All the participants in the assassination attempt on the First Emperor were frozen in place. Their initial target had been ordinary civilians, aiming to incite widespread panic. However, the bizarre phenomenon before them left them utterly stunned.
"Sister, could this all be—" Randgríðr's trembling voice escaped her cherry-coloured lips. Even she was slightly shaken by the scene before her.
The civilians they had attacked bore no blood from their wounds. Beneath the gashes, there was no flesh or blood—only mechanical components. These people were not human; their souls had been transferred into mechanical bodies, much like Xiang Yu. In this state, they felt no pain, no matter the attack, and continued to move as if nothing had happened.
The sight was chilling, and Randgríðr found it deeply cruel. She couldn't believe that so many people, nearly an entire city's population, had willingly abandoned their flesh to become mechanical constructs. They had lost not only their sense of pain but seemingly all other emotions as well. Were they being controlled? Brainwashed? They had been stripped of their humanity and reduced to soulless puppets.
At least Xiang Yu, despite his mechanical body, still appeared to be a human with emotions and feelings. But these people were something else entirely.
Looking closer, Randgríðr noticed that some people who hadn't yet acted seemed genuine civilians. Some were startled by the sudden violence around them. In contrast, others were horrified by the unnatural state of those who should have been dead. Another group, though not witnessing any immediate violence, sensed the strangeness in the people around them.
Who were these people? They must have been visitors from other regions, drawn here to witness the military parade. They were honest, flesh-and-blood humans. But having stumbled upon this secret, they would likely meet the same fate: their souls forcibly extracted and transferred into machines, becoming puppets under the First Emperor's control.
Such an army would be invincible. Ordinary human soldiers could never defeat these painless, fearless mechanical puppets.
"Don't rush to anger, Randgríðr," her sister Brynhildr suddenly spoke, seemingly reading her thoughts. "Recall what has changed since the parade began."
Randgríðr paused. Was the situation not as she had assumed? She carefully replayed the events in her mind, starting when the First Emperor stepped onto the reviewing platform. Something was off—a slight distortion, a blurring of the scene. It was as if the world itself had flickered, like a video interrupted by interference. The distortion was brief, almost imperceptible unless one was paying close attention.
But what did it mean?
Randgríðr couldn't grasp the significance of this subtle change. Then she noticed something else: the height of a person standing nearby had changed. One moment, they were 175 centimeters tall, and the next, 180 centimeters. Their clothing, though similar, had subtle differences—sleeves rolled up in one moment, unrolled in the next. The fabric itself seemed newer in one frame than in the previous.
This wasn't an isolated incident. The entire scene was shifting. Even more bizarre, one of the assassins had attacked someone who looked exactly like him. Why would someone disguise themselves as an assassin? And the civilians—their heights varied in one frame but were uniform in the next. Children, too, seemed to grow into adults instantly, all standardized like products off an assembly line.
Only the assassins and the visitors from other regions remained unchanged.
"Sister, what is happening?" Randgríðr asked, still unable to comprehend the situation.
Brynhildr, with a faint smile, seemed to understand. "You thought the First Emperor had forced people to abandon their flesh and transfer their souls into machines, didn't you?"
"Isn't that the case?" Randgríðr asked, hoping her sister would deny it.
"No," Brynhildr shook her head. She had seen the truth. In that brief moment of distortion, the world had been replaced. The assassins and the visitors had been transported to a parallel space, a technologically advanced version of the Qin Empire. The First Emperor had prepared mechanical actors and replicated the scene perfectly, making it impossible for the newcomers to notice the change.
But how had the First Emperor identified those who were a threat? Perhaps they had been marked beforehand. Brynhildr had another theory: during the war song, those who didn't sing or didn't sing sincerely were marked and transported to this parallel space.
The First Emperor's goal wasn't just to eliminate threats and separate the loyal from the disloyal. He was waiting for the assassins to reveal themselves so he could deal with them all at once.
Brynhildr was astonished by the First Emperor's abilities. How had he created a parallel space that perfectly mirrored the real world? This wasn't a parallel world but a smaller, overlapping dimension. Such spaces were typically the domain of gods, not humans.
"Sister!" Randgríðr's voice trembled with shock. She wasn't looking at the First Emperor on the reviewing platform but at the capital city of Xianyang behind them. Her expression was one of disbelief.
Brynhildr turned to follow her gaze. The assassins, realizing they were trapped, had fled toward the city. But as they entered the gates, they froze in terror, as if they had stepped into hell.
