The battlefield reeked of blood and burnt flesh. Torn banners flapped weakly in the evening wind, the only movement across a land drowned in blood-red dust.
At the center stood a man clad in silver armor, streaked with blood—his sword—Zhongyi, the Blade of Loyalty—still raised, his stance unshaken. His piercing purple eyes blazed with battle fury.
Around him, the clash of weapons rang out like thunder. With every strike, demon bodies disintegrated into clouds of blood-red dust, choking the air with death.
And yet, one stood still.
He Xuemo—tall, battered, drenched in blood that wasn't his own—met Xuan Tian's gaze across the battlefield.
He lifted his battle axe, pointed at the silver-armored man. "We finally meet, General."
A soldier, clad in bloodstained Celestial Army armor, saluted sharply. "Report! The demons have been annihilated!" His voice was sharp, but exhaustion bled through.
Xuan Tian stood motionless, his voice cold and cutting. "You're the only one left, Demon."
He Xuemo laughed maniacally. "Hypocrites! You Celestials are all hypocrites! You love to slaughter us demons, yet claim it's to protect the realm!"
Xuan Tian's eyes narrowed with disgust. "You were heading to the Human Realm with five thousand Night Blood Spirit soldiers. I am merely here to stop you."
He Xuemo huffed. "Humans are as cruel and hypocritical as Celestials! You are all the same!"
Xuan Tian raised his sword, his tone final. "You talk too much."
He vanished from his place.
In the blink of an eye, he appeared before He Xuemo, his blade slicing toward the demon's neck.
He Xuemo twisted just in time, dodging the killing blow—but not fast enough.
The sword grazed his neck. Blood began to trickle down, warm and steady. He barely felt it.
Because Xuan Tian didn't stop.
Xuan Tian moved like war itself—silent, relentless, absolute. He Xuemo blocked once, twice—then staggered back, breath ragged, defenses crumbling. Each blow pushed him closer to death.
And still, Xuan Tian said nothing. His focus was singular: end the fight, end the war.
Then—
A burst of purple spirit energy. A strike that didn't cut but crushed.
Xuan Tian's palm slammed into He Xuemo's lower abdomen—straight into his Demon Core.
He Xuemo spat out blood and dropped to one knee, struggling to breathe. Pain surged through him as cracks spiderwebbed across his core.
He knew.
His death was already coming.
"You... are... a fool," He Xuemo rasped between shallow, broken breaths.
Xuan Tian stood in silence, towering. His cold gaze remained fixed on He Xuemo's posture. From a distance, it looked as though He Xuemo were kneeling before him, head bowed in surrender.
He Xuemo's breaths grew slower. His head dipped lower. His body tilted, then slowly collapsed sideways, until he lay sprawled across the blood-red dust.
But he remained conscious.
"You'll... regret... it... later," he murmured, the words barely audible.
His voice grew thinner. "My son... I'm... sorry."
The once-proud Demon Lord—feared, revered—now lay helpless, his dark red eyes filled with silent, desperate pleas.
In his fading vision, he saw a towering figure—unshakable as the heavens. The moonlight traced the sharp, commanding lines of Xuan Tian's face, casting deep shadows over high cheekbones and the faint furrow between his brows.
Cold. Absolute. Unyielding.
His gaze held neither mercy nor hesitation—only the weight of a thousand victories, none of which had ever ended in his defeat.
It was almost amusing, in a twisted way. That in his final moments, he was truly seeing his enemy—not just a Celestial, not just a warlord, but the enemy of the Demon Realm.
The God of War.
Xuan Tian.
The last flicker of resistance faded from his eyes. A breath later, his body crumbled into blood-red dust, scattering into the wind.
It was over. At least for now.
"Casualties?" he asked a soldier nearby.
"Less than 200 out of 10,000, Sir."
A victory. A slaughter.
Xuan Tian remained still, listening to the wind whistle through broken weapons. How many times had he stood on a battlefield like this? How many victories? How many deaths? The title God of War meant nothing to him anymore. Victory had long lost its taste.
