The Sovereign Returns

The village stretched out before him like a graveyard, its once-verdant fields now wilted and brown. Zhao Feng stood on the outskirts, looking at the wreckage of what had once been the heart of the Zhao family's estate. A deep silence pervaded the air, broken only by the distant caw of ravens perched atop the skeletal remains of the Zhao family's grand manor. The scent of decay, old blood, and rot filled his senses, and a bitter taste rose in his mouth. The sight of his family's fall was more painful than he'd imagined.

The towering spires of his ancient home, once symbols of the family's strength and divine dominance, had crumbled. Now only the remains of stone walls stood, the bones of a once-immense power. The ground was littered with broken marble pillars and shattered remnants of what was once an empire. He had returned—but to ruins.

He clenched his fists, feeling the weakness in his body. His once-immense power was now nothing but a flicker of a memory, buried beneath layers of mortal fragility. His new body was pathetic, a shell of the mighty celestial sovereign he had been. The energy he had relied on for centuries, the divine power that had allowed him to command entire realms, was all but gone.

Zhao Feng's breath hitched as he stepped forward, his limbs weak, his chest tight with each laborious inhalation. It was as if his lungs were made of paper, fragile and strained. His skin felt tight against his bones, and his muscles ached with the effort of even the slightest movement. A far cry from the body of a god, and yet he could feel a faint pulse of something deep inside him. It was faint—so faint it could have been his imagination. But he clung to it, desperately. It was the ember of something more, something he would not let die.

"Zhao Chen," he muttered under his breath, the name he now bore. The weakest son of the Zhao family, a mere shadow of the legacy his ancestors had built. His former name had been stripped from him, and he was left to pick up the pieces of what remained.

He knew nothing of the world as it stood now. A thousand years had passed since he fell, and everything had changed. The Zhao family, his once-proud house, had been destroyed from within and from without. The once-proud noble house was now a shadow, its influence diminished to nothing.

His gaze flickered toward the horizon. Far off in the distance, the faint silhouette of a market town could be seen. Zhao Feng's heart quickened at the thought. He needed information. He needed to understand how the world had shifted during his absence, who held power now, and who could be of use to him. He had no resources, no allies, and no strength. The only thing left to him was his mind. He would rebuild his power step by step. And when the time came, he would crush all who had wronged him.

His eyes narrowed. First, he would need to find sustenance. He needed food, warmth, shelter—basic things that his former self would have never even considered as necessary. But for now, survival came before vengeance.

As he began to walk toward the distant town, his mind raced. The faint pulse of energy that still hummed within him seemed to grow with each step. His body ached, but his mind was sharp. He could still remember the techniques and martial arts of his former life, though they were distant memories. His body might be weak, but his mind was clear, and that would carry him forward.

The town was small, tucked away in the middle of a vast plain. It was a far cry from the sprawling cities he had once ruled over, but it would have to do for now. As Zhao Feng approached the town, he could see that it was a place of hardship—desperate people, working just to survive. This was not a city of kings, but a village of broken souls. He didn't know what he expected, but he knew that things were not as they should be.

As he passed the outskirts, the faint glow of lanterns caught his attention. People moved about in the streets, but none took notice of him. They were all too absorbed in their daily struggles, lost in their own world. He wasn't anyone of importance here. No one knew his name, and no one cared. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Zhao Feng walked into the town square, his steps deliberate. The buildings were mostly dilapidated, their structures sagging under the weight of age. Dust and grime clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the scent of something rancid. It was a far cry from the pristine palaces of the celestial realm he once occupied.

A young man, no older than twenty, stood behind a stall selling vegetables, his face drawn and weary. The man glanced up as Zhao Feng approached, and for a moment, their gazes locked. The young man's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Zhao Feng could feel the unease emanating from him.

"Can I help you, sir?" the young man asked, his voice tinged with caution.

Zhao Feng gave a curt nod. "I'm looking for information. Perhaps you can help."

