It was no longer just one or two gazes being cast upon them—there were now thousands. Eyes devoid of any trace of humanity locked onto them: eyes of the puppet-like mechanical citizens, blank and chilling.
The weight of so many inhuman stares focused on their bodies made Lantigris shiver.
Thankfully, they didn't keep staring forever. Soon enough, the masked façade of the citizens fell away, one by one revealing themselves as black-armored soldiers. In a single synchronized motion, like programmed machines, they formed ranks and followed the First Emperor back to the city.
Just as Lantigris began to ease the tension in her chest, her anxiety spiked again. A small cavalry squad was riding toward them, their path unmistakably aimed straight at the sisters.
"Big Sister…"
Her voice trembled with unease as she called out to the person she trusted most.
"There's nothing to worry about. If they meant to harm us, they'd have done so already," came the calm reply.
After all, those who'd run toward Xianyang City earlier had already met their fate—beheaded by the black-armored soldiers without mercy. Not everyone had been slaughtered, however. Some truly innocent bystanders who'd come from faraway lands to witness the ceremony had simply been escorted away by other soldiers with vague instructions.
As for the cavalry rapidly approaching them—these were not emotionless automatons. These were men with warm blood and expressive faces. Unlike the black-armored puppet-soldiers, who wore masks that completely concealed their features, these riders wore no such disguise.
"Please," one of the soldiers said as they arrived.
There were no interrogations, no explanations. Just an invitation to board the carriage they'd brought.
Once inside the carriage, they merged into the convoy heading into the city.
Peering out through the window, the two sisters could finally take in the grandeur of the capital. This Xianyang was nothing like the one of historical record—the difference was sheer scale.
The city before them rivaled modern twenty-first century metropolises.
They'd expected the place to feel cold and lifeless, especially after seeing so many mechanical soldiers, but the city was vibrant with human energy. Its citizens lived in comfort far exceeding that of the outside world's version of Xianyang.
This place was as if caught in the throes of an early industrial revolution—rapid growth and transformation palpable in every direction.
Urban planning and infrastructure here even surpassed that of early modern cities. And as they drew closer to the city center, the sisters grew increasingly awestruck.
A colossal metallic construct loomed over them, appearing to be built upon the mythical World Tree itself. If it were ever to collapse, it could obliterate the entire outside-world Xianyang in one devastating fall.
What was this gargantuan edifice for?
"Big Sister… what are they going to do with us?"
Lantigris whispered uneasily.
They'd lost contact with the Akasha System again. That meant no escape, no way to return. Anxiety clawed at her.
"I don't know," Brunhilde replied. "We'll understand once we meet the Emperor."
But the historical First Emperor was proving to be anything but ordinary—and the more unearthly he appeared, the more exhilarated Brunhilde felt.
Everything they had seen so far confirmed that this Emperor possessed truly extraordinary power.
If he could be convinced to join humanity's thirteen champions, then the outcome of Ragnarök—the divine war—might tilt another ten percent in their favor.
Yet… would he agree?
This sovereign ruled his own enclosed world. Taking the battlefield on humanity's behalf would expose this hidden realm to the gods.
Would the gods tolerate such autonomy from a mere mortal?
Would the Emperor risk it?
This line of thought made Brunhilde tense.
If he refused to take that risk, their situation would grow perilous.
They might not be killed—had that been his intention, it would've happened already—but they could very well be imprisoned, trapped within this world and denied return.
That would be disastrous. After all, Brunhilde had been the one to challenge the gods, initiating the battle of Ragnarök.
If the instigator vanished before the event, it couldn't proceed.
Would the waiting gods lose patience and choose to annihilate the human race?
"Big Sister?"
Lantigris noticed the beads of cold sweat forming on her sister's brow, the way she clenched her fists—a sign of growing unease.
"I'm fine," Brunhilde answered briskly, steadying herself, unwilling to let her fear infect her sibling.
In the next moment, they stood before a magnificent structure.
They ascended steps taller than even Gilgamesh's pyramid temple, entering the imperial hall to finally face the First Emperor seated upon his throne.
—
Chapter 050: A Method to Let Humanity Battle the Gods
The Valkyrie sisters were not summoned immediately.