Brynhildr looked inside and understood why. The city was nothing like the Xianyang of the real world. It was a blend of ancient and futuristic architecture, with the imperial palace built around a massive tree—Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The World Tree sustained this parallel space, something only gods should possess.
How had the First Emperor obtained it? And how had he severed the connection to the Akashic Records? Normally, such spaces were branches of the main World Tree and couldn't exist independently. Yet this one seemed to thrive.
"Randgríðr, that's the World Tree, isn't it?" Brynhildr asked, her voice filled with awe.
Randgríðr nodded, still in shock. A space sustained by the World Tree was the domain of gods, yet here it was, controlled by a human. Had the First Emperor obtained technology from an advanced alien civilization? It seemed impossible.
Brynhildr, too, was puzzled. How had the Eastern gods not noticed the First Emperor's actions? The Eastern pantheon had primarily withdrawn from human affairs after a great conflict millennia ago. They hadn't participated in the recent divine conferences, though a few new gods had emerged as representatives.
Suddenly, Brynhildr felt a chilling gaze upon her. It was as if the air itself had solidified, pressing down on her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The pressure was unbearable.
The gaze belonged to the First Emperor, Qin Shi Huang. He had noticed them.
The world had shifted just like the strange phenomenon they had encountered with Xiang Yu. Yesterday, they were in the standard era of 200 BCE, and today, they are in an industrial revolution-like age. Brynhildr suspected they had been pulled into a parallel space. This dimension mirrored the real world but was separate from it.
In that brief moment of distortion, the assassins and visitors had been transported to this parallel space, a technologically advanced version of the Qin Empire. The First Emperor had prepared mechanical actors and replicated the scene perfectly, making it impossible for the newcomers to notice the change.
But how had the First Emperor identified those who were a threat? Perhaps they had been marked beforehand. Brynhildr had another theory: during the war song, those who didn't sing or didn't sing sincerely were marked and transported to this parallel space.
The First Emperor's goal wasn't just to eliminate threats and separate the loyal from the disloyal. He was waiting for the assassins to reveal themselves so he could deal with them all at once.
Brynhildr was astonished by the First Emperor's abilities. How had he created a parallel space that perfectly mirrored the real world? This wasn't a parallel world but a smaller, overlapping dimension. Such spaces were typically the domain of gods, not humans.
"Sister!" Randgríðr's voice trembled with shock. She wasn't looking at the First Emperor on the reviewing platform but at the capital city of Xianyang behind them. Her expression was one of disbelief.
Brynhildr turned to follow her gaze. The assassins, realizing they were trapped, had fled toward the city. But as they entered the gates, they froze in terror, as if they had stepped into hell.
Brynhildr looked inside and understood why. The city was nothing like the Xianyang of the real world. It was a blend of ancient and futuristic architecture, with the imperial palace built around a massive tree—Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The World Tree sustained this parallel space, something only gods should possess.
How had the First Emperor obtained it? And how had he severed the connection to the Akashic Records? Normally, such spaces were branches of the main World Tree and couldn't exist independently. Yet this one seemed to thrive.
"Randgríðr, that's the World Tree, isn't it?" Brynhildr asked, her voice filled with awe.
Randgríðr nodded, still in shock. A space sustained by the World Tree was the domain of gods, yet here it was, controlled by a human. Had the First Emperor obtained technology from an advanced alien civilization? It seemed impossible.
Brynhildr, too, was puzzled. How had the Eastern gods not noticed the First Emperor's actions? The Eastern pantheon had primarily withdrawn from human affairs after a great conflict millennia ago. They hadn't participated in the recent divine conferences, though a few new gods had emerged as representatives.
Suddenly, Brynhildr felt a chilling gaze upon her. It was as if the air itself had solidified, pressing down on her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The pressure was unbearable.
The gaze belonged to the First Emperor, Qin Shi Huang. He had noticed them.
The weight of the gaze was suffocating as if the air itself had turned to stone. Brynhildr felt like she couldn't breathe, her body frozen. The pressure seeped into her skin, veins, and organs as if her blood had stopped flowing.
This overwhelming presence could only belong to one person—the First Emperor of Qin, Qin Shi Huang. His gaze pierced through time and space, locking onto the Valkyrie sisters. He wasn't just aware of them; he could see and touch them as if they were already within his grasp.
Suddenly, the pressure lifted, and Brynhildr gasped for air. Randgríðr, who had been petrified beside her, nearly collapsed to the ground. But before she could, another gaze locked onto her, again freezing her in place.
