Martial King's Retired Life

Despite both the Western Regions and the Central Plain remaining vigilant of one another and having had border rules broken before, they had never shown any actions symbolic of declaring war against each other for a century. Therefore, nobody expected some alien shooting star that landed on the city wall would be the trigger for the first battle.

You couldn’t take a step in the city without seeing corpses, flames or stepping on blood. Not even the trained warriors of the city had seen a scene remotely comparable to the freakiness, nor had they ever encountered a terrifying enemy of that magnitude.

“Monster!” The border general, second rank on Seventeen Hidden Dragons – Zhan Qiu – took a swing at the demon bathed in flames. His blue energy successfully dispersed the flames, yet the appearance that he beheld fossilised him.

Hidden inside the flames was a face that was ironically burnt, a face that looked as though there were worms planted inside. While there may have been a hint of pity for him, the only way to atone for attacking the city and taking so many lives was to pay with his own.

Zhan Qiu axed the person – if he could be considered a human being – again without any mercy.

Skeletons stacked up into a pagoda of skeletons. Blood collected into a lake. Before they could take form, they were burnt to black crisps.

Zhan Qiu wasn’t aware that that the scene could elevate his bloodlust. When it peaked, not even gods could stop his murderous urge.

The attacker laughed loudly as a golden light burst.

The sound of clanging metal, groans, winces… all the sounds associated with combat ceased before dawn.

In one night, a city of over a thousand people was wiped out.

A monster from the west continued eastward.

***

Even monsters needed to rest after they’d had enough of killing. In his slumber, he recalled an event from long ago that took place far from his golden home, yet close to his golden home. The familiar view, people, smell… It was nostalgic.

The most materialistically wealthy state in the Western Regions had a palace that enjoyed the reverence of thousands. By extension, the master of the palace also enjoyed more wealth, power and women than he could partake in within his lifespan. The reason for the special privileges was simple: he, too, was a god, a living god.

The monarch was gifted with might that was nigh impossible for man to ever obtain from the moment he was born. He was the only individual permitted to view the cult’s secret manual – Spring Wind Rainy Nights Art. He was the only one who comprehended the teachings within and, instead of suffering because of it, gained unequalled might from it. The manual never should’ve been given to him.

Ximen Chuideng was a hero with a heart as big as his ambitions. He plundered the seven states without a care in the world, welcomed the chosen one inside into the sacred palace with open arms and gave him the most respect possible. That was how the chosen one unparalleled might.

The monarch possessed authority to do as he wanted with the people; that was authority on the level of gods. He had everything one could ask for and made use of it without an ounce of guilt.

During the years the monarch was worshipped, the people of the seven states didn’t lead prosperous lives due to his unpredictable mood. He liked novel things, new things and valuable things, but he despised the couriers, so everyone who entered the visit to pay their respects was executed. City-states who didn’t send tributes, though, would also perish. The courier had to be heirs of the most important person in a city. It was a rule he stipulated as part of his game, and it wasn’t even among the top ten most entertaining things in his book. For him, the “game” only served to kill some of his boredom. When he killed them, he wouldn’t even smile or bat an eye because man’s feelings were incomprehensible to God. He never smiled until that fateful day.

When he saw the white-haired youth enter the sacred palace, the monarch beamed as purely as a child for he had finally found a similar being to himself. The youth had the same blood-red eyes as the monarch.

“The people are gullible,” God loudly declared. “They believe God exists, so they worship me as God. They believe God has the authority to play with their lives, so they allow me to play with their lives. All beings are but bugs. What makes you different?”

After setting foot in the palace, the white-haired youth ambled toward God without reserve, without stopping to listen and without answering the question posed.

Nobody, not one of the guards eyed the youth. Perhaps it’d be more accurate to say that nobody saw him. They couldn’t describe his appearance if they were asked to describe him again.

Once he was face to face with God, the youth took out a blunt weapon from his sash, but he continued advancing. At close range, the monarch realised that they were not cut from the same cloth. The youth’s red eyes were more sinister than his own.

“I’ve come for your life.”

With a swing of his black blade, the sacred palace crumbled to the ground.

***

Virtually half of the city of gold was reduced to ruins in the ensuing fight. Afterwards, the city was given a complete makeover externally and internally. The God on the throne was replaced with a young man sporting white hair.

He woke up from the enraging memory as the first rays of light introduced themselves at daybreak.

There was someone waiting for him. An internal prison couldn’t confine him. Iron shackles couldn’t restrain him. “Spring Wind Rainy Night Arts” told him that his target, the sinner who replaced “God” was still up ahead. He only had one reason to exist and that was to kill the sinner. To that end, he needed to spill more blood and take more lives.

He set off once again. Wherever he went, there was destined to be bloodshed. His final destination was going to be hell.

Glossary

Master of the palace – I’m adding in this note now in case it becomes relevant later on. The pronoun he is denoted in the narration is a special one reserved for monarchs, just as the Emperor in the Central Plain refers to himself with an exclusive pronoun for himself, hence the reason I went beyond the text to emphasise it. For the record, the former’s pronoun is pronounced the exact same way as “he/she” in Chinese and doesn’t discriminate between genders. We have no clue who this monarch is because they’re just constantly referred to as “The monarch”.