After the cataloging, Josh Aratat decided to relax a bit, he leaned against a boulder to rest, a soft chime rang out from the Kingly System Interphase. The glowing interface shimmered before him, and David Stormborn's familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"Congratulations, Josh. You've won your first battle. For this… you will receive a random reward."
Dozens of images flickered through the interphase—weapons, talismans, scrolls—until it halted on a container of reddish sand.
"You have received the Sand of Aphrota," David announced.
Josh Aratat frowned. "What does it do?" he asked mentally.
"The sand of Aphrota is a volatile mix of desert minerals, sand and the blood of a beast called Aphrota. If thrown at anyone below Level 6 of the Ocean Flooding Realm, their body will detonate instantly. Extremely effective against tough but mid-tier opponents."
Josh's eyes widened with appreciation, but he kept the sand sealed within the interphase. A weapon like that was too dangerous to flaunt casually.
He barely had time to ask "Is that all?" before the interphase chimed again.
"In addition to winning the battle, you also recruited more followers—including ten of death-level loyalty. For this, another random reward."
Images spun again, whirling like a wheel of fate, before settling on a weapon—an elegant whip glowing with a soft golden hue.
"This is a High-Level Earth Rank Whip. Gift it to a follower to increase their strength by up to 60%. Its attack power rivals that of a Level 2 Ocean Flooding Realm martial artist."
Josh let out a low whistle. "A high-level Earth rank whip…" He glanced at Lola, who stood polishing a dagger at his side. It was perfect for her—swift, silent, and lethal. The weapon had practically chosen its wielder.
"These gifts…" Josh murmured, half to himself, "They're incredible."
"Two more tasks remain," David Stormborn added, his voice fading. "Raise your followers to Major Rank One—equivalent to Level 6 of the Ocean Opening Realm—and recruit Jerusha. Each task carries its own reward. Fulfill them... and the tide may yet turn in your favour."
Then, silence. The interphase vanished.
Josh leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the flicker of firelight dancing in his tired eyes. The war had only just begun—and the game of gods and men was far from over.
Josh turned toward her, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the night.
"Lola."
She turned, her gaze softening the moment her name left his lips. There was something about the way he said it—calm, deep, and commanding—that always stirred something within her. A faint blush tinged her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes for a second, trying to suppress the warmth in her chest.
"Yes, my lord," she replied, her voice barely concealing the flutter in her heartbeat.
Josh held her gaze for a moment longer, then reached into his interphase. "I have something for you."
Conrad Stan, sitting just a few paces away, turned his head sharply, curiosity prickling in his expression. Even the night breeze seemed to pause.
With a flick of his wrist, Josh revealed the whip.
It appeared in a flash of golden light—sleek, coiled like a serpent, and humming with barely-contained energy. The aura it emitted wasn't just visible; it was tangible, pulsing like a heartbeat in the air. Everyone around could feel it, a silent declaration of power.
"By the Ancients…" Conrad muttered.
Lola's eyes widened in awe. She stepped forward slowly, reverently, as if approaching a sacred relic. She reached out and accepted the weapon with both hands, holding it like it was made of glass. Odd, considering that it would take a cultivator at Level 3 of the Ocean Flooding Realm to even scratch it. It was virtually indestructible to everyone present.
The whip responded to her touch, glowing faintly—almost like it recognized its new owner.
"It's… beautiful," she whispered. "And powerful."
Josh nodded. "It suits you."
Conrad's jaw tightened. He tried to smile, but the jealousy was already bubbling. "And… master, what about me?"
Josh turned his gaze to him, eyes calm but knowing. "Be patient, Conrad. Your reward will come in time."
He paused, then added, "For now, you can choose from any of the weapons we collected from the battlefield. There's plenty to go around."
But Conrad's heart sank. Those were human-rank, low-tier relics—fine for average soldiers, but nowhere near the golden prize Lola now held. He managed a stiff nod, but his silence spoke volumes.
Night descended slowly over the war camp. Fires were lit, casting dancing shadows over tents and the newly reinforced perimeter. The scent of blood still lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the smoke and earth. But even with the battle behind them, Josh remained vigilant.
There was no rest—not truly.
While others slept or tended wounds, he gathered his high-loyalty followers and began a quiet training session beneath the moonlight. With firm yet encouraging words, he pushed them to grow, to focus not just on physical strength but on their loyalty.
"You want to get stronger?" he said, pacing before them. "Then prove your devotion. This world is bound by systems and rules we don't yet fully understand. But I know this—your loyalty is a path to power."
Many didn't understand. The idea that loyalty could affect one's cultivation was baffling. There was no clear logic to it—no spiritual law that explained it. Yet none of them dared question him. They had seen what loyalty had brought to Lola. And perhaps… they secretly hoped to be next.
One by one, they knelt.
"We swear allegiance, my lord."
Josh watched them, eyes reflecting the firelight, a storm of thoughts swirling behind them. The war wasn't over. The next wave was coming. And by then, he'd make sure they were ready—not just as warriors, but as believers.
---
Elsewhere…
Region 6...
Jerusha crossed into Region 6 under the muted light of dusk, her breath tight with urgency. Her destination lay ahead—the residence of her brother, Jaden, second prince of the empire. If there was one thing the empire knew about him, it was this: Jaden never acted without reason, and when he did, kingdoms shifted. Coldly brilliant, ruthlessly calculating—he could rule the empire with ease if he ever desired to. Jerusha often wondered why he hadn't yet made his move.
She moved swiftly, her face hidden beneath a Maiden's veil, hands clutching the bloodstained wrap that had once belonged to her guard captain. Her legs burned with each step, not from fatigue but from the weight of guilt and vengeance. She hadn't come for sympathy—she came for justice.
Region 22, her assigned post, had become a slaughterhouse. It wasn't a bandit attack. It was an orchestrated assault. The regional leader had deployed ocean-opening cultivators of levels 10, 9, 7, and even 6—forces far beyond what protocol allowed. Her personal guard, loyal to the last breath, had died protecting her retreat. Her men followed soon after.
And someone had paid for that massacre.
What Jerusha didn't know yet was that her half-brother, Aloysius—the sly and venomous seventh prince—had placed the bounty. She would learn soon enough. But now, only one thought burned through her: Find Jaden.
She darted around a corner and entered the outer perimeter of the prince's estate, the crescent moon glinting off the polished halberds of the sentries.
"Halt!" a guard bellowed, stepping forward with his glaive raised. "Another step, and I'll split you open."
Jerusha froze.
The cloth fell from her face as she pulled the veil down with one trembling hand. Her royal crest shimmered faintly against her collarbone, catching the torchlight.
Gasps rippled through the guards like a wave through dry grass.
"Stand down, you idiot!" another soldier barked, recognizing her instantly. "That's Princess Jerusha—the Eighth Princess! Lower the wards, now!"
The perimeter shimmered, then dropped. Without a word, Jerusha stepped past them, her eyes forward, fire dancing behind her irises.
She hadn't come to beg her brother for help.
She had come to unleash him.