Somewhere underground.
In the silence of an underground passage, only the sound of footsteps echoed against damp stone walls. On either side, faintly glowing green stones served as the sole illumination—like dead stars trapped in the belly of the earth. Lóng Xuán walked in front, his breath heavy, as though each step carried a weight he could not release. Two followers trailed behind, equally silent, until one finally spoke.
"Lóng Xuán…" the man said softly, hesitant, "do you truly believe that Zhao Han is the Shèntiān?"
Lóng Xuán's stride faltered for a moment, but he did not turn around. "All the signs are clear, and all of them point to him. That is enough for me."
The two exchanged a doubtful glance. One of them replied in a voice tinged with scorn.
"He is still but a child. Too young, too pampered. How could someone raised in the comfort of a palace, coddled by his parents, suddenly become our prophet and savior? It is absurd."
The other nodded in agreement. "We must stop placing our hopes on superstition. You are the leader of our tribe, brother. If you continue to gamble our future on a boy who has never even drawn a blade on the battlefield, then that is no longer hope… but disaster."
Their voices grew sharper, forcing Lóng Xuán to turn with a piercing gaze. Rage flared within his chest. In a flash, he shoved one of them hard against the wall. The green stone beside them trembled, its glow flaring brighter with the impact.
"Listen well!" Lóng Xuán roared, his face inches from the man's. "I do not care whether Zhao is truly the Shèntiān or not. But if there is even the smallest chance for us to live beyond this rotten earth, then I will seize it! Even if it means placing my faith in a boy, I will not hesitate! We have lived beneath the ground for countless generations. I refuse to die caged here like worms who never once see the sky!"
The man he had pinned drew a slow breath, answering in a low yet steady tone.
"In the end, my friend… all men return to the earth, no matter where they live."
Lóng Xuán fell silent, then gradually released his grip. His eyes softened, though they still burned with determination. "That is true… but while I still breathe, I will not surrender the rest of my life to this darkness. I will taste the world above, if only once."
Meanwhile, at the Liángzhōu palace.
In a grand hall, Zhao Han sat stiffly at the banquet table. Beside him, Ruo Yun tried to calm him with a gentle gaze. Yet Zhao's eyes remained fixed on a small green stone laid before King Yǒnghǎi Jīnyún.
At once, the nightmare visions returned to him—holy war, oceans of blood, unending screams. He saw himself again upon the battlefield, the green dagger in his hand, leading thousands into calamity. His breath hitched, his body trembled.
"Zhao…" Ruo Yun's soft voice pierced the haze. She clasped his hand tightly, pulling him back to reality. "Are you all right?"
He turned to her, though fear still lingered in his eyes.
King Yǒnghǎi lifted the stone with steady fingers. "Do you wish to know the true power of Gogonit?" he asked. His voice was calm, yet each word carried weight.
He dropped the stone into a glass of water before him. At once—pshhhh!—dense steam erupted, veiling the king's figure in a shroud of heat. The water boiled away in moments, leaving the glass empty.
The king looked directly at Zhao. "A stone this small can power the turbines of a massive generator. Tell me, Zhao Han, do you know the greatest difference between Qingliǔ and Liángzhōu?"
Zhao frowned. The king continued without waiting for an answer. "Light. In Liángzhōu, we still burn torches and fire. But in Qingliǔ—your so-called small kingdom—you already have lamps shining with electricity. And all of it, thanks to this tiny stone."
To prove his words, he produced several wires and a small bulb from a chest at his side. He connected them to the Gogonit. Instantly, the bulb flared to life, radiating blinding white light.
Zhao and Ruo Yun gasped in awe.
"If you are curious," the king went on, "a single pebble of this stone can power an entire city for three thousand years without end. That is but one of its uses. Imagine its power when turned to military might—cannons, blades, fortresses all driven by Gogonit. Whoever rules it… will rule the world."
King Yǒnghǎi leaned back, his eyes sharp as blades upon Zhao. "This is why Qingliǔ, though a small kingdom, stood unbowed before any empire. All because of your father. He shared Gogonit with the rulers around him as a pact of peace. Without it, Xuánhǔ would not be the first to invade your land—Liángzhōu would have done so long ago."
Zhao stared at the glowing bulb, his heart pounding. He gripped the table's edge, his voice cold.
"Then tell me this, Your Majesty. If my father already shared these stones as tokens of peace… why did the Xuánhǔ Empire dare to invade Qingliǔ? Does that not shatter the accord?"
A thin smile curved on the king's lips, filled with bitter irony. He raised his cup of wine, drank, and replied flatly:
"The answer is simple, Zhao Han. Human desire."
His gaze cut deep.
"The greed of the Xuánhǔ Emperor has reached its limit. He no longer craves mere fragments of Gogonit. He desires the source itself. He would devour all of Qingliǔ to claim it whole. For alas… this stone is found only in your land. Were it discovered elsewhere, he would never dare such recklessness."
The air grew heavy. Ruo Yun looked at Zhao with worry as he clenched his teeth, rage twisting within him.
But King Yǒnghǎi was not finished. He set down his cup and spoke with the weight of a long-buried truth.
"You should know, Zhao—I too have long coveted Qingliǔ. All kingdoms, all empires, even the smallest merchant cities… all have their eyes upon your homeland. This is no secret. Like I said before, whoever holds Gogonit… holds dominion over the world."
Zhao lifted his gaze, eyes blazing. "So… my father was surrounded by wolves all along."
The king nodded slowly. "Well, if you said so." He rang a bell, and the maids entered bearing a small black chest. From within, the king drew out another green stone—this one the size of a football. Its glow was deeper, heavier.
"This," he said, "is what your father gave us rulers. Just this much. Enough to power generators, to light cities. But…" his lips curled into a sneer, "many saw it not as energy, but as a weapon of terrible power."
Zhao fell silent. The words gnawed at him. His eyes scanned the hall—silken drapes, torches, firelight. Not a single bulb illuminated the palace of Liángzhōu. With such a stone, the city should already shine brighter than day.
The realization struck him hard. He turned back to the king, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Then you are no different. You want to use the Gogonit… for war."
For the first time, King Yǒnghǎi did not answer immediately. The faint smile on his lips was all the confirmation Zhao needed.