Qin Yi leaned against Wang Wu's steady shoulder as they ascended the city tower. The sharp chills of the wind bit at his face, carrying with it the stench of blood and smoke. A medical officer rushed forward, urgency etched on his weathered face, but Qin Yi waved him off with a faint shake of his hand.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, his voice calm despite the chaos raging beyond. "Knocked off my horse by a Hun—just a little dizzy, nothing more."
Nothing more.
But that was a lie. The body he now inhabited had already met its end the moment it struck the earth—a fatal fall. Yet here he stood, his soul inexplicably transplanted into this dying world. Qin Yi, an unremarkable college student from modern times, now carried the name and rank of a Qin general.
He took a slow step forward, his boots thudding against the stone as he reached the edge of the city wall. Below him, the battlefield stretched like a living nightmare—black, fire, and blood. Bodies lay strewn like broken puppets, their lifeless limbs twisted grotesquely. The roars of men and the clang of steel rose like a demonic chorus, blending with the crackle of flames licking the earth.
The Qin soldiers, no more than 800, fought with the desperation of wolves, their spears plunging into the overwhelming tide of Xiongnu warriors. Their valor was ferocious—unyielding, almost maddening. For every Qin soldier that fell, it seemed as though ten enemies were dragged down with them. And yet, it was not enough. The momentum of the battle tipped ever further toward the enemy.
Qin Yi's gaze froze as he watched another soldier crumple, the life snuffed from his eyes in an instant. The initial wave of revulsion he'd felt was giving way to something worse—a numbing inevitability. Death here was neither shocking nor theatrical. It was cruel, common, and heavy.
"General, if you're unharmed, I'll return to assist our brothers in this national crisis!"
Wang Wu's voice rang out, startling Qin Yi from his daze. The man bowed once—no hesitation, no fear—and turned on his heel, running straight back toward the slaughter.
Qin Yi watched him go, bewildered. Why? Why would anyone charge back into certain death? Wang Wu could have stayed here, under the pretense of duty, far from the carnage below. The soldiers who fought to the last breath—was it loyalty? Honor? Stubbornness? Or something far more instinctual that Qin Yi, a man of modern comforts, couldn't yet comprehend?
Suddenly, an icy mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
"*The Divine Gift Pack System binds to the host.*"
Qin Yi stiffened. "Who's there?"
No, one answered. The voice continued, cold and indifferent, reverberating inside his skull.
"*The Divine Gift Pack System has been activated. Complete missions to receive gift packs. There are no failure penalties.*"
A system? The words jolted Qin Yi's mind like a lightning strike. Was this a hallucination? No—he'd seen enough impossible things today to dismiss it. Hope to surge in his chest.
"Can you help me survive this siege? Save the city?" Qin Yi asked desperately.
"*The system provides rewards. The host must complete missions to earn them.*"
His heart sank slightly. Not quite the miracle he'd hoped for. "Then… what do I get?"
"*The host may now open the Novice Divine Gift Pack.*"
"Open it!" Qin Yi didn't hesitate for a second. Outside the walls, fewer than four hundred Qin soldiers remained, their ranks thinning with every heartbeat. Time was a luxury he no longer possessed.
The voice rang out again, impassive yet oddly triumphant.
"*Congratulations to the host for obtaining the special talent—Overlord's Power!*"
Overlord's Power? Before he could question it, an influx of knowledge poured into his mind. The ability to split mountains, shatter rock, and bend the heavens—these were the feats of legends. His blood roared with sudden, primal energy, the ancient descriptions transforming into something tangible within him.
A surge of warmth coursed through his veins, searing yet invigorating, as though the marrow in his bones had been reborn. The system chimed once more:
"*Overlord's Power has fused with the host on the Primary level. Mission issued as follows: Ensure the safety and well-being of the people of Fancheng. Reward upon completion: Three Divine Gift Packs.*"
Qin Yi staggered, his fists clenching reflexively. Power—real power—flooded his limbs. It was intoxicating, like standing atop a storm cloud with thunder crackling at his fingertips. He felt as though he could rip apart the heavens with his bare hands.
And yet, beneath the exhilaration, a weight settled upon his chest. The mission was clear. Fancheng's fate now rested in his hands.
A faint cry rose above the clamor of the battlefield, soft yet sharp as a dagger to his heart. Qin Yi's gaze snapped downward.
A girl, no older than eight, clung to her father's lifeless body, her small hands stained with blood. Her sobs cut through the chaos like glass splintering in a silent room.
Qin Yi froze. The girl's cries were not loud, not grand, but they were enough to pierce something deep within him. For a fleeting moment, the battlefield faded, replaced by the raw, unbearable cruelty of this world.
"Whoosh!"
A strange, sharp sound sliced through the air. His senses prickled—heightened, sharper than ever. The Overlord's Power had awoken something inside him, an awareness so acute he could feel the slightest vibrations in the wind.
His eyes darted toward the source. Beyond the smoke and blood, amidst the chaos, he saw them—enemy soldiers, poised to breach a weak spot in the city's defenses. The moment they broke through, Fancheng would fall.
The time to act was now.
Qin Yi exhaled, his breath steady, his gaze resolute. The weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders, yet for the first time, he did not falter.
This was no longer a test, nor a dream.
It was war.
And for the people of Fancheng, he would fight to the bitter end.