On the western flank of the sprawling battlefield, Voldemort stood examining Lucius Malfoy positioned beside him.
"Lucius. It seems you've been doing well lately."
Lucius bowed his head respectfully. "My Lord. It has been a long time."
Voldemort waved a pale hand dismissively. "No need for such formal titles. You belong to my disciple now, and I serve him. The past is past."
Lucius breathed a silent sigh of relief. The Dark Lord had genuinely changed; he had become the brilliant, composed wizard Lucius had first followed years ago, before madness and Horcruxes corrupted everything.
Bellatrix, standing behind Voldemort, bared her teeth in a malicious grin at Lucius. She had never forgiven his perceived betrayals, but for now, she held her venomous tongue.
Voldemort turned to face his designated opponent: a man with distinctive white hair and a long white beard. He looked ancient, his eyes cloudy, yet Voldemort sensed a growing, inexplicable danger.
He couldn't pinpoint the precise source of the crisis, but the man before him was absolutely terrifying.
Marcus Sima studied Voldemort with obvious analytical interest. "So, you are my designated match? Not bad at all."
Voldemort felt a phantom chill run down his spine. For a brief moment, he felt utterly exposed, as if his very soul were being inspected and catalogued.
Marcus Sima scanned the Death Eaters and the pure-blood wizards assembled behind Voldemort. "Since they are of a different race," he said, his voice dropping to deadly calm, "they should be exterminated."
As he spoke, his entire presence shifted dramatically. The cloudy eyes flashed with a killing intent so sharp it was almost physically palpable. Even the mad Bellatrix's characteristic smile vanished, replaced by obvious wariness.
In that single instant, Marcus Sima was no longer a decrepit old man. He was a ruthless executioner. The assembled wizards felt as if they were facing an apex predator, a distinct chill running down their spines.
Marcus Sima raised his hand with casual deliberation.
He waved it forward.
Without hesitation, the Qin warriors behind him launched their coordinated attack.
Four separate battlefields erupted simultaneously.
On one front, the forces of Kunlun clashed violently against Basil Bai's legendary legions. On another, the ancient pure-blood families engaged Monty Meng's army in desperate combat.
The Order of the Phoenix, Death Eaters, and Aurors from various Ministries of Magic were locked in deadly struggle with Lance Lee's elite troops.
The remaining Death Eaters and British wizards faced Marcus Sima's forces in brutal close combat.
Only one area remained eerily silent.
Julian Wang stood there, a general who had left an absolutely indelible mark on history. While his reputation might have been slightly less notorious than Basil Bai's—the infamous butcher—Julian Wang's achievements were genuinely unparalleled. He was the architect of the Qin Dynasty's unification of the six kingdoms.
And now, in the very center of the battlefield, the veteran general stood his ground, flanked by a vast army of Qin warriors.
Opposite him loomed Old Tom, the most formidable of the Death Eaters and Erwin's most trusted steward.
This was the last remaining front, and the largest—the battleground of Julian Wang, the Cavendish family, and the Stewart family retainers.
The Cavendish family had mobilized entirely for this conflict, and not a single member of the Stewarts remained in their manor; they all followed behind their master.
Despite his advanced years, Julian Wang's presence was absolutely overwhelming. His tiger-like eyes scanned the battlefield systematically, a general's ingrained habit before chaos began.
After his thorough assessment, his penetrating gaze locked onto two figures hovering high above, black and purple magical auras clashing like dragons tearing at the sky.
"It seems we are all that remain," Julian Wang declared with calm observation.
Old Tom offered a slight, respectful bow. "It is an honor to face a hero of your caliber, General."
Julian Wang smiled with genuine appreciation. "I didn't expect a foreigner to know of me."
"Our Master taught us the culture of the West, as well as the comprehensive history of the Great Qin Empire," Old Tom replied.
Julian Wang glanced upward at Erwin, positioned high above. "It is a genuine pity he was not born in our world, or our era. Had he been, the throne would surely have been his. The Qin Dynasty might have escaped its fate, lasting more than just two generations."
Old Tom shook his head. "General, you are mistaken."
Julian Wang's eyes narrowed. "And how so, old man?"
"To my Master, this world is ultimately an illusion," Old Tom said with philosophical calm. "We, including you and the Emperor you serve, are all phantoms. We were created by those beyond the veil. Secondly, my Lord has told me that this world is predetermined. Variables may appear, but the overall trajectory remains unchanged. The Emperor you serve saw this, and thus wished to transcend it."
Old Tom's voice grew heavier with weight. "But my Master says it is impossible. No matter how he schemes, he cannot break free of fate. Just as he predicted, my Master has appeared here to set things right."
Julian Wang studied him closely. "He trusts you a great deal, to reveal so much."
"He does," Old Tom admitted. "And before this war, he told me everything. Even the truth of my own existence—that I was crafted because of him."
Julian Wang frowned with obvious contemplation. "And you accept this? To be a pre-programmed puppet with a sealed fate? Without him, you would not even exist. Are you truly content?"
"I was not, at first," Old Tom conceded. "But I exist because of my Master, as do those behind me. We are one and the same. Our destiny is to clear the path for him. Even if the road ahead leads to death, we will walk it without hesitation. That is the value of our existence."
Julian Wang released a profound sigh. "Perhaps that is the fundamental difference between us. You accept your fate; we do not. Every soul of the Great Qin refuses to accept an ending written by others. We want a legacy that lasts ten thousand years. We will not settle for a dynasty that crumbles after two generations. For that goal, we will give everything—down to our last breath."
Old Tom nodded slowly. "My Master said the Great Qin has a spirit that cannot be changed. Whether this world is real or false, that spirit is undeniable. It seems we cannot reach an agreement."
Old Tom flicked his wrist, and his wand materialized in his hand.
"Please, General. Enlighten me."
Julian Wang drew his longsword. "Western magic. I am curious to experience it."
Behind him, the collective aura of the Qin soldiers flared dramatically. A tense, suffocating pressure filled the immediate air.
As if on a silent cue, the Cavendish family and the Stewarts unleashed a devastating barrage of curses. The concentrated spells swept toward the Qin lines, but the shield-bearers stepped forward with practiced precision, their enchanted shields deflecting the magic into the earth.
Old Tom charged. Julian Wang stood his ground, and the two clashed instantly. Sparks flew as wand met enchanted steel.
Despite Old Tom's considerable power, he was immediately at a disadvantage against the General's overwhelming might.
With a powerful swing, Julian Wang forced Old Tom back. "You are no match for me, and your men cannot best the Qin elite. Why resist so stubbornly?"
Old Tom landed heavily, his chest heaving. Julian Wang's strength exceeded his expectations, but he stood his ground.
"Since our Master chose war, he prepared for every eventuality," Old Tom gasped. "As long as he stands, victory is ours."
Julian Wang stared at him, then suddenly laughed. "A striking parallel! My King, too, is undefeated in my heart. In that case, let us settle this at once!"
He lunged forward. Old Tom vanished with a sharp crack of Apparition, reappearing instantly behind the General.
He raised his wand, but Julian Wang was already turning, his sword cleaving through the air to meet the incoming curse.