Chapter 153: The Hourglass, the Shadow, and the Reflection of Truth
The Plaza of Origin had been left deserted.
Barely an hour ago, the air vibrated and cracked with the roars of twenty-one newly crowned dragons, the incandescent power of the twenty-four new stars of the vanguard, and the deafening shouts of a thousand elite disciples swearing eternal loyalty, ready to bathe the world in blood for their Patriarch.
But now, under the strict protocol of absolute isolation dictated by Vexia, the Realm of the Eternal Dawn had entered a state of active hibernation. The disciples were secluded in their respective pavilions, digesting the martial euphoria and the primal fear they had witnessed. The Imperial Sequences had retreated to their own floating islands, stabilizing the violent mutation of their new bloodlines and divine weapons.
And Samael... Samael was completely alone.
He was sitting on the obsidian Dragon Throne, located on the immense highest terrace of the Upper Palace, right beneath the massive and shining branches of the Stellar World Tree. The silence at the summit was absolute, heavy, and reverential, broken only by the soft, crystalline clinking of the tree's leaves brushing against each other thanks to an artificial breeze, and the faint bubbling of his goblet.
Samael poured himself a goblet of Dragon Blood Wine. The thick, scarlet liquid gave off an intoxicating aroma that would burn a mortal's throat, but he did not drink immediately. His violet gaze was fixed straight ahead.
Floating in the void of the great open-air hall were dozens of spheres of light of different colors, pulsing like captive stars. They were the supreme fruits of the Investment System, the coveted x10,000 Critical Probability reimbursements. That light represented a wealth so obscene it could buy entire empires, millennial sects, and entire continents. It was divine power condensed into its purest form.
"Blood. Sword. Void. Space. Destiny," Samael recited, his deep voice echoing in the immensity, naming his five pillars like a sacred mantra, while his eyes evaluated the floating lights. "Everything that does not directly feed these five is fat. It is dead weight. And an Emperor does not need fat; an Emperor only needs muscle and edge."
He left the obsidian goblet on the armrest carved with ancient runes. His eyes, now seemingly calm but harboring the depth of a light-devouring abyss, began the selection process.
Samael moved his left hand with a languid gesture. A spatial vortex opened beside the throne, a black hole connected directly to the impregnable depths of the Clan's Treasure Vault, a pocket dimension sealed and personally guarded by Vexia and the deadliest eradication formations designed by Cedric.
"I am not a god of thunder," Samael said, looking at a blue sphere that crackled with untamable lightning. "And I am certainly not a mindless giant who relies on brute strength to crush his enemies."
With a dismissive flick of his fingers, like someone brushing garbage out of their way, he sent several divine-grade objects into the devouring vortex of the Vault:
First, the glorious [Hammer (Mjolnir - Divine Replica)]. A weapon capable of summoning continental storms. Discarded.
Then, the immense [Gauntlet of the Titan Atlas], along with the [Blood of the Gorgon (Level 2 Poison Law)], the [Wind of the End of Times], and the apocalyptic [Domain of Liquid Gravity]. Discarded one after another.
Finally, the mythical [Spear of Longinus (Divine Replica)]. Sent into the darkness of the vault.
By the end of his ruthless purge, he had disposed of almost seventy percent of the mythical rewards.
For any other cultivator in the vast martial world, for any millennial ancestor or patriarch of an orthodox sect, this would be considered heresy, absolute madness. To discard artifacts that, on their own, could destroy continents and found eternal dynasties was unthinkable. But for Samael, this was not madness. It was the pursuit of Purity.
Keeping everything, trying to master gravity, poison, thunder, and wind all at the same time, would only dilute his Dao. He didn't want to be a mediocre "Master of All," a scholar of a thousand paths who never reaches the end of any. He wanted to be the Absolute Sovereign, the undisputed god of his own path of slaughter and void.
Now, before the throne, only the spheres that resonated intimately with the frequency of his dragon soul remained. The only tools that would make the immortal old monsters of the central continent tremble, bleed, and beg.
The first was the pinnacle of lethality. The Domain of Time and the Sword.
