Chapter 42: Warmaker (1)

Chapter 42

Somewhere in the heart continent…

Several men sat in an inner chamber, discussing the Crimson Night. Each of them wore simple black and gray clothing, plain in appearance, yet every single one radiated immense power and unquestionable prestige.

The man seated at the head stood out immediately.

A long dark overcoat draped over his frame, a thick wolf fur covering his shoulders and head. His presence alone weighed down the room.

“I assume you all know how things are about to turn out,” he said, cutting straight to the point.

The men nodded.

One by one, they stood and delivered their reports. And despite coming from different regions, every report shared the same core truth.

The Crimson Night.

The great phenomenon it brought upon the world.

Under the overflow of world energy, the Aluska Kingdom had nurtured more experts in a single night than it had managed in over a thousand years since its founding.

But that was not all.

According to the reports, the source of the Crimson Night was traced to a well known kingdom in the heart continent.

Ardentia.

“Should we invade Ardentia?”

One of the men spoke up, his tone sharp, his killing intent barely restrained.

“Should we strike them and take the secret of the Crimson Night for ourselves?”

The effect of the phenomenon was simply too great to ignore.

One had to understand. Even those who had long lost hope of breaking through had advanced into higher major realms overnight. Their overall strength had soared to terrifying levels. Now, only a few people aside from the ruler of their nation could suppress them.

“I agree with Tensi.”

Another man stood. His body bore the scars of countless wars. Battle was the only place he truly belonged.

“Facing Ardentia for whatever treasure or artifact caused the Crimson Night…” he said, eyes burning. “That sounds like a fight worthy of my life.”

The rest nodded, their gazes filled with hunger and ambition.

But before the desire could take root, their ruler spoke.

“No.”

The single word cut through the chamber.

Confusion flashed across the faces of the ruling members as they turned toward him.

Why refuse such a tempting opportunity?

If the secret of the Crimson Night was a treasure, or an artifact, then it might be exactly what they needed to elevate their entire continent. Perhaps even the entire realm.

So why object?

The ruler rose to his feet, his expression stern and sharp.

“Aluska did not rise by preying on the weakened,” he said coldly. “We fought fair. And we won.”

They all knew the truth behind his words.

None of them truly wanted to face Ardentia head on.

Ardentia was one of the most renowned great kingdoms in the heart continent. It housed countless famous experts and terrifying cultivators, with an emperor whose strength was beyond question.

And in recent days, Ardentia had been under endless assault.

Probing attacks.

Full scale wars.

Other nations, driven by greed, trying to seize whatever treasure had caused the Crimson Night.

And yet, after weeks of conflict, Ardentia had not suffered a single devastating loss.

That alone spoke volumes about the power they wielded.

“We will not attack the Ardentia Kingdom,” the ruler said firmly.

“But since other nations are blinded by greed and rushing toward them…”

A cold light flashed in his eyes.

“We will take this opportunity to expand our influence.”

“And quietly gather power.”

He was not insinuating that they should consume other nations simply because they were weakened by the Crimson Night.

No.

As a loyal governor, he would never do something so crude.

He was merely helping them manage their territory.

With a dangerous and muted glint hidden deep within his eyes, the governor finally gave his orders.

“Gather all our armies,” he said calmly. “We are going to pay a visit to our neighbors.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“And politely ask them to hand over their lands and properties.”

One of the figures at the meeting hesitated, then raised his hand. After being permitted to speak, he asked cautiously,

“But sir… what if they are unwilling to give up their lands?”

The room went silent.

Every gaze turned toward him, as if he had just asked the most foolish question imaginable.

The governor turned slowly, his face filled with clear amusement as he answered the newcomer.

“Of course,” he said lightly, “if they are unwilling to let us manage their lands peacefully…”

His smile deepened.

“Then we will simply convince them harder.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“I believe our convincing skills are not lacking. Don’t you agree?”

The rest of the room nodded in unison.

The matter was settled.

“The meeting is concluded,” the governor said. “Prepare yourselves.”

As everyone dispersed, the newcomer remained behind, still confused about what kind of convincing they were talking about.

In truth, it was not just this nation making moves.

Every kingdom.

Every empire.

Every power.

All were moving.

