189 After the Carnage

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9

After the Carnage

The False Earth, or the Prison, as only a handful like Ru Qiu dared to call it, was shifting.

"I... Ru Qiu swears with Heaven as my witness and Hell as my reminder, that I shall have my revenge..."

For countless cycles, the world had known only stagnation and death. It was a land of endless decay posing as permanence. Yet something had changed. A new player had arrived, one not shaped by the rot of this realm. Ru Qiu slumped on his throne of lacquered bone and woven obsidian. He could feel it in the marrow of his soul. The divine currents within him snarled and churned, his breathing shallow, each inhale scraping his ribs like knives of wind.

"This might be dangerous... even for me," he muttered, voice low, hoarse from blood and fury. His robes clung to his skin, soaked with sweat and life’s warmth. The spear still jutted from his side… no, from his lung, embedded deep in flesh forged by centuries of cultivation. But that wound, though grotesque, was not what placed him on the precipice. The true threat pulsed from his chest, where his heart had been nearly cleaved in two. The enemy’s blade had slashed from shoulder to sternum, a diagonal cut that mocked even the resilience of his divine and demonic flesh.

“He called himself Da Wei, didn’t he? I’ll remember this...” Ru Qiu’s fingers closed around the haft of the spear. With a guttural snarl, he ripped it from his body. A jet of blood sprayed forth, painting the steps of his throne a vivid crimson. His face twitched, but he refused to cry out. Pain had been his long-time companion since he was born into this universe. It was familiar and loathed.

"Such a shame, to be struck by such a mortal weapon with neither magic nor miracle in its steel..."

He stared at the weapon, studying the spear. Its craftsmanship was mundane and something common soldiers wielded in this world.

“God of War, he said,” Ru Qiu murmured, thoughts drifting back to his time among the stars, where he had seen countless beings rise and fall… some pretending at godhood, others barely more than vermin dressed in grand names. “There was no such ‘Existence’ in the Greater Universe... no Da Wei who claimed such a mantle. Could he be a Supreme Being?” He scoffed, the idea tasting bitter on his tongue. “Unlikely... perhaps he fell from grace. Or was he discarded?”

He leaned back, exhaling slowly as he suppressed a cough. Speculation was a luxury he could no longer afford. Theories unanchored by proof would only hinder his recovery. With a flex of his will, he activated his Qi Speech. His voice vibrated across the silence like thunder wrapped in silk. “The Purple Cloud Physician. Attend to me. At once.”

Even in his weakened state, his command reverberated through the palace. He felt the nervous stirrings of his subordinates, their spiritual pulses skipping like rabbits before a hound. His malice was uncontained in the wake of pain, and he bled through the air like venom. His thoughts, however, remained locked on the newcomer, this interloper who had not just survived entry into the False Earth but had wounded him… a feat few could claim.

Around him, the throne room stood in stark contrast to the withering world outside. Rich tapestries, impossibly rare silks, and vials of amber light lined the walls, each artifact a testament to conquests past. Yet amidst the beauty, he laughed. It was a dry, mirthless thing, echoing through the vast chamber with a note of impending doom.

“The others will loathe this turn,” he whispered, voice tinged with delight and warning. “But this world is no simple purgatory. My meeting with Da Wei... It was pure misfortune. For him to begin brushing against the others, he would need a mountain of cursed luck.” His eyes gleamed like twin shards of obsidian. “But even before that, he must survive the martial clans, the fractured sects, and the maddening force that governs this prison. The False Earth hides truths that remain veiled even to me. No cultivator from outside, no matter how proud or potent, will endure its laws unscathed.”

A hacking cough broke free, and he pressed a hand to his lips, catching flecks of blood in his palm. Despite the weakness, his mouth curled into a smile. The thought of Da Wei suffering here, alone and unprepared, gave him a sliver of satisfaction.

“I can’t be complacent,” he told himself, forcing his back straighter on the throne though his body screamed protest. “I need to heal and recover quickly. Then I’ll stoke the fires again, provoke the feudal states into more war.” His tone held the edge of strategy, but also something rawer… an old echo from his mortal days. Talking to himself had always been his habit, rooted in years when no one had listened, when his weakness was scorned and his ambition was mocked. That loneliness had driven him to cultivate with ferocity, until not even gods dared look down upon him. Of course, where did that lead him? Trapped in this forsaken realm, that's what...

"Enters," announced by the guards outside the giant doors. "The Purple Cloud Physician pays respect to the Heavenly Demon!"