This time, it wasn't the Emperor. Thousands of eyes—lifeless, mechanical—turned toward them. No longer pretending to be human, the civilians had shed their disguises, revealing themselves as black-armoured soldiers. They moved in perfect unison, following the Emperor as he returned to the city.
A small cavalry unit approached the sisters, clearly heading their way.
"Sister," Randgríðr whispered, her voice trembling.
"Don't worry. If they wanted to harm us, they would have done so already," Brynhildr reassured her.
The soldiers, unlike the mechanical puppets, were alive. Their faces showed human expressions as they gestured for the sisters to board a carriage. Once inside, they were taken into the city.
The city of Xianyang was nothing like its real-world counterpart. It was vast, comparable to a modern metropolis, yet retained an ancient aesthetic. The centrepiece was a massive metallic structure built around the World Tree, Yggdrasil. The sight was awe-inspiring and terrifying.
"Sister, where are they taking us?" Randgríðr asked, her voice filled with unease.
Brynhildr shook her head. "We'll find out when we meet the Emperor."
As they approached the palace, Brynhildr couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread. The First Emperor was far more extraordinary than history had recorded. If he agreed to represent humanity in the coming Ragnarok, their chances of victory would increase significantly.
But would he agree? He had his own world, his own empire. Exposing it to the gods would be a tremendous risk.
When they finally stood before the Emperor, the weight of his gaze returned. This time, it wasn't oppressive but penetrating, as if he could see through every layer of their being.
"Your Majesty," Brynhildr began, explaining their purpose and the impending Ragnarok.
The Emperor listened calmly, then asked, "Why do you believe humans can fight gods?"
Brynhildr hesitated. "Because you are not an ordinary human, Your Majesty. You possess power beyond mortal comprehension."
The Emperor chuckled. "And what makes you think the gods are unaware of my existence? If you know of me, surely they do as well."
Brynhildr realized the truth in his words. The gods likely knew of the Emperor but didn't consider him a threat. They underestimated humanity.
"To harm a god, a human must wield a divine weapon," Brynhildr explained. "But even that is not enough. The human must become one with the weapon, achieving a state of unity with the divine."
The Emperor nodded, intrigued. "And you believe I can achieve this?"
"Yes," Brynhildr replied firmly.
The Emperor's gaze intensified. "Very well. I will participate but on one condition."
The condition was simple yet profound: Brynhildr would become the Emperor's divine weapon. She agreed without hesitation, knowing that refusal was not an option.
As the Emperor approached, Brynhildr felt a surge of fear. His presence was overwhelming, and she could sense that he intended to study her, to understand the nature of gods and humans.
When their hands touched, Brynhildr felt her very essence being unravelled. Her consciousness blurred, and she was consumed by darkness.
She was back in the real world when she awoke, standing beside Randgríðr. The Emperor had returned to his throne, seemingly satisfied.
"You may leave," he said, and with a wave of his hand, the sisters were transported back to their own realm.
As they returned to the Akashic Records, Brynhildr couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed within her. She had become the Emperor's weapon, but what did that mean?
The Ragnarok was approaching, and humanity's fate hung in the balance. Brynhildr knew that the First Emperor would play a crucial role, but whether he would be their saviour or their doom remained to be seen.
The first battle of Ragnarok was crucial. Brynhildr had hoped to secure an early victory to boost humanity's morale. However, the candidates she had in mind—Gilgamesh, Solomon, and the First Emperor—were all figures who would likely demand to face the most vigorous opponents, not the first.
Her original plan had been to summon Lü Bu, the fierce warrior from the Three Kingdoms era, as humanity's first champion. But as she prepared to summon him, the ritual was interrupted.
A dark presence emerged, and a hand gripped Brynhildr's throat. The voice that followed was cold and commanding.
"Who gave you the right to give away what is mine?"
Brynhildr recognized the voice immediately. It was Xiang Yu, the Hegemon King. He had come to claim Randgríðr as his own.
The sisters were stunned. Xiang Yu, long thought to be a past figure, had returned. And he intended to fight in Ragnarok as humanity's first champion.
His presence was overwhelming as the Hegemon King stepped into the real world. His eyes, filled with the weight of centuries, locked onto Brynhildr.
"The Emperor has sent me to represent humanity in the first battle," he declared.
The stage was set. The first battle of Ragnarok would begin, and the Hegemon King, Xiang Yu, would decide humanity's fate.