Blood Emperor Throne

Page 1

Blood Emperor Throne, by December Wenzhu

This book is also known as: *Blood Sacrifice to the God-Emperor*, *The Second Empire, Starting with Slaanesh, Has No Secrets*, and *Your Majesty, Please Abdicate*.

When they arrived in a corrupt and decadent empire, they were even sold into slavery in the gladiatorial arena.

It was through blood and glory that we shattered that entire empire.

Or perhaps they would prefer to indulge in the carnal pleasures of noble and aloof ladies, beautiful and sexy knightesses, elegant and charming countesses, alluring and gorgeous duchesses, wild and fiery centaurs, bewitching and seductive drow elves, and graceful and dignified high elves.

Or perhaps it's through political maneuvering that a hymn of cunning is added to this corrupt empire.

Or, the hymn of life can also be played in the crucible called humanity.

This is not important to Asmodeus.

Because you just mentioned a secret, right?

Chapter 1 Asmodie

The Calorant Empire, the southern Scalant Territory, the slave arena of Earl Dorn.

The pungent, fishy smell of rotting blood and bones, mixed with the stench of filth, was unbearable under the scorching June sun.

Blood, anger, clamor, greed, and stakes constantly fueled the hysterical crowd in the stands. (The last two lines appear to be random characters and do not translate directly.)

"Boring! I want to see a river of blood!"

"You lowly slave! Cut off his skull! Cut it off! I want his skull to use as a bowl!"

"Blood! Blood! Blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!!"

They need blood, they need to savor the fury of slaughter, they need a bloody gladiatorial contest to stimulate their dopamine levels.

Meanwhile, inside the arena, the indifferent and aloof black-haired man and the muscular, over two-and-a-half-meter-tall orc covered in hideous scars were just the right people to provide them with this bloody gladiatorial combat.

Inside the arena, Asmodian's handsome and resolute face, as if sculpted, remained indifferent. He calmly wrapped the black chain around his fist, his deep, indifferent black eyes silently watching the berserker opposite him.

His height of 1.9 meters, approaching 2 meters, is already considered robust, but not in a rugged way. His bare upper body is as strong and slender as a sculpture, with muscles as hard and solid as marble carved by a knife and axe, and his body as solid and tough as steel.

However, compared to the 2.5-meter-tall, muscular, scarred, and menacing beastman with bloodshot eyes and wielding a giant two-handed axe taller than a man, he was still exceptionally weak.

Inside the arena, forged from rusted iron and rock bricks, the still-uncleaned bits of flesh and bone constantly emitted a pungent stench under the scorching sun, further fueling the fighting spirit within the berserkers.

Each of them is a green-skinned orc born solely for battle. The more ferocious and intense the battle, the more excited and agitated they become. Blood, rage, and gladiatorial combat are the perfect breeding grounds for them.

“waaaaagh!!!”

With a furious roar, the berserker raised his massive two-handed axe high, his gaping maw, covered in fangs, roaring furiously! Blood, flesh, and foul-smelling saliva flew everywhere!

Its furious blood-red eyes were fixed on Asmodie, who stood indifferently not far away. The bloody and dangerous aura emanating from this little shrimp made it extremely excited!

"You! You little shrimp! You're strong! But!" It raised its giant axe with one hand, pointed it at Asmodai, and roared!

"I'm bigger! I'm stronger!!"

As the roar subsided, its firmly bent legs suddenly straightened, the twisted veins bulging on the surface! The iron chains binding its legs, each a finger thick, were ripped apart in a single, powerful motion!

It stomped its feet on the ground! The rammed earth was carved into a massive crater, as large as a war elephant's foot! Its towering 2.5-meter frame charged towards Asmodie like a raging bull!

“waaaaagh!!”

The bloody roar even created a shockwave, causing Asmody's neatly combed hair to tremble as it was blown by the stench, but his deep, indifferent black eyes remained calm and serene.

Facing the raging bull, Asmody gripped the black chain in his hand. The moment the berserker charged within three meters of him, he nimbly ducked to dodge the sweeping giant axe and darted forward!

The iron fist, bound by chains, pounded towards the berserker's knee with fierce force, like a giant hammer! The berserker groaned in pain and staggered back a step, then the iron fist followed up with an uppercut aimed at the berserker's jaw!

