Chapter 1: This Was an Accident

The endless dark shrouded the land, a vast and silent expanse where only the faint glimmer of distant stars and the scattered flickers of fireflies in the jungle offered any light at all.

Night draped over the city like a thin veil of mist, soft and ghostly, settling upon a fortress of gray-white stone. At its heart stood a statue—graceful, elegant, almost alive. Anyone stepping into the city couldn’t help but glance up, drawn instantly to her presence.

She shimmered in the dimness, glowing with an otherworldly moonlight. Her face was pale, serene, impossibly beautiful—so flawless it made even the bravest soul catch their breath. The sculpture was lifelike: a goddess of night wrapped in robes woven from moonlight and mist, her figure hinted at beneath the haze, tantalizingly just out of reach.

Yet no one dared look too long—or too boldly. She wasn’t a symbol of hope or peace. Not love, not freedom. No, she was war incarnate. A conqueror.

They called her Valkyrie.

In just one year, she had tamed this wild, lawless land. Broken tribes, crushed rebellions, forged order from chaos. Now, the city and its surrounding territories had laws—real ones, enforced by steel and silence.

Still, the guards patrolling the gates were lazy, indifferent. They ignored everyone who entered—the beggars in rags, the hollow-eyed wanderers, the starving masses flooding through like vermin.

Zhu Minglang lingered at the gate for a long while, then slipped into the crowd of beggars without hesitation. He blended in perfectly.

These people came from nowhere—some tribe, some broken village, their language incomprehensible to him. When they saw the statue, they froze. Stared. Then, after a few stunned seconds, shuffled away, shoulders slumped, eyes empty.

They’d once been part of the Pine Forest Clan—a proud people with their own five fortified towns. Their land wasn’t large, but it was theirs.

Then, a year ago, it was gone.

Their leaders laid out on the streets, heads neatly severed, arranged like offerings. Without protection, half became slaves. The rest fled—through fire and famine, across kingdoms, until they ended up here.

Here, where the Valkyrie ruled.

Funny how quickly revenge fades when you’re starving, when your bones ache from walking, when every day is a battle just to stay alive.

Now, all Zhu Minglang wanted was a wall to hide behind. A roof that didn’t leak. A street he could curl up on, filthy and forgotten, as long as it kept him safe from wolves and rotting in the open.

Even if that wall belonged to the woman who destroyed his home.

“Soup’s back there,” said a lanky guard with crooked teeth, stepping forward. “Go to the alley. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Zhu Minglang stepped forward politely. “Sir, I’m from Sang Town. I was delivering mulberry silk to the City Lord’s estate when bandits attacked. All my goods—my livelihood—stolen. I’m destitute now. Could you please send word to Uncle Wang in Sang Town? He’ll come get me.”

The guard sneered. “What? What did you say? Get away from me! If you die of hunger, don’t die near my stretch of road. The Lady Commander sees filth, I lose my head.”

Zhu Minglang sighed and stepped back.

Then, a cry went up—*soup!*—and the beggars surged toward the back alley like ants to a feast. He was nearly dragged along, carried by the tide.

The alley was a ruin. Crumbling wooden huts built from mud and splintered timber, most half-collapsed. It looked less like a place and more like a wound in the city’s skin. The air smelled of decay, damp earth, and despair.

But the soup wasn’t a lie.

At the far end of the alley, inside a small wooden courtyard, a maid in a sky-blue gown handed out bowls. She smiled gently, never flinching at the stench of unwashed bodies, the crawling lice, the grime smeared across hands and faces. Even when her delicate fingers got dirty, she kept pouring—bowl after bowl, without complaint.

Zhu Minglang was hungry. He swallowed hard. There was no choice. He took a bowl.

Then—

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

One beggar after another dropped dead. Some fell backward, cracking their skulls on the ground. Others collapsed forward, stiff as boards.

Those still conscious screamed and tried to run—but barely took two steps before convulsing, foam bubbling from their mouths.

Zhu Minglang froze.

No… no way.

He’d heard stories. Some cruel lords, desperate to keep their cities looking pure and holy, would feed poisoned gruel to the homeless, then dump the bodies beyond the walls—like rats in a sewer.

Just like that.

And now *he* was part of it?

His heart sank.