They waited outside the imperial hall while the Emperor attended to matters of state.
Half a day passed, and still no word.
Was this delay intentional, meant to leave them hanging?
To an outsider, perhaps it seemed so. But Lantigris felt differently.
The Emperor had made no exceptions for their unusual status—he hadn't dismissed his officials or rescheduled his affairs.
Everyone was seen in the appointed order, according to the laws and customs of the Qin Empire. When it was their turn, they would be summoned.
Through the palace gates, Lantigris watched messengers rush in and out, summoned to carry out various tasks.
"Big Sister… what do you think the Qin Empire will look like two thousand years from now?" she murmured.
The present-day marvels made her wonder how far it could evolve.
"I don't know," Brunhilde said, shaking her head. But she was curious too.
If this empire never fractured… if it persisted unbroken for millennia… where might its development lead?
She couldn't dwell on it now—her mind was troubled by something more pressing.
She was beginning to fear that the Emperor was deliberately stalling.
That would be a grave problem.
The battle of Ragnarök was drawing near, and her absence could render it impossible to commence.
Some gods might mock her for running away, but that wasn't the issue. The greater danger was the gods growing impatient—and deciding to erase humanity altogether.
A terrible miscalculation. She hadn't expected to be pulled into another sealed dimension.
Had she known, she would've secured a starting champion in advance—summoned someone before the battle began.
That way, even without her presence, the fight could've been temporarily sustained.
Wait—there were footsteps. Heavy ones.
A procession of officials emerged. The meeting had concluded.
Finally, the sisters were called to be seen.
—
The imperial hall radiated solemn grandeur.
When their gaze landed on the robed figure seated upon the throne, both sisters instinctively tensed.
This time, the Emperor's stare lacked the earlier oppressive force that crushed their souls, but the sensation it evoked still made their hairs stand on end.
Under that gaze, Brunhilde felt herself laid bare.
It wasn't merely her clothes being stripped away—it was as though every part of her, skin to sinew, bone to blood, was being dissected.
Even her inner world—thoughts, emotions, ideals, habits, temperaments—everything that made her Brunhilde, was being unraveled by eyes that seemed to pierce the very fabric of existence.
Those eyes—like omniscient instruments scanning the cosmos—seemed to dismantle her being entirely.
But she forced herself to remain calm.
Then, in clear and concise words, she revealed their identities and their purpose to the Emperor.
He showed no surprise. He simply watched, placid and unreadable.
"So, you wish for Us to participate as well?"
The Emperor's voice was cool, offering no hint of his thoughts.
"Yes. Your Majesty… I sincerely hope you'll serve as one of humanity's representatives in this fateful struggle."
She had considered adding a pointed remark—reminding him that the people of the outer Qin dynasty still counted as his descendants. Even if the ancient Qin had been destroyed, could he truly stand idly by as his people's fate was dictated by gods?
But she held her tongue.
This was not a man to be provoked by rhetoric. Her instincts warned against using baiting words.
Appeals must be made in earnest.
"I find Myself curious," the Emperor said.
He neither accepted nor refused. Instead, he posed a question.
"What does Your Majesty wish to ask?"
"By what logic do you believe humanity can battle the gods? A normal human, no matter how strong, cannot possibly contend with divinity."
"That is true," Brunhilde replied evenly. "But Your Majesty is not ordinary, is he?"
The Emperor chuckled lightly.
"So… you believe I can defeat the gods. On what basis? If you know this, surely the gods must know as well?"
Brunhilde understood.
If someone like her had discovered figures in history who could slay gods, then it was unthinkable the gods themselves remained ignorant. They wouldn't simply allow her to handpick candidates without oversight.
Two possibilities: either the gods were unaware such humans existed (which was unlikely), or they knew and didn't care—believing these humans incapable of winning.
Thus, the Emperor sought clarity. What exactly was Brunhilde's method to empower mortals enough to slay divine beings?
"To injure a god, no normal human can succeed—unless wielding a sacred weapon."
When she began her search for human champions, Brunhilde hadn't expected to find anomalies like the Hero King, King Solomon, or the First Emperor.
Her original plan focused on history's exceptional warriors—those who