My Xianxia Harem Life

"Great immortals, please! Spare my life! This war—it was all that pig's idea! I only fought to defend my empire!"

The fat man's face darkened with fury. "You lying rat! You were just as eager as I was! Don't think you can save your own hide by throwing me under the carriage!"

Their bickering continued, their words laced with blame and cowardice. Once mighty rulers, now reduced to nothing more than pathetic worms, squirming in the face of true power.

Riley watched them with cold indifference.

These were the men responsible for the countless corpses littering the ground. The ones who had ordered thousands to their deaths with the flick of a hand.

Now, when faced with their own demise, they groveled and begged like spineless cowards.

How predictable.

He exhaled, then lifted his gaze toward the assembled crowd—the soldiers, the grieving families, the survivors who had lost everything.

This war had been fought for their so-called leaders. Their emperors.

And yet, when stripped of their thrones, they were nothing more than weak, sniveling men who would sell out their own people just to save themselves.

They deserved worse than death.

Riley's expression remained unreadable as he spoke.

"It seems the people who started this war have quite the way with words." His voice was calm, almost amused. "Perhaps it's time for them to speak their truths in front of an audience."

A flicker of realization dawned on the fat man's face. His bravado cracked, giving way to fear.

"No—wait! I am an emperor! You can't do this to me!"

The thin man paled, his lips parting in a silent plea.

But Riley had already made his decision.

And soon, the entire world would witness the consequences.

"Give me back my son's life!"

"My wife! My family!"

The cries of the grieving swelled into an overwhelming roar, raw with pain, fury, and the unbearable weight of loss. The people, broken by war and robbed of loved ones, did not hesitate. Stones flew.

Fists clenched. Teeth bared in unfiltered hatred.

The two emperors, once mighty rulers who dictated the fates of thousands, were now nothing more than cornered animals, their desperate pleas drowned by the rage of those they had wronged.

A sharp crack echoed through the air as a jagged rock slammed into the fat emperor's forehead, splitting his skin open. Blood poured down his face, but he barely had time to scream before another hit his cheek, then another—until his entire body was engulfed in a storm of flying debris.

The thin emperor fared no better. Though his voice had once carried the weight of a sovereign, it now quivered as he shrieked for mercy, his bony hands shielding his face from the relentless onslaught.

But mercy did not exist here.

The mob, driven by years of suffering, descended upon them like rabid wolves.

It didn't take long.

Not even ten minutes.

By the time their wrath had run its course, the two men lay lifeless, their bodies beaten beyond recognition.

Blood soaked into the dirt beneath them, pooling into the very soil they had once ruled over.

And yet, the hatred in the people's eyes did not fade.

If they could, they would have dragged the two men from the depths of death itself—just to kill them again. A hundred times. A thousand times. Perhaps a million times more.

But death, in its cruel simplicity, was final.

And so, the emperors would never suffer enough.

A heavy silence fell over the battlefield. The only sounds were the distant sobs of widows, the shuddering gasps of children, and the hushed murmurs of those who had spent too long in war to feel anything anymore.

Standing at the edge of it all, Riley exhaled and smacked his forehead.

"Two empires… millions of people left without direction… why do I even do this to myself?" he muttered, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

He had tried to be indifferent. Tried to tell himself that he was above all of this. That the suffering of these people was not his concern.

But as much as he wished otherwise—he couldn't.

His heart had long since grown numb to the dead. Corpses no longer fazed him. He had seen too many.

But the living…

The living were his curse.

Their pain, their despair, their desperate hope—it clung to him like a phantom, refusing to let go.

Riley ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable.

"…Prepare to help the people," he finally commanded, his voice firm despite the weariness behind it.

Elias Page and Tadeo Prince nodded without a word before vanishing like phantoms into the night.

The group waited.

One minute passed.

Then five.

They still hadn't returned.

It was then that unease began to stir within Riley's companions.

The first to speak was Katherine.

"Riley, who are those two?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I felt an oppressive spiritual pressure from them. They're both ridiculously strong."

"Same." Veronica chimed in, her eyes narrowing. "They're at least in the Spirit Severing Realm."

The others exchanged wary glances, the tension in the air thickening. They had never seen Riley associate with anyone like that before.

Those two men—Elias and Tadeo—were clearly more than just wandering warriors. Their presence alone carried weight.

And yet, Riley's response was as casual as ever.

"They're just friends I met on the road."

He offered them a small, dismissive smile.

"Don't mind them. They're loyal. And harmless."

But even as he spoke, something flickered in his eyes.

Harmless?

Of course, since the two were mere puppets now, they would obey Riley's every command without question.

Stripped of their former will, their only purpose was to act as extensions of his will, carrying out his orders with unwavering precision.

And so, with their absolute loyalty secured, Riley took his first steps into the heart of two empires—territories ravaged by war, their people lost and directionless, desperate for a guiding hand.

Though he had not come here seeking power, fate had laid the foundation before him, and he could not turn away.

And this was how Saint Riley came to be.