In ancient China, war was part of everyday life. The strong ruled, and the weak suffered. Villages were raided almost every day. Homes burned. People starved.
Famine spread across the land, and death walked openly in the streets. For the poor, there was no hope - only hunger, fear, and endless pain.
But this dark life belonged only to the weak. Near the capital of the Empire, things looked very different.
The cities close to the throne were rich and bright, full of trade and comfort. Farmers, carpenters, alchemists, even low level magicians - they worked themselves to the bone, while the rich enjoyed the fruits of that labor.
Far from the capital, small kingdoms fought to survive. These lands were raided again and again so the Empire could grow, stretching long and wide like a snake sliding down a mountain, swallowing everything in its path.
It all began when Luo Xianliang, once only a king, decided he wanted more. No one knew why his hunger for power grew so suddenly, but he never stopped fighting and conquering. He crowned himself as the Emperor.
Before his rise, the world had been more balanced. Kingdoms held each other in check. But when Luo Xianliang started his wars, that balance broke. Each time a small kingdom fell, cracks spread wider through out the world.
His army grew endlessly, gathering like insects swarming to a flame in the night. First, a few came. Then more. Soon the air was thick with them, wings buzzing without end.
His soldiers were the same - every conquest pulled in more men, until it felt like the earth itself was pouring into his army.
As Luo Xianliang took more lands, he forced their people to fight for him. Soldiers who once swore loyalty to their kings trembled at his name.
Their knees shook, their spears slipped in sweaty hands, and their shields felt too heavy to lift.
Protecting themselves was hard enough - protecting their kings was hopeless.
The spirit of their armies broke like an apple cut in half when it fell on axe.
But even this was not enough for him. Luo Xianliang wanted more. Much more. He would not rest until the entire world lay under his feet. He dreamed of a time when heaven and earth knew only one ruler - himself.
What he had done already was beyond anything a king had ever achieved. Before him, there were only kings and warlords. No one had dared call himself Emperor.
Luo Xianliang invented that title for himself - the sole ruler beneath heaven and earth, lord of a united kingdoms.
Still, outside his borders, great kingdoms remained. Their armies were strong, strong enough to meet his own on the field.
But this did not scare Luo Xianliang. It thrilled him. Their power only fed his pride. He crushed them slowly, like a snake wrapping its coils around prey, squeezing until every breath stopped.
By now, he had taken over half the known world, tilting the balance so far it could never be fixed.
Yet the kingdoms left standing did not rise together to fight him. They were too busy just trying to live and survive.
Some rulers, fearing from chaos and death, bent their heads and swore loyalty to Luo Xianliang in secret. And become the puppet nation for the Luo Xianliang.
Whom Luo Xianliang can control like how puppeteer controls their puppet through string.
Those who sided with him were rewarded with wealth and safety - but at a price.
Their citizen were forced to work for the Empire. Their strength was drained to build Luo Xianliang's glory. The weak suffered while the rich lived in peace and prosperity, while same time enjoying every comfort they could dream of.
In these loyal cities, the streets were clean and bright. Tall houses lined the roads. Lanterns burned through the night. Markets overflowed with spices, silk, and fine wine. Music played in noble courtyards where feasts never ended. Children ran through flower gardens while their parents spoke of trade and coin, not war or famine.
But outside these shining walls, life was different, it was cruel. Villages that fed the Empire worked day and night.
Farmers bent their backs until they could not stand, sending food to the cities while they themselves starved. Blacksmiths hammered swords until their hands started to bleed.
Those who could not keep up were thrown aside - but even the weak had their uses. Their lives became toys for the rich, like how children play with toy until they become bored from it and discarded them when they were no longer fun.
These broken people were sent to a place known as the Pit of Death. This name came from fear, because no one who entered ever came back.
It was not a battlefield but a mine - deep, dark, endless. There, magic ore was dug out by hands already torn and bleeding.
The last drops of strength were squeezed from these people in the cold tunnels until they collapsed. Even their dying breath served the Emperor's glory.