Samael reached out and took the scripture he had obtained after the investment in Kael: [The Sword God Who Cut Time].
It wasn't a physical book, nor a jade scroll. It was a sharp concept, a sphere of white light that seemed to vibrate in a different second than the rest of the universe. A Transcendent Grade technique, an Origin art.
Samael did not hesitate. He invoked the [Crown of the Primordial Sovereign] upon his head. Seven needles of stellar black diamond materialized out of nowhere, absorbing the ambient light and orbiting his skull like destructive satellites. They were not bound by physical threads; they floated independently, leaving behind silver spatial micro-fractures that opened and closed to the rhythm of his breathing. The Crown granted him Absolute Control, Infinite Mental Calculation, and the terrifying Edict of Imposed Reality, an authority so massive that it forced the laws of the universe to kneel before his temporal commands.
With his mind operating at the speed of light thanks to the Crown, processing trillions of variables per second, Samael pressed the white sphere of light directly against his forehead.
ZAAAAAP!
A soundless lightning bolt exploded in his Sea of Consciousness. His mind fractured for a microsecond under the weight of the paradox. He saw overlapping realities. He saw millions of timelines unfolding like the veins of a withered leaf. He saw the Dead Blood Legion marching in reverse. He saw raindrops falling toward the clouds, and blood returning to corpses. He saw void swords cutting, not the physical neck of an enemy in the present, but the very concept of their existence a second before the enemy decided to move.
"Space and Time..." Samael whispered, slowly opening his eyes as the quantum overload settled into his soul.
His left pupil had mutated. It now housed a faint, ghostly glow in the shape of a golden hourglass spinning slowly, marking the end of cycles.
"My Void devours and erases. My Space moves me and makes me untouchable. And now... my Sword reaches the necks of my enemies before it has even left its sheath," he murmured, reveling in martial comprehension. This technique wasn't simply a powerful attack; it was the cornerstone, the missing masterpiece needed to fuse his spatial mastery with his offensive bloodlust.
Sitting on the throne, Samael closed his eyes and mentally executed the four stances of the forbidden art. On the infinite canvas of his mind, he saw his own body perform the perfect slaughter:
"Blade of the Devouring Void" (Offensive / Anti-Energy):
He visualized his blade coated in a layer of Absolute Void. Upon clashing against a Holy King Grade Qi shield, the sword produced no sound or sparks. It did not push matter; it erased it. It was the ultimate technique to annihilate magical treasures and barriers.
"Transdimensional Slash: A Thousand Scars" (Area / Space):
Samael imagined the space around him as a canvas of fabric. With a single horizontal slash of his arm, he used his Law of Space to "fold" that fabric. The result was Dantesque: hundreds of invisible spatial cuts appeared within a 500-meter radius simultaneously. In his simulation, entire armies died decapitated from within their own formations before he even finished sheathing his sword.
"Dance of the Blood Dragon: Slaughter Lotus" (Defensive / Counterattack):
He saw his body spin, creating a whirlwind where the Blood of his fallen enemies and his Sword Qi merged. A dead zone, a conceptual meat grinder. Any projectile or enemy that entered that radius was dismembered by threads of blood. The more he massacred, the stronger his defense became.
"Thrust of the Primordial Singularity" (Piercing / Critical Point):
The ultimate attack. Concentrating his Level 3 Sword Intent at the tip, Samael compressed space to create a micro-singularity. A linear attack at the speed of light. It ignored friction; it ignored distance. Upon impact, space collapsed, sucking the soul and organs of the enemy toward the needle of his sword. One strike. One extinction.
Samael exhaled, opening his eyes. The hourglass in his pupil gleamed with hunger.
Next, his attention shifted to the consolidation of his core and his family. The [Scripture of Origin: Throne of the War Gods] was already active in his chest, beating rhythmically like a second titanium heart. Through it, he felt the connection with the thousand elite disciples. It wasn't a vulgar invasive telepathy that forced him to listen to their thoughts; it was pure tactical consciousness. He knew who doubted, who had ambition, who was on the verge of enlightenment.
