The Ending War (Part 2)

The Ending War.

Such familiar words.

Tales once watched many plays at the Midnight Temple beside the Grand Bazaar—though most of his attention was on how to pick the pockets of the spellbound audience.

To be fair, despite how twitchy the Midnight priests seemed, wrapping themselves up tight and muttering mad things all day like "Our Lord shall return," "The world will collapse a second time," and "History is all lies; only the Midnight True God can save the world" ("Thankfully, they don't chant 'The long night comes, danger everywhere'... Hey, Lane, watch it, that fat sheep's about to turn around!"—the beggar boy Tales, watching the play.), the plays they staged were a good way for a post-transmigration illiterate to understand the world without spending a coin.

Well, maybe not that good—Tales, following behind Gilbert, recalled a play called "The Midnight True God Descends to Save Thirty-Three Princesses" and couldn't help but curl his lip.

Among those plays of every stripe, from the absurd to the cautionary, one that left a deeper impression on Tales was called "The Day of Calamity's Arrival, the End of the World."

That was the Ending War.

Tales still remembered the sets, mostly black and red. A hooded figure in black, chains and scythe in hand, paced heavily around the whole stage, his footsteps thudding. The music would turn gloomy and frightening, often scaring the curious children in the audience into tears.

Wherever the black-clad figure went, actors wearing various headpieces to represent different lands wailed and screamed, falling forward in droves across the stage.

He remembered the chilling words from the offstage narration, like a crow's caw:

"Calamity comes! Calamity comes! It will spare no one, spare not this world! Until all are taken by calamity!"

"Awaken, my countrymen, awaken, awaken! Calamity sweeps all, the Prison River floods the mortal realm, the sky collapses upon the earth, the world's end is nigh!"

"The gods are forever on our side, demons stand with us, the Emperor is at our backs, heroes lie ahead! Fight to live, for Midnight is eternal!"

"Countrymen! Calamity comes! Midnight says the ferryman of the Prison River is not hideous, but the demonic fruit of evil can corrupt the heart! Better to take up the sword and return in glory with the heroes than to be the servants and claws of such calamity!"

"This is the final battle, no distinctions, no sacred or profane!"

"The Ending War! Midnight shrouds the land, calamity shall be dispelled!"

In Tales's hazy memory, that twitchy play's so-called "Calamity" role, wielding chains and a scythe, slaughtered countless lives until it was defeated by an alliance of the whole world.

But even at the end, the Midnight Temple's priests and actors never explained what "Calamity" actually was. Sometimes children on the street would ask, and the priests would always make them say "Midnight shall return, I offer myself in service" before giving them a malt candy, then smile and say, "Calamity is the enemy of the world."

Lost in thought, Tales didn't notice that Gilbert had led him to the stairs on the second floor.

The three giant portraits of the Kings of Starfall, which he'd seen when he first arrived, hung neatly on the wall.

"Lusaka Colvin was a famous portraitist during Mindis III's reign. His portraits emphasize history, using setting and posture to capture each figure's spirit most vividly." Gilbert stopped beneath the three Former Kings of Starfall, staring blankly. "'The Three Kings of Starfall'—this is one of Colvin's posthumous masterpieces, a rare collection of kings and sovereigns, as His Majesty introduced to you before."

A master's work? Tales finally looked up, studying the portrait in the center of the wall—a young knight, spear raised, riding forward, posture suggesting constant motion, and his seven-pointed star emblem.

His earlier glance had been too hasty, and only now, with time to observe, did Tales notice that this seemingly dashing, valiant knight had a blunted long spear, a battered and mottled crown, armor splattered with blood, a mount showing signs of exhaustion. The knights behind him bore injuries—some charged with shields, some drenched in blood, some in broken armor, some supporting each other on horseback, one even reduced to a single arm.

Under the distant sunset, piles of corpses and weapons dotted the land. The few standing figures lonely adorned the brutal battlefield, with blood and darkness dominating the remaining hues.

Except for the seemingly roaring young knight with the seven-pointed star crown, the six behind him wore expressions of sorrow and desolation, yet showed unwavering resolve, following Tomond I, who raised his spear and roared, pressing ever forward.

Seeing this, Tales's heart stirred. He suddenly recalled Kessel the Fifth's words:

"That is Tomond I, the last prince of the Final Empire, the founder of Starfall, the 'King of Renaissance.' In the Ending War, his bravery is still sung to this day."

"He is—" Tales's expression shifted as he looked at Gilbert beside him.

"Yes, 'King of Revival' Tomond Radiant Star," Gilbert replied with a deep look. "Six hundred years ago, in the Ending War, the highest-ranking surviving Imperial commander in the Western Theater."

"Also your ancestor, the founder of the Starfall Kingdom after the war."

Western Theater, surviving, Imperial commander, highest-ranking.

Tales seized on the keywords immediately.

"Imperial commander? Which empire? What was his rank? Besides the Western Theater, were there other theaters? Who was Tomond's enemy?"