The young man hesitated, then sighed. "I'm not sure what kind of information you're looking for, but I can tell you this: the Zhao family is no more. You're better off leaving this place, unless you want to be caught up in the mess."

Zhao Feng's pulse quickened. So, the rumors were true. His family had fallen, its influence shattered. The once-great Zhao name was now a shadow, a mere whisper on the wind.

"Tell me more," Zhao Feng urged, his voice low but firm. He couldn't afford to seem weak now, not in front of this man.

The young man looked around nervously, then leaned in closer. "It wasn't just external forces that brought the family down. There was betrayal, too—someone within the family worked against them. Some say it was a traitor, someone high up in the ranks. The family is broken, and now the land is divided among different factions. There's no peace anymore."

Zhao Feng's mind whirred with the new information. A traitor within his own family? This was more than just a fall from grace—it was a betrayal at the highest level. He had to know more.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked.

"About five years ago. The noble families started to fight for control, and chaos spread. The Zhao family collapsed, and now no one even remembers what it used to be."

Zhao Feng's mind raced as he processed the information. Five years… That meant the world had been in turmoil long after his fall. And if a traitor had been involved, that meant there was someone out there who was still an enemy to him—someone who had helped destroy everything he had once held dear.

He glanced at the man, his expression hardening. "Where can I find these factions? Tell me, and I'll ensure you're spared any trouble in the future."

The young man's eyes widened, fear flickering across his face. "I—I don't know. The factions are scattered, some in the north, others in the east. I've heard of mercenaries gathering, but… that's all I know."

Zhao Feng nodded slowly, his mind already working on his next move. Mercenaries. It was a start. They could be useful. They were brutal, but they would also know the lay of the land. He could use them to gather more intelligence, perhaps even secure some allies.

Without another word, he turned and walked away from the market, the weight of the new information settling heavily on his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he had no choice but to move forward. He couldn't afford to waste any more time.

He needed to regain his strength. He needed to gather resources. And he needed to find the traitor who had torn his family apart.

As he made his way toward the edge of the town, his thoughts consumed by his next steps, he barely noticed the figures lurking in the shadows, watching him with cold, calculating eyes. The game had begun. And Zhao Feng, reborn from the ashes, would stop at nothing to reclaim his throne.

Zhao Feng's footsteps were steady but cautious as he moved further away from the market. The village behind him grew quieter with each step, the distant murmur of life fading into the oppressive silence that had marked his journey since his return. His mind churned with the new information he had gathered—fragmented pieces of a broken world. Yet, something about the young man's words troubled him. A traitor. Who could have betrayed the Zhao family? And why? The questions hung in the air, unanswered and heavy, like a storm waiting to break.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground as Zhao Feng made his way toward the outskirts of the town. There was still much to do, and he needed to act quickly. He couldn't afford to remain in the shadows for long, not if he intended to rebuild his power. He had to find the mercenaries and learn what he could about the factions that now held sway over the land. But more than that, he needed to find out who had caused the downfall of the Zhao family.

The further Zhao Feng traveled, the more the landscape began to change. The air grew thicker, tinged with the smell of sulfur and the distant rumble of thunder. The road became less traveled, the once-well-maintained path now rough and uneven. It was clear that not many ventured out this far. There were no markets, no bustling town squares—only open fields and the occasional silhouette of a distant farmstead.

As the light of the day began to fade, Zhao Feng's eyes flickered toward the horizon. In the distance, he could make out a campfire burning low, its flickering light casting long, distorted shadows. It wasn't much, but it was something. He quickened his pace, his senses sharpening as he approached.

By the time he reached the camp, the night had fully descended. The stars above were hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and the chill in the air was enough to make him pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He could see the outline of several figures sitting around the fire, their faces obscured by the flickering light. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, but there was something about the atmosphere that felt off—suspicious, like a quiet tension that clung to the group.

