Chapter 287: Birthplace (Part 25)

Chapter 287: Birthplace (Part 25)

What followed were seemingly endless battles.

The deity of the enemy nation hadn't anticipated that the Crown Prince, who seemed easy to vanquish, possessed such a formidable art.

Three days later, as this deity looked down upon what he perceived as mere ants, he realized with profound dread that the prince had transformed — he was no longer a man.

Behind him, twelve vengeful spirits emanated intense resentment. Their chilling winds howled as tears of blood streamed down their faces. They surrounded the figure in a black robe, a prince whose face was even paler than theirs.

The once bright and clear-eyed prince now tilted his head back, his white hair dancing in the wild wind.

A bolt of lightning descended from the sky, but the prince's eyes were even more terrifying.

This “being”...

The fierce winds lifted the prince, and the elegant sword in his hand now seemed heavier.

It had absorbed the broken weapons of the twelve officers.

At that moment, with a rise of his hand, he unleashed a mighty slash!

"Even if it was just this unremarkable slash, it bore the overwhelming resentment of twelve vengeful spirits and the broken fury of a nobleman who once could've been as gentle as the breeze and as clear as the moon."

"Even the deity had to retreat from its edge!"

"After that battle, the deity withdrew to the divine realm."

"Soon after, from the gates of that realm, a few deities would occasionally descend to the mortal world."

"Twelve ghostly generals were insufficient, grossly insufficient."

"Hence, the Crown Prince took up his butcher blade once more."

"From a dozen men, to hundreds, and then eight hundred."

"With eight hundred ghostly generals by his side, he never faced defeat again."

"Because the aura of these spirits affected the living, and because the prince had become terrifyingly formidable, both the civilians and soldiers in Luoxia Pass had all retreated."

"The Crown Prince always emerged victorious, but he always felt he wasn't doing enough."

"The sole observer of these memories, even without complete human emotions now, still felt a digital tremor, longing to touch him, to tell him: No, you've done more than enough."

"With a mortal body, the Crown Prince single-handedly bore the weight of the kingdom, pouring his heart and soul to pull the nation out of its destined mire."

"Just as the deity said, without the prince, the kingdom would've fallen long ago."

"He stood firm amidst the imminent collapse, taking to the battlefield in his youth. After barely a couple of peaceful years, he was again confronting malevolent deities and looking after his people."

"Even now, he's only in the prime of his youth."

"Yet he still feels he hasn't done enough, hasn't given enough."

"There's so much he wants to accomplish."

"For instance, even now, he hasn't found anyone in the kingdom capable enough, despite sharing all his knowledge of the celestial arts."

"Then there are those deities, always watching, ready to exert their divine authority should he misstep."

"And then... he feels his heart growing colder."

"The person who once turned his companions into specters, who became white-haired overnight, now finds it difficult to weep for another's passing. It seems as if he's grown accustomed to harsher realities, no longer saddened by mundane departures."

"It's as if he too has become a wraith, trivializing death, turning it into a commonplace."

"This is not a good sign."

"If one day he truly becomes such an indifferent deity, who in the current kingdom could guide him back to righteousness?"

"He must empower the citizens of the kingdom with the means to handle him before his fervor cools completely, before he becomes entirely unmoved by any death."

He cannot become the "deity" of your kingdom.

The prince's gaze settled upon the door where deities frequented.

What if... he could annihilate all the deities?

If he could do so, perhaps your kingdom wouldn't need him anymore, right?

As this thought arose, even his memories seemed stained with a dark blot.

He mustn't go.

It felt as though someone was restraining him, yet it was but a memory, a reality that had already transpired.

The rival kingdom is no longer a threat; the prince knew well that his real adversary now was the deities.

"I shall destroy the divine realm," he murmured to himself. "Every deity we've encountered thinks highly of themselves, believing they dictate all. We don't need such gods in our kingdom."

No one responded.

Expectedly, for he was the only soul left at the Sunset Pass.

The so-called eight hundred ghostly generals, formed from the spirits of vengeful ghosts, operated on instinct without thought.

