I saw it with my own eyes.

This god-forsaken world has been embroiled in bloodshed since the start of the century. The rich fertile lands that my ancestors once thrived on are long gone. The cerulean waterways that blessed their generation with life, now curse us with a crimson despair. The clear skies that filled them with hopes and aspirations, now serve as our daily reminder that even the Heavens have abandoned us.

My grandfather bore witness to the start of the war. The hundred or so able-bodied men of our insignificant town and neighboring villages set off to join the war efforts a hundred years ago. Promises of honor and glory marched them forwards into an unsuspecting nightmare. Most of them did not make it past the first year. Those who did would eventually meet their demise on the second or third. By the fourth year, the survivors from our township realized how naive they had been.

Fifteen years later, the nations at war agreed on an armistice. And so, the naive boy who left home in search of glory returned home as a war-hardened veteran. His heart was heavy as he walked past the crowd full of unfamiliar faces. Though his shoulders ached from the weight of responsibility, he kept his back straight to honor his fallen brothers at arms.

Two weeks later, my grandfather received a message from the capital. He tucked the letter in his sleeve and enjoyed his fleeting moment of peace with his wife. As the town slept, he rode off in the night without saying goodbye. The boy who left fifteen years ago as a naive recruit, once again left home and rode for the capital as General Song of the Western Front.

My father, my uncle, and my aunt were born as triplets during the sixteenth year of the war. They grew up only hearing stories about their father, unable to actually embrace him. My father and uncle, the two Song brothers, inspired by the tales of their valiant father, trained hard to follow in his footsteps.

During the thirty-second year of the war, the Song family moved to the capital by imperial decree. The Song sister was betrothed to the crown prince of Chu. That same year, the two Song brothers were recommended to join the war efforts, training under the Fist of the Northern Front and the Dragon of the Eastern Mountains. On the surface, these two events were meant to be a political move to consolidate power between the two families. However, the reality was that the Chu Emperor was under immense pressure to foster talent for the next generation of leaders. He had come to the grim realization that his son would one day ascend to the throne as a ruler of a nation embroiled in never-ending war. Emperor Chu would’ve preferred marrying off his daughter to one of the Song brothers, but his daughter went missing on a diplomatic mission in the north.

The Song brothers spearheaded the chaotic war-front, making a name for themselves under their respective martial masters at the northern front and the eastern front. Meanwhile, the Song sister was taken under direct tutelage of the Emperor himself.

On the eve of the thirty-third year, the crown prince of Chu, like his sister, disappeared from the Imperial Palace.

On the thirty-fourth year of the war, the four warring nations agreed to the second armistice. General Song returned to the capital with his disciple and five trusted retainers. The entire city halted all activities as residents lined the street to welcome their glorious generals and honorable country-men. The Imperial Palace opened its doors to welcome the heroes of Chu. Amongst the welcoming party, my aunt caught a glimpse of her father for the first time. By the General’s side, a familiar face smiled nervously at her. Moments later, my uncle would receive the same welcome as he returned home with his master, the Dragon of the Eastern Mountains.

Three major events would happen during the second armistice.

First, a ceremony was held to honor the heroes of the war effort. General Song of the Western Front was anointed Great General of the Chu army. His most trusted retainer, the First Blade of Song, was promoted to General of the Western Front. The Dragon of the Eastern Mountains was promoted to Vice-Great General. The Fist of the Northern Front was not present, nor was his disciple, my father. A representative from the north was sent in his stead to meet with the Emperor privately. Their conversation was about information regarding the missing princess.

Second, the missing Crown Prince had returned as a soldier, training under Great General Song in the past year. A great ceremony was held at the Imperial Palace to unite the Song and the Chu families. My aunt became the Princess Consort to the Crown Prince, the Valiant Young Emperor of Chu. While his father, the current Emperor of Chu, was a scholar and a political mastermind, the crown prince was a warrior at his core. Shedding his predestined seat as the next ruler of the lands, Prince Chu joined the war at the western front. He wished to serve alongside his fellow country-men and childhood hero. From raising his blade as a recruit, to becoming the physical and morale center of his squad, General Song was quick to notice the talented upstart. In the short year that Prince Chu fought at the western front, he had climbed all the way to the rank of a squad leader with a thousand men at his command.

