Chapter 1: March Through the Furious Sea: The Warlord and the Embers

The low growl of the engines was the heartbeat of the void—dull, oppressive, carrying the rhythm of annihilation.

He Feng stood before the cold bridge viewport of the flagship Radiance, his gaze piercing through the thick composite crystal, fixed on the turbulent star region known among the Angel civilization as the Wrathful Sea.

Before him stretched a sea of crimson light. It was the exhaust ports of tens of thousands of warships from the vast Tian Gong fleet. Amidst the sparse star dust and chaotic energy currents, they resembled the glowing red eyes of countless hellish beasts, painting the once pitch-black cosmic backdrop with a chilling, dark scarlet hue.

The year was Tian Gong calendar 6500.

He was He Feng, commander of the Second Legion of the Tian Gong Group, the undisputed “God of War” under King Hua Ye’s throne, undefeated in every battle he had led, renowned across the Angel civilization as an unrivaled duelist and swordsmanship master.

He was ten thousand five hundred years old.

A veteran who had lived for millennia, his hands stained with blood—an otherworldly soul trapped within an Angel’s body. He… had once been… a man from Blue Star.

His fingertips brushed the cold metal frame of the viewport, faint but continuous vibrations flowing through his bones.

Those vibrations came from three million male Angel warriors, from the thunderous roar of tens of thousands of steel behemoths’ engines, from the overwhelming pulse generated by this war tide, powerful enough to crush stars, as it marched through the void.

They were the embodiment of power and the prelude to destruction, the lethal blade He Feng himself had forged and now wielded, emitting a bloodthirsty hum.

Behind him, the bridge was bathed in an eerie blue tactical light. A massive holographic star map floated above the main console, marking the Wrathful Sea’s signature, twisted, violent energy field as a constantly shifting orange-yellow turbulent mass—like a gigantic maw poised to devour all in its path.

The staff officers wore solemn expressions, fingers rapidly gliding over the luminous screens, calibrating the fleet’s formation amid the chaos and monitoring the status of every warship. The air was so heavy it seemed one could squeeze water from it.

Everyone knew the mission’s goal—the last stronghold of the Female Angel Resistance, the heart of the Mello Celestial Court—lay hidden at the far end of this chaotic star region.

A final battle aimed at decisively ending the millennium-long “War of Opposition” was imminent—an arrow nocked to the string.

He Feng’s gaze swept beyond the viewport, locking precisely on the most concentrated, dazzling patch of crimson light.

There lay Hua Ye’s flagship, the Tian Gong.

Vast as a moving palace, its entire surface sheathed in ostentatious golden armor, it moved slowly at the center of the fleet, like a greedy heart submerged in a sea of dark red blood.

Guarding it was the First Legion, commanded by Sumari—the forty-five hundred thousand infamous for their bloodthirsty brutality, known as madmen.

Their warships were painted a dark red like congealed blood crust, exuding a nauseating, sickly aura.

A barely perceptible smile, mingling mockery and coldness, flickered across He Feng’s lips.

Ten thousand five hundred long years—enough time for stars to be born and extinguished, for vows to turn to ashes.

Also enough… to make a once brilliant and mighty sovereign—the very one He Feng had willingly followed, whose sword had swept across the eight wilds and six realms—fall from grace.

The man who had vowed to end all wars within the Angel civilization and bring eternal peace had utterly degenerated into a drunken, self-opinionated, foolish wreck.

Hua Ye was no longer the young king who ascended the throne over six thousand years ago, full of vigor and daring to challenge the feudal warlords his predecessors feared to confront.

“General,” a voice as steady as a rock sounded at his side—his adjutant, Rein.

This veteran of over four thousand years bore a fierce scar slicing diagonally from brow to jaw, an eternal mark left while covering He Feng during the Battle of Mount Tianwang.

“All Second Legion battleship and assault fleets have completed final formation calibrations. The ‘Spearhead’ formation is stable and ready to respond to flagship commands. The Radiance’s anti-jamming array is running at full power; status… perfect.”

He Feng did not turn but merely inclined his head slightly.

“Maintain silence. Relay orders to all units: final equipment checks, calibrate weapons systems.”

His voice was low, yet it scraped like cold metal against silence, cutting clearly through the bridge’s deep hum, reaching every officer’s ears with precision.

An invisible pressure and sense of trust spread, and all instinctively straightened their backs. The voice of a God of War was itself an unquestionable will and source of strength.

Ten thousand five hundred years.

That number drifted within the vast sea of his consciousness.

For a super soldier whose natural lifespan ranged only from nine to twelve thousand years, he should have long since entered twilight, or even turned to dust.

