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The reason why the Grand Martial Union was able to stand as the main governing body of this world was due to the backing of its five Martial Gods.

Grand Martial Union’s five Martial Gods are, in no particular order, the Heaven-Severing War Sovereign, Verdant Immortal Matriarch, Voidstep Silent Monarch, Crimson Cataclysm Tyrant, and the Azure Radiant Saint.

These are their titles. These people have lived for so long that the people who actually knew their real names were either dead or very old too.

The many kingdoms and the five empires of the human civilization had entertained ideas of independence and tried to declare sovereignty, each or all at the same time, at least once upon a time. But all their efforts were proven futile simply because the foundation of the GMU turns out to be deeper than any of them ever expected.

With these five martial gods guarding the hall of the GMU, its reign will never be threatened. It doesn’t matter if any of the empires managed to raise their own Martial Gods too; the GMU simply has too much due to them holding on to their advantages for so long.

Gaining audience with the Martial Gods wasn’t an easy task. There are countless procedures one must go through to see even a glance of one’s shadow. Not to mention actually being in the same room as one.

The Martial Gods actually can’t be found in the headquarters of the GMU. They can be contacted through there, but their physical bodies aren’t there. They are somewhere far from the world, holding down forts and frontiers, making sure that the monsters that threaten humanity’s existence are kept at bay.

Usually, nobody dares to disturb the Martial Gods for mundane things, and it makes sense; they have other more important matters to attend to, after all.

There are exceptions, though. One of such was, obviously, the world system.

**

Somewhere deep in the front lines, in a massive battlefield filled with mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, a lone figure could be seen standing.

His posture stood out in this horrid environment. He stood there, back ramrod straight, clad in heavy black and gold armor with a giant sword slung on his back.

He was marching, and every step he took left visible and firm footprints on the bloody mud beneath his feet.

His eyes were sharp and alert but also indifferent. He held no love, pity, or care about the mountains of corpses and rivers of blood around him. It’s as if even though he’s physically here, he exists somewhere beyond this world. Like he’s an untouchable being that’s capable of shaking the entire world with a single glance.

His march was interrupted, however, by a clear and distinct system alert that flashed before him.

The man was stunned for a bit.

He hadn’t seen this very same screen for quite some time. At his level, the World System barely had anything to do with him anymore. So it’s normal for him to be surprised when it suddenly contacted him.

Truthfully, he could’ve ignored the message and kept going.

He had somewhere else to be, after all. And he felt that the World System wouldn’t have blamed him for ignoring its message.

But curiosity got the better of him. Call it a hunch, especially since he saw that the message was labeled ’urgent.’ He hasn’t received something like this for a while now, and for a moment, he thought that maybe something happened back at home that the World System simply must let him know.

So, he opened it. And when he read through the contents of the message, he was briefly stunned. So much so that it stopped his march.

"Green Lotus Core Technique? A new core martial art? Really?"

There’s a trace of disbelief in his voice. And nobody could’ve blamed him for reacting in such a manner.

He had lived for a long time, after all. What kind of martial art had he not seen before?

At first, he thought that he was being dragged to becoming a paper-pusher again. He did work a clerical job at the GMU once upon a time after all. It can’t be helped; strength is always accompanied by responsibilities.

He thought that this message was something that slipped through the net, coming from the channels that he already blocked for it to stop from disturbing him when handling more important matters.

But then he recalled that, no, this didn’t come from the GMU. It came from the World System.

The World System labelled this as a new core martial art. It even said that this will be one of the defining martial arts of this generation!

Praise from the World System couldn’t get any higher than that.

And so, with renewed perspective and a sharp reminder. The man went through the contents of the message, reading it clearly and downloading a copy of the technique to try.

Then, the very same man who had split continents and carved battlefields into history stood still...just, breathing.

Slow. Controlled. Measured.

’Fifteen minutes? ’ he muttered inwardly in distrust.

He’s skeptical—but he completed the sequence exactly as instructed. No shortcuts. No alterations.

The moment the cycle completed, he felt it.

A faint warmth.

"Hmm..."

It was weak. Laughably weak compared to the monstrous techniques he wielded.

But it spread.

It covered every single inch of his body on its own. He didn’t have to direct it; he didn’t have to control, force, or coerce it. The green lotus core chakra just moved on its own as if it already knew why it was born in the first place.

That energy was everywhere. Like a thin layer of silk draped over steel.

He paused.

Then his expression changed. The Heaven-Severing War Sovereign—a man who commandeered armies of men, sending them to their deaths without batting an eye for the sake of holding on to a choke point; the man who torn numerous battlefields asunder; the very same man who tore apart pieces of monster flesh with his bare hands, ate them, and drank the same blood in front of the monster of the same kind just to send a fucking message—had been completely shaken by what he just felt.

A scar across his ribs—one left by an equal, one that had never truly healed despite centuries—itched.

No.

Not itching.

Softening.

He inhaled sharply, pupils constricting in disbelief.

"You’re joking," he whispered.

For the first time in a long time, the War Sovereign didn’t move.

He simply stood there...feeling it work.

Slow.

Relentless.

Unstoppable.

This wasn’t some small matter. That scar was far from being an ordinary scar. That is left a monster that had, on multiple occasions, managed to fend off his axe from severing its head.

That deadly monster was so fierce that he was among the very few people who survived upon encountering it. The worst part is that this scar has never healed properly.

It aches from time to time. It left the area of the injury permanently damaged, something that not even the best healer of the human race could heal. He even went through hell and back to scour materials in hopes of exchanging them for a cure to this scar, but nothing worked.

The scar itself didn’t bother him. At this point in his life, his entire body was littered with scars. His body was practically a canvas for them. The reason why this particular one bothers him so much is because it has left him agonized ever since he got it.

Hell, the World System doesn’t consider it as such, but he could confidently call this a cursed scar. Because even now, it still aches from time to time. The pain is enough to make him, a martial god, wince in discomfort.

Alongside this ache was him recalling his near-death experiences with that same monster. The very same one that, even now, still eludes him.

He thought that the only way to get rid of this scar and this curse was to kill that monster. He thought that if he could kill that thing, his torment would end and he’d find peace again.

But right now, much to his surprise, he found that there might just be another way.

15 minutes. That’s all it took. 15 minutes of diligent stretches and breathing cycles to produce that faint green chakra that cycled through every inch of his body.

It’s warm, gentle, neutral, and soothing. More importantly, it moisturizes his beaten and weary flesh, making him more relaxed and at ease, and at the same time, it automatically starts scrubbing his old injuries.

It didn’t matter whether they were the new ones or the oldest. It didn’t care how light or how deeply entrenched they were. It didn’t care about its position. It just knows that they’re not meant to be there, and it’s its duty to clean them away.

And it’s doing just that.

It’s not fast. Hell, it’s slow! Very slow! It’s like relying only on steel wool to clean an antique and badly deteriorated cast iron pan.

But damn, it was effective! And for the Heaven-Severing War Sovereign, that’s already more than enough.

"Not a combat technique, fine. This one’s much better."

A grin spread across his face.

"...Good."