You, a tyrannical ruler, roam the heavens; you cannot understand my joy.

In the darkest hour before dawn, the sea breeze, carrying the smells of gunpowder, burnt grime, and a heavy stench of blood, swept across the bridge of the Zhenyuan.

Lu Zuo hadn't slept all night, standing here gazing at the now-silent Hizen Castle, where sporadic gunshots and screams could still be heard occasionally.

The faint glow of fire still lingered on the city wall, like the dying eyes of a giant beast gasping for breath against the dark blue sky.

As dawn broke, the sea began to lighten with a pale, fish-belly white. A messenger, covered in soot but with an excited expression, boarded the ship in a small boat, strode to the bridge, knelt on one knee, and spoke in a voice hoarse yet resolute tone, honed by the heat of battle:

"Your Majesty, Hizen Castle has been completely captured at 3:45 AM!"

"Our army suffered 17 dead and 43 wounded, all due to stray arrows and accidental injuries in street fighting."

"Countless enemies have been slain."

"The warriors, nobles, their families, and monk soldiers who stubbornly resisted within the city have all been executed in accordance with His Majesty's decree. The seized property and provisions are currently being inventoried."

Lu Zuo nodded slightly, his face expressionless, as if he had only heard a trivial daily report. "Very good."

"The soldiers have worked hard; let's reward them. We'll rest for half a day to replenish ammunition and supplies. We'll break camp at noon; objective—"

His gaze fell on the next marked port town on the nautical chart, "Hirado".

"As you command!"

This order was like opening Pandora's box, or setting off a war machine that had been programmed beforehand.

For the next year, the four islands of Japan were plunged into an unprecedented, utter, and desperate purgatory.

The Song Dynasty's steel fleet relentlessly advanced along the coastline, and the roar of its cannons became an eternal nightmare for this island.

Any daimyo army that attempted to rally its forces to resist, regardless of its self-proclaimed bravery, would melt away instantly like frost under the scorching sun in the face of overwhelming artillery fire and a barrage of bullets.

Cities, fortresses, and villages were reduced to ruins in the flames and explosions. There was no negotiation, no surrender, only the cruelest conquest and purge.

The swords, bows and arrows that Japanese samurai were once so proud of, and even the crudely made muskets that were later imitated sporadically, became laughable toys in the face of the Song Dynasty's revolutionary military power.

Their hopes for a one-man show and the code of Bushido were meaningless in the face of a precise bullet flying from hundreds of meters away.

Among the desperate civilians and routed soldiers, cries of "Heaven's punishment on Tang land" and "The divine wind is gone" began to circulate, but more than anything, there was a deep-seated fear and numbness.

A year later, the last organized remnant of the "Imperial Kingdom" army, which was holding out in a remote mountain area, was wiped out.

The last flag bearing chrysanthemum patterns or a family crest was reduced to ashes in the flames, and this island, once filled with fantasies of conquering the continent, finally fell into complete silence.

All that remains is a devastated land, a population reduced by more than half, and an omnipresent sense of death.

Lu Zuo set foot on the land of Kyoto, which had become a massive military camp and temporary governor's residence. He issued a final edict regarding the treatment of Japan, to be overseen by officials and soldiers fluent in Japanese:

1. Burning of books. All historical books, military treatises, Shinto and Buddhist scriptures, and even waka poems written in Japanese, regardless of the medium, were collected and burned in open fields.

In particular, those classic texts that record the so-called "divine kingdom," "military fortune," and "conquest of Han and Tang" should be completely eradicated, leaving not a single page behind, so as to erase their spiritual heritage and historical memory from the root.

Second, extinction of offspring. All Japanese men, regardless of rank—noble, samurai, commoner, or monk—who were twelve years of age or older were castrated by military medical officers to completely sever any possibility of continuing their bloodline.

This ruthless act, bordering on genocide, was the most effective way to prevent any potential resurgence.

3. Branding slaves.

On the foreheads or cheeks of all surviving Japanese, the character "奴" (slave) was branded indelibly with a red-hot branding iron.

This seal accompanies one throughout life; it is both a mark of identity and an eternal brand of shame, proclaiming the fate of being a lowly servant for generations to come.

IV. Dispersal.

After completing the above steps, all the Japanese were dispersed into groups and transported in batches by the Song Dynasty's naval ships to various places in the empire where laborers were needed.

The newly established settlements in the northern frontier, the mines in the western regions, the plantations in Southeast Asia, and even the projects undertaken by local governments—all these places would be under strict supervision. They would perform the most arduous, dangerous, and menial labor until the end of their lives, and their bones would be incorporated into the dust of the conquered lands.

Once the edict was issued, cries of despair filled the air, but any resistance only resulted in more immediate and brutal suppression.

Under the shadow of absolute force, the nation's former ambitions and pride were utterly crushed, trampled into the mud, and ultimately turned into a bloody and tearful footnote in history books that will be deliberately forgotten.

From then on, only the prefectures and naval ports of the Song Dynasty remained on the shores of the East China Sea; "Eastern Japan" ceased to exist.

……

Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye.

The Imperial Study in Nanjing.

Outside the window, the maple leaves blazed like fire, casting a warm golden glow on the glazed tiles.

The study was quiet and peaceful, with ambergris incense swirling gently in the censer. On the huge desk lay the newly drawn "Complete Map of the Great Song Dynasty".

