The White Ash Martial Dominion did not take long to feel the weight of the Empire.
Three days after the name of the Lin secondary branch was officially removed from the records, the sky dawned covered in gray clouds—dense and low—as if sensing the arrival of something that did not belong to the region. By noon, when the mist had yet to dissipate, an invisible pressure descended upon the entire dominion, making even seasoned cultivators frown and look up.
From the western horizon appeared a flying caravan.
It was not large, yet its mere presence imposed silence. Three obsidian carriages floated through the air, supported by imperial formations etched with golden symbols that belonged to no local clan. Advancing ahead of them were ten guards in black armor, each mounted on spiritual beasts with folded wings, their eyes shining with a mechanical coldness.
"It's the Imperial Inspection…" someone murmured in the central market.
The news spread like fire through dry leaves.
Within minutes, the leaders of the dominion's major clans had gathered on the ceremonial esplanade. No one dared be late when the Aureon Empire sent inspectors. No matter how autonomous a dominion believed itself to be, in the end, all existed beneath the shadow of the same throne.
Lin Ye was carrying crates near the outer warehouses when he felt the pressure. It was not physical, yet something inside him reacted instantly. The fragmented clock trembled faintly, as if recognizing an ancient authority—one different from its own. The eye at its center remained closed, but a sense of alertness swept through his consciousness.
He set the crate down carefully and turned toward the esplanade, keeping his distance. Workers and servants had been ordered to remain outside, but nothing could stop them from watching from afar.
The carriages descended slowly, and when they touched the ground, the air seemed to grow heavier. From one of them stepped a middle-aged man dressed in a crimson robe trimmed with gold. His face was ordinary—forgettable, even—but his eyes… his eyes were different. There was no arrogance in them, only absolute calm, as if everything around him had already been accounted for.
"Imperial Inspector Zhao Wen," he announced in a clear voice. "Bearer of the Recruitment Decree."
All the leaders of the dominion bowed in unison.
"Greetings to the envoy of the Empire," they said, restraining their pride.
Zhao Wen merely nodded, not returning the salute.
"I am not here to exchange courtesies," he continued. "I am here to deliver an order."
A scroll sealed with the emblem of the imperial sun appeared in his hand. When he unfurled it, a wave of energy swept across the esplanade, forcing even some elders to step back half a pace.
"By decree of the Aureon Empire, all subordinate dominions are hereby summoned to participate in the Pacification Expedition of the Southern Front. Each dominion must send young cultivators under the age of twenty, regardless of internal affiliation."
A restrained murmur rippled through the crowd.
"The number assigned to the White Ash Martial Dominion is thirty participants," Zhao Wen added. "The deadline to present them is ten days."
One clan leader stepped forward.
"Inspector Zhao," he said cautiously, "our dominion is not in a strong position after the last campaign. Would it be possible—"
"No," Zhao Wen interrupted calmly, without raising his voice. "The decree is not a suggestion."
The silence grew heavy.
Lin Ye watched from afar, his brow barely furrowed. He did not need to hear every detail to understand the essence. The Empire was moving its pieces. And when it did, intermediate dominions were the first to bleed.
That same night, the Lin Clan convened again behind closed doors. The atmosphere was tense, laden with calculations and unspoken fears. Thirty youths was no small number. In previous expeditions, fewer than half had returned.
"The main branches must contribute the majority," one elder said. "But we cannot weaken ourselves too much."
"If we send only mediocre talents, the Empire will notice," another replied. "We need balance."
"And what about the wastes?" a cold voice asked. "Those who no longer contribute anything to the clan."
The silence turned momentarily uncomfortable.
Lin Qingshan narrowed his eyes.
"Workers, servants, and degraded branches also count as members of the dominion," he said slowly. "The decree does not specify lineage."
Glances crossed.
The decision was made before it was spoken.
The next morning, lists began to circulate. Names were added in black ink—some with regret, others with indifference. When the list reached the outer barracks, the supervisor read the names without emotion.
"Lin Ye."
A low murmur spread among those present. Some looked at him with pity, others with relief that they had not been called.
Lin Ye stepped forward.
"Present."
The supervisor looked at him briefly, as if wanting to say something, but in the end only nodded.
"Prepare yourself. Departure in seven days."
That night, Lin Ye did not sleep.
He sat on his bed, staring at the cracked wooden wall before him. The expedition was not an opportunity. It was a sentence wrapped in noble words. He knew that without visible martial power, he would be sent to the most dangerous tasks—used as cannon fodder or simply discarded in the chaos of the front.
He closed his eyes.
The dark space opened before him once more. The fragmented clock floated in silence, but something had changed. One of the broken gears now emitted a faint, irregular pulse—like a defective heart.
"Dead instant detected."
The voice resonated without emotion.
Lin Ye frowned.
"Dead… instant?"
There was no direct reply, but a clear sensation formed in his mind. During the arrival of the imperial decree, during the descending pressure, during the contained fear of hundreds of people, the world had generated tiny inconsistencies—micro-moments discarded by reality itself to maintain coherence. Those fragments were invisible to everyone… except him.
The eye of the clock opened a little wider.
A sharp pain shot through his temple, and for a second, Lin Ye saw the world from a strange perspective, as if an invisible layer had been lifted. In that fleeting vision, he could discern brief flickers in the air—tiny faults where time did not quite fit.
He could not touch them.
Not yet.
But he knew they were there.
He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly.
"So the Empire pushes me to the edge," he whispered. "Then I have no choice."
Hundreds of kilometers away, in a moving imperial carriage, Zhao Wen briefly closed his eyes.
"Interesting…" he murmured. "That dominion holds something not listed in the reports."
The board continued to move.
And Lin Ye, for the first time, had been forced to take a step he could not undo.