"When we march to the outside world... we will be a single, lethal, living organism. And I will be the brain that orders the slaughter," he decreed.
His gaze then fell on the [Yin-Yang Sutra of Primordial Chaos], the absolute knowledge he had been reimbursed with after the investment in the Paradox Twins.
Samael used the immense processing power of his Crown of the Primordial Sovereign to begin an extreme simulation. He took his old Sutra of the Union of the Dragon and Phoenix, the sacred technique that was the foundation of his dual cultivation and his unbreakable bond with his wife Seraphina. Mentally, he dismantled it piece by piece, unraveling its meridians, and rebuilt it using the cosmic principles of the new Primordial Chaos Sutra. He combined the destructive and chaotic aggressiveness of his Dragon blood with the majestic and absolute stability of the Yin-Yang and Seraphina's Order.
The System reacted instantly on his retina:
[PRIMORDIAL PATRIARCH SYSTEM: TECHNIQUE FUSION SUCCESSFUL. 100% OPTIMIZATION.]
[NEW TECHNIQUE CREATED: IMPERIAL SUTRA: "THE ETERNAL DANCE OF CHAOS AND ORDER".]
Samael analyzed the results of his creation. It was an Evolvable Divine Grade Dual Cultivation technique. The absolute fusion of opposing polarities. Chaos (Samael: Void, space, blood, sword, and destiny) and Order (Seraphina: Ice, Stability, Yin).
They would no longer depend solely on physical contact and intimacy to cultivate. He had created the Frozen-Void Resonance Field. As long as he and Seraphina were within the same range of perception, whether sleeping in adjoining rooms or fighting on the same battlefront, their auras would intertwine automatically. Seraphina's perpetual Ice would act as a coolant for the dragon's boiling blood, allowing Samael to cultivate and massacre without falling into Qi deviation or madness. In return, Samael's Void would expand his wife's meridians, granting her an inexhaustible energy reserve.
And the deadliest aspect: The Manifestation of the Binary Domain: "The Throne of Snowy Chaos". If they ever fought together, they would create a field where the enemies' laws would be "frozen" by Order and then "disintegrated" by Chaos.
Samael raised his right hand and gently stroked the spatial ring on his index finger. His expression, always so hardened and relentless, softened for a fraction of a second, revealing the man behind the war god.
He thought of Seraphina, his anchor, his icy queen. He thought of Celeste, the little light of his life who slept peacefully in the palace. And, with a protective warmth flooding his chest, he thought of the twin girls on the way, beating strongly in his wife's womb. They were his blood. His legacy. The true reason why he was willing to bathe continents in fire and extinguish millennial empires. All this mental calculation, all this destruction and assimilation of absolute power, had only one purpose: to ensure that no one in the immensity of creation could dare look at his family without his permission.
"For you, I will burn the heavens," he promised in a deep whisper.
Samael stood up from the obsidian throne. His personal power was solidified. Now, it was time to forge the architecture of an immortal empire. He had three divine objects left that were not destined for his body, but for his Realm.
First, he walked majestuously toward the immense exposed roots of the Stellar World Tree that crossed the jade floor of the main hall. From his inventory, he extracted the [Yggdrasil Seed (Mythical Fragment)]. It was small, of a green so deep it seemed to house galaxies, and weighed conceptually more than an entire mountain range.
Samael dropped it gently into a vital crack of the main root.
BOOOOOOOOM!
The entire Realm of the Eternal Dawn shook to its foundations, not with destruction, but with an explosion of pure life force. An emerald-colored shockwave swept the skies, the mountains, and the rivers. The thousand disciples, in the safety of their pavilions, fell to their knees gasping, suddenly feeling the air turn sweet, thick as nectar. Those who were stuck in cultivation bottlenecks felt their barriers break on their own before the overwhelming density of the environment.
The World Tree outside the palace creaked and grew visibly, gaining hundreds of meters in height and width in a matter of seconds. Its immense violet leaves with crimson tones swayed with divine vitality.
"Now, breathing in this place for a single day is equivalent to cultivating for a month in the best spiritual veins of the outside world," Samael said, smiling arrogantly. "Even farm pigs would turn into divine beasts if they lived here long enough."