Gilbert was used to Tales's learning style—interrupting with questions (or even rebuttals) at any moment—and smiled without offense. "Of course, the one and only 'Empire.'"

"The one and only empire?"

"Yes," Gilbert took a breath, showing a nostalgic smile. "Did you know, young Master Tales, that our known world was originally a vast land shaped like an arm? And we, where Starfall now stands, were at the wrist—"

Tales jerked his head up. "What?"

He interrupted Gilbert in shock. "One—one whole continent? Then the Eastern and Western continents separated by the Sea of Termination—"

But Gilbert just smiled, raising a hand to signal him to quiet down before the Former King's portrait.

"Hear me out. The answer lies in the Ending War."

But Tales was already piecing together an answer not far from the truth in his mind.

The Ending War. Wait. The ocean between the two continents—it's called the Sea of Termination?

Two continents?

Thinking this over, Tales couldn't help but quip, "Gilbert, uh, you're not going to tell me that a powerful alien being invaded our world with an army, we fought it off in a fierce battle, but accidentally broke a magic well and blew the world into two continents?"

Gilbert's smile froze. "What?"

"And the west one's still called Kalimdor—"

"Shh—" Gilbert smiled helplessly, cutting him off. "My young master, you do have a talent for writing novels and spinning tales. If not for your status, you might have made a fine bard or poet. But right now, we're having a history lesson."

Tales shrugged, closed his mouth, and tucked a freshly recovered memory deep into his mind—still tied to that chuunibyou girl.

Gilbert watched him patiently, waiting until Tales fell silent and grew solemn before the portraits of their ancestors before continuing his explanation:

"Over three thousand years ago, after humanity comprehended Transcendent Power, experts of the Transcendent Rank and Extreme Realm emerged in endless succession. The military's combat strength and equipment steadily improved. After years of friction, war, and unification, nearly two thousand two hundred years ago, humanity finally merged into a single whole. They won consecutive victories in wars against the other races and became the masters of the continent—the rulers of the known world."

Gilbert's face filled with reverence and longing, his gaze drifting as he murmured:

"They established a colossal nation whose territory spanned the four seas, intimidated the continent, and touched nearly every corner of the known lands. Ludorians, Northerners, Nieders, Kalensans, Redlanders—except for a small number of Far Easterners, nearly all of humanity lived under its protection and rule."

"They never set a name for the nation or a title for the dynasty. The supreme ruler styled himself 'Emperor.'"

"That unprecedented country, which had no name and needed none—was simply called 'the Empire.'"

Tales drew in a faint breath of cold air. What he felt in his heart was not glory or pride, but only sorrow and a sigh.

War made the state, and the state made war—he silently added a line in his mind, a phrase learned from a master's book in his past life.

Unification and war. Easy to say. How much war, how much blood and slaughter did it take to forge an unprecedented colossal nation?

But Gilbert's expression then dimmed:

"Nearly a thousand years into the Empire's rule, a new race—so powerful it was almost terrifying—was born silently among humanity."

"They were ageless, deathless, indestructible, with unmatched strength and boundless energy. Even Extreme Realm experts could not resist them. Even the true Gods and Demons were no match. Worse still, they possessed a way of thinking and acting completely different from humans and all other races—unreasonable, wild, insane, and impossible to communicate with."

Tales stiffened slightly.

That blue-clad, brown-haired, neurotic figure seemed to appear before him again, mouth opening and closing: "Standing above the sky, transcending the gods, looking down on all beings..."

Tales snapped back to reality as Gilbert let out a sigh:

"They descended upon the world like calamities, constantly bringing chaos and disaster, blood and slaughter. The once-great Empire gradually declined under repeated blows, until it finally fell."

A new race?

Born among humanity?

Unreasonable?

Calamities?

Tales thought of something. His heart began to beat irregularly.

"By the era of Tomond I—the century when the Imperial Calendar and the End Calendar intersected—the Empire had already been destroyed for over three hundred years. The world of humans and other races had returned to chaos and division."

"And the 'Final Empire' where Tomond lived was merely a remnant built by the survivors—a country that bore the Empire's name but was entirely different in system, territory, and people."

"Historians, by convention, call the former great Empire the 'Ancient Empire' and the latter weak Empire the 'Final Empire.'"

"In Imperial Calendar year 1509, the year the Ending War began, the Final Empire was merely a medium-sized nation in the world. The spiritual legacy and legitimate title of the Ancient Empire brought not glory and inheritance, but burdens and hatred."

"Former vassal territories were ambitious, subordinate races stirred restlessly, and the many surrounding states watched with hungry eyes."

"Though it inherited the glory of the Ancient Empire, the Final Empire made enemies everywhere, fought endless wars, bore heavy taxes, suffered years of internal strife, had a feeble imperial house, and saw its rule decline."

"It seemed the Empire's glory was destined to end in the one thousand five hundred and ninth year of the Imperial Calendar."

"But in that very year, that race—those calamities—had already seduced many followers and believers across the world. With unprecedented power, they formally declared war on the entire civilized world!"