At last, footsteps echoed in the distance. The great gate to the throne room creaked open, revealing a figure bowed low, robes trailing like mist behind him. The Purple Cloud Physician entered, falling to his knees without raising his head. His voice trembled with reverence and fear.

“This humble servant greets the Heavenly Demonic Master of the Cult. How may I serve the Great One?”

Ru Qiu stared down at him, vision blurred at the edges. “Begin at once,” he said, voice like gravel. “I need my heart mended… and my fury tempered.”

…

..

.

It had only been minutes since Yuen Fu returned from the abyss.

His last memory before death remained burned into his mind: the sensation of his entrails spilling onto the blood-soaked earth, his torso sliding away from his legs as some invisible force tore him in half with brutal precision. There had been no glory in that moment and no flash of heroic resistance. Only terror, a scream cut short, and the frigid emptiness that followed.

Yet now… he breathed. His lungs were intact and strong, filled with clean air. His heart beat within a chest that should have been destroyed. It was a miracle, or madness. He didn’t yet know which.

All around him, the soldiers of the 112th Bronze Squadron had gathered in loose formation, their faces pale and confused. They huddled near a boy, barely fifteen by the look of him, unconscious and naked under the pale sky. Dirt smeared his limbs, and his breath was shallow, but steady.

“Is this really Da Wei, that kid?” one voice murmured.

“I swear he looked older a second ago,” another soldier replied, his voice cracking. “Like… like a God of War.”

“He did call himself God of War.”

“Are we dead yet?”

“We’re breathing, aren’t we?”

“I don’t understand what happened… but this little god resurrected us, didn’t he?”

Their muttering swirled like smoke. It was aimless and rising. No one dared speak too loudly, but awe and unease pulsed in every word. The boy they surrounded, bare to the wind and unconscious in the dirt, had just dragged them from the jaws of death… and none of them could explain how.

Ding Shan, the commanding officer of the 112th, pushed through the crowd with a scowl carved into his weary face. “Out of the way, out of the way! The young man might not be able to breathe if you bunch around him like a pack of vultures!” His voice, though hoarse, carried enough force to part the men like grain before a blade.

The soldiers obeyed, shuffling back and giving space.

Ding Shan knelt beside Da Wei, pressing fingers to the boy’s neck. “Thank heavens,” he exhaled. “He’s alive… fainted, that’s all.”

Someone behind him whispered, “Of course he’s alive. He’s a god.”

“Don’t say that!” another hissed. “Do you want to be tried for heresy?”

Their voices lowered at once, all too aware of the Sun Empire’s unbending laws. To worship any existence besides the Emperor, proclaimed divine by edict, was treason. Even whispering the wrong name with reverence could be a death sentence. Yet what they had witnessed… this boy, this so-called God of War… had rewritten the lines between myth and reality.

“We owe him our lives…”

“But we’re risking his by speaking this way.”

“What should we do now?”

“This… this is a complete route. Who even was that demon?”

“He tore us apart like livestock.”

Ding Shan stood, brushing dirt from his knees and turning to the only man among them who looked composed. “What do you think, Young Master Yuen?”

Eyes turned toward him. Though still only a youth, Yuen Fu stood above them in station and skill. Among the remnants of the 112th, his martial strength had always been second only to Da Wei… and the gulf between them now seemed incomprehensible.

He should have felt shame. A bitter taste curled on his tongue, the memory of how he’d once measured himself against Da Wei as though they were equals. But now he understood. This was no rival, and no fellow prodigy. This was something more.

“I suggest we report what happened,” Yuen Fu said clearly, “but we keep the truth about our savior to ourselves. No good can come of declaring someone with divine powers to the court. You all know how they would react. He’d be labeled a demon, and we would be condemned as heretics. I, Yuen Fu, will not repay salvation with betrayal.”

A low murmur of agreement followed. The 112th Bronze Squadron was mostly composed of peasants and low-born men. They had simple ways of thinking, but they were not without loyalty. It was easy enough to sway them when their own survival and their gratitude aligned.

Even as the words left Yuen Fu's mouth, guilt gnawed at his stomach. He had always held to righteousness, to discipline, and to honor. Concealing the existence of their savior from command felt like deceit… but Yuen Fu knew history. He knew how power feared what it could not control, and how miracles were often met with chains, fire, or blades.

This… this was the beginning of an upheaval far greater than any of them could grasp.

Before he could dwell further, Ding Shan cleared his throat and coughed awkwardly. “Ahem… Young Master Yuen. I don’t mind you keeping us out of a compromising situation, but perhaps… You should consider your own?”

