Year Twelve of the Great Era, spring.

At the eastern edge of Longjing, the capital of Liang—Wushen Altar.

The Crown Prince led a gathering of noble lords for the spring sacrifice. In a nation built on martial strength, this was tradition—spring and winter rites, unbroken for generations.

"Young Master, don’t just stand there. Kneel. Now."

The sharp voice snapped Lucas Yates out of an eternal slumber.

He opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. Overhead, the sky was a deep, endless blue. Before him, the towering statue of Wushen stood like a giant, its presence oppressive.

“…Where... am I?” Lucas finally asked, voice low and unsure.

Meant as a casual question, but it triggered a round of laughter.

“That idiot from the Yates household really lives up to the name. Doesn’t even know where he is.”

“They say this fool couldn’t write his own name at five, took three years just to learn some basic fist form. Waste of air, that one.”

“If not for being Leonard Yates’s only son, the kid would've starved in some alley. It was his father who forcefully boosted him to Postnatal First Level just to get him in here.”

Mocking eyes turned toward Lucas from every side. The ridicule filled his ears.

Beside him, the ceremonial official was near panic, stomping his foot and urging him to kneel before they missed the ritual timing.

Lucas ignored all of it.

“Seventeen years… It’s been that long…”

“I, Immortal Tennyson, have finally devoured the soul of the Heavenly Emperor!”

“Serena Shaw, you never saw it coming. You and your hundred Dao Lords ambushed me, thinking I’d perish with him. But instead, I consumed him and came back.”

Lucas stared into that rare blue sky, a flicker of sharp light glinting in his eyes.

“Lucas Yates! We are at the Wushen Altar! I’ve let your dull mind slide for now, but don’t push it further. Stop making a scene and kneel!” the Crown Prince barked.

Lucas lifted his gaze to the prince, noting the faint golden glow around him.

He wasn’t alone. Several other young nobles had the same golden aura drifting around them—it gave off a subtle pressure, drawing reverential looks from the crowd.

“Don’t just stare, Lucas,” someone said with a sneer. “That golden light’s Wushen’s blessing—only the promising get it. Mighty boost to the martial path. You want it? Kneel like a good little soldier and maybe Wushen will take pity on you.”

That got another wave of chuckles.

No one here believed the "fool" from the Yates could draw Wushen’s eye.

Among the hundred under thirty present, less than ten bore the light.

Every one of them, rising stars with bright futures.The Crown Prince didn’t laugh, but a flash of disdain crossed his eyes. He waved his hand. “Lucas Yates, go offer incense. Don’t waste our time.”

“No need.”

Lucas glanced at him, then turned to leave.

What?

Offering incense to the War God—a rare honor others could only dream of—and he refused?

The Crown Prince quickly stepped in his way, voice low and stern. “Lucas, honoring the War God is a major affair in Liang. You trying to make trouble?”

Lucas locked eyes with him, calm. “No. It’s just not necessary.”

“Why not?”

“Because the War God doesn’t deserve my kneel.”

The place instantly burst into uproar.

“You insolent brat! What nonsense are you spewing?” a general shouted, fury spilling out.

“Arrogant fool!” a few scholars fumed, beards trembling in anger. “He’s gone mad! When the Emperor returns, we’ll make sure this is brought to justice!”

Just then, someone sneered from the crowd, “Maybe he’s just scared of embarrassing his father. You know, Leonard Yates lit up with divine glow at ten. His son can’t spark it at seventeen. Pretty disgraceful.”

Lucas let out a sigh. “A wild god not even acknowledged by the Divine Names List, and here you are worshiping like it’s real.”

Then he added, voice flat, “And even if it were the true War God, I’ve killed more than one. Me kneeling? That’s a laugh.”

To most, those words sounded like the delusions of a lunatic.

The Crown Prince’s face darkened. He stepped closer. “This incense is from your house. You’re the only son of Leonard Yates in Longjing now. If you won’t pay respects, it’s your family that suffers disgrace. When your father returns, what explanation could he give the court?”

There was truth there.

Lucas frowned, silent a moment. Then he said, “I can give incense. But kneel? Never happening.”

The Crown Prince’s face twisted, but he just wanted this done before time ran out, so he said nothing more.

Lucas took the stick of incense from the ritual officer, lit it, and walked to the War God's statue. He bowed once, then placed the incense in the bronze urn.

A soft breeze carried the smoke in lazy trails, blurring Lucas’s figure. Against the towering idol, he looked extremely small.

Nothing happened.

The crowd, once curious, now lost interest.

“Well, what did anyone expect? He’s living off his father’s legacy. Why would the War God bless him?” someone sneered.

Under a downpour of mockery, Lucas turned to leave.

But as he took his first step—

Boom!

A deep, echoing crash ripped through the sky!

Golden light burst forth overhead—brilliant beyond belief—blinding those who looked up.

“What in the heavens is that?”“Could it be divine light? No way, that sound wasn't right for it!”

Before anyone could make sense of it, Lucas Yates took a second step.

Another deafening boom followed. The ground began to shake violently.

Cracks split open on the altar and quickly spread across the entire platform.

The clear skies turned black as thunderclouds surged overhead.

Chilling winds blew, and from that mass of black clouds, thick bolts of lightning shot down like angry dragons roaring through the heavens.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

The statue of the War God—symbol of Da Liang's might—was struck by heaven’s wrath.

Cast entirely from black iron and deemed indestructible, the idol now bore deep, clawing cracks.

Lightning rained down with precision, one strike after another, as though targeting the idol intentionally.

Within the span of a tea’s time, the statue teetered.

Its iron knees buckled under another blow, smashing down with a thunderous crash—it knelt.

Smoke and dust filled the air. The crowd stood pale and stunned.

“Thunder punishment! It’s a divine punishment!”

“No way! The empire is thriving, why would Heaven punish us now?”

While panic spread like wildfire, someone noticed—right in front of where the statue now knelt—was Lucas Yates.

Could it really be… him?

The War God kneeling… to Lucas?

“Must’ve been the Ministry of Works. Cutting corners again. Served us this piece of junk for a statue!”

“We’ll impeach those corrupt rats when we’re back!”

No one believed Lucas could’ve caused this. Just a fool, wasn’t he? How could some dull-minded brat make the War God kneel before him?

Nonsense. Absolutely impossible.

But standing there, looking at the scene… it did look as if the War God statue was kneeling to Lucas Yates.

Amidst the chaos of falling debris and gasping nobles, Lucas brushed past them all, heading out calmly.

“Lucas Yates! Where are you going?” the Crown Prince shouted.

Lucas turned, voice flat. “Seventeen years away—I’m going home.”

Everyone blinked. Then the sneers returned. Doubt scattered like smoke.

As expected—just a coincidence.

A fool was still a fool.

He’s seventeen now, right? Didn’t he leave the Yates estate just this morning? Seventeen years away, what nonsense.

“Didn’t get the War God’s blessing. Probably embarrassed to stay, so he scurried off home,” someone said confidently.

Others nodded, trash-talking Lucas while blaming the Ministry of Works for building a shoddy statue.

Only the Crown Prince looked at Lucas’s back with a flicker of doubt in his eyes—but whatever it was, it got drowned out in the crowd’s noise soon after.