I'm going to die of old age.
Kiyono Raimei stared blankly at the snow outside the window.
This was fate.
There was a limit to a mortal's lifespan. That he had lived five hundred years in this life was already a stroke of great fortune.
But five hundred years, to a god — especially a god who pursued "eternity" — was nothing more than a fleeting existence.
He could not stay with her that long. It was time to leave.
He hoped she wouldn't be angry.
Mortals were forever only mortals. They aged, they grew weak, they fell ill, they hungered, they thirsted, they were wounded, and above all — they died.
Kiyono looked at the words appearing in his field of vision:
[Human Principles System Activated]
[Kiyono Raimei]
[Title: Pillar of the Nation of Inazuma]
[Age: 521]
[Level: 89]
[Element: Electro]
[Status: Extreme Senescence]
[Martial Prowess: Archon-class]
[Remaining Lifespan: 221 days]
Note: Due to senescent status, the host is unable to sustain prolonged combat.
Like any ordinary transmigrator, Kiyono also had a cheat called a "System," and like the vast majority of transmigrators, he too had once known glory and the spirited vigor of youth.
But every novel only ever depicted the protagonist's lavish and brilliant prime, while almost none ever addressed the twilight of a hero.
Because no reader wanted to read the story of an old man. Most authors simply glossed over it with a single line — something about the protagonist transcending mortality, becoming immortal, his harem overflowing, heh heh heh.
This was contradictory.
Your novel still has a final chapter, doesn't it? Once the last chapter is written, the protagonist is, by the setting, undying and immortal with a full harem, living the dream — but does he have a next chapter?
Does he have a story after that?
No. All that's left for him is a single line: "The End."
It might be satisfying for the reader, but for the protagonist, it's rather dismissive. That ending is worse than dying of old age, honestly.
There was never any such thing as eternity in this world.
Transmigrators grew old too. Even heroes had their twilight.
All things under heaven were destined to die. It was simply Kiyono's body's turn now.
To be able to die a proper death of old age was his good fortune.
To have lived past five hundred as a mortal body — that was fortune upon fortune.
Save for one thing, Kiyono had no regrets in this life.
He closed the System and turned his gaze back to the window.
A thin haze of mist let through a few faint rays of sunlight. Thick snow lay piled upon the pines and cypresses outside the wooden window, faintly reflecting those few precious slivers of light that had managed to fall through. Beyond that, everything was a vast expanse of white.
The characters reading "Residence of Kiyono, Pillar of the Nation" on the plaque above the manor gate were also coated in a thin layer of frost.
To the ordinary people of Inazuma, the Pillar's Residence held a special significance.
"He is to the nation as a pillar is to a house" — these were the words the Narukami herself had spoken five hundred years ago.
From that day forward, the title of "Pillar of the Nation" came into being — a position of supreme honor, ranked above all the Commissions, the very pinnacle a mortal subject could attain. Kiyono Raimei had entered the Shogunate at sixteen, a youth of blazing spirit and gallant bearing. He participated in the Grand Tournament before the Throne, and withstood a single strike from the Narukami. From that moment on, his rise was unstoppable.
At seventeen, he became the Shogun's sole personal guard, campaigning at her side across all fronts. At nineteen, he was appointed Minister of Maritime Affairs and given command of the navy.
At twenty-one, his martial prowess reached its zenith. That same year, Inazuma faced the greatest crisis it had known in a thousand years — the Calamity of Darkness swept across the continent of Teyvat, yet the Narukami had departed for Khaenri'ah. Inazuma was left without its lord.
Countless generals perished in that catastrophe: Kitsune Saiguu, Chiyo... In that hour of mortal peril, Kiyono assumed the Shogun's seat in her stead, defending Inazuma for dozens of days, driving back the calamity, holding the crumbling edifice upright — until the Narukami returned.
It was then that Kiyono was bestowed by the Narukami the honor of "Pillar of the Nation."
After his hundredth year, he struck down the head of the god Orobashi, sweeping to victory after victory and bringing Watatsumi Island into the Electro Archon's domain.
...And so much more. So, so much more.
Looking back, he had guarded this land for five hundred years. He had been at her side for five hundred years. Every duty he owed had been fulfilled. It was time to go.
He had but one regret in this life, and it was one he could no longer fulfill.
He was tired.
"Cough... cough. Cough, cough."
Kiyono coughed softly several times. His lungs labored wearily to move air; each breath felt as though his throat were being seared.
His coughing grew more and more violent, and he doubled over the desk.
Blood.
He was coughing up blood.
"Your Grace...?"
"Your Grace!"
The one speaking was the young woman across from him, her voice stricken with alarm.
Her pale white hair was tied up with a red cord. She wore a snow-white juban dress, and her eyes were a light color too — like the pale surface of a still lake.
She had been kneeling elegantly on the tatami, her feet bare of wooden sandals, wearing only clean white tabi socks. Now, following her master's alarm, the arches of her feet tensed slightly, and faint blue veins showed through.
Kamisato Ayaka — that was the young woman's name.
The eldest daughter of the Yashiro Commission, possessed of exquisite beauty and impeccable character. Among the people, she was known as the Shirasagi Himegimi — the White Heron Princess.
But at this moment, the White Heron Princess was anything but princess-like. She rose to her feet in visible fluster, her white-socked feet pressing against the tatami, and quickly circled around the desk to gently pat Kiyono's back, helping him ease his breathing.
"Cough... cough... I'm fine."
Kiyono coughed once more and gently pushed the young woman away. "Just reminiscing about the old days, that's all."
"The old days?"
"An old man's ancient history, nothing more." Kiyono said, poking fun at himself.
Ayaka closed the window lattice where the cold wind had been blowing in. She paused for a moment, then said earnestly:
"Your Grace, please take care of your health...
It's cold out — please don't open the windows. Put on more layers... The temperature has been dropping lately. I've prepared some white fungus soup; I'll have someone bring it over this evening. It's good for the body. And also..."
She went on and on, fussing over every detail. Kiyono cut her off with a wry smile:
"Ayaka... I'm going to die."