Next, the Absolute Defense. Samael pulled out the core of the [Wall of Jericho (Divine City Defense Artifact)] and threw it toward the red sky of the mini-world.
The artifact did not fall; it stopped at the zenith and dissolved into a majestic rain of liquid golden light that covered the far perimeter of the floating islands. No wall of stone or brick appeared. Instead, the air itself at the borders of the Realm became "solid." Atmospheric Solidification had activated. Space had become a barrier with the density of runic diamond. Anyone attempting to penetrate with hostile intent would be crushed by the matrix's immunological filter.
"Let the orthodox sects try to bombard us," Samael muttered, crossing his arms. "They will need the concentrated power of an ancestor in the Emperor Realm just to make a measly crack in our air."
Finally, the Public Resource. Samael flew smoothly toward the immense central plaza of the Realm's citadel, where an ancient decorative marble fountain rested that had been dry for centuries. He opened his hand and dropped a single concentrated drop of the [Spring of Eternal Youth], the surplus of which he had saved.
The instant the drop touched the stone, crystalline and gleaming water gushed forth forcefully, filling the fountain with the elixir of life.
"Vexia," Samael ordered the air.
A communication matrix shone, and the Iron Marshal's holographic projection appeared beside him.
"Patriarch," Vexia greeted, bowing.
"This is the Well of Life," Samael explained, pointing to the glowing fountain. "A single drop heals any mortal wound, reconnects shattered meridians, and rejuvenates the body by ten whole years. Put a price on it. Fifty thousand Clan Contribution Points for each small vial. Let the disciples and the new stars work and train themselves to death to get it."
Vexia smiled. Her eyes gleamed with that lethal and cold administrative greed that Samael valued so much in her.
"It will be the best-selling product in the history of our treasury, my Lord. They will drown in their own sweat to obtain it."
Samael nodded and returned to the Upper Palace, taking his seat once again on his throne.
His inventory was clean, organized. The remaining rewards, low saint grade swords, armors, and pills, he would leave in the Vault for his warriors to claim with contribution points, fostering extreme competitiveness. The Realm was completely armored and isolated. His body was a perfect weapon of biological immortality.
Only one thing remained. An object that metaphorically seemed to burn him in the space of his ring.
He pulled out the [Supreme Roulette Ticket].
It was a small piece of golden, ancient paper, with burned edges that smelled of sulfur, chance, and pure cosmic chaos.
"The last time I used one of these, I got this immense citadel, the ring, and the entire palace," Samael recalled, rubbing the paper. "Let's see what you have for me today, capricious destiny."
He tore the ticket in half.
The space in front of the obsidian throne tore with the deafening sound of ripping fabric. A dimensional rift opened and, from it, emerged a gigantic Wheel of Fortune, forged from primordial dragon bone and starlight. It spun slowly, emitting a hypnotic hum that altered one's pulse. The slots had no written names; they showed concepts and images that changed every time Samael blinked. He saw a sword decapitating gods. He saw an ocean of stars. He saw a figure sitting in a lotus position.
But before Samael could inject his Qi to spin the wheel, an unprecedented event, something beyond all the Patriarch's comprehension, occurred on a plane of existence to which he had no access.
In the unfathomable depths of the Soul Root, in the infinite dark void where the threads of destiny and the mechanics of the Primordial Patriarch and Retribution System itself operated... a terrifying change manifested.
There was no explosion. There was no warning. Simply, out of nowhere, a silhouette appeared.
It had no defined shape. It was a completely blurry, chaotic, and distorted figure, as if the fabric of the universe were trying to censor its image. To look at it was to feel one's mind tearing and the laws of physics weeping in impotence. Its mere existence seemed to be a direct, flagrant, and unforgivable violation of universal laws, a walking heresy, something flatly forbidden by the Heavens themselves. Chaos and reality refused to coexist with it, causing the space around it to constantly distort and warp in a mute screech.
It turned toward a specific corner of that infinite void.
There, hidden behind a fractal of codes, minimized and trembling with pure terror, was someone else in that infinite nothingness. Floating near the crushing projection of the blurry figure, was a tiny silhouette.