"Prepare to move out! We leave in one hour!" His voice cut through the silence.
"Yes, Sir!" The soldiers scrambled into motion.
Xuan Tian flexed his fingers, as if trying to shake off the grime of war. He needed to leave this place. He needed to return. To report to Tian Xu Tianjun. To wash the blood and dust from his skin.
This war had lasted far too long.
Two weeks.
It had taken him two weeks from the moment he caught wind of the Chief of the Night Blood Spirit Tribe's plan to attack the Human Realm. Two long weeks of tracking whispers, investigating when, where, how many soldiers would march.
And finally—he intercepted them at the Bone Burning Plateau, at the very edge of the Demon Realm, just before they could cross over.
Beyond the clouds, untouched by time or decay, stretched the Celestial Realm—a kingdom woven from light and divinity.
At its center rose Yuxu Palace, seat of the Celestial Emperor, Tian Xu Tianjun. Towers of gold and ivory pierced the heavens, their spires inscribed with divine light. Bridges of crystal arched over silver rivers that mirrored the sky.
The palace walls were carved from white jade, veined with molten gold. Pillars entwined with celestial dragons lined the entrance, and rooftops of golden tiles gleamed under eternal daylight, casting an ethereal glow.
Xuan Tian arrived before the gate of Zhenhua City, the heart of the Celestial Realm. He dismounted from Jing Xue, his massive silver-white wolf. The moment they appeared, there was no need for names or introductions—every soldier knew who he was. Celestial Imperial Soldiers guarding it saluted sharply.
Entering the city, his heart eased with each step. The city sprawled around him, a vision of divine order and grace—a stark contrast to the bloodied wasteland he had left behind. This was home.
The city's eternal beauty, its perfect harmony, gave him peace—one he hadn't tasted in weeks of battle. A fragile kind of peace, almost too pristine. Fleeting. But for now, it wrapped around him like something he almost believed in.
As he walked deeper into the city, he passed familiar sights—the golden fountains flowing with liquid light, white jade statues of past heroes that stood tall against the skyline.
Jing Xue walked beside him – silent, graceful, and impossibly alert. His coat like freshly fallen snow – unblemished, pure. His eyes were light grey, adding the cruel and ruthless look.
The last of the Xuebai, an extinct breed once feared across realms for their unmatched ferocity and loyalty to no one.
No leash. No reins. He followed only one master.
Even now, patrolling Celestial Imperial Soldiers instinctively shifted aside as the beast passed. They only nodded respectfully as they passed.
Citizens of Zhenhua cities' faces were serene, untouched by mortal concerns. To them, war was an abstract concept, a tale whispered in court meetings. Only those who walked the battlefield knew the true cost of their peace.
The palace loomed ahead, its towering spires stretching toward the heavens, reflecting the glow of the sky. This was the heart of their world, where even the gods came to seek guidance or shelter. Inside, Tian Xu Tianjun awaited. But for now, Xuan Tian felt no rush. No urgency. Here, in Zhenhua, he could breathe.
He fought because that was his role—to shield the Celestial Realm. Innocent lives depended on his Zhongyi, and he wielded it without hesitation.
For Xuan Tian, there was no greater purpose than this—peace. This sanctuary, untouched by the violence of the world. The glory of the Celestial Realm, where each soul radiated divinity, and the world itself seemed to pulse with unearthly energy. It was the goal of every Celestial to live and die in service to this realm. And he, as its protector, had to ensure it stayed untouched by the forces of chaos.
The air pulsed with divine energy. The scent of lotus blossoms and sacred incense lingered in the wind, carried from the sprawling celestial gardens that surrounded the palace. Though breathtaking in its beauty, the Yuxu Palace was no sanctuary—it was a place of power, authority, and unshakable law.
And soon, he would stand before the one who ruled it all.
The soft call of a distant bell broke his reverie, signaling his arrival at Yuxu Palace. Xuan Tian's chest tightened, but it was not with the weight of the battlefield. It was the weight of duty.
He had done what he had to do. For them. For Tian Xu Tianjun.