Dr. J'an
The following account is attributed to Cha'le, former leader of the Black-Horned Tribe.
It was recorded after his integration into the Tàiyáng Empire and is considered one of the most honest depictions of the so-called "Festival of War."
The event itself was not merely a celebration—it was a calculated political convergence designed by Emperor Marrick to assess, intimidate, and select which leaders would survive the coming campaign.
The Crimson Empire.
That is what we called it.
Not what they called themselves.
No.
That is what we called them.
The tribes who still lived.
The tribes who had not been burned.
The tribes who had not been enslaved.
Because everywhere they went—
they left a trail of crimson.
Blood.
Ash.
Bodies.
And at the center of it all—
him.
Their emperor.
Xuè Yǔ Huī.
The Crimson Devil.
Marrick.
He was death.
He was flame.
He was the end of everything we knew.
Some kings believed they could stand against him.
That they were close to his level.
Fools.
There is a reason he is called an emperor—
and they are called kings.
Because kings rule lands.
But Marrick?
Marrick rules fear.
When he comes for you—
there are only two outcomes.
The best outcome—
is that he finds something useful about your people.
Something he likes.
And then—
he takes it.
Your strength.
Your culture.
Your identity.
He twists it.
Breaks it.
Rebuilds it into something that serves him.
And then he lets you live.
Not as you were.
But as something… lesser.
Something his.
The worst outcome?
Is far worse than death.
Slavery.
Chains.
Your people turned into tools.
Your children raised to serve.
Your name erased.
That—
is something I refused to allow.
I am Cha'le.
Leader of the Black-Horned Tribe.
And I swore—
I would die before I let that happen.
But the truth?
There was nothing I could do.
If Marrick decided he wanted my land—
my people—
my tribe—
then we were already dead.
So you can imagine—
how my stomach dropped—
when he came to my village.
Him.
And that winged one beside him.
His advisor.
Fuxi.
And then—
I learned something impossible.
Something that made my blood run cold.
There was something…
that even Marrick feared.
An Elder Beast.
The one that ruled these mountains.
The one that was coming.
To slaughter us all.
To grow stronger.
And Marrick—
offered us a choice.
Join him.
Fight with him.
And if we survive—
we live.
Maybe more than live.
We become part of his empire.
I didn't hesitate.
I couldn't.
This was the only way.
The only chance I had to protect my people.
And then—
he did something I did not expect.
He gave us food.
Water.
Supplies.
Not scraps.
Not insults.
Actual resources.
And for a moment—
just a moment—
I wondered—
Maybe he isn't evil.
Maybe…
he is just a good emperor.
In the months that followed—
I built my army.
Prepared my warriors.
Waited.
And waited.
Eighteen months passed.
Then—
a messenger came.
But not for war.
For a festival.
A celebration.
Before the war.
"For good luck."
…
I did not believe that for a second.
But I went anyway.
I had to.
When I arrived—
I saw them.
All of them.
The tribes of the mountains.
Leaders I had grown up with.
Fought beside.
Fought against.
And then—
the kingdoms.
The kings.
All of them here.
All of them under one roof.
That alone told me everything.
This was not a festival.
This was control.
But the empire itself…
It was beautiful.
I hated that.
It was made of this brilliant brown-yellow stone.
Nothing like the dull black and gray of the mountains.
There was art everywhere.
In the buildings.
In the roads.
In the pillars.
Even the air felt… designed.
Perfect.
Controlled.
It made my tribe look like animals.
And I hated that even more.
The festival began at night.
But the sun had not fully set yet.
So we waited.
And we talked.
I found old faces.
Kochi.
Leader of the Pink-Fanged.
Sheal.
Leader of the Purple-Skinned.
"Hey, Cha'le," Kochi said.
"How've you been?"
"I've been good," I replied.
"And you?"
He grinned.
"I've been fantastic."
I already knew where this was going.
"I love being chief," he continued.
"It means I can fuck whoever I want in my tribe."
I sighed.
"Even if they don't want it."
"…Right."
Same Kochi.
Same disgusting bastard.
"And you, Sheal?" I asked.
"Me good," he said.
"You?"
…
And now I remembered why I stopped talking to him.
Strong?
Yes.
Smart?
No.
Not anymore.
After that hit to the head—
something never came back.
We talked more.
About the war.
About Marrick.
About rumors.
Fear disguised as conversation.
Then—
everything stopped.
The emperor had arrived.
Marrick.
With his family.
And his wife—
…she was beautiful.
Not like us.
Not oni.
But something else.
Something… refined.
And then—
Kochi spoke.
"I could probably fuck her in front of him."
…
My heart dropped.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING—" I hissed under my breath.
"That is Marrick's wife."
"Marrick."
"THE XUÈ YǓ HUĪ."
"He will kill you."
"He will kill your people."
"For even thinking that."
Kochi just smirked.
"Nah."
"I got this."
Marrick spoke.
"Everyone here," he said, his voice calm—too calm—
"has a chance."
"A chance to join me."
"If I like you."
"So come."
"Kings."
"Chiefs."
"Let us talk."
"And maybe…"
"You will earn a place in my empire."
I was ready.
This was my moment.
My chance.
But before I could move—
Kochi did.
He walked straight toward her.
The Empress.
He started talking.
Flirting.
She declined.
Politely.
Then—
he grabbed her hand.
"I wasn't asking," he said.
His eyes glowed pink.
Her eyes—
went hazy.
My blood ran cold.
Idiot.
Fucking idiot.
I ran.
Straight to Marrick.
"My lord—"
"Yes, yes, everyone needs something—"
"No."
"It's your wife."
He stopped.
"Look."
I pointed.
Kochi was already pulling her closer.
Kissing her.
She was resisting—
but she couldn't.
Marrick was gone.
One moment he was beside me.
The next—
he was there.
In front of Kochi.
He grabbed him.
Ripped him away.
The air changed.
"…You."
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
"You believe yourself worthy…"
"…to touch my family?"
Kochi tried to speak.
Tried to laugh it off.
Too late.
Marrick lifted him.
Like he weighed nothing.
"You will be an example."
And then—
he ripped him in half.
Down the middle.
No hesitation.
No struggle.
Just—
gone.
Blood poured.
People screamed.
Silence followed.
Marrick dropped the body.
Looked at me.
"You."
My heart stopped.
"I like you."
"You told me."
"You acted."
"You understood."
He stepped closer.
"If you survive this war…"
"You will become part of my empire."
At the time—
I thought that meant something good.
I was wrong.
Now I understand.
"Part of the empire"—
means most of us become slaves.
The rest?
Second-rate citizens.
Controlled.
Owned.
But me?
I was lucky.
Or unlucky.
I was not made a slave.
I became his servant.
Chief of cleaning—
in the palace of the Crimson Devil.
And I learned something very quickly.
There is no difference—
between a slave…
and a servant.
Only the illusion of choice
1 DAY AND 2 WEEKS BEFORE WAR