Chapter 189: The Duty of Cosmos

On the towering platform of the golden chariot, the divine presence rose. His figure radiated an awe-inspiring brilliance, making the midday sun faintly illuminate the cosmic dawn.

With an unhurried movement of grace, his hand closed around the curves of a mystical conch horn. It was a relic carved from the calcified shell of a Mythical Creature, polished by the shifting epochs. He brought the sacred instrument to his lips, drawing into his chest the vital breath of the universe, and poured it forth.

BHOOOOO!!!

The sound tore through the fabric of the heavens, shaking the foundations of the Eleven Worlds. It was a note that carried the weight of inescapable destiny — shattering the fragile courage of the weak-willed, while altogether kindling the fires of righteous fury within the hearts of the brave.

Hearing this sudden, celestial challenge, the armies of the sixteen nations raised a collective clamor. They beat upon their vast brass drums until the earth shook. They clashed their heavy iron shields, shouted their ancestral war-cries, and blew into their curved animal horns.

From afar, they appeared as a vast sea of living, surging toward the pristine, ivory towers of the City of Light.

Oh, what a glorious yet tragic choice it was for these mortal souls. Drawn by the invisible noose of envy and fear, they marched forward with pride in their hearts, utterly blind to the truth that they were waging war against an Emperor chosen by the God.

The tempest of battle erupted in the very next instant. The overwhelming legions of the sixteen alliance nations converged from every quarter of the compass. Two hundred thousand chosen warriors of Andronicus’ host stood at the center, outnumbered but unyielding.

Spears clashed against iron breastplate. Arrows blocked out the golden sunlight, casting a premature twilight over the plain.

The earth was no less affected, stained red with the blood of mortal lives. The heavy wooden chariots shook and shattered, and noble mounts screeched in pain, their sides torn apart, clad in bronze armor and quilts.

Through the very thickest of this slaughter, Andronicus fought as a wrathful manifestation of Time itself.

Guided by the silent yet skilled hands of the Lightless, who gripped the golden reins of his royal warhorse with a mysterious smile as the emperor’s chariot split through the enemy formation. Wherever the chariot turned, the armies of the Sixteen nations parted in terror.

Andronicus swung the blade with precise rhythm, each strike fulfilling the duty of destiny and a bow hung low over his shoulder.

When the golden sun began to set on the western peak and its bright red light filled the sky, the overwhelming numbers of the massive alliance had completely collapsed.

The proud kings who had sworn to dismantle the City of Light found their grand momentum ground into the dust. The invincible had been made small; the many had been conquered by the few.

As the noise of the conflict gradually subsided and a groaning silence fell, the remaining sixteen fallen kings were brought before the emperor’s chariot. They were bound by chains, scraping against stone while their faces were covered in ashes.

Andronicus stepped down from the high chariot, breathing heavily, the sword dripping with the thick blood of victory. The surrounding air was thick with an unusual metallic scent of blood, mixed with dust, and echoing screams of the dead.

He walked slowly, his gaze sweeping over the ranks of captured rulers until he stopped in front of the central figure... The supreme commander of the alliance, who wore a splendid mask throughout the entire campaign.

"Raise your visage." Andronicus commanded. His voice held the terrifying gravity of a conqueror who had just reaped four hundred thousand souls. "Let me look upon the eyes of the man who believed he could extinguish the light of this eternal City or Light."

The man exhaled a grief-filled sigh. With a clank that echoed sharply against the silent stone, the executioner beside him pulled the mask out.

The mask fell into the bloody dust, rolling to a stop against Andronicus’s armored boot.

The world seemed to lose its breath. The sword, which had cleaved through vanguard lines without a single tremor, nearly slipped from Andronicus’s numb grasp. His lungs froze, and the unshakeable will finally fractured under the identity.

Behind the terrifying iron facade lay a countenance more familiar to him than his own reflection... That sharp jaw, the silver-threaded brow, and the deep-set eyes of Marcus.

This was the companion of his boyhood, the man who had been a brother to him in spirit long before empires were forged.

They once shared the same loaf of bread under the summer starry sky, whispered secrets of first love, bled in minor skirmishes, and swore eternal loyalty on the hearth of youth.

"Marcus..." Andronicus’s voice turned into the broken plea of a sorrowful boy. "You? Was it your mind that orchestrated this massacre? Was it your hand that pointed a spear at my throat?"

