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Martial Path

The Path to Supremacy

[Warning: Mature audience only] Shidaken was an ambitious man, driven not by hope, duty, or loyalty, but by the cold weight of reality. Raised in a world that showed him only cruelty and injustice, he matured far too early. Betrayal, oppression, and the brutal truths of human nature shaped him into a man who didn’t believe in ideals, only outcomes. Seeking knowledge and power, he joined the Royal Knight Order not to serve, but to understand how power flows, who controls it, and how to eventually bend it. For ten years, he endured the filth behind the armor: the violence, the corruption, the hypocrisy. He watched as the system he was meant to protect consumed lives without purpose or remorse. Still, he said nothing. He watched. He waited. As ambition means nothing without power. Then came the Lair. Tasked with exploring a newly discovered ruin, Shidaken joined a team of royal knight into the unknown. What followed was slaughter. His entire squad was wiped out by forces far beyond their reckoning. Only Shidaken survived. Trapped within the collapsing boss room, cut off from the world, he was left to die. But the lair didn’t kill him. It changed him. Bathed in arcane energy, Shidaken was remade a fusion of man and vampire with mind and soul of a human and body and powers of the vampire, reborn with power neither holy nor demonic. No longer limited by the chains of mortality. Shidaken has gained the power to match his mind. But brute force alone won’t remake the world. Instead, he chooses a darker path of manipulation, deception, and psychological warfare. With charm, wit, and a sharpened sense of control, he begins his campaign not to conquer the world... but to rewrite it. He is not a savior. He is not a tyrant. He is the answer to a question the world was too afraid to ask. In a world teetering on collapse, can Shidaken bend fate to his will? Or will he, like so many before him, be swallowed by the current he seeks to control?
Aaliyan_A_shaikh · 4K Views

Martial Union

The drums of war thundered across the plains of the Wan Shui Empire. At the forefront stood a lone figure draped in silver armor, his crimson cloak dancing with the wind. His gaze, sharp as a dragon’s claw, swept across the battlefield. His name was Huan Bai — the War Demon, the youngest divine general in the empire’s history. At fifteen, he had silenced rebel cities. At twenty-two, he led men against beasts that tore mountains apart. At twenty-seven, he ascended to the rank of Divine General, one of only three in the entire empire. His name was etched in legends, sung by poets and feared by kings. But even war gods have hearts. In a rare moment of peace, the general crossed paths with Wu Hua, the flower of the Xiantian Sect. Graceful, serene, and unshaken even by his terrifying presence. Love, unexpected and fierce, bloomed like wildfire. They married in the spring, where cherry blossoms rained like snow. On his thirty-second birthday, the war demon smiled brighter than ever before. His son, Li Bai, was born under a sky filled with stars, as if the heavens themselves bowed in blessing. But fate, as always, was cruel. In the same year, during a border negotiation with the Tiansha Empire, General Huan Bai was betrayed and captured. His soldiers returned without him. His armor, broken. His spear, snapped. His fate — unknown. And as if destiny wasn’t yet done, Wu Hua vanished days later. No body, no trace. Only silence. The empire grieved its war god. But not all shared in the sorrow. Young Li Bai, now the son of a "fallen hero" and a "runaway woman," grew under the weight of whispers and cruel laughter. “A cursed child,” they called him. “The disgrace of a vanished bloodline.” But in the stillness of rejection, something stirred. On the eve of his seventh birthday, when the cold moon was high and dreams were thin, Li Bai sat alone in the courtyard of the orphaned manor. No one celebrated. No one remembered. And then — boom. A sudden pulse. The earth trembled. The stars above flickered strangely, as if acknowledging a forgotten truth. From within Li Bai’s core, a spiraling path of light and darkness emerged. It did not follow the known elements. It was not fire, not wind, not sword, not beast. It was something much more mysterious..... Unseen by all, the world had changed. The spirit child had awakened.
Ozoth · 3.5K Views

The Age of Martial Enlightenment.

In the beginning, mankind was weak. Prey to beasts, to plague, to the winds and whims of the heavens. Kingdoms rose and fell like sandcastles at the edge of a storm-tossed sea. Swords rusted. Kings bled. No one was beyond death. But then came the Nine Pillars. Forged in the twilight of the ancient world by nameless sages who pierced the secrets of heaven and earth, the Pillars were not structures of stone, but of spirit, flesh, and will. They were paths—painful, ruthless, divine paths—by which a mortal might climb beyond the chains of his body and seize dominion over it. The First Pillar, Strength Refinement, marked the beginning of the path. For ten years, a cultivator would temper their raw might until their muscles became as iron and their blows could break boulders. From there, the path only grew steeper. Flesh Refinement hardened skin into armor. Muscle Refinement made each sinew a coiled spring of destruction. Tendon Refinement—the Fourth Pillar—turned movement into mastery, footstep into flight, swordplay into something near divine. And beyond that? Bone, Organ, Marrow, Blood, and finally, Meridian Refinement—the ninth and last Pillar—was said to bestow eternal life, peerless power, and the ability to shatter mountains with a breath. At its peak stood the Martial Emperors, titans in human form. Yet such beings were as rare as phoenixes. Each Pillar demanded a toll of decades—forty years for the Fourth, ninety for the Ninth—but time given was returned a hundredfold. A cultivator aged slower, lived longer, endured more. But few ever had the resolve—or the years—to climb far. This was the Age of Martial Enlightenment, where kingdoms no longer measured greatness by armies or coin, but by the strength of their cultivators. Martial sects rivaled noble houses. Swordsmen wandered the land like demigods. The strong dictated truth, and the weak obeyed.
AshuraDaoLord · 6.2K Views
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