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National Guardian's Gone and We're Done

He Nian An
Having transmigrated to a Blue Star invaded by the paranormal, Chu He is the National Guardian War God who single-handedly guards the Demon Cave. Several years later, the first Queen in the history of Great Jing ascends to the throne. She publicizes footage of Chu He brewing tea and reading books daily, criticizing him for neglecting his duties and putting him on public trial before the entire nation. In a single day, Chu He becomes a public enemy. The Queen selects twelve beautiful young women to guard the Demon Cave, replacing him. Chu He laughs, offering no explanation. His ice-queen CEO wife also chooses to divorce him, calling him a true disgrace, little knowing that everything she has today is thanks to his halo as the National Guardian War God. In truth, Chu He has long been tired; living the life of an ordinary person is also quite good. The Queen even gives a public speech: “Without him, we can still annihilate the Evil Spirits!” “The Queen is sharp-eyed and discerning; otherwise, we would still be kept in the dark by this parasite!” “The Queen is so beautiful! I am willing to lay down my life for you!” As a result, the twelve highly anticipated young women are met with an outbreak of innumerable Evil Spirits the moment they arrive at the Demon Cave. In the blink of an eye, corpses litter the ground. The allied forces of Great Jing's experts assemble, only to be slaughtered with devastating ease! “The one we fear is Chu He. You swine and dogs are worthy of suppressing us?” A horde of Evil Spirits swarm out, cackling wildly. “Is it really impossible without him?” the Queen despairs. “So the Evil Spirits of the Demon Cave are this terrifying! Chu He, we were wrong. Please come back, okay!” the populace breaks down. …… “You said you could kill Evil Spirits without me, so why are you crying now?” Chu He says indifferently.
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
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