Tales trembled slightly.

His clear logic had already caught several logical flaws in this narrative, but he didn't speak up immediately. He held back.

What exactly were the calamities? What did it mean that they were born from humanity?

With such power, why didn't they press their advantage after destroying the Ancient Empire, instead waiting until the Final Empire to formally declare war?

If they were completely unreasonable, why did they recruit followers and believers like a true god?

If their thinking was entirely different from humans, why would they declare war? To conquer the world? Ridiculous!

This was a story full of holes!

But Tales realized that Gilbert wasn't deliberately misleading him. There was simply too much information that Tales couldn't access right now.

Just like the secrets of the Year of Blood before.

"Those calamities," Tales swallowed, slightly tense, "what are they?"

Gilbert wasn't surprised by Tales's question, but he didn't notice that Tales's tone lacked its usual confidence and steadiness.

He sighed: "After the Ending War, sealing off and banning all news and sources about the 'calamities' was a secret pact among the gods, demons, and the mortal world. It was also a measure to prevent their numbers from increasing."

"As many years passed, the terror of the calamities gradually faded. Their names and existence were forgotten by many."

"But as the King's only blood descendant, you would have to know this sooner or later."

Gilbert took a deep breath and said solemnly: "Those calamities were once humans, or members of other intelligent races. But desire, greed, and ambition drove them to become—aberrations that lost their essence. Though most of the time they are nearly indistinguishable from us, even hiding among us, they are truly a different race."

"In the eyes of the common folk and most people, these calamities share a single name."

Gilbert cleared his throat, his face grave, and enunciated word by word:

"Magic Users."

At that moment, Tales used every ounce of self-control he had to keep his body from trembling too violently.

"In their eyes, Magic Users are merely another type of Psion, seemingly on par with strongmen like the Termination Knights and Psychic Warriors."

Gilbert's gaze turned icy as he continued. "But only the nations and temples that took part in The Ending War know the truth: these so-called Magic Users are the same terrible 'scourges' that plagued history for millennia, steeped in blood debts, who ended two successive empires and nearly destroyed the entire world!"

"Only when they tried to kill a Magic User would they realize something was wrong, would they catch a hint—and by then, it was often too late."

"Because Magic Users, those scourges, are immortal, indestructible, and imperishable."

"Young sir," Gilbert said gravely, "if you ever have the misfortune to encounter a Magic User, protect yourself first. Once safe, seek help... We have measures tailored to their weaknesses that can be used against them."

Touching the wound he'd cut on his right hand, Tales kept his face expressionless, but his teeth were trembling slightly—he had likely already met those "scourges."

Though Tales's mind was churning with doubts, for his own safety, he couldn't press with questions too hastily—who knew what he might reveal in his urgency?

But still, something didn't add up... If Magic Users were such terrifying beings, why would they bother fighting over a petty gang? And how could the Starfall Kingdom just let their Blood Bottle Gang grow strong within its borders?

More questions.

So many questions.

Gilbert paused here, as if wondering why Tales wasn't speaking up to ask. But he didn't dwell on it, closing his eyes in thought for a few minutes before speaking softly:

"Don't doubt their terror—the power of those scourges is far too great. Over six hundred years ago, led by the Strong Ones, our bravest and most battle-hardened armies fought endlessly against their minions in blood and madness. After breaking through the outer lines, the most elite Knights and Warriors swarmed those scourges, only to fall in heaps and piles."

Tales recalled the play at the Midnight Temple, where actors on stage collapsed in unison along the path the "scourges" walked.

"Gods descended to the world one by one, then fell. Demons crawled up from the ground, then perished. The Strong Ones of every race rushed to the battlefield, then sacrificed themselves."

"The war dragged on for years. Only after paying a terrible price did we study their weaknesses and finally defeat those scourges."

Tales clenched his fists. Ashida's desolate words seemed to echo in his ears: "We lost."

Gilbert's voice cut off his recollection of Ashida:

"But those cursed scourges were so absurdly powerful. In the final pursuit battle above the Extreme Realm, those damned scourges, those mongrels that could nearly destroy the world—"

Tales, who had been carefully observing Tomond's charge, shuddered suddenly, knowing what was coming next.

Gilbert spoke the next sentence calmly:

"—sank the most fragile stretch of land at the continent's center, which connected all four directions. Every living being and every substance on it met utter catastrophe."

"After the land sank, the residual energy spread, pushing the entire continent apart in two directions. Within just five years, the ocean that formed had become bottomless, forcibly splitting the known landmass into two continents and countless islands."

"That is the famous 'Great Sundering' of over six hundred years ago."

"The Ending War ended there."

Gilbert let out a long breath, and his next words made Tales freeze for a moment:

"That sunken land encompassed the entire territory of the Final Empire."

"The Final Empire."

"Ended there."

Wu Jian scratched his head: We haven't even told much of the story yet, and suddenly it's 200,000 words?

By the way, a quick plug: Kingdom's Blood book club: 701536213