Chapter Eleven: Breaking Through the Encirclement (Part One) [Unlocked]

Brothers, let me shout once more~~!! Recommendation votes~!!!! Haha~~!! Don’t get mad, it’s not easy to get on the weekly recommendations at Qidian~~! Please, cast more votes, thank you~!~~!

********

These words left Kuangchi completely bewildered, utterly at a loss as to their meaning. How could he be involved with the Emperor of the Empire, and in such a serious way? Kuangchi had no desire to ponder further; still, the accusation of recklessness irked him.

After some thought, Kuangchi pressed again, “Your Highness, may I ask what your esteemed father, His Majesty the Emperor, meant by those words?”

The young woman considered for a moment before answering, “I didn’t ask much at the time, but my father said you might become the third War God of the Kuang family, the twenty-seventh War God of humanity since the disappearance of the Yero War God two centuries ago. He called you a true martial prodigy.”

Kuangchi was surprised to hear that he might become the twenty-seventh War God of humanity; hadn’t there only ever been seventeen? Was it possible for an emperor to make such a basic mistake?

Clearly not. Kuangchi would sooner believe pigs could fly than believe an emperor could make such an error.

As a member of the Kuang family, what concerned him most was indeed the War God matter. For thousands of years, his family’s greatest wish had been to see another War God rise among their ranks.

As the only family among humankind to have produced two War Gods, the honor on the surface was matched by burdens beneath. Especially for the leader of such a family, the pressure was unimaginable to outsiders.

Though no third War God had emerged from the Kuang family for millennia, their number of Martial Lords was enough to alarm even empires. The heads of the Kuang family had always put immense effort into nurturing their descendants. As a family constantly under the scrutiny of all humanity, every head of the Kuang family feared leaving behind a legacy of shame. Each was fiercely protective of their reputation. This carefulness was one of the reasons the Kuang family had never declined but steadily grown over tens of thousands of years.

Kuangchi quickly asked, “Your Highness, you just said there have been twenty-seven War Gods among humans, but I’ve always heard there were only seventeen. Are you sure you didn’t hear wrong, or perhaps misremembered?”

The young woman was momentarily taken aback, then recalled, “It’s twenty-seven, my father said so himself. The Star-Moon Martial Lord was present. This was a conversation between my father and the Star-Moon Martial Lord. There’s no mistake. You must have heard or remembered incorrectly.”

Kuangchi almost wished he had misheard or misremembered. But this was taught to him personally by the teachers his family had hired.

He didn’t press further; it was clear this princess knew nothing of the discrepancy in the number of War Gods. Asking would be pointless.

At that moment, the warship, which had only been lightly shaking, suddenly lurched with a violent jolt, dropping several meters. The princess of the Gale Empire, evidently not well-versed in martial arts, cried out and fell straight towards Kuangchi.

Kuangchi, deep in thought, was caught off guard. By the time the princess crashed into his arms, he finally reacted, catching her as she fell and hastily channeling his energy to steady himself.

Fortunately, the violent jolt lasted only a moment, after which the warship quieted for the first time in days, the vibrations ceasing, as did the steady sinking.

Stabilizing himself, Kuangchi quickly released his grip from the princess’s waist, while she, blushing, let go of his neck.

(Page 1/3)

Afterward, both of their faces flushed red. The princess of the Gale Empire not only possessed a stunningly beautiful face but also a tall, alluring figure.

During their brief embrace, Kuangchi’s head had been level with her chest, while she clung tightly to his almost nonexistent neck.

His entire face, nearly his whole head, was buried between her proud, firm bosom, as awe-inspiring as the rest of her figure.

Looking at her blushing cheeks, Kuangchi, embarrassed yet delighted, couldn’t help but inwardly praise her devilish figure and angelic beauty.

It took a long while for both to recover their composure.

Despite being married—and to two wives at that—Kuangchi and his wives, Zixia and Phil, had never actually consummated their marriages. Though they had shared a bed, they had never crossed that final threshold. So, when something like this happened, Kuangchi was still terribly embarrassed and shy.