Third, the Fist of the Northern Front and his disciple, went missing across the northern border. Following a conversation with the northern representative, a task force was sent to infiltrate the northern border with the goal of rescue and recovery. The Great General instructed his retainers, with the exception of his first blade and newly anointed General of the Western Front, to lead the task force.

As the thirty-fifth year of the war came around, the second armistice was officially over. The war would no longer be the same as the Chu suffered a huge loss with the disappearance of the Fist of the North. Great General Song set off to the northern front with the crown prince by side. The Princess Consort sent them off with glazed eyes. She watched as her respected father’s towering figure faded into the distance. She watched as her beloved prince, disguised once again as a common soldier, rode off beside him. This would be the last time that my aunt would see the two of them together.

The following twelve years were relatively tame as all four nations were exhausted from the unending conflict. Minor skirmishes broke out across the borders, but no one was willing to push for decisive action in fear of crippling their already dwindling military strength. The Chu Emperor proposed a temporary cease-fire with the Qin in the west. Neither side would encroach upon the other for the duration of the cease-fire. The diplomatic-prone leaders from the west agreed, and thus the western front was stabilized.

On the forty-seventh year of war, a small Zhou army of two thousand men raced through the Chu borders in the middle of the night, riding straight for the Great General’s camp. Alerted by scouts, the Great General donned his armor and rode north with his disciple and one thousand of his elite cavalry to intercept the invaders. At the break of dawn, they arrived at a remote village. As they rode past, they were greeted with a rumbling from hell itself. Just north of the village, clouds of dust blocked out the sky as the ground trembled from the sheer number of Zhou horses. The scout report was wrong- or rather, it was a trap. With this realization, Great General Song knocked out his disciple, ordering two of his men to escort the Crown Prince back to the capital.

On this impossible battlefield, I caught a glimpse of grandfather for the first and last time. His aura was majestic, yet dark. It was hopeful, but at the same time, jaded. My father and uncles rode in front. My mother and I, along with one thousand men of the Chu secret task force, rode behind us amongst the enemy’s ranks. As the first wave of chaos erupted, we detached from the Zhou army, taking the opportunity to sneak around the flank. Once we arrived in the remote village, the muscular old man and four uncles bid us farewell and rode to defend their lord. The Great General Song would be reunited with four of his five vassals and his serving General in his final battle. My father stayed behind for a short moment. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to come south with us. Instead, he handed my mom two letters and rode straight into the fray. I watched as his back disappeared into the dust. He never looked back.

They held on for three days and four nights. On this impossible battlefield, the Great General Song, four of the Five Blades of Song, the Fist of the Northern Front, and the Rising Fist of Chu perished to defend their homeland. Their miraculous stand against an army twenty times their size bought valuable time for the forces down south to rally. However, by the time reinforcements arrived, the northern invaders were nowhere to be seen. Instead, reports of attacks across the entire northern territories of Chu started pouring into the capital. Villages were indiscriminately razed to the ground. Women and children missing. Men burnt to crisp. By the time an attack was reported, the attackers had already disappeared. The northern invaders never had any intentions of a direct conflict. Their goal was the head of the renowned Chu Great General. Having met that goal, they dispersed into smaller squadrons to ravage Chu’s northern territories. Their goal was the complete demoralization of Chu’s military might and public sentiment.

Five years after entering Chu’s territories, the northern invaders were completely driven back. The key figure in this successful defense was my aunt, the Princess Consort. Through the intel received in her brother’s letter, she was able to unearth a secret network of spies tightly ingrained within the Chu ranks. Keeping this knowledge on lockdown between herself and the Emperor, they were able to control the tide of battle by utilizing Zhou's spies against them.