Zhao Feng approached cautiously, his presence unnoticed by the men gathered around the fire. He was no longer the divine sovereign, commanding legions of loyal followers. He was merely a traveler now, weak and unremarkable. And yet, beneath the layers of frailty, there was still the glimmer of something more—something dangerous.

He cleared his throat, and the men around the fire stiffened, their hands instinctively reaching for weapons. Zhao Feng's gaze swept over the group—three men, all of them armed, their expressions guarded. One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, was the first to speak.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice rough and gravelly.

Zhao Feng stepped forward, his posture relaxed but assertive. "I'm just passing through. I heard there were mercenaries in the area."

The man eyed him warily, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Mercenaries, eh? What's your business with us?"

"I'm looking for work," Zhao Feng said, his voice low and steady. "I need information. Maybe we can come to an agreement."

The scarred man chuckled, though it was a cold, humorless sound. "Information, huh? We don't deal in that sort of thing. But we do have plenty of steel to hire out. What's your trade?"

Zhao Feng paused, considering his words carefully. "I have… skills. I can be useful. Just point me in the right direction, and I'll prove it."

The burly man narrowed his eyes, studying Zhao Feng for a moment. His gaze flickered briefly to the two other men, who had remained silent thus far. They exchanged looks, and then the scarred man gave a slight nod.

"Fine," the scarred man said, his voice softening. "But you'll have to prove yourself first. We don't trust strangers around here. If you're serious, you'll have to fight one of us."

Zhao Feng's heart raced, the familiar thrill of combat stirring within him. Though his body was weak, his mind was sharp, and he could still remember the techniques of his former self. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. This would be a test—a test he would pass.

He stepped forward, undeterred by the man's challenge. "I'm ready," he said simply.

The scarred man didn't hesitate. He drew his sword with a swift motion, the steel glinting in the firelight. His two companions stood up, circling around the campfire, their eyes fixed on the confrontation.

Zhao Feng's breath slowed, his senses heightening as the world around him seemed to slow. He was out of practice—his body weak and uncoordinated—but he could still rely on his mind. His fingers twitched, calling upon the faintest threads of energy that still remained within him. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give him an edge.

The scarred man lunged forward with a powerful slash, aiming for Zhao Feng's midsection. The movement was crude, but fast, and Zhao Feng barely had time to react. He ducked under the attack, the sword grazing the edge of his cloak as he moved. He had underestimated his opponent. The scarred man was strong, his technique brutal, but Zhao Feng's mind worked faster than his body. He could see the flow of the fight, anticipating every move before it happened.

With a swift motion, Zhao Feng sidestepped the next attack and reached out, grabbing the man's wrist. His grip was weak, but he twisted the man's arm, using his momentum to send him sprawling to the ground. The burly man grunted in surprise, his sword slipping from his grasp as he hit the dirt.

The two other men stood frozen, their eyes wide in disbelief. They hadn't expected this level of skill from the seemingly frail traveler. Zhao Feng's heart pounded in his chest, his body screaming with exhaustion, but his mind remained clear.

"I told you I had skills," Zhao Feng said, his voice steady.

The scarred man, now on the ground, looked up at him with a mixture of awe and wariness. "You're better than you look," he admitted, rising to his feet. "Maybe we misjudged you."

Zhao Feng allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. "Perhaps."

The atmosphere shifted. The tension in the air was replaced by something else—curiosity. The men circled around him, no longer sizing him up as a potential threat but as someone useful. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"We can use someone like you," the scarred man said, wiping the dirt from his clothes. "We've got a job coming up. Dangerous work. You help us out, and we'll make sure you get the information you're after."

Zhao Feng nodded, his mind already working on the next step. Information. Allies. Power. This was the first step toward rebuilding his strength. The traitor who had brought down his family was out there somewhere, and Zhao Feng would find him, piece by piece.

He turned to the campfire, the flames dancing in the night, casting long shadows across the group. His eyes gleamed with determination. This was just the beginning.

And the world, though broken, would soon feel the weight of his return.