It was only through countless victories that he earned great honors, and at five thousand one hundred years old, received the third-generation super soldier genes, forcibly tearing apart the shackles of life and extending his limit to thirty-eight thousand, even fifty thousand years.

These years, so long they could weary even the stars, now flowed silently like cold stardust behind his profound eyes.

He was not a native of this world. This secret was a star-mark burned deep into his soul, never to be erased.

Ten thousand five hundred years ago, when his consciousness struggled awake from a warm yet chaotic void, the first face he “saw” was that of He Zhangliang, distorted with overwhelming joy—a middle-aged male Angel.

“It’s a boy! The Angel God is merciful! I, He Zhangliang, have a son!” That ecstatic cry, coupled with the first wail of his new body, became the prologue of his otherworldly life.

On this battlefield of feudal strife, He Zhangliang took him in, while his birth parents lay dead on the ground.

Before Hua Ye’s ascension and the launching of the Great Unification War, countless Angels perished or were displaced by feudal conflicts. Hua Que, a figure akin to the ancient “Son of Heaven,” wielded limited influence beyond the Angel civilization’s core.

He Zhangliang, his adoptive father, was a gentle, somewhat timid Angel scholar devoted to exploring unknown star regions.

He Feng felt this man’s warmth keenly—the first and most vital warmth in this cold, alien universe.

The name He Feng, carrying his adoptive father’s lifelong dreams of exploration, became his scar and shackle for life.

The first few centuries were a painful period of soul and body adjustment, a chaotic time to grasp the new world. It was like forcing an ancient soul into the fragile shell of a young Angel.

Clumsy at first, he learned to understand the essence of an Angel—its extraordinary physical strength, extended lifespan, and the innate white wings symbolizing identity and power.

He cautiously concealed his thoughts far beyond an infant’s cognition, silently observing this super civilization woven from technology and individual might.

He Zhangliang offered him unconditional fatherly love and freedom to pursue knowledge.

The He family’s study, piled with ancient tomes and data tablets, became the only sanctuary where he felt safe in childhood.

Yellowed parchments recorded the Angel civilization’s mythical origins; cold alloy data tablets held profound theories of genetic engineering; star map projectors displayed dazzling vistas of the vast cosmos—he absorbed it all voraciously.

Faint memory fragments of “Earth” and scattered impressions of an entirely different civilization were deeply buried in the depths of his mind, sealed away like archived files.

In this cold universe where strength was truth and the weak were prey, survival, growth in power, and protection of his only family were the sole matters worth considering.

At two thousand years old, He Xi was born. He Zhangliang held the rare silver-haired, delicate infant in his arms, tears streaming with joy.

He Feng stood beside the cradle, watching those pure eyes, as clear as a newborn nebula, curiously examining him.

A weighty responsibility, never before felt, instantly settled on his still young but already firm shoulders.

In his adoptive father’s eyes, full of hope and reliance on the future, he became the “older brother”—He Xi’s only support.

Fate was stingy with grace. When He Feng was two thousand and three years old, cold news shattered the fragile peace the He family had just rebuilt, like a supernova’s shockwave.

During an expedition into the Withered Nebula, He Zhangliang encountered a rare spatial storm powerful enough to tear stars apart.

His beloved exploration ship, the Far Seer, and he himself vanished utterly into the violent turbulence.

The Angel civilization’s elite rescue fleet searched in the death zone in vain for a whole year, returning only a few fragments bearing the Far Seer’s identification.

Twisted ship debris and a fragmentary final message video recorded by He Zhangliang during his last desperate moments, torn by chaotic energy.

In the blurred, flickering, snow-noised footage, his face was mostly obscured by a damaged helmet visor; the background was a violently shaking bridge flashing with harsh red lights and piercing alarms.

His voice was broken and exhausted, yet held a strange calm, as if foreseeing fate:

“Ah Feng… my child… take care of… your sister… If you feel… tired… lost… uncertain… go out and see… for redemption… lies within…”

The screen jolted violently, then dissolved into a blinding mass of meaningless white noise.

At that moment, He Feng felt a soft part deep within his soul was torn, frozen, and shattered along with that distorted image and the abruptly ended words.

The man who had sheltered and warmed him, the man who had pointed to star maps and revealed cosmic mysteries, vanished silently into the cold void—leaving only a broken home and a still naive sister.

From that moment, the last shred of warmth his soul had for the world died completely.

A warrior named He Feng was reborn in cold despair and overwhelming responsibility.

He buried all frailty and sorrow with his own hands, arming himself with cruelty and resilience far beyond his Angel peers.

He needed power, status, everything to protect himself and his sister He Xi in this merciless Angel civilization.

The Angel Academy became the crucible where he honed his edge and forged his blade.