One year later, the Emperor of Chu died of old age. As someone who never once stepped foot into the path of martial arts, his life expectancy was no different than that of a normal person. Fifty-six years of war. Over half of his life was dedicated to this war. The weight of a nation and its people kept him awake multiple nights, eating away at his health. On his last night, that weight was passed onto his son. I lost my father and paternal grandfather six years ago to this war. Today, I lost my maternal grandfather to the same war.

Half-way through the fifty-seventh year of war, I turned sixteen. Mother handed me a letter with my father’s final words to me. Words that needed to wait until I was mature enough to comprehend.

Your grandfather is fighting a war he did not start. I am fighting a war I cannot end. The Song swore to protect the Chu. The Chu swore to protect the people. You will have to inherit the responsibilities from both families. Protect your family. Protect your people. The next generation must not be cursed with bloodshed.

On the fifty-seventh year of war, I picked up my sword and set north to join my uncle, the new Emperor, at the newly established northern front.

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On the sixtieth year of war, the cease-fire with our western neighbors came to an end when they suddenly started marching into Chu territory. The last of the Five Blades of Song, the General of the Western Front, rode with his entire army westwards to push back the western invasion. During this defense campaign, a rising star was born. This young upstart was rumored to be the reincarnation of the Great General Song himself, using the Great General’s martial arts to push the invaders back.

On the sixty-fifth year of war, the skirmishes at the Eastern Mountains came to an end. The nation of Qi decided to withdraw their forces entirely, opting for diplomacy and neutrality. With that, the Dragon of the Eastern Mountains sent his disciple, the Fire Spear of Chu, to bolster the northern front.

Meanwhile, on the western front, the invasion campaign from the west has turned into a war of attrition as neither side could best the other in open field combat. The Qin wanted to push deep into Chu territory, believing that the Chu western armies would not be able to handle the combined might of their Generals. Their assessment should’ve been correct by all accounts. Without the Great General Song, Chu’s military was no longer the powerhouse it once was. The Great General died in battle on that fateful night eighteen years ago, leaving behind only one successor to his peerless arts: the current Chu Emperor who was currently leading the northern armies. Yet, someone within the Chu western army was using the Great General’s arts to push back the Qin. Little is known about the man, as he keeps a low profile, disappearing after each skirmish. Some say that he’s an enlightened master raised by the Great General to carry on his legacy. Some soldiers who had fought alongside him, say that he’s a bloodthirsty maniac with zero semblance of humanity. They say that he’s an orphan- an unfortunate product of war.

Meanwhile at the northern front, the Chu Emperor suffered a debilitating injury while fighting off three generals of Zhou. He withdraws from the frontlines and returns to the capital to recuperate, leaving me in command of the remnants of the northern armies.

The following year, I lost yet another member of the family to this war. My uncle and martial master, the Emperor of Chu, had succumbed to his wounds. He left behind no heirs, leaving me to take on the responsibilities that my father talked about. When I first read his letter, I thought I understood the weight of those responsibilities. I was wrong. Only now, having become the third Emperor of Chu to rule during this war, do I fully understand the weight that my grandfathers and my uncle had to shoulder.

Three years later, the Qin withdrew from Chu territory. The mysterious figure, dubbed as the reincarnation of the Great General, the man responsible for slaying six Qin generals in combat, disappears without a trace.

On the seventy-fifth year of war, one year after the Qin withdrew their invasion force, the Zhou proposed an armistice. And so the third armistice was in effect. I leave command of the northern armies to my uncle, the Fire Spear of Chu, and return to the capital for an official ascension ceremony. The rest of the year was uneventful with nothing of note. Our people are tired, we wanted nothing more than peace. But all diplomatic attempts with Zhou have failed.

