CHAPTER 12: THE GATHERING OF HEROES AND THE ARCHITECT'S WEB
The horizon of the Eastern Territories was no longer a line between earth and sky; it had become a jagged, shimmering wall of divine light. The "Righteous Alliance" had arrived. One hundred thousand cultivators, their robes representing the Seven Great Sects, stood in massive formations that spanned hundreds of miles. In the center, three floating palaces—the seats of the Three Sovereigns of Light—hovered like vengeful moons. The air was filled with the deafening chant of thousands of mantras, intended to suppress the "demonic aura" of the Sanctuary.
But the Sanctuary did not respond with chaotic energy. Instead, it was an island of absolute, terrifying silence. The violet mist had solidified into a semi-transparent dome that pulsed with the rhythm of Li Xiao's own heartbeat.
Inside the Grand Hall, Li Xiao sat in a state of chilling serenity. His Nascent Soul, now adorned with obsidian wings, had reached the peak of its current stage. Beside him stood Lin Yue, her eyes hollow but filled with a lethal resolve, and Han Xue, the Saintess of the Southern Sea, whose brand of treason was now glowing with a dark, violet light. They were no longer just his followers; they were the living embodiments of his karmic debt.
"They are here, Master," Han Xue whispered, her voice carrying the cold saltiness of the sea. "The Three Sovereigns... one of them is my brother, the man who branded me. He leads the vanguard."
Li Xiao didn't open his eyes. "He doesn't lead a vanguard, Han Xue. He leads a harvest. Lin Yue, Han Xue, go to the front. Do not kill them immediately. I want them to feel the 'weight' of the Sanctuary. I want them to realize that their righteousness is nothing more than a debt they haven't paid yet."
At the mountain gate, the two women stepped forward. The sight of the Empress of the Eternal Sword and the Saintess of the Southern Sea standing side-by-side as guardians of a "demon" sent shockwaves through the Alliance's ranks.
"Lin Yue! Sister!" A man in golden armor, Sovereign Han Long, stepped out from the floating palace. His voice was filled with a false, booming righteousness. "Have you both lost your minds? To serve a boy who plays with souls? This is the final warning. Step aside, or we shall erase this mountain and everything upon it!"
Lin Yue raised her black sword, and for the first time in centuries, she laughed. It was a cold, jagged sound. "Han Long, you speak of righteousness? You, who sold your sister for a seat in the Celestial Palace? You, who think your power is your own? Look at the sky, brother. The sky doesn't belong to the 'Light' anymore."
With a flick of her wrist, Lin Yue released a wave of "Regret Sword Intent." It wasn't a physical strike, but a mental plague. Thousands of cultivators in the front lines suddenly gasped, their eyes turning violet. They didn't fall dead; instead, they dropped their weapons and began to weep, memories of their own betrayals and failures flooding their minds.
"Now, System Manufacturing: The Hero's Burden," Li Xiao's voice echoed from the heights, cold and omnipotent.
[ Ding! Mass-Scale Deployment initiated. ]
[ Target: The Vanguard of the Righteous Alliance. ]
[ Implanting 'System of the False Saint'. ]
Suddenly, ten thousand cultivators who were on the verge of mental collapse felt a sudden, massive surge of power. Their meridians expanded, and their cultivation bases jumped by entire levels. They felt like they had been blessed by the heavens.
"I... I have broken through!" a disciple shouted, his eyes glowing with a fanatical violet light. "The Architect has given me the path! The Alliance was lying to us!"
Sovereign Han Long watched in horror as his own men turned around, their faces twisted in a mixture of ecstasy and madness. They weren't being mind-controlled; they were being "gifted." Li Xiao was giving them the power they had always craved, but it was a power that carried a heavy price—the 'Fate Tax' was now siphoning their souls at a rate of 90%.
"It's a trap! Do not accept the energy!" Han Long roared, but it was too late. The greed of the cultivators was a stronger force than any command.
Li Xiao stood up from his throne, his obsidian-winged Nascent Soul manifesting behind him as a giant phantom that towered over the mountain. "You call yourselves Heroes," he spoke, his voice vibrating through the very earth. "But you are nothing but debtors. Han Long, do you remember the third simulation? Do you remember the fisherman who died so your sister could live? That fisherman was the one who gave you the luck to become a Sovereign. And today... I am here to collect the interest."
Han Long's face turned ashen. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his Dantian. The "Luck" he had relied on for centuries was being forcibly ripped away. He looked up at the giant phantom of Li Xiao and saw the fishing spear from Han Xue's memories, now transformed into a spear of pure, violet annihilation.
"No... it can't be... a mortal fisherman?" Han Long stammered, his golden armor cracking under the pressure.
"The Architect doesn't care for your titles," Li Xiao said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Lin Yue, Han Xue, begin the harvest. I want every 'Hero' in this army to become a pillar for my Sanctuary. Let their righteousness be the fuel for my next ascension."
The battlefield turned into a slaughterhouse of the soul. It wasn't a war of blades, but a war of destiny. For every "Hero" that fell, their power was instantly recycled into the Sanctuary's foundation, making the violet mist even thicker. The Three Sovereigns of Light, once the masters of the continent, found themselves trapped in a web they couldn't see—a web woven from five centuries of simulated sacrifices.
As the first palace began to fall, Li Xiao looked toward the horizon. He could sense the Fourth Simulation awakening. A new "Hero" was approaching from the western deserts—a man who owed his very life to a "Brother" who had died in a burning desert for a drop of water.
"One by one, they return," Li Xiao murmured, the violet light in his eyes swallowing the last rays of the sun. "The world is not a stage for heroes. It is a debt ledger, and I am the only one who can close the books."
The Sanctuary of the Architect was no longer just a sect; it was a div
ine court, and the judgment had only just begun.