Its territory was vast, stretching from the Japanese islands and Sakhalin in the east to the Salt Sea and Persia in the west, encompassing the Mongolian steppe and Baikal in the north, and reaching the South China Sea, Singapore, and the south of India in the south, even extending to the distant western coast, where the Song Dynasty's flag of exploration had already been planted.

Within the four seas, there are no longer any organized enemy states. All nations come to pay tribute, and envoys travel in an endless stream along the roads to Nanjing.

Lu Zuo stands alone before the map. The system has matched you with the infinite categories of the heavens. Click p>

His gaze slowly swept across this vast territory, where every mountain and river seemed to echo with the sounds of battle, bear witness to technological leaps, and bear the marks of institutional reforms.

For the past twenty years, he has been like the most demanding craftsman, hammering the blueprint in his mind into this ancient country bit by bit, forcibly elevating it to a position that it should not have belonged to.

Tired? Perhaps.

But more than anything, there is a sense of fulfillment that the blueprint is about to be fully realized, and... a subtle emptiness that comes with standing at the peak.

Just as his fingertips unconsciously traced the blurry outline marked "Europa" on the map.

Without warning, a semi-transparent, ethereal panel with a pale blue halo around its edges appeared in the field of vision. The panel had a simple design, exuding a futuristic technological feel, and displayed two lines of clear Chinese characters:

[Detection indicates that this world has met the core condition for "unification of the world".]

[The Interdimensional Travel Protocol is about to activate. Do you wish to travel to the next compatible world immediately?]

【whether】

Lu Zuo's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

system……

This entity, which had been dormant for twenty years and seemed to be merely a distant memory in his mind that had helped him get started before disappearing, has reappeared at this moment, at the moment when he believes everything is finally "complete".

Moreover, the options presented are so direct, so… ultimately tempting.

The heavens? The next world?

During his twenty-year reign as emperor, he controlled hundreds of millions of lives, wielding immense power and influence.

But deep down, the soul of the time traveler, the curiosity about the unknown, and the desire to explore a wider world, never seemed to be truly extinguished; they were just temporarily overshadowed by the grand ambition of conquest.

At that moment, the door opened silently.

He did not hesitate at all.

This world has been shaped according to his will; the seeds of systems, technology, and culture have been sown, and those who come after will follow in his footsteps.

His journey should perhaps not have ended here.

Lift your fingertip and tap the "Yes" option in the void.

[Command confirmed. Begin stripping the anchor point from this world... Energy infusion... Spacetime tunnel construction in progress...]

【3…2…1…Shuttle Initiation.】

There was no earth-shattering sound, no dazzling brilliance.

Everything in the Imperial Study—the red leaves outside the window, the map on the desk, the wisps of cigarette smoke, and even the entire space and time—seemed to have been paused in an instant by an invisible hand.

Then, like a reflection in water being scattered by a pebble, a pure, gentle, yet all-consuming white light appeared.

Lu Zuo could not feel his own body, nor could he perceive the passage of time; he only felt a strange sense of weightlessness and detachment.

I don't know how much time passed; perhaps it was a moment, perhaps it was eternity.

The white light gradually faded, and my senses returned.

The first thing that fills the nostrils is a mixture of the smell of old wood, a faint musty odor, and something else...

An indescribable, strange incense scent, resembling sandalwood yet not quite.

The faint sound of a water clock in the distance reached my ears, along with the extremely subtle rustling sound outside the window, like insects crawling across withered leaves.

Visibility is clear.

He found himself sitting behind a large, but slightly worn, ebony desk.

He was wearing a bright yellow dragon robe, the style of which was slightly different from that of the Song Dynasty, appearing more ancient and dignified.

The hall was dimly lit, with only the candlelight on the crane-shaped bronze lampstands on either side of the imperial desk flickering stubbornly, casting his long shadow onto the black screen behind him, which was decorated with reliefs of mountains and rivers, and swaying erratically.

The palace was tall and spacious, with imposing beams and pillars, and outside the windows was a deep, moonless night.

This is still the imperial palace, the imperial study, but the heavy, gloomy atmosphere in the air, and the faint, unsettling chill, are completely different from the grandeur and brightness of the Nanjing imperial city.

Just then, a slightly hoarse, aged voice, yet filled with utmost respect and...

A voice with an indescribable feminine quality rang out not far from the imperial desk:

"Your Majesty, it's past midnight; you should rest."

Lu Zuo looked up. He saw an old eunuch with a white face, no beard, deep wrinkles, and cloudy but shrewd eyes, who had silently knelt three steps away from the imperial desk, holding a bowl of soup that was still steaming.

The old eunuch slightly raised his head, the dim candlelight illuminating his half-lit face. He twitched the corner of his mouth and continued in a slow, deliberate tone:

"Your Majesty's health is of utmost importance. These are merely a few insignificant demons causing trouble; the officials and generals stationed in various prefectures will handle them themselves. It is truly not worth Your Majesty's constant worry and toil..."

The cold ebony felt real to the touch. He slowly leaned back in his chair, his gaze passing over the bowl of soup, over the old eunuch's obsequious and pale face, and onto the thick, impenetrable darkness outside the window, a darkness that seemed to hold countless eerie secrets.

A new world.

A world where "demons" seem to exist.

And he remains "Your Majesty".

The corners of his mouth curved upwards in a barely perceptible, subtle, cold arc.