One year passed, then two, and then three. The extended armistice gave us a moment to breathe. Although this facade of normalcy wouldn’t last forever, I welcomed it with open arms. Across the borders, our spies report unrest in the Zhou army. A mysterious figure has been wreaking havoc amongst the Zhou ranks. Little information is known, but rumors speak of him like some sort of demon- an executor sent from the depths of hell. With a simple swing of his blade, the sky would split open. With a thrust of his arm, the mountains would flatten. While rumors are often exaggerated, the truth was that Zhou was struggling to deal with this mysterious master. A master who uses the same arts as the late Great General Song. An art that was passed down to only one successor, and that successor only passed it down to me.

Diplomacy during this peace period was crucial to ending the war. Despite diplomatic failures with the Zhou, The Queen Dowager, my aunt, took advantage of this temporary peace to set up a permanent relationship with the Qin. After four years of peace talks and negotiations, our western enemies of almost eighty years, became our new allies.

On the eightieth year of the war, the third armistice came to an end as Zhou marched south.

Despite the overexaggerated rumors of Zhou’s troubles dealing with the mysterious master, it seems that their main fighting force is still in-tact. During the first year of Zhou’s invasion, we cede the barren northern territories, retreating south. The original border, while a part of Chu, was no longer worth defending against an invasion of this scale. We consolidated the Qin and Chu armies under one banner, and set up defensive formations in preparation for the assault to come.

Five years passed in meaningless bloodshed. Each time the Zhou pushed further into Qin and Chu territory, they were faced with the rabid fists and blades of men willing to die if only it meant taking a dog of Zhou with them to the afterlife. Five years of conquest, yet the Zhou armies could not push past the combined efforts of Qin and Chu.

On the eighty-seventh year of war, seven years into the Zhou invasion campaign, a new border was established five marching days north of the Chu capital.

On the ninety-first year of war, the Qin generals sent reports that the Qin border was under heavy attack. The Qin Emperor orders the evacuation of all citizens, along with his family, eastwards into Chu territory as the Zhou advanced on their capital. One year later, the Qin Emperor dies in combat, defending the capital. Qin has fallen. The remnants of the Qin citizens now live on whatever is left of Chu soil. What remained of the Qin army was completely absorbed into the Chu ranks.

Five years later, Zhou mysteriously withdrew its troops back to what used to be the barren northern regions of Chu. By my estimations, Chu would be able to hold out for one more year at most. Had they kept pressuring forwards, we would've collapsed in due time. We needed a miracle, and by the grace of the Heavens, we got one. Overnight, Zhou gave up grounds that hundreds of thousands of people bled to attain. Years of Zhou’s progress, given up without rhyme or reason. Something was off. We needed eyes in the north. I sent multiple scouting parties up north to gather intel. All reports came back the same. Zhou is under attack from the man they call “The Heavenly Demon”.

On the ninety-eighth year of war, I rally the remaining forces of Chu and march north. After having confirmed that the intel is accurate, I realized that there was only one chance to end this war, and the mysterious Heavenly Demon has given me that chance. Even if it was a trap, it was do or die. We cannot surrender. Death would be better than what the Zhou would do to our people should we lose. Our march north was met with little resistance. We did our best to suppress any Zhou scouts from sending intel back to the army up north, but it was inevitable that our string of luck would come to an end.

On the ninety-ninth year of the war, I came face to face with the young Zhou Emperor. He was surprisingly young. A boy, no older than twenty, stood across the battlefield. His posture was tall, yet his back looked burdened. His gaze was sharp, yet his eyes were full of confusion. To inherit his ancestors’ blood-fueled ambition at such a young age, that kind of responsibility is not fit for a boy. We stood on the very battlefield where my father and grandfather died. Looking across the desolate land, I’m suddenly reminded of the village that once stood between us. The village where I saw my grandfather for the first time. The village where I saw my father for the last.

I’m sorry we failed you.

The final words of his letter echoed in my mind.

It’s okay father. I will not fail the next generation.

