Smoke still rose in thick, choking columns over Guangling as Luo Wen strode through the ruined palace. The blackened marble floors, the collapsed ceilings, and the tattered banners hanging like ghosts from broken beams stood as silent witnesses of the devastation. Yet the Invincible Chancellor walked with the solemnity of a sovereign entering his rightful throne hall, as though the ruins themselves were the perfect stage for his ascension. Behind him marched Han Qiu, Gao Ren, and the rest of his hardened generals—men who had followed him across countless campaigns to this decisive hour.
At the far end, the throne of Guangling still stood, cracked and blackened but unbroken amid the rubble. Luo Wen stopped before it, crossing his hands behind his back, his cold eyes lingering on the shattered seat of power. Slowly, a thin, cruel smile curved across his lips.
"The Empire has languished too long in the hands of puppets," he declared, his deep voice echoing through the hollowed chamber like a final verdict. "That farce ends today."
He gave a sharp order, and guards dragged forth the boy-emperor—the pitiable figurehead who had been the last surviving descendant of a minor branch of the old dynasty. Barely more than a child, the boy trembled beneath the shadow of armored soldiers. Alongside him stood surviving members of his household: noble women and men, pale-faced, weary, yet clinging to their lineage as though it could shield them. Luo Wen's gaze fell upon them with the chill of contempt.
"The Empire has no need of hollow symbols or decayed bloodlines," he pronounced. Raising one hand like a judge condemning criminals, his tone was merciless. "Execute those who still dare call themselves sovereign. As for the boy—bury him alive in chains. Let him rot in obscurity until the world forgets his name."
The chamber filled with cries of horror, quickly drowned beneath the hiss of drawn blades and the metallic ring of execution. Blood pooled across the cracked marble tiles where emperors had once held court. With this single act, Luo Wen did more than ascend to power: he annihilated the last vestiges of dynastic legitimacy. Later, when he lifted upon his brow the iron diadem pried from the plundered treasuries, it gleamed not as an heirloom but as a trophy seized from the ashes of a dead line.
"I, Luo Wen, the Invincible Chancellor, proclaim myself Emperor of this restored Empire!" His voice thundered, his bloodied sword raised high. "From Guangling begins a new era! Let the world know that under my reign, no frontier shall stand, no enemy endure!"
The generals roared their acclaim, their voices echoing through the scorched halls like the chorus of a new, terrible age.
Far across the sea, on the western isles, Wei Lian received the news with a hardened face. Reports of Luo Wen's self-coronation had spread like wildfire, but what struck her heart with cold fury was the slaughter of the imperial household and the boy's imprisonment. To her, it was not merely cruelty—it was blasphemy.
In the hastily built wooden hall by the island port, she stood before nobles, captains, and officials who had followed her into exile. Her eyes, alight with defiance, glimmered as she unrolled ancient scrolls upon the table: genealogies inscribed with crimson seals, relics of houses that had stood for centuries.
"Luo Wen is nothing but a usurper without lineage," she declared, her voice resonant and unwavering. "He possesses no noble blood, no illustrious ancestry, no sacred heritage. He has crowned himself atop the corpses of innocents."
Lifting the scrolls high, she displayed the seals of the Four Great Families."I, Wei Lian, am daughter of one of those houses. Through generations of interwoven alliances and marriages, the blood of the purest nobility flows within me. For centuries, our families stood at the heart of the Empire. I am no makeshift warlord, no opportunist playing at power—I am the rightful heir."
The chamber stirred. Nobles who had once wavered in doubt now lifted their gazes. Their own family trees, their own legitimacy, all traced back to the great noble unions that Wei Lian embodied. To them, blood was not a mere emblem; it was the foundation of sovereignty itself. Luo Wen, born of humble soil, could never offer that.
Wei Lian struck while their silence still trembled."You, nobles and lords of the land, shall not be silenced nor stripped of your honor. In my Empire, your counsel will be heeded, your estates defended, and your loyalty rewarded. This Western Empire we proclaim is not founded upon fear nor upon usurpation, but upon the legitimacy of heritage and the unity of our nobility."
The murmur swelled into a clamor. At her side, Zhao Qing drew his sword and lifted it high until its edge caught the firelight."The Empress speaks truth! The throne belongs to Wei Lian by blood and by right!"
One by one, the nobles nodded. Some with fervor, others with reluctant acceptance—but all recognizing that their survival, their very names, now depended upon this cause.
Wei Lian ascended the wooden dais. With her curved blade raised to the rafters, she proclaimed:"From this day forth, I, Wei Lian, declare myself Empress of the Western Empire. Guangling may lie in ruins, but the imperial bloodline lives in me. Luo Wen commands his legions, but we command the blood, the heritage, and the justice that cannot be denied."
Thus was the world divided, irrevocably. In the east, Luo Wen, crowned in the ashes of Guangling, ruled a vast continent with iron and discipline, his Empire sustained by endless armies and the force of his will. In the west, Wei Lian raised her insular realm, smaller in size yet hailed by many as the true heir to legitimacy, her banners borne by the noble families united beneath her lineage.
The people themselves coined the names that history would remember: the Empire in the east, and the Kingdom in the west—titles that reflected not only the disparity in size and might, but also the perception of power itself. Luo Wen might rule with an iron fist, but Wei Lian claimed the hearts of those who still revered the sanctity of imperial blood.
The fate of the continent was sealed: two crowns, two sovereigns, two irreconcilable visions of power. And sooner or later, their clash would ignite the war that would decide which Empire—eastern or western—would survive to inherit the earth.