As for the reasons he hadn’t been intimate with his wives, they were many. The most important was that Zixia claimed to be at a critical stage in her cultivation and couldn’t break her virginity. Whether true or not, since she said so and Kuangchi had little desire, he simply gave up his rights and duties.

As for Phil, Kuangchi, whose sexual drive wasn’t strong anyway, wouldn’t have had any improper thoughts toward an eight-year-old girl even if he did.

So, after nearly a month of married life with both wives, nothing had happened.

Once the awkwardness faded, the princess of the Gale Empire spoke shyly, “Mister Kuang, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘princess.’ My name is Wu Jing, but you can call me by my childhood name, Jing’er.”

Kuangchi was surprised. If he remembered correctly, just a few months ago, during his pre-marriage etiquette class, his instructor had told him that girls of the Gale Empire were very particular about their names: except for elders, husbands, and brothers, no man was allowed to address them by name, let alone by their childhood name.

He wasn’t sure whether this princess who called herself Jing’er was unaware of her country’s customs or had some other motive, but after she spoke, she stood still, shyly gazing at Kuangchi, her expressive eyes seeming to silently urge him to call her by her childhood name.

Kuangchi quickly smiled and said, “Then I’ll call you Jing’er from now on.”

After a pause, he smiled again. “But you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Mister Kuang’ either. Just call me Fatty—my two wives do.”

Only after he spoke did Kuangchi realize how easily these words could be misconstrued.

Sure enough, her face turned red, but soon after, she softly called him Fatty.

Thus went their first meeting—a meeting whose peculiar circumstances and words would puzzle them even decades or centuries later, for this was not at all in their usual character.

(Page 2/3)

At this moment, Xiaohua, who was healing inside Kuangchi’s body, felt a ripple of unease. It sensed a tidal energy surging within Kuangchi, each wave stronger than the last, battering Kuangchi’s body, his spiritual force, and his entire mental space, even impacting the energy Xiaohua had stored within him.

The energy fluctuations inside the space warship were growing in both frequency and intensity. Before long, even the distracted Kuangchi clearly sensed it.

He noticed Jing’er’s frown deepening—as if something abnormal was happening within her body. Then she began massaging her temples. Seeing this, Kuangchi realized that the energy fluctuations in the ship were causing discomfort to the not-so-powerful Jing’er.

He quickly glanced at the life-escape pod behind her and urged her to return inside.

Although a princess of a mighty empire, Jing’er was extremely clever and obedient.

At Kuangchi’s suggestion, she understood immediately and headed back to the life pod. Before entering, she turned back and said, “Fatty, there are two seats in this pod. Why don’t you come in too?”

Kuangchi smiled and shook his head, “I’ll be fine. You go in and remember to close the hatch.”

He pointed to his head as he spoke.

Seeing the gesture, Jing’er’s face lit up with sudden realization. While rubbing her forehead, she said, “Now I remember—didn’t you cultivate the legendary Starry Sky Technique, the most mysterious of all spiritual arts? This environment shouldn’t affect you.”

She clearly assumed her headache was due to not being acclimated to the planet.

Once the hatch closed tightly again, Kuangchi casually grabbed the captain’s corpse nearby and carried it out. He didn’t want Jing’er to see the gruesome body again after she came out.

Instead of immediately investigating the mysterious energy surges, Kuangchi first gathered the corpses from the other eight cabins and moved them all into one room. These cabins had no robots; it was clear that the servants had all been real people, not robots capable only of executing set programs.

He had to handle it himself—he couldn’t let Jing’er emerge to be confronted by the brutal, mangled remains of people she might well know.

For anyone who had never seen battle, this was a hell on earth: shattered limbs everywhere, blood splattered all around, the corpses’ faces frozen in terror. For Kuangchi, who had spent years on the battlefield and wasn’t squeamish, it was nothing. But for a princess raised in the palace, it would be too much to bear. Kuangchi could only do his best to clear the bodies, hoping to make the space somewhat livable for Jing’er, who might have to stay there for some time.

The bones were easy enough to collect, but the bloodstains were another matter. In the end, he piled all the blood-soaked, uncleanable objects with the corpses in another cabin.

(Page 3/3)