And with the might of every able bodied man in Chu, we charged. With the weight of our ancestors’ failures on our shoulders, we swung our blades. With the hope of ending this century of bloodshed, we slaughtered our fellow man. This god-forsaken world has been embroiled in bloodshed since the start of the century. And as we drew our final breaths, we prayed that everything we’ve done was enough to ensure that the bloodshed doesn’t continue into the next.

Blood-curdling screams rang across the vanguard. From horizon to horizon, crimson dust clouds smother the light from the battlefield, obstructing vision. We fought through the night and into the next morning.

On the sixth day of battle, the Fire Spear of Chu slayed a Zhou general in battle. With this victory, we were able to break through Zhou’s right flank. My uncle pushed valiantly across their ranks and straight towards the young Zhou Emperor, engaging him in single combat. They fought through the scorching high noon heat, leaving massive craters as proof of their tumultuous battle. By nightfall, a victor had been decided.

Another member of my family, lost to this god-forsaken war. But I couldn’t afford to be distracted by emotions. My opponents at the center are two of Zhou’s most respected martial artists: Mountain Fist and Flickering Moon. Was I too naive to think that we could win? While the Zhou had suffered massive losses dealing with the Heavenly Demon, I had no idea they still had many masters amongst their ranks. With the loss of my uncle, my fate, along with the fate of Chu, was sealed. I'm barely holding on against two masters. I'll crumble against three.

As I fell backwards, drawing what I thought would be my final breath, I saw it.

I saw the crimson sky split in two. For the first time in my life, the sky looked beautiful. Staring up, I felt a familiar essence. Grandfather? I thought to myself. No. It was similar, but not the same. I still remember the Great General’s aura from our first encounter. It was dark- tainted by his half century of bloodshed. There was something different about this aura. It was dark, yet bright at the same time. An aura of someone who was undoubtedly forged in slaughter, yet longing for a place to rest. Before I could see his full image, I lost consciousness.

When I came to, everything was silent. The blood-tinted sky was no longer there. I thought I had gone to heaven, until I sat up to a scene that dragged me straight back to hell. Just like the splitting sky, the battlefield beneath was torn in two, separated by a massive rupture. Mountains upon mountains of corpses stretched as far as the eyes could see. In the sky, I finally saw him. The mysterious master who uses the same martial arts as the late Great General Song- the Heavenly Demon.

Above the mountain of corpses, his voice echoed across the silent battlefield.

You stand upon the land of my dead ancestors. Simple farmers who tended to their crops and cattle. Simple citizens who sweated under the sun so that their families could enjoy the fruits of their labor- so that their children could enjoy the pursuit of their dreams. You are standing upon the resting spot of great men. Men who gave their lives to defend those dreams.

Every man standing upon this holy land has inherited a war that we did not wish for. We’ve all drawn blood, using chaos as justification for our crimes. You, me, our ancestors, none are innocent. We are all guilty contributors of the cycle of vengeance and hatred that fueled this century of bloodshed. My hands are stained with the blood of millions. For desecrating my holy land, the resting place of my ancestors and my savior, I would want nothing more than to stain these hands with the blood of millions more.

But I feel that he would not want this for me. He would not want this for us...

I no longer wish to see the blood of my fellow men. I no longer wish to trample on their hopes and dreams. As of today, I am no longer a part of this wretched cycle.

As he spoke, not a single living soul dared to breathe. It wasn’t until he finished speaking that those who could still draw breath dared to. Though barely living, the young Zhou Emperor lifted himself to his knees and bowed. Without thinking, I did the same. Every man lucky enough to still stand upon this holy land, bowed. In front of absolute power and grace, everyone who could still draw breath, Chu or Zhou, bowed.

Though he did not explicitly ask for it, everyone knew what they needed to do. Though he did not command it, everyone knew deep down in their heart that they will obey- if not for themselves, then for their descendants.

With the unspoken promise made by every man on that battlefield, regardless of origin or allegiance, the Heavenly Demon descended into the rupture.

His heart—having let go of vengeance—light.

His soul—having renounced hatred—free.