Chapter Four

Beneath the towering dome of the Grand Cathedral, the air was filled with the heavy scent of incense and mildew accumulated over centuries. Inside the trial chamber, only the remains on the long golden table in the center still bore witness to the solemnity of "Imperial Justice."

The sound of a wheelchair rolling was particularly jarring in the silent hall. It was Deng Fa, the last elder of the Empire, the man who, fifty years ago, had personally placed the War God's Helmet on my head alongside the late Emperor. He was ninety-two years old this year, his withered skin barely concealing his bones, but his eyes, hidden behind their deep-set sockets, remained as sharp as a vulture's.

My image was projected onto the magical screen in the square, watching him use his arthritic, deformed hands to tremble as he traced the broken surface of the statue. Those were the cuts left by the Blade of the Sky, which, to others, were merely irrefutable evidence of atrocity.

“These are indeed the marks of the Blade of the Sky,” Dengfa’s voice, amplified by the magic array, carried a chilling sense of decay. “Throughout the Empire, only this weapon could create such smooth cuts, still warm with psychic energy. Only that one person possesses this power.”

The plaza erupted, a furious roar capable of shattering the heavens, clearly transmitted through the fortress’s sonic array into my chambers. They didn’t need Dengfa to utter the name; under the influence of that “authoritative assessment,” they had already regarded me as the root of all evil in this era.

However, in the side hall of the trial chamber, through a blind spot in the surveillance array, I saw Dengfa’s pale and helpless face after he put down the megaphone. He had tried to grab Empress Iserlin’s sleeve and whisper, “Your Majesty, I examined the texture of the base… there are forcibly distorted traces of psychic energy at those cuts. Darius may have lost control, but he wouldn’t…”

The Empress didn’t let him finish. Her eyes, deep and unfathomable, glanced at me briefly before the scepter, a symbol of imperial power, slammed heavily against the stone slab. “Your Grace,” her voice was thin and cold, like the hiss of a venomous snake, “your duty is to maintain the unity and order of the Empire, not to seek out historical truths long since turned to ashes. The Void is gone; within the Empire, the words ‘Void Race’ no longer exist. This is the official definition, and the only truth.”

Dengfa froze. This old man, who had fought alongside me, after a long, deathly silence, bowed his head dejectedly, saluted the Empress, and then slowly pushed his wheelchair away, his back hunched like that of a puppet drained of its soul.

That night, the blue light of the communications room flickered again in the dark palace. I looked at the screen, and Selena's face appeared. She had removed the elaborate formal attire symbolizing an Imperial General, wearing only the most ordinary gray military uniform. On the wall behind her hung an old photograph, the only record I had taken of her and her mother during a lull in the fighting.

“Father, abdicate,” she said, her gaze fixed on me, her eyes, inherited from her mother, holding a chilling rationality. “Relinquish your War God's Seal, leave the capital, leave this fortress. In exchange, I will plead with the Empress to pardon all charges against you regarding that ‘accidental injury.’ Go to Graystone Ridge, live as a mortal; this is the last bit of leniency the Empire can offer you.”

“Do you really think I intentionally killed them?” I asked softly, trying to find a trace of warmth beneath that icy face.

Selena didn't answer; her silence stretched long and oppressive in the cramped communications room. That silence was more suffocating than a torrent of insults, for it meant she didn't even bother with a feigned confrontation—she had completely defined me as the embodiment of disaster.

"Does it matter?" she replied coldly, turning her head away from me. "Those victims don't need the truth; they need an outlet. You've become a cancer that this empire must eradicate, regardless of whether that outlet is right or wrong. If you abdicate, I'll send you to a nursing home; if you refuse..."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have to drag you down myself." Her tone was as calm as if she were discussing the scrapping of a weapon, without any fluctuation. "Father, please face reality. I am no longer just your always-late daughter; I am a general of the empire, the direct commander of this Twelve Holy Statues Squadron. If you don't hand over your seal, the first thing we'll do upon entering the fortress tomorrow morning is to carry out your execution by hanging."

The communication was cut off. A deathly silence fell over the hall. The thirst caused by the long-term deprivation of the Soul Elixir, like countless venomous larvae, began to gnaw wildly at my lungs.

“Prepare your pack, Aldrick.” I turned to my old comrade, who stood in the corner, already sobbing uncontrollably. “Tomorrow, we’re leaving.”

I wasn’t surrendering to the Empress, nor was I confessing crimes I hadn’t committed. I was leaving because I had to return to my beloved homeland—Greystone Ridge. Deep within that desolate tomb, another Blade of the Sky was sealed. That blade was the foreshadowing I had planted to resist the final impasse of the Void. If history destined me to be the sacrifice in this massacre, then at least I would take that blade with me to sever this chaotic world corrupted by imperial power.

However, the Void rhythm within me finally reached its limit at this moment.

It was a pain powerful enough to tear the soul apart; my brain felt as if it had been forcibly cleaved open by a rusty blade. Before I could even explain to Aldrick, my body was completely out of my control. With a muffled groan, I collapsed to the ground, my hands frantically pounding against the granite wall. The walls shattered, and rubble sliced across my skin like sharp blades. I felt my bones creaking as void energy forcibly replaced my flesh.

The Void Succubus was right before me, real, no longer an illusion. Her dark wings slowly unfurled within the fortress, and her long, translucent fingers gently caressed my cheek. The icy, knife-like sensation sent a morbid shiver through me amidst the excruciating pain.

"Give up, God of War," she whispered, her voice overlapping a thousand voices, like the lamentations of countless dead. "Look at what this empire has given you! How it has nailed your name to the pillar of shame! Abandon those hypocritical oaths of protection! If you nod, if you show even a hint of resentment towards them, I will grant you the power to destroy it all..."

"Get...get out of my mind..." I bit my tongue, blood rushing to my throat, using that last bit of pain to forcefully push back the illusion.

Aldrich heard the inhuman noise outside the door and rushed in without hesitation. He saw blood everywhere, shattered fists, and cracked walls. His hands trembled as he tried to support me, but the frantically pulsating gray light in my eyes startled him, causing him to take a half-step back.

I gripped his shoulders, a wild, hoarse growl escaping my throat: "Aldrich…listen…if one day my eyes turn completely gray, if my mind is utterly consumed by that hunger…don't hesitate, pierce my heart with the sword in your hand. Whatever you do…don't let me become the vanguard of the Void King."

The next morning, the cold dawn pierced the smoke from the fortress's outer walls. I placed the heavy golden scepter of the God of War on the edge of the terrace, the scepter symbolizing fifty years of power gleaming coldly in the morning light. I turned and staggered towards the gate.

Just as I was about to step through that gate into Graystone Ridge, a clear, cold voice stopped me like ice water.

"Father…"

I turned around; Selena stood quietly at the shadowy exit of the gate. The morning breeze ruffled her perfectly tailored military uniform. Behind her, twelve warriors in gleaming golden armor stood in formation like gods descending from heaven, each spear locked onto my heart. She looked at me expressionlessly, as if looking at a hopeless death row inmate. There was no murderous intent in her eyes, only a cold, almost terrifying, executioner's power.

"Hand over your War God's Seal and retreat beyond the defensive line." She held out her hand to me, an order befitting a general. "Last chance, Father. Don't make me give the order to fire."

In that moment, looking at her, I seemed to see, through her young face, the shadow of Elena, and the greedy maw of the void silently looming over us. I knew my time had come. I knew it was all... over.