Yuen Fu blinked. He was confused, but then followed the shifting glances of the soldiers around him… each one looking away. There was a mix of embarrassment and suppressed laughter, trembling at the corners of their mouths.

He looked down.

His face went pale.

Where there should have been trousers, armor, or even underclothes, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing! His lower half was completely bare, fully exposed to the world. The pain of being torn in two had made him forget the simple fact that his body had been rebuilt from the waist down… and the miracle hadn’t seen fit to dress him.

Yuen Fu’s hands flew to cover himself, and he turned, cursing under his breath. “Why didn’t anyone say something sooner!?”

One soldier dared a grin. “We thought you knew, Young Master.”

“I just came back from the dead!” Yuen Fu snapped. “Forgive me for not checking my modesty first!”

Another coughed to hide his laugh. “It’s quite a fine regeneration, though…”

Yuen Fu shot him a glare so sharp the man nearly fell backward.

Ding Shan offered a small cloak with a crooked smile. “Modesty restored, Young Master. Now, let’s figure out what in all the heavens we do next.”

By the time the sun slid low behind the torn hills, the men of the 112th Bronze Squadron had already made a series of hasty but necessary decisions. They couldn’t linger near the site of their deaths. Even though the rest of their corpses had technically been theirs, the stench of blood, ruptured bowels, and shattered bones clung to the ruined field like a curse. They retreated several hundred paces down toward the riverbank, where a pocket of flat land allowed them to raise a few tents in tight formation. It was neither secure nor comfortable, but it was the best they could manage given the circumstances.

In the center of the makeshift camp, under the largest of the tents, Da Wei lay unconscious. Two guards flanked the boy, standing watch in silence. Despite his youthful face, naked vulnerability, and lack of movement, no one dared approach casually. The boy who had brought them back from death deserved more than awe… he demanded it by mere existence.

Yuen Fu finally located his missing pants among the wreckage… still attached to what remained of his previous body. He didn’t dwell on it. No one did. The soldiers had witnessed too much to be shocked anymore. Blood caked their skin and soaked into every fold of cloth. The river glittered nearby, but the idea of cleansing themselves felt almost sacrilegious, as if the dirt and gore were proof of their survival, badges earned in the jaws of hell.

Despite the horror of it all, morale ran strangely high. Men shared stories around low fires, voices carrying softly between tents. Their words were disjointed, confused, sometimes contradictory, but none lacked spirit.

“It happened too fast,” muttered one.

“I didn’t get the chance to move,” another said.

“I managed to drive my spear in, I swear!”

“That was you?” a skeptical voice asked, drawing soft laughter.

“I got obliterated.”

“Me too.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

“You did die.”

“Well… I’m alive, though?”

Perhaps it was the lingering courage Da Wei had injected into their bones during that moment, or maybe they were simply too dazed to understand the weight of what had occurred. Regardless, their tongues were loose and their hearts were light, for the first time in days.

Tomorrow finally arrived, the sun streaking the horizon.

Ding Shan’s voice rasped from shouting too much. He stood before the drowsy soldiers with arms crossed. “Alright, listen up!” he barked. “Half of you, go forage or see what supplies you can recover from our old camp… gear, food, whatever’s not turned to ash. The other half will clean the battlefield. I don’t care how you do it, but get rid of the entrails, the gore, and severed limbs. Wash the blood if you can. The last thing we need is beasts sniffing around while we’re vulnerable.”

He paused, letting the command sink in. “We have no barriers, no fortifications, and the war is still hot behind us. Don’t grow complacent just because you got a second chance.”

A few soldiers grumbled at first, but no one outright defied the order. They settled their disputes the way Da Wei had once suggested in jest… rock-paper-scissors. What started as a casual game had turned into their preferred method for settling chores. Yuen Fu watched the rounds unfold with mild bemusement. That strange boy had changed more than their fates; he had shifted the tone of the whole unit, imbuing it with something new.

He turned to walk toward the former battlefield, prepared to join the cleaning detail, when Ding Shan called out behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“I lost the game,” Yuen Fu replied, adjusting his belt as he stepped forward. “So I’m going to help clean up, I guess?”

Ding Shan shook his head and gestured toward a small stool near one of the tents. “Not for you. I’ve got a different task. You’re going to help me write a report for Commander Jin Chenglei. We need to explain our situation clearly… and without digging our own graves.”

Yuen Fu paused, expression shifting to something more serious. “You want me to… draft it?”