"Roar—!" The berserker, in pain, stopped his charge. His eyes were bloodthirsty. Without dodging or avoiding, he clenched his dark green arm, which was as thick as a normal human torso, and slammed it into Asmodie's abdomen like a giant stake!

"puff--!"

"boom--!"

The beastman's hard jaw, covered in fangs, was smashed to pieces by the chained iron fist, while Asmodai was also swept back dozens of meters by the beastman's blow, rolling dozens of times before finally coming to a stop.

Two enraged beasts drove away the timid from the arena. Without taking a breath, they charged forward again like raging bulls, wielding their giant axes and black chains. Their bloodthirsty beast eyes and indifferent, cold black pupils were all tinged with blood.

Asmodai's iron fist, bound with chains, once again slammed into the berserker's head, while the berserker's blood-stained giant axe furiously cleaved towards Asmodai's head!

The giant axe and the iron fist are about to clash again!

But Asmody abruptly withdrew his fist, using the momentum to sidestep the giant axe, letting it crash down beside him and split the ground into a half-meter-deep crater!

Seeing this, the berserker abandoned his giant axe and clenched his fist, swinging it at Asmodie like a tree stump. However, Asmodie threw out a chain that wrapped around his thick arm, and the other end of the chain wrapped around the giant axe that was deeply embedded in the ground. He used the momentum to pull it away!

This giant axe, as tall as a man, was actually torn from the ground by Asmodian taking advantage of the orc's sweeping attack. It flew through the air in a semi-circle along the chains before Asmodian caught it with one hand!

Asmodie gripped the chain in his hand, slowing the berserker's movements. His muscles were tense, and the berserker's ferocious strength made it impossible for him to break free of his restraint for a short time!

With his other hand holding a giant axe, his eyes were cold, and he brought it down on the orc's head!

"puff--"

With a dull thud as flesh was pierced, the monstrous, mangled head of the beastman, like a rolling melon, crashed to the ground along with its grotesque and robust body.

"Berserker Asmody! 888th win!"

Amidst a tsunami of cheers and clamor from the stands, this bloody duel once again came to an end.

But this victory had nothing to do with Asmodé.

After his 888th victory, he was refitted with black hinges by two fifth-circle arcane mages and ten fully armed plate-armored heavy knights.

The priest healed his wounds, and he was taken back to the dark, damp dungeon.

In a damp, dark dungeon, where rats keep company.

Asmodian sat quietly in the corner, the black chains engraved with arcane runes rattling in his hands.

He ignored the fearful gazes directed at him from all corners of the dungeon, his indifferent, dark eyes fixed on the ceiling dripping with water.

This gladiator's life... has been going on for three years now.

He was not from this world, and he was never originally the indifferent and detached person he is now in the face of killing.

In his past life, he was simply a mild-mannered, harmless office worker who loved history.

However, after he passed out from painting chess pieces all night, he came into this world.

Although he did manage to submerge his computer and mobile phone in water before losing consciousness.

This world is wondrous. It is a medieval empire of knights and swords, yet it possesses magic such as arcane and divine arts, as well as exotic creatures like dragons, dwarves, harpies, spider harpies, elves, and drow elves.

However, life in this other world had basically nothing to do with him.

He had only been in this world for three days when, due to his gentle nature, unfamiliarity with the language, and strange attire, he was immediately labeled a heretic and sold into this bloody arena.

After three years of bloody trials, his original gentleness was worn away by the repeated struggles for survival in the dueling arena.

From being a harmless and gentle office worker, he began to learn to survive, to eat rats in the dungeon to replenish his strength, to hone his skills, to kill, and to achieve one bloody victory after another.

Today is the 888th match.

It was also the day that the Earl of Dorne had promised him, the day he would be released after accumulating enough victories.

"boom--"

Suddenly, the dungeon door opened, and two heavily armored knights, one carrying a flail and the other a warhammer, entered the cell, their eyes fixed coldly on Asmody.

"Stand up, slave!"

Asmodai glanced at them quietly, then calmly rose, a thick, black chain inscribed with arcane runes moving with it.

Even though he was unarmed and bound by chains, the two knights' eyes still trembled for a moment before they cautiously tossed out a blood-red potion.

"Drink it, and the Earl will send someone to escort you out of the arena later tonight."

Asmodée frowned slightly. Under these circumstances, even a fool wouldn't drink this potion of unknown origin.

But a strange light flashed in his eyes. After glancing indifferently at the two knights, he picked up the medicine bottle with his chained hands and gulped it down in front of them.

