As the Divine Assembly departed, Gaia stepped back into the infinite black where the Earth once spun. It was here, in the Repository of Unmade Souls, that she faced the collective remnants of humanity—a silent, vast ocean of light. Each human life was a single flicker, a point of ephemeral light representing a life lived and forgotten.
The majority were tiny, dim sparks, their existence brief and inconsequential in the cosmic scale. But scattered among them were burning constellations—large, incandescent spheres of pure, contained will. These were the souls of the architects, the great generals, the ruthless conquerors, and the pioneering visionaries—the individuals deemed essential to this final, desperate gamble. These were the candidates for the Champions of Man.
Gaia approached this collective unconsciousness, and her own light, the memory of life itself, washed over the souls.
"You are the sum of a civilization," Gaia began, her voice a low, resonant harmony that settled deep into the essence of every fragment. "I remember your first spark in the primal ocean, the establishment of the great civilizations, and your boundless capacity for creation and love."
Her tone darkened, heavy with the weight of cosmic history. "But I also bore witness to your shadows. I saw the genocides, the wars waged for greed, and the crushing arrogance that blinded you. You sought to replace your creators, and for that final Treason, you were utterly, completely unmade. The Pantheon judged you too volatile, too flawed, and too weak for the cosmic order."
A mournful silence hung over the souls. Many of the dim lights flickered, ready to accept oblivion. But then, Gaia's voice rose, shedding the sorrow for a fierce, undeniable wellspring of hope.
"Yet, the Pantheon only sees your flaw. They do not see your boundless capacity for change," she countered. "You are the race of striving—the creation that yearns forever for a better self, possessing the ability to redeem the moment after the mistake. That potential is greater than any physical might."
"The King of Gods has given you a second chance," Gaia declared. "A wager of existence on the brutal, contested continent of Pangea. This is a trial that must be won by your inherent ingenuity, not by our excessive celestial aid. You must found the Kingdom of Man and prove your worth against the Dragons, the Giants, and all the other favored races."
Gaia's light intensified, merging with the ethereal glow of the souls. "But I cannot watch from above this time. My belief in your potential is absolute. I will be among you this time, leading the human race in becoming the Overlord of Pangea. But I cannot do it alone. I will need your collective strength, your ambition, and your genius. We will be the vanguard of humanity."
As her final words resonated, the entire ocean of souls roared in response. The constellations of champions grew blindingly bright, pulsating with a collective, burning fervor to prove that humanity was, against all odds, the greatest of all.
Looking among the brightest souls, Gaia spoke a name that echoed with centuries of strategic ambition and ruthless efficiency.
"Cao Cao. Come forth."
A soul sphere, vast and fiercely burning, detached itself from the collective and floated toward Gaia, its light signaling an immense, calculating will. Gaia observed the soul—the imprint of a genius general who mastered chaos and unified a broken world by any means necessary.
"You are a man of profound political ambition and cruel genius," Gaia stated, her voice devoid of judgment. "You possess the unyielding will to secure victory for your domain, even at the cost of your own soul's reputation. This new world, Pangea, is a crucible designed for failure, steeped in hostility. We require not morality, but efficacy. I need your cold, clear strategic mind at my side to build our foundation from dust and blood. You will be my Chief Minister, the architect of our Kingdom."
The immense soul pulsed once, a flash of absolute agreement. As it arrived at Gaia's front, a low, tectonic rumble filled the void, and with a portion of Gaia's life force and divinity, began the instant reconstruction. Ethereal light condensed into sinew and bone. In a blinding flash, the fully reconstructed body of a man, clad in the armor of a former age but radiating the raw, new energy of a champion, knelt before the Mother Earth.
Cao Cao's eyes snapped open. The first sensation was not pain or confusion, but the sheer clarity of thought. All doubt, all exhaustion, all the political weariness of his former life were gone. He was a perfect instrument of strategy, focused on one goal: Absolute Supremacy.
He did not look at Gaia with reverence, but with immediate, calculating respect. He stood, his pose one of quiet, lethal confidence.
"Goddess," Cao Cao said, his voice a low, steady command, as if addressing a highly valued, powerful subordinate. "My life, now and forever, is dedicated to the establishment of the Kingdom of Man as the Overlord of Pangea. I serve the Goal. Your ambition for humanity's survival is absolute, and therefore, my loyalty to your cause is absolute. Command me."
Gaia nodded, recognizing the transactional nature of his allegiance. This man saw her not just as a deity, but as the Source of Authority necessary for the war.
"The Kingdom Wars is a wager on your species' continued existence," Gaia explained quickly, transmitting the cosmic data stream directly into his mind: the annihilation of Earth, the Pantheon's contempt, the forging of the hostile continent Pangea, and the immediate presence of the Dragon, Giant, and Elemental races.
She emphasized the final, crucial rules Loki had secured. "The champions of our rivals are formidable, but their divine power is limited and costly. For every deployment, their respective patrons suffer a proportionate weakening of their divinity. The trial must be won by inherent racial potential and ingenuity, not celestial aid."
Cao Cao listened, absorbing the data stream. His expression never changed, but the energy around him began to hum. He understood the parameters of the game perfectly. The gods were not merely sending troops; they were making financial bets with their own power.
"The terms are accepted, Goddess," Cao Cao stated. "The war is not one of attrition, but of taxation. The stronger races rely on their innate power; we shall force them to exhaust their patrons' divine reserves, one costly deployment at a time."
He drew a finger across the invisible map of Pangea now projected in his mind's eye.
"Goddess," Cao Cao stated, his gaze fixed on the hostile environment of the new world. "The first phase of this war—which I term the Village Era—cannot be one of grand conquest. The Giants and Dragons already occupy the most resilient and resource-rich domains. If we move too fast, we invite annihilation."
"Our immediate priority is a single, non-negotiable principle: survival through self-sufficiency. We must prioritize the rapid construction of a hidden, defensible base, and establish resource extraction and fabrication from Gaia's small, fertile domain. We must build a foundation so solid and so efficient that the Giants' inevitable first attack finds only impenetrable walls and useless targets."
Hearing this, Gaia looked back at the souls.
"To secure this foundation, Chief Minister, you will need a hand whose expertise is not in politics or strategy, but in the perfect, ruthless execution of war," Gaia said, her voice now ringing with absolute conviction. "You have the political vision to define the Kingdom; now you require the Marshal who can define its survival doctrine."
Her gaze shifted to another sphere—not a dazzling constellation like Cao Cao's, but a cold, intensely focused orb of light. This soul was a chilling singularity, radiating an aura of disciplined, almost surgical violence. It represented the ultimate embodiment of efficiency, where victory was the sole currency and morality was the first battlefield casualty.
Gaia spoke the name of the greatest killing machine Earth had ever birthed.
"Bai Qi. Lord Marshal. Come forth."