He didn't anticipate a response, nor did he expect someone to affirm or challenge his decision.

— He had grown accustomed to it.

And so, with this thought, he acted.

A man, not entirely deceased, accompanied by eight hundred vengeful spirits, entered the grand gateway leading to the divine realm.

Why would the deities leave such a direct gateway to their domain?

It was, in fact, a rather transparent trap, merely to lure him into the divine realm.

They had no choice. No deity could match him in the mortal world; only the inherent suppression of the divine realm against spirits stood a chance.

This presumption seemed reasonable, as any ghost entering the divine realm should be suppressed.

But who would have thought... this man was so formidable that, despite the divine realm's innate restraint on spirits, he rampaged unchallenged.

The divine realm suffered countless casualties until they called upon the deity of the Eastern Peak, leveraging his authority as the lord of the underworld to barely contain this mortal intruder.

With combined strength, they finally expelled him from the divine realm.

Fearing his return, the grand gateway near the Sunset Pass, which once boldly stood, was finally sealed.

Will the deities ever return?

The prince didn't know, but at the very least, he bought his kingdom some time.

Years of ceaseless combat had left him akin to a rotten apple. On the surface, he appeared unscathed, but deep down, he was thoroughly decayed.

After all, despite commanding eight hundred ghostly generals, he was, in essence, still bound by mortal flesh.

To conserve his strength and rejuvenate, the prince had to seclude himself, hoping it would grant him a longer life.

As long as he lived another day, his mere presence deterred the gods from invading his kingdom.

Before his retreat, he entrusted the exquisite scriptures and mystic techniques he had acquired from the divine realm to his most trusted lieutenants, urging them to disseminate and cultivate new "deities" for the kingdom.

Having done all this, his heart still weighed with concern, but he knew it was time for him to rest.

Prolonged existence was drastically shortening his lifespan.

The prince had a plan. He'd awaken once every year, thinking that even if grave events transpired, he'd be timely enough to intervene.

The first year he awoke to tranquility, with peaceful waters and no external threats. With the techniques he had shared, the place thrived as if it were a hidden paradise, bursting with incredible vitality.

The second year he arose to find the kingdom had overthrown the emperor's tyranny, deciding to abandon the role of a sole monarch and instead let six departments jointly govern. In every city, drums were placed for the public to sound if they had grievances.

The third year he emerged to a flourishing kingdom where prodigious talents made significant strides in mastering the mystic arts.

The fourth year…

The eleventh year…

Before his scheduled awakening, the prince's eyes flicked open.

He sensed another heavenly descent within his kingdom's borders.

With a mere thought, the prince stood before this mortal on the brink of divinity.

The sun shone brilliantly, reminiscent of his own ascension. The air was filled with the scent of blossoms and the faint harmony of celestial music.

The universe was bestowing its blessings, preparing to welcome this newborn deity to the divine realm.

This soon-to-be deity was a handsome youth, around fifteen or sixteen. As the crowd around congratulated him, his tearful mother held his hand, offering her last-minute advice.

But when the prince, cloaked in dark robes and emanating a chilling aura, appeared, the crowd was momentarily startled. The youth instinctively shielded his mother, viewing the prince as a formidable foe.

An elderly figure recognized him.

"The prince… It's the prince!"

The crowd exchanged uneasy glances.

In the span of eleven years, much had changed. Though the prince hadn't vanished from the public's consciousness, many things had evolved.

Back when he first emerged from the shadows, the people had seen him as their savior.

Now, as he reappeared before them, some greeted him with fond nostalgia, others with gratitude, and yet some with evident anxiety.

"Your Highness…" The woman nudged her son, urging him to ascend the heavenly steps.

The prince's inky, inhuman eyes observed the scene.

He inquired, "Do you wish to ascend to godhood? Didn't the teacher who instructed you tell you that those who practice the arts I bestowed upon must vow never to become gods?"

The youth hesitated, then shook his head, "I wasn't aware. My teacher mentioned that mastering these arts could lead to a government position, ensuring a better life for my mother."

The prince fell silent.

Having not spoken for an extended period, his voice was slightly hoarse.