Borders were being redrawn in blood. Nations clashed with one another, fighting to claim territory, resources, wealth, and dominance. Some actions were shallow and greedy. Others were calculated, deep, and terrifying.

Organizations moved in the shadows.

War rose from every horizon across the world.

Major powers were challenged. Some fell. Others rose higher than ever before. Enemies once suppressed or broken suddenly broke through their limits, the Crimson Night overturning conditions that had shackled them for decades.

The scale of change sweeping across the realm was vast beyond comprehension.

The world was not ready for it.

While kingdoms and great nations fought for expansion and authority, others aimed higher. They challenged the rulers themselves, seeking to climb to the very top.

And then there were those who went to war for far simpler reasons.

Blood.

One such group marched under the open sky.

Hundreds of men, cloaked in rough, earthy garments stitched from the skins of powerful beasts. Their bodies radiated savage power and pure destruction as they advanced toward their target.

They were barbarians.

The Black Hound Savagers.

One of the most feared yet least civilized tribes scattered across the heart continent.

They thirsted for death and devastation.

This savage group had destroyed countless nations, both small and great, all under the command of their leader. A terrifying Qi path cultivator whose vast power and innate battle instincts made him a walking calamity.

Because of him, the Black Hound Savagers were feared across the land.

Their conquest was soaked in blood.

Their name became synonymous with slaughter.

And now, once more, the earth trembled beneath their march.

The Black Hound Savagers believed the Crimson Night was a message from the true god of the land.

A demand.

A demand for more blood.

And they intended to answer it.

After all, the Black Hound Savagers had never failed in their conquests before.

But this time, they had chosen the wrong prey.

The great kingdom they had set their sights on was no pushover.

Near a cliff along the northern path into the kingdom, a man sat quietly. He was dressed in simple white clothing, a bamboo hat pulled low to obscure his face. An extremely long cigarette hung loosely from the edge of his mouth.

One of the Savagers raised his hand, signaling the entire group to stop.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the figure still sitting at the cliff’s edge, completely unbothered.

The ground around him was soaked in blood.

Hundreds.

No, thousands of corpses lay piled below the cliff.

Bodies of all kinds. Monks. Mages. Soldiers. Mercenaries. Different factions. Different intentions.

One glance was enough to tell that a battle had taken place here.

No.

Calling it a battle was wrong.

That man had slaughtered them all.

Every single one who had tried to breach the wall he was guarding.

Alone.

“Why did you stop?”

A deep, gravelly voice rolled out from the ranks of the Black Hound Savagers.

The one who spoke was massive, nearly one and a half times larger than the others. The savage aura surrounding him was overwhelming, far denser than any ordinary Savager.

His seething eyes locked onto the one who had halted the march, demanding an answer.

The man did not speak.

He simply pointed.

Toward the figure seated at the cliff.

Toward the thousands of dead at his feet.

The most terrifying part was not the carnage.

It was the man himself.

Not a single wrinkle marred his pristine blue clothing, as though the slaughter he had committed had required no effort at all.

The Savager leader frowned as he focused on the man in the bamboo hat. Though the face remained hidden, he could feel it.

The man was looking directly at them.

His instincts screamed.

Danger.

A kind they were not prepared for.

They had heard of powerful cultivators within the Ardentia Kingdom. Of its emperor and famed experts.

But this man was not the emperor.

“Who are you?”

The Savager leader growled, unable to stop himself. The longer he stared, the heavier the sense of impending death became.

At first, the figure did not move.

Then the bamboo hat lifted slightly.

A single silver eye was revealed.

Mesmerizing.

Beautiful enough to enthrall nature itself.

Yet the Savager leader saw no beauty.

Only death.

Only absolute danger.

The figure smiled, the long cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

“Well, thanks for asking,” he said casually. “For once, someone showed a bit of common sense before attacking. At least now I know barbarians have some basic education.”

He paused, as if considering whether to say more.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m just a humble tool maker.”

Another pause.

Then a faint smile.

“Well, since my tools tend to start wars… people gave me a nickname.”

“They called me the war maker.”

The Savager leader’s blood turned cold as the name formed on his lips, each syllable tasting like poison.

“The… War… Maker.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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