“And none of those who were sent to the sacrificial tower and burned alive will ever come out again.”
David’s eyes suddenly narrowed: “That person who was sent in?”
The old man’s chapped lips twitched, and his eyes slightly reddened: “Before each offering tower is lit, the Great Leader will take a certain amount of ‘offerings’ from various areas of the factory.”
Regardless of age or gender, once someone was reprimanded, they would leave without a chance to fight back.
The men were sent to the tower and lit a sacred fire at the top of the tower. After the sacred fire exploded, they never came out again.
The chief said, “That is the same as offering our power to the supreme god. Only when the god accepts our offering will he continue to protect Abu and allow us to live.”
As he spoke, his voice sounded choked with emotion, his gnarled fingers gripped the end of the wooden stick tightly, his knuckles white: “But I have lived for over sixty years, watching generation after generation of people around me being sent there, where is that so-called refuge?”
The sky above the ash-covered land never brightens, the land never becomes fertile, people still die, disease still appears, the divine fire flares more frequently, but we have less and less food.”
David listened silently, an indescribable turmoil stirring within his purple eyes.
He had put together an outline of this world from the old man’s fragmented narrative—the Land of Ashes, a barren land devoid of spiritual energy.
For generations, people under oppressive rule have engaged in certain types of industrial work, and the main product of their labor has been those towering towers of sacrifice.
The so-called “divine fire” was nothing more than a violent energy explosion phenomenon, and the essence of that energy was most likely the nuclear power he was familiar with.
His fingertips gently rubbed the cuffs of his clothes, suppressing the thoughts surging in his heart, and continued to ask, “Who is the Great Leader?”
The old man’s expression suddenly became extremely complicated, and a glimmer of fear and anxiety flashed in his eyes.
Subconsciously he lowered his neck and lowered his voice even further: “The Great Chieftain is indeed the Great Chieftain. He lives in the core city and is said to have lived a very, very long time, some say a thousand years.”
The people of Jintu called him the “descendant of the gods,” saying that he was the bloodline left by the gods on earth, and that he was born to rule over everyone.
Everything the chief said was law, and those who disobeyed would be publicly executed.
No one had ever seen the Great Leader’s true face, but his soldiers were scattered throughout the Burning Lands; anyone who spoke ill of him behind his back would be dragged away.
“millennials?”
David caught the figurative meaning of time in the old man’s earlier remark, “You said he reigned for a thousand years?”
A bitter expression flashed in the old man’s eyes: “The old man’s ancestor said that the Great Chieftain has always been the same person from ancient times until now. He never ages, no matter how many ministers he has had.”
Some say he’s a god, some say he’s a devil, but this old man thinks…
She paused, her misty eyes looking at David, as if she had finally found someone to confide in, and the words that had been suppressed for decades poured out like a flood.
“I believe that the Great Chieftain, like that divine fire, was a cannibal. He has eaten the flesh and blood of Jintu people for more than a thousand years and is still not satisfied,” said the old man.
The old man was shocked when he said those words. He immediately covered his mouth and looked around in fear, worried that the soldiers would hear him.
David calmly looked at the old man’s wrinkled and frightened face, was silent for a moment, then slowly said: “The things you created are nuclear bombs? And your leader should not be an ordinary human, but a cultivator.”
David didn’t understand how ordinary people could live for thousands of years; only cultivators can do it.
Farmers could live for thousands of years easily and without any pressure.
Moreover, in the eyes of these ordinary people, cultivators were like gods.
The old man was silent for a moment, obviously he was not familiar with the word.
He frowned and thought for a moment before hesitantly nodding: “The Great Chieftain called that item the ‘Divine Fire Core,’ and said that it was the source of divine fire.”
Some of them were hidden inside each sacrificial tower. Once they had enough, the Great Chieftain would personally preside over the sacrificial ceremony… and with a deafening boom, there would be nothing left.
“As for the cultivators you mentioned, I don’t know what they are.”
David closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He finally confirmed that this world, the Land of Ashes, was a mortal realm controlled by cultivators who forcibly produced nuclear weapons and detonated them periodically.
FAQ Novel
Q: What is this place called?
A: The place is referred to as Ashlands.
Q: What are the towering structures used for?
A: These towering structures are described as sacrifice towers, central to the lives of the Ashlands’ inhabitants.
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