"Do you recall, sixteen years ago, when deities descended to the mortal realm, and our kingdom teetered on the brink of ruin? To become a deity is to become an adversary to our kingdom. Above in the divine realm, many eyes still covet our land."

The youth appeared timid but was undeniably reluctant to forsake the opportunity for godhood.

After all, it was a chance at eternal life.

"Aren't there any benevolent gods? I understand your concerns, Your Highness, but if I ascend, I could advocate for our kingdom amongst the deities. Isn't that a viable path too?"

Really?

How naive.

To gods, mortals are but ants.

They never perceive their actions as wrong, viewing everything from mortals as tributes owed to them.

The prince shook his head.

"It's forbidden."

With those words, a giant sword materialized in his hand, slashing towards the heavenly steps.

Almost instantly, the woman lunged protectively over the steps.

The prince forcefully retracted his blade, his complexion paling at the exertion.

Nevertheless, the sheer force of the swing had nearly cost the woman her life.

Coughing up blood, she knelt, bowing her head repeatedly towards the prince.

"I beg you, spare my son's life! Since childhood, he has pursued the divine path, and now his aspirations are within reach! He's a good lad. Once he ascends, he'll forever be grateful for the blessings of the mystic arts you've bestowed!"

Blood stained her forehead as she continued to prostrate, seemingly oblivious to her pain.

Surrounding her, fellow villagers also knelt, pleading for the prince's mercy.

For a village to produce a deity was an unparalleled honor, a matter of pride that would earn them prestige and even recognition from higher authorities. With the young god as their beacon, even if their village never produced another deity, just the mention of having one would elevate their status during negotiations and dealings.

Prince observed the sea of kneeling people before him.

He asked, “Have you… forgotten the hardships during those three years when the deities descended?”

“Those were trying times, Your Highness, but they're in the past now.”

All in the past.

It's truly behind us.

The prince stood rooted, lost in thought. After a while, a gust of wind brushed past, and he vanished.

Despite her injuries, the woman urgently beckoned her son to ascend the heavenly steps, fearing the prince might change his mind.

Reluctantly yet filled with hope, the youth began his ascent.

The villagers, helping one another to their feet, watched him rise, soon disappearing from mortal sight, congratulating one another in exhilaration.

Someone suddenly remarked, “Didn't Prince pass away long ago?”

“Silence!” An elder spoke sternly, yet with a hint of nostalgia, “The younger ones may not remember. If it weren't for the prince, instead of our current prosperity, it would have been fortunate if even one in ten of us had survived. The deity we now worship in every household is Prince…”

But then he added, “However, while I've aged, the prince hasn't. Yet, he's a figure from the past.”

For the first time in eleven years, the prince stepped foot in a bustling city.

It was Rising Moon City, less than a hundred miles from the Yuewu Pass.

When the deities of the rival kingdom descended, he and Zhuang Mingqi traveled a thousand miles overnight, stopping here to regroup.

Back then, the city was paralyzed with fear, every door shut tight, every shop closed. Come nightfall, the silent city seemed like a ghost town.

But now, the city was alive and vibrant under the night sky. The sweet aroma of pastries wafted in the air, dancers glided gracefully, children played freely, and households kept their doors open.

Energetic youths seized instruments and sang new compositions in taverns, while seasoned practitioners shared their wisdom with eager novices on stages.

At night, the city was as radiant as a newborn sunrise, exuding youth and progress.

The prince observed the lively world before him.

Only then did he realize that he had, unnoticed, become a relic of the past.

The wounds inflicted upon the kingdom had healed, but he alone bore scars that refused to fade.

“It's truly... all behind us,” he whispered, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.

Yet, he chose not to step into this radiant dawn, returning instead to the solitude of the night.

This time, he succumbed to a deep slumber, no longer witnessing the world's prosperity.

Such an ending is quite satisfactory.

He pondered thus.

As your kingdom prospers, he need not wander anymore.

To be honest... it does hurt quite a bit.

Although he's never been one to fear pain, it's quite pleasant to lie down in comfort.

Let it be.

