AIR Chapter 173

Chapter 173

The King of War gave the man a sword. 

This was a mortal realm, in a mortal world and not one person here would reach beyond the immortal rank. 

But that was fine for the King of War. 

The boy was shivering from blood loss. He was young, seventeen years of age and he was a soldier. 

He had been sent out to this area to fight, and his people had lost. 

The war was in motion, much like any other, much like the infinite that came before and the infinite that would come after. There were details, of course. Discrimination, inhumane treatment, grudges, death, vengeance, lies, truths, justification both good and evil. 

But War never cared about that. A just war was just as deadly as an unjust one. 

No, the King of War cared for the War itself. The action, the fighting, the death, the desperation. The pure struggle for dominance. 

That was war.

The man by legal standards, the boy in truth, looked at the blade in front of him. 

“Who are you?” The boy asked. 

“Me?” War smiled. “I am the sword.”

The boy looked at the blade, then to the man. 

“I do not understand.”

What was the boy thinking? Well, he assumed the pain had faded due to the adrenaline. That the pain had and blood had just gone away for the moment, sure to return in a bit. If he paid attention, he might have noticed how quiet the battlefield had gotten. He might have realized the strange silence in the hole he had crawled into to hide. 

If he looked outside, he would find nothing. 

“I am the blade they cut you with. I am the sword that the Rithel Empire has used to kill your people for centuries, and I am the sword you can use in your righteous refusal. Take that sword, the sword that Garn Rithel has used to slaughter your people with and fight back.”

Th the sword you can use in your righteous refusal. Take that sword, the sword that Garn Rithel has used to slaughter your people with and fight back.”

The boy looked at the blade. His mind caught up. He looked towards war and realized that it had no face. 

It was a strange amalgamation of faces. It looked like his general, and it looked like Garn Rithel’s face. It reminded him of his instructor, of his comrades, both dead and alive. It resembled his enemies, both who had killed his comrades and had been killed by him. It looked like the innocent people he himself had killed. 

Garn looked away. 

“Will you raise your blade?”

The boy looked at the sword again and contemplated. 

The Rithel Empire and the Thiel people had been at war since the dawn of this world, though they didn’t know it. War had been here since the birth of civilization and though this world was small and stupid, he never wanted to leave. 

It was a hobby of his. A pass time of an Imperium. He would keep the fighting going and watch from the sidelines as it did so. The world was old, uncountably old. Nearly as old as the rest of existence itself, but war kept it going. He fed it just enough to live another few quadrillion years, and he watched as the civilizations of this place were reset over and over and over again. 

The Rithel and Thiel, they were brothers once, though they would never admit it. 

They were brother clans who had trades with each other so well that most considered them the same nation. They even shared a parliament with one another, sharing laws and governmental structures. 

Two kings ruling over one nation. Then one got greedy, took a bit more than they should have. It was nothing harmful, just a little greed, one that would have been inconsequential if not for the other’s response. Both people started fighting, each claiming as much as they could before the other could take it. Then the lines were drawn and as soon as they were made, they were crossed. 

Thus began the cycle, and thus it still was. 

The strange thing about this was the lack of absolute peace. War never edged them on, he never told them to fight. 

No, this place offered him no power, no value, no Dao or strength. 

He was an Imperium and focusing on a realm like this would be a waste of his time. 

No, the thing he offered them was the ability to fight and nothing else. 

Just power, untainted by Dao or desire. 

When one side wanned, he would offer the other the sword.

And here was the beauty of it all, the absolute thrill. 

“I warn you now, your ancestors have picked up that blade before and they did not stop. I give you this sword and I will give it to your enemies one day, when their numbers are low and their people face absolute death, I will aid them then. Take the blade, free your people, call for peace and peace you shall have. Fight for vengeance, and vengeance you shall get. But vengeance breeds only itself and if you cannot put down the sword you shall be cut by it.”

The boy looked at the sword again, this time with fear, and then he held it and that fear was gone. 

“I shall heed your words!”

War smiled and nodded. Oh how he had heard those words before. Oh how they had lied. 

The child ran outside, forgetting to take his wounds and pain with him. 

He became a hero that day, and a century later, they would call him a villain as well. 

War was not demanding. It didn’t cry out for its own existence. It did not come from planning or purposefully gestation. It was an inevitable accident, a byproduct of life. 

From the ants to the packs of wolves and prides of lions, to human nations, there was war. It could be just sometimes, but it was always evil. 

And it was always there. 

The King of War laughed. 

He could feel the ripples in existence. His time was coming. His presence was near. 

He was, afterall, inevitable.