"Snapped--"

The instant he finished drinking, his pupils suddenly contracted, his brain began to lose consciousness, and his strong body collapsed to the ground.

The two knights breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward.

One of them kicked Asmody in the head with his boot and snorted.

“This slave is truly an untamable beast; no wonder the Earl spent a fortune to acquire this potion.”

"Alright, stop bothering with that," the other person said, frowning.

"This is the man who tore a giant bear apart with his bare hands, and he's the only madman in the arena to have reached 888 wins. It's not a bad thing to be cautious. We'll tie him up and hand him over to the bishop when the sacrifice time comes tonight."

"I don't know what god the bishop is going to sacrifice. It has to be a total of 888 wins, and it has to be 888 heads that this slave personally cut off. Not one more or one less, not one more or one less."

"Stop talking and get going."

"Row."

After saying this, the two knights locked the dungeon door and left.

As the dungeon returned to silence, Asmodie, who had collapsed to the ground, suddenly opened his dark eyes again and spat out a large amount of bloody liquid.

His cold gaze was fixed on the broken medicine on the ground. Although he vomited up most of it in time, the rest of the medicine still remained in his stomach.

"A sleeping potion..." He slowly got up, his voice hoarse, as he supported his limp body.

His judgment was correct. If the lord wanted to kill him, he wouldn't need to go through all this trouble. With arcane shackles on him, he couldn't possibly defeat a knight clad in heavy plate armor.

Since he spared no expense in purchasing the medicine, it must mean he had other uses for it.

Asmody looked at his body, which was struggling even to get up, and with all his might lifted his hands bound by heavy chains. The chains, which were usually as light as a feather, now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

He looked at the chains binding his arms, took a deep breath, pulled them down a bit to expose his wrists, brought them to his mouth, and bit down hard!

As he bit through the artery in his wrist, a large amount of blood gushed out. He gulped it all down his throat and forced himself to vomit.

At this moment, the blood turned into a stomach-washing solution, constantly flushing and diluting the medication.

He didn't stop until he felt the numbness and weakness in his body subside somewhat.

He pulled out a harpy feather and a small piece of black hemostatic ointment from the corner of the dungeon, applied them to his wounds, put the chains back on to cover the marks, and collapsed in the corner, quietly waiting for night to fall.

The stench inside the dungeon was no better than in the arena, and new slaves were slaughtered every day.

Therefore, when the heavily armored knights returned to the dungeon after nightfall and dragged Asmodie out, they did not notice anything unusual.

As for the blood on his body, they paid no attention to it, since it was perfectly normal for a gladiator slave to have bloodstains on him.

When Asmodel opened his eyes again, he was no longer in a dungeon, but in a basement covered with crimson, twisted, blood-red patterns.

The basement was filled with a pungent, fishy smell and a strangely maddening stench of blood.

At the center of the entire basement, where all the blood patterns converge, a skull altar made of 888 blood-red skulls was constantly gushing blood.

These skulls were all combat slaves he had beheaded in his victories, and the topmost skull belonged to the berserker he had beheaded today.

The skull in front of the altar, which was presented with blood as a guide, was now empty.

"Welcome! To my sacrificial ceremony!"

A gaunt priest, clad in a blood-red robe, stared at Asmodie, whose eyes were half-open, his pupils filled with a frenzied, bloodthirsty madness.

"Finally! Finally! You are the first in this arena to win 888 victories!"

The priest, resembling a lewd goblin, circled Asmodie with a crimson, bloodthirsty frenzy, laughing maniacally.

"Very well! As long as I offer up this skull, I can be freed from this ailing body and receive the blessings of the great gods from another dimension!"

He spread his hands, his expression one of frenzied madness.

The two heavily armored knights who were pressing down on Asmodeus were slightly frightened by the crazed priest and frowned, taking a step back. But this gave Asmodeus an opportunity!

He suddenly opened his eyes, and taking advantage of the moment when the two knights were stunned, he snatched the mace from their waists and smashed it down hard on the skull of the nearest knight who was not wearing a helmet!

"puff--!"

Like a watermelon being smashed by a giant hammer, before the knight could recover from the astonishment of how Asmodeus could move, his fine head was smashed to pieces by Asmodeus!

"Damn it! The medicine has failed! Quick—"

The other knight barely regained his senses! He immediately drew his sword, but Asmodeus held the hilt firmly, and his mace fell again!