Just like this—

After countless years, the slumbering prince awakened once again.

He heard someone weeping.

No, many were weeping.

Threads of gold, nearly invisible, wrapped around him. Temples dedicated to him, long neglected, were now cleansed, and incense was lit afresh.

"May the prince bless us..."

He lifted his head.

The sky bore a gaping hole.

The years of hibernation had enhanced his powers. In that instant, without anyone informing him, the universe relayed its message directly to him.

A mortal from your kingdom achieved divinity, a feat not accepted by the heavens.

After all these years, the heavens finally devised a method to prevent mortals from your kingdom from becoming deities.

They deceived the cosmic order with their divine powers, making it believe your kingdom had perished.

Since then, the laws within your kingdom's boundaries became chaotic. But because the cosmic order couldn’t detect it, the forces of life and death became null there.

For three years, no one in your kingdom perished, nor were children born.

The citizens could sustain without consuming grains, and even brutal fights wouldn't result in death.

Life suddenly became as mundane and insignificant as roadside weeds.

Soon, the six ministries that upheld your kingdom's order couldn't control it anymore.

If everyone was immortal, by what right does one rule and another obeys? Why should I heed your commands?

Those in the court who still carried out duties executed many of ill repute, but what was the point? They wouldn’t die and their bodies would revive.

Imprisoning them was futile. Most of the wicked were adept in mystic arts and could not be contained.

Finally, one day, an ear-piercing cry was heard.

"We're now immortal, why should we abide by these rules? By what right are we not free to act as we please? What's right and what's wrong? Even if I kill someone, they won't truly die! What's there to judge?"

The imperial palace was toppled, and overnight, the courtiers and aristocrats became prisoners.

They wanted no governing body, no oversight.

Wouldn't it be right if might makes right?

In an instant, this land became a sea of conflict.

Flames devoured poems and paintings, and ploughshares shattered intricate carvings.

Fields lay barren, and every man felt threatened.

Commoners? No, there were no more commoners.

There were only the strong and the weak.

The realm deceived by divine powers, where cosmic order ceased to exist, covered only the land of your kingdom. Anyone stepping outside its borders would turn to ash.

What was once an idyllic paradise turned into a terrifying jungle with ever-present bloodstains on the streets.

Only then did they remember the prince they once relied upon.

At this moment, the prince intended to venture out.

But the ghostly guards around him stopped him.

As his power grew, the spectral guards gained some semblance of consciousness. Having served the prince for years, they felt he had done enough for the kingdom. Why bother with its fate any longer?

"Don't go," Liu Feng, the leader, said, blocking the entrance.

The prince replied with a gentle tone, "But I am the crown prince."

Liu Feng frowned, remaining unyielding.

After a moment of contemplation, the prince asked, "Liu Feng, have you ever tilled the earth?"

The fierce spirit, slow to react, shook his head after a while.

"Neither have I. I've never sown a grain of wheat, never toiled under the scorching sun. Yet, I've always eaten better than any farmer. I grew up in luxury, studied scriptures, and my only worry as a child was copying texts as punishment."

"I know they're naive, looking for immediate gains without considering the future. Unlike me, they haven’t been educated leisurely, not having the privilege to traverse different regions, experiencing diverse cultures. But are they inherently more naive and less insightful than me?"

The prince gazed beyond the mountains.

"No. If they, too, had the privilege of elite education from a young age, exquisite meals, endless wines, new outfits daily, entourages of a hundred, endless scrolls in their libraries, and interactions with scholars and literati, they would be equally enlightened. I can't stand on their shoulders and deem them foolish and unreasonable."

"In my heart... I do harbor some resentment. Ah, these people, who seldom remember me in ordinary times but seek me in peril. I sometimes feel like abandoning them."

"Yet, I cannot."

"I am the crown prince, and they are my subjects."

As Liu Feng listened, tears of blood streaked from his eyes.

The prince patted his shoulder, "Rest assured. Just as I once defeated those deities, I can do it again."

He said so then, with an air of confidence, as if victory was assured.

But in the end, he sacrificed himself to mend the heavens, annihilating both body and spirit.