He Feng’s battle talent, enhanced by his otherworldly soul, shone brilliantly in brutal competition.

He seemed born to grasp the essence of combat, his body wielding strength with precision like a finely tuned instrument, his anticipation of attack trajectories near instinctual.

The cold alloy training sword in his hand felt like an extension of his limbs, every swing carrying a deadly rhythm that chilled the heart.

At two thousand five hundred years old, the Angel City held its biennial Angel Arena Tournament—the highest stage for the younger generation of the Angel civilization to showcase strength and vie for supreme glory.

He Feng crushed all opposition with an undisputed undefeated record, ultimately standing atop the champion’s podium in the super soldier category.

The prize was precious second-generation super soldier upgrade genes and a high-density silver sword named Dominion.

The genetic serum’s injection brought agonizing pain of tearing and reconstruction, but also the first leap in his life’s tier. The name He Feng began to resonate throughout the Angel civilization.

Power’s rise brought status and new possibilities. He had taken the first successful step, becoming a second-generation super soldier—but it was only the beginning, not the final chapter.

At three thousand years old, he journeyed to the domain of Duke Hoffman. There, another figure would alter his life’s trajectory—Hoffman’s eldest daughter, Keisha.

A female Angel of his age, with radiant golden hair and sapphire eyes, she was like a scorching sun piercing his cold world.

They grew up together, childhood sweethearts whose story wove from academic debates to swordplay, from starry dreams to life’s ideals, their youthful affections blossoming quietly through shared years.

He Feng earned Duke Hoffman’s recognition through his strength and potential—though the duke initially frowned upon this young man of no ancient noble lineage—and at three thousand years old, He Feng and Keisha were formally betrothed.

In his ten-thousand-year life, beyond his adoptive father and sister, this was the third warmth he had ever truly felt—that fierce blaze called love.

At the peak of Love Mountain on the immortal star, standing at an altitude of sixty-eight thousand six hundred forty-eight meters, the cosmic sea sprawled breathtakingly beneath them.

They nestled close; he called her “Sasha,” she called him “Ah Feng,” pledging heartfelt vows as if only their heartbeats and eternal starlight remained in the world.

That moment’s beauty was as pure and fragile as crystal.

At four thousand years old, the Angel civilization’s heavens… changed.

The old Angel King, Hua Que, fell.

Young Hua Ye ascended, initiating the Tian Gong Era.

The new king was ambitious and ruthless toward the entrenched, insubordinate feudal lords within the realm—precisely why He Feng chose to follow him.

After all, his biological parents had died in the brutal wars of these warlords. He Feng hated all of it—the warlords, the endless strife.

He Feng’s astonishing strength in the arena and his modest reputation in Hoffman’s domain caught Hua Ye’s attention. The new king needed fresh blood—young, fierce, and rootless—to break the old nobility’s shackles.

He Feng became a sharp sword in his hand.

In Tian Gong Year 100, He Feng was four thousand one hundred years old, and the flames of the Great Unification War ignited the entire Angel Nebula. Hua Ye’s ambition spread like wildfire.

He Feng threw himself into the war without hesitation. He needed merit, higher status, greater power to protect all he cherished.

War was the swiftest but cruelest ladder to ascend. Under Hua Ye’s command, he led his troops to strike strong feudal territories one by one.

His command talent shone ever brighter amid the flames, countless souls fell beneath his Dominion sword.

In Tian Gong Year 100, he marched with Hua Ye against the King of Celestial Devourers.

By Year 500, he commanded independently, breaching the Mountain-Sea Fortress—a millennia-old stronghold—gradually stepping into the spotlight.

By Year 1100, at five thousand one hundred years old, he was promoted to Angel Legion commander through battle merit, exchanging achievements with Hua Ye for third-generation super soldier genes, advancing to that elite rank.

In Year 2500, at six thousand five hundred years, during the Battle of Mount Tianwang, facing two million allied warlord troops, he personally led one hundred thousand elites deep into the enemy core, slaying the allied leader—the most formidable warlord, King Tian Cha!

That victory secured a grand triumph for the Tian Gong Group. He Feng’s name resounded across the cosmos! Hua Ye was greatly pleased and personally bestowed upon him the title “God of War.”

By Year 3100, the Great Unification War ended; all warlords were subdued or eliminated, and King Hua Ye expanded his territory fivefold.

From then on, the Angel King’s command extended to every corner of the Angel civilization. Peace… seemed within reach…

That same year, at seven thousand one hundred years old, He Feng was promoted to commander of the Tian Gong Group’s Second Legion, commanding two hundred and fifty thousand elite troops, becoming one of Hua Ye’s sharpest and most feared blades.

But peace seemed ever more elusive…

Instead, it drifted farther away…