Dr. J'an
The following accounts detail the initial mobilization toward the Huǒ Róng Yuán campaign. Unlike prior records, these entries reveal a rare overlap between high-ranking command and low-born soldiery, offering insight into both strategic intent and the human cost of its execution.
Ki
My name is Ki.
I am the sister of Marrick.
The warlord.
The emperor.
And I am not weak.
I am skilled in battle.
Efficient in runes.
Precise with hand signs.
I have killed.
I have survived.
And I am stronger than most who march under his banner.
Only one stands above me.
My brother.
There is a war coming.
And I am not allowed to fight in it.
That is what he says.
He says he does not want to lose another sister.
I understand.
I do.
But I am not Chi.
I am not going to die.
And I refuse to be caged because of his fear.
So—
I made a decision.
I will go to war.
Without him knowing.
I took spare armor.
Covered my horns.
Dulled my presence.
And now—
I march.
Ren
Preparation was always the most telling part of war.
Not the speeches.
Not the marching.
The preparation.
That is where truth lives.
I stood among my commanders and captains as rations were distributed, weapons sharpened, armor repaired.
And something was missing.
A gap.
A weakness.
"…We need a marksman."
No one responded.
Of course they didn't.
Marksmen were rare.
Good ones—
even rarer.
I spent the next hour searching.
Watching.
Testing.
Most were average.
Some were confident.
None were what I needed.
Until—
Him.
Lee.
I watched him from a distance.
His posture.
His breathing.
The way he held the bow—
not like a soldier.
Like it was part of him.
He released.
The arrow cut through the air—
clean.
Precise.
Perfect.
I approached.
"You."
He turned immediately.
"General Ren."
No hesitation.
Good.
"You're a marksman."
"Yes, sir."
"From now on, you're a captain."
Silence.
"…Sir?"
"You heard me."
"But… I'm a slave."
"I don't care."
That was the truth.
"I need results. Not titles."
He stared at me—
confused.
Uncertain.
Good.
That meant he was thinking.
Lee
"General Ren… why did you allow me to become a captain?"
We were walking now.
The army already forming.
Moving.
"Because it doesn't matter if you're a slave," he said. "All that matters is that you help our lord in his glorious war."
"…Right."
Something about that felt—
off.
Even to him.
"Speak your mind," he said suddenly.
"I hate people who don't love my lord."
A pause.
"But I hate people who don't live their truth far more."
…So he noticed.
"Okay," I said slowly.
"It's just…"
I hesitated.
But he said to speak.
"I heard your mother and your older brother were slaves."
He didn't react.
So I kept going.
"I'm just confused."
"How can you love Emperor Marrick… if he's the one who enslaved your people?"
Still nothing.
"Doesn't it make you mad?"
"To see everyone else free…"
"…but not your race?"
He answered instantly.
"No."
Simple.
Cold.
Final.
"My race is free."
I frowned.
"…What?"
"I don't consider myself blue-horned," he said.
"I take pride in how much I resemble a red skin."
…
"Oh."
"I… guess I understand."
I didn't.
Not really.
But I understood enough.
He wasn't chained.
Not in the way I was.
Ren
The march began.
And with it—
the gathering.
At first, it was only us.
My division.
Disciplined.
Organized.
Precise.
Then—
the tribes arrived.
From the mountains.
Black horns.
Pink fangs.
Purple-skinned.
Each group carrying its own identity—
its own pride—
its own way of war.
They were louder.
Less controlled.
But not weak.
Never weak.
Then came the kingdoms.
Armies in formation.
Banners raised.
Armor polished.
They marched like they had something to prove.
Because they did.
And through all of it—
we remained the largest force.
The core.
The backbone.
The army of the Tàiyáng Empire.
It was not even close.
We outnumbered them.
Outmatched them.
Outclassed them.
And they knew it.
You could see it in their eyes.
The way they looked at us.
Fear.
Respect.
Resentment.
All of it mixed together.
The march stretched for miles.
A moving continent of soldiers.
Weapons.
War.
And somewhere within it—
purpose.
Or at least—
the illusion of it.
Lee
A week.
That's how long we marched.
A full week.
And in that time—
something changed.
Not the war.
Not the army.
Me.
And him.
General Ren.
We talked.
More than I expected.
More than I thought he would allow.
At first, it was orders.
Corrections.
Expectations.
But slowly—
it became something else.
He asked questions.
About my aim.
My past.
My thoughts.
And I answered.
Carefully.
Because no matter what—
he was still my superior.
And I was still a slave.
But there were moments—
small ones—
where it didn't feel like that.
Where it felt like—
I was just a soldier.
And he was just a general.
And we were marching to war.
Ren
Lee was useful.
That was the first thing.
But he was also—
honest.
Not blindly loyal.
Not stupid.
That made him dangerous.
And valuable.
He saw things others didn't.
He questioned things others wouldn't.
But he still followed orders.
That balance—
was rare.
And I needed it.
Lee
By the seventh day—
we saw it.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
But enough.
The mountains changed.
The air shifted.
Heat.
Pressure.
Something—
wrong.
"…We're close," someone said.
No one needed to confirm it.
We all felt it.
Him.
The Elder Beast.
Huǒ Róng Yuán.
And for the first time since this began—
I wasn't thinking about freedom.
I wasn't thinking about survival.
I wasn't even thinking about Ren.
I was thinking about one thing.
We are not ready for this.