The morning sky was painted in hues of crimson and gold as the banners of Shao Xian's reign unfurled across Zhenlu. The city, once a stronghold of defiance, now moved in rhythm with a singular will—his will. Soldiers patrolled the streets with silent efficiency, their eyes sharper, their movements more disciplined than ever before. The people, though fearful at first, had begun to understand one thing: resistance was meaningless.
From the balcony of the central fortress, Shao Xian overlooked his domain. The cold wind ruffled his robes, yet he stood unmoved, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon.
Behind him, Zhou Fan and Minister Han awaited his command.
"The noble houses have submitted," Han reported, his voice steady. "Their wealth and resources are now at your disposal. However, there are whispers that some still harbor thoughts of rebellion."
Shao Xian did not look at him. "Let them whisper."
Han hesitated, but Zhou Fan stepped forward. "My Lord, should we eliminate them before their discontent festers into action?"
Shao Xian turned then, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Their thoughts mean nothing. Only action matters. If they dare act, they will be erased."
A silence fell over them. Han swallowed, understanding the weight of those words. Zhou Fan, ever the warrior, merely nodded.
Shao Xian turned back to the horizon. "The Crimson Thunder Army was merely the first step. Our true path lies beyond this city."
Zhou Fan clenched his fist. "Where shall we march next?"
A slow smile formed on Shao Xian's lips. "North."
The Northern Wastes were a desolate expanse of jagged mountains and frozen plains. It was a land ruled by warlords, each clinging to their meager holdings like starving wolves. But one name stood above the rest—Geng Tianhu, the Iron Fang Overlord.
His fortress, Blackstone Keep, was a stronghold carved into the cliffs, a bastion of warriors who knew nothing but bloodshed. For years, he had ruled unchallenged, his army unmatched in brutality.
Now, that rule would end.
Shao Xian's forces moved with precision, their march cutting through the frozen terrain like an unstoppable tide. At their head, Shao Xian rode in silence, his presence alone enough to drive the cold from the air.
By nightfall, they reached the outskirts of Blackstone Keep. Fires burned atop the walls, and the sounds of drunken laughter echoed through the air. The warlords of the North had grown complacent.
Zhou Fan sneered. "They do not even guard their gates properly."
"They do not fear what they do not understand," Shao Xian replied. "That will change."
He raised a single hand, and the night itself seemed to tighten around them. Shadows twisted, the very air trembling under an unseen force.
Then, without a single word, the first strike fell.
The walls of Blackstone Keep trembled as an invisible force crashed into them. Stone shattered, sending debris raining down upon the soldiers within. Cries of alarm rose, but they were swiftly drowned out by the next wave of destruction.
Shao Xian moved like a specter, his form a blur as he ascended the walls with inhuman grace. The first sentry barely had time to react before his body was crushed beneath an unseen weight.
Zhou Fan and his elite warriors followed, cutting through the chaos like a blade through flesh. The defenders, though hardened by years of war, stood no chance.
At the heart of the fortress, Geng Tianhu emerged, his massive frame clad in black iron armor. His eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto Shao Xian.
"So," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "You are the one who dares challenge me."
Shao Xian said nothing. He merely stepped forward, the weight of his presence pressing down upon the warlord like an unseen hand.
Tianhu's expression darkened. "I have ruled these lands for decades. No man has ever—"
A flicker of movement.
Then, agony.
Tianhu staggered, his chest torn open by an invisible force. Blood poured from the wound, steaming in the cold air. He gasped, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
Shao Xian stood before him, his expression unreadable.
"You were never meant to rule."
With those words, he raised a single hand—and Tianhu's body crumpled, crushed beneath a force beyond his comprehension.
The warlord of the North was dead.
The battle was over before it had truly begun.
By dawn, Blackstone Keep stood silent. The banners of the Iron Fang had been torn down, replaced by a single, undeniable truth—Shao Xian ruled.
Zhou Fan stood beside him, surveying the conquered fortress. "What now, my Lord?"
Shao Xian's golden eyes gleamed. "Now, we march further."
The world had yet to grasp the weight of his sovereignty.
But soon, they would.