If he died here, who would feed the little one? It ate so much mulberry leaf every day…

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

More bodies fell. Eyes wide, mouths frozen in silent rage. This was the truth of the world.

A ruler could take a city for a single insult. Why not take lives for the sake of clean streets?

No home. No name. No dignity.

A man without a city was just a rat in the gutter.

Even if he crawled, begged, starved himself to survive—he’d still end up dead.

Zhu Minglang’s vision blurred. His head spun.

He wasn’t a criminal. He was a honest silkworm farmer. A loyal merchant. Paid his taxes. Delivered tribute on time.

If these beggars were rats, they deserved the poison.

But he—*he* was a good ox. A faithful worker. Just accidentally ate poison from his own yard.

Please… let me live.

Before he could speak, before he could prove anything—men in uniforms stepped into the courtyard. Each carried a burlap sack. Cold Moon swords hung at their hips.

He tried to stand. Tried to shout.

But the poison was too strong.

His legs gave out.

As darkness swallowed him, the last thing he saw was a pair of jade-like feet—delicate, bare, stepping forward with slow, deliberate grace.

He strained to see the owner.

But then—nothing.

In the fog of his dying mind, the feet merged with the statue in the city center. The image twisted, bloomed—until she stood before him, real and breathing, alive.

A woman. Full-bodied, radiant, flushed with passion. Her lips parted, her gaze locked onto his.

Her beauty was unbearable.

Dreams like spring—soft, warm, intoxicating.

The gods hadn’t abandoned him. In his final moments, they gave him a vision so vivid, so lush, it made death seem almost welcome.

He dreamed of the statue coming to life.

Under the flicker of oil lamps, she crept toward him—slow, sinuous, her curves hypnotic. The glow of the flame danced across her skin. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy with desire.

It was perfection.

And what came next?

Well…

Death didn’t seem so bad anymore.

The room was cold—stone walls, black as pitch. Only the trembling oil lamp lit the space. But in his arms, the body writhing against him burned hot.

“Ah… I’m going to die,” he whispered, voice breaking.

Then—echoes.

“Dying… dying… dying…”

His own voice, bouncing off the walls.

He blinked.

Slowly, awareness returned.

He wasn’t dreaming.

He was in a dungeon.

The lamp flickered. Real heat radiated from it. He reached out—felt the warmth.

He was alive?

So… the soup wasn’t poison?

No. That meant something worse.

If he was still breathing, they’d sell him. To the quarries. The mines. Deep underground, where men worked until they broke—and then died.

Better to be dead than that.

“Hmm?”

A soft moan beside him.

He turned.

There, lying beside him, naked and drenched in sweat, was a woman.

Her hair—black as tea-stained silk—draped over her shoulders. Her cheeks still flushed, her lips swollen. She was breathtaking.

His heart stopped. Then exploded.

What… what was happening?

Hadn’t he just been dreaming?

Why was he in a dungeon?

Why was he sharing a cell with *her*?

Her face—no, it was impossible—

It was the statue.

The Valkyrie.

The goddess of night. The iron-willed queen.

The woman who had wiped out his people.

“Awake already, sister?” A sly, fox-like voice rang from high above the iron window. “You look radiant. Must’ve had a *wonderful* night with that little beggar.”

The woman stirred. Still dazed, drunk with sleep or something else.

“Oh, imagine the hearts that would break if they knew the dazzling sister—so pure, so untouchable—spent the night with a ragged street rat,” the voice continued. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everyone hears. It’ll be the talk of the town for months.”

The woman finally snapped awake. Her eyes flashed.

But before she could speak—footsteps faded down the corridor. The mocking laughter echoed through the stone, sharp and cruel, lingering long after the sound vanished.

Zhu Minglang stared at her.

This woman—this *goddess*—was imprisoned.

She was the Valkyrie. The terror of the realm. The one who had crushed entire nations.

And yet—she was here. Naked. Vulnerable.

He opened his mouth.

“Did someone… overthrow you?”

Silence.

The world was chaos. Wars never ended. Rulers rose and fell faster than seasons changed.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she pulled her long hair across her body—trying to cover herself.

But her shape betrayed her. Her waist was narrow. Her hips wide. Her breasts full.

The hair didn’t hide enough.

Not nearly enough.