Marcus gazed deeply into the eyes of the man who had accompanied him for so long that they forgot they were not of the same mother. Though bound by chains, his gaze still carried tragic and burning resistance, even when a tear carved a clean path.

"An empire that demands the bowing of every free head is an empire that must be broken, Andronicus. I did not seek your death, my brother. I sought our freedom. But the wheel of power has ground us both to pieces, and now you must finish it."

The emperor lowered his blade, its tip dragging through the sand he tried to protect. The crown on his forehead suddenly pressed against his temples like an iron ring. Sorrow enveloped his soul. He turned his eyes back toward the chariot, where the silent, majestic silhouette of the Lightless sat in serenity, unaffected by the mortal tragedy unfolding in the dust.

"Guide of my path, O Lightless One!" Andronicus cried out with a fractured voice, his chest heaving under the armor. "My hand that once split legions without a single beat of hesitation now refuses to bear the weight. My limbs are growing heavy, my mouth is now dry, and my mind reels in a river of sorrow! How can I strike down the one who is stitched into the very fabric of my soul? Is victory just an empty, poison-filled Holy Grail that must be washed away with the blood of those we love? What justice is there?"

"Andronicus." The Lightless spoke, the voice carrying the same ethereal sweetness that commanded the cosmos. "You are weeping for those who require no tears, then why speak words that mimic the cadence of wisdom? The truly wise grieve neither for the living nor for the dead. Tell me, what is this bond you claim? What is this illusion of a ’brother’ that causes your hand to shake?"

"He is my kin, my truest friend!" Andronicus replied, dropping his gaze down as he fell to one knee before the bound prisoner, his fingers clutching his head. "The memory of our shared life binds my conscience. To kill him is to tear away a part of my own flesh. How can I harm myself, Lord?"

The Lightless chuckled softly as he looked upon the situation. "Andronicus. Humans have one life certainly, but even in that one life, they wear multiple masks to hide themselves. I assure you that masks are not truth, they are just a temporary identity in a life. So what are you afraid of? Is it those masks your boyhood friend wears?"

The Lightless lifted a slender hand from the golden reins and pointed at the row of weeping, defeated kings. "This man before you, Marcus, was brought to this valley of slaughter, but it wasn’t just his mere hatred but also a way to show you what a man wears in their tainted souls. To retreat now out of a false sense of pity is to abandon your duty. It does not befit a warrior like you. Stand up, cast off this petty weakness of heart, and choose. Will it be an execution or a path that will give you a lesson? Choose, don’t falter."

"But the pain, my Lord!" Andronicus cried out once again, tears finally breaking from his eyes, dripping onto his blood-stained cloak. "If the soul is eternal, the mortal heart is not. The memory of his laughter will haunt every hallway of my palace. Every feast will taste like ash."

"Pain and pleasure, heat and cold. Everything is just a brief contact of the senses with their objects, Andronicus. Bear them with endurance. I tell you, you are king, you have responsibilities of thousands of lives, take action."

Andronicus closed his eyes, letting profound words cleanse his consciousness.

The suffocating mist that had made him hesitate for a moment finally slowly dissipated as he turned toward the defeated men.

"I will not take your lives." Andronicus declared. "For death is a swift release, and you must live to see the world you sought to shatter be rebuilt under the light. I strip you of your crowns, your titles, and your armies. Your kingdoms are henceforth bound to the City of Light. You shall return to your lands as stewards, serving the people you marched to ruin."

Marcus looked up, his lips parting in shock, finding mercy far humbling to him.

Andronicus turned away from the kneeling, uncrowned monarchs, and climbed back into his magnificent chariot, standing behind the majestic figure of the Lightless. He looked at his chief ministers, generals, and the royal envoys waiting for his command.

"Go." Andronicus commanded, his voice rolling across the vast but quiet plains. "Go home to your provinces, return to your households, to those who wait in fear. Go, go home, and tell them: your Emperor has conquered all sixteen nations, and the City of Light remains eternal."

The heralds bowed to the absolute dust, sounding the horn one last time, spreading this legendary decree across the horizon, bringing peace back into the city, filling every corner of the world.

Mo Fei, who watched all of this, and tried to understand why was he seeing it? Just then, the memory finally shifting back into the hall of the grand ruler, where Lightless stood before Andronicus, for a farewell to his mortal life with the Ruler.