“You’re the one who suggested we hide Da Wei’s identity,” Ding Shan said plainly. “So you’ll see it through. You’re literate, you’ve studied court etiquette, and you know how to speak without saying too much. That’s exactly what we need.”

Yuen Fu hesitated, but only for a moment. The request made sense. If they misstepped in their report, they could not only doom Da Wei but also implicate themselves as accessories to heresy. His hands clenched briefly at his side.

“I understand,” he said finally. “We’ll need to be careful with every word.”

Ding Shan handed him a scroll, a brush, and a small clay bottle of ink. “I’ll dictate. You write. And remember, no exaggerations! Feel free to change them in a way that would fit our intentions, while remaining respectful to our superiors. Da Wei was a brave soldier who bought us time with his life. That’s the story.”

“There is an easier way to phrase it, I will do it...”

Yuen Fu knelt inside the tent, the fabric still stained with streaks of blood that no one had yet scrubbed clean. Around him, the low murmurs of the Bronze Squadron created a constant backdrop… a mix of weariness, camaraderie, and disbelief. He stared at the blank parchment before him, ink brush hovering above it like a dagger over flesh.

It wasn’t the letter that made his hands pause.

It was the memory.

He remembered the crack of his bones, the tearing sensation as his lower body was cleaved away by something invisible, his blood soaking into the earth like a sacrifice. And then, light… divine or profane… washing over him. When he awoke, whole again, it was to chaos and the hushed awe of soldiers whispering the name "Da Wei" as if afraid to offend the gods.

Yuen Fu had seen miracles in scriptures. But scriptures didn’t come with entrails, and didn’t leave your throat tasting of iron.

“I need to keep this clean,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Ding Shan sat nearby, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace as he reminded Yuen Fu. “Remember... No heroics. No divine tales. We can’t afford to make enemies in high places.”

Yuen Fu nodded slowly. “I know.”

He began to write. Each stroke of the brush was precise and deliberate… every word, a shield against scrutiny.

…

To Commander Jin Chenglei of the Eastern Vanguard,

We humbly report the conclusion of a skirmish that occurred during our assignment along the western Huaiyao River sector. The 112th Bronze Squadron, numbering no more than fifty strong, came under sudden assault by an enemy force estimated at over one hundred and fifty in strength.

Their formation was disorderly, comprised largely of peasant levies, militia, and conscripts pressed into service… poorly armed and barely trained. Their numerical advantage, while significant, was not matched by martial coordination or discipline.

Under the leadership of Commander Ding Shan and with rapid adaptation to terrain and line discipline, we were able to repulse their initial charge and inflict focused casualties. Our defensive wedge held, and once enough of their frontlines were compromised, the enemy morale faltered, resulting in retreat. Our men showed courage and discipline under pressure, allowing us to maintain cohesion and control.

While we suffered no casualties among our ranks, our camp was unfortunately caught in the chaos. In the enemy’s initial charge, they breached our perimeter and destroyed many of our tents, supplies, and signaling equipment. As a result, we have since relocated seventy paces southward to establish a provisional encampment along the riverbank, where we are reorganizing our resources and awaiting further instruction.

We request modest reinforcements of rations, replacement gear, and logistical support to reestablish a functioning command point. Additionally, our scouts report signs of increased bandit activity in the surrounding woodlands, which we believe may be linked to broader instability in the region.

In victory, we remain vigilant. In triumph, we stay humble.

Respectfully submitted,

Yuen Fu

Acting Adjutant of the 112th Bronze Squadron,

On behalf of Commander Ding Shan

…

He set the brush down, hand cramping from tension he hadn’t realized he carried. Ding Shan leaned over, eyes scanning the text, and offered a grunt of approval.

“This is good,” the older man said. “You kept it simple. Clean. And you didn’t lie.”

“I omitted,” Yuen Fu said dryly.

“Sometimes omission is the most honorable path we’re allowed.”

Yuen Fu gave a tired smile. “I just hope this doesn’t come back to bite us. If word spreads of a boy with divine powers—”

“It won’t,” Ding Shan cut in, his tone heavy. “The men understand the price of talking. Let Da Wei rest. We’ll figure out what he is when he wakes.”

Yuen Fu glanced toward the flap of the central tent, where Da Wei remained unconscious, the two guards outside still vigilant. It wasn’t fear that stirred in him… it was uncertainty. The boy was no god. No man could do what he did and still be called mortal.

But whatever Da Wei was, he had chosen to save them.

And Yuen Fu would not be the one to damn him for it.