserve it, I’ll lend you a hand and rip it out for you.”
He pinched, and with one swift movement, he now had a long, swaying spine in his hand. He crushed it to fine white dust, some of the particles stuck to his body, like stars in the night. Though, this mantle of ‘night’ was a dirty crimson.
He turned back his attention to the audience, who were mostly bored. Not that surprising – he had already lost count of the times he had emerged victorious. There was a reason he was only let inside during the last round. Regardless, this time he did not even try to put up a show. Had the fight been restricted to a lower level, where skill triumphed above all, there would have been a lot more cheering. The fact that he would have to bleed and sweat would also help.
When did he start caring about these lazy fuckers’ attitude?
Elzo-rath gritted his teeth and glared at the crowd. His eyes then went to the still corpse – he kicked it. It came apart, each part diving deep into the sand, which had long since turned red. They would be cleaning it in a few days.
The last marks of these criminals’ lives would be washed away forever.
Deserved.
He, too, deserved such a fate.
He came to this dreadful place seeking simplicity. Simplicity in the form of battle. For some, the screams and the shouts would certainly be unpleasant. For him, it was almost calming. That was provided the people screaming were not innocent, and the battles were not too difficult.
The thrill of fist against flesh, the smell of blood and sweat, and the feeling of blood coursing through his veins. It was only here that he had felt alive, at least in these hopeless days, in these past six months. And even then, such excitement had slowly died down. Now, he could barely feel anything as he fought these men.
He briefly wondered if this was what the Fifteenth Emperor of the Li Dynasty felt when he ordered the Empire to engage in hopeless, thankless wars. Where he personally led every battle, slaughtering any and all that stood in his path. Fighting the orcs of the south, the monsters of the east, the men of the southeast, and all the rebellions that sought to overthrow his rule. Yet, he prevailed every time. The Butcher, that was what he was soon called. For a man of such talents to devote his entire life to such a thankless task was indeed a shame. And for him to die as he lived, on the field of battle beset by thousands of men. Well, was it not fitting?
Of course, his whims had ended his dynasty’s rule. The entire dynasty was full of whims and desires: the legacy of their founder.
For all their mistakes, the simplicity in their mindset and their pursuit of passions was quite charming. If only such matters did not come at such a steep cost. Their uninhibited actions drove them to ruin.
It was not acceptable for a person like himself to think such thoughts. To even consider these desires was a sign of his lacking self-control. For a man of his rank must play his role, must place the good of the Empire and its subjects above the petty feelings that plagued humanity. These desires that especially plagued all cultivators.
Elzorath Ironwood.
Ironwood.
He simply did not live up to this name.