It looked like a strange, comical, and exotic mix between a chubby little dragon and a fairy. It possessed intricate horns on its small head and tiny translucent wings of deep violet that sputtered with frightened stardust. It was the conscious manifestation, the Avatar of the System that governed Samael's evolution; the cold and calculating entity that communicated with him through red panels, golden letters, and danger alerts.
And that being, which presented itself to Samael as an omnipotent, mathematical, and relentless machine, was currently clinging to its own tail, terrified, curled up on itself under the crushing aura of the blurry deity that had invaded its domain.
The distorted silhouette raised a hand, and a voice that sounded like breaking glass bells echoed in the void:
"Don't be stingy, girl," the voice ruled, overflowing with divine authority and an inescapable possessive affection. "You have my permission to give a little extra gift to my husband."
The system spirit, the little dragon-fairy that not even Samael himself knew existed, nodded frantically, its wings buzzing in absolute panic at seeing this terrifying woman dictating the rules once again.
And in the real world, the Wheel of Fortune reacted.
Samael raised his hand.
"Spin," he ordered, injecting a pulse of his Authority and Emperor Qi into the artifact.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK!
The immense bone wheel became a blur of blinding colors. The sound of the mechanism was like the desperate gallop of ten thousand warhorses. Samael crossed his arms, activating his newly acquired Eyes of Truth. Through them, he could literally see quantum probabilities manipulating themselves, clashing and rewriting.
The wheel began to slow its dizzying spin. The golden needle grazed the [Army of 1 Million Divine Puppets] slot... It passed over the terrifying [Sudden Death] slot without Samael even blinking... It passed slowly by the exotic [Faithful Harem of 1,000 Royal Succubi] slot... (Samael raised an eyebrow in amusement, but let it pass without interfering).
Finally, the needle began to stop on its final stretch. Trembling visibly, the golden tip became trapped exactly on the thin dividing line between two slots of supreme golden light. One showed the image of [The White Lotus Dojo]. The other reflected the enigmatic image of [The Mirror of Samsara].
The needle vibrated violently, undecided, unable to select just one reward. It seemed the very mechanism of destiny was suffering an internal collapse.
Samael narrowed his eyes and released a crushing pulse from his Crown of the Primordial Sovereign.
"Don't choose," he ordered the void arrogantly. "Give me both."
CRACK!
The dividing needle split in half. The entire wheel exploded in a pillar of blinding white light. The blue panel on his retina blinked violently, throwing a system error alert, before being overwritten by an unusual golden confirmation message.
[ERROR ALERT! ANOMALY DETECTED!]
[CORRECTION APPLIED!]
[CONGRATULATIONS! DESTINY HAS BEEN FORCED.]
[PRIZE FUSION SUCCESSFULLY ACTIVATED.]
[YOU HAVE OBTAINED: UNIQUE INSTALLATION OF ABSOLUTE MYTH GRADE.]
[NAME: THE SANCTUARY OF THE INFINITE MIRROR.]
[GUARDIAN INCLUDED: SIENNA, THE MAIDEN OF THE REFLECTION.]
The white light quickly condensed in the center of the great hall. First, the architectural structure materialized: an exquisite small model of a minimalist dojo that, upon touching the jade floor, sent a seismic pulse. Samael felt telepathically how the real structure, massive in size, was built automatically from nothing on one of the Realm's uninhabited islands. He instinctively understood its nature: an infinite building, a labyrinth of mirrors without a ceiling or floor, where time flowed differently, designed exclusively to force Martial Enlightenment through trauma.
But then, from the trail of light remaining before the throne, the Guardian formed.
She wasn't a simple instruction hologram. She wasn't an ethereal, transparent spirit like the Eternal Guardian of the Tower. She was flesh, bone, and inscrutable power.
A woman emerged from the dissipating light.
She was of an ethereal, cold, distant, and almost ghostly beauty. Tall, with a martial posture so unwaveringly perfect that, just by existing in the hall, she would make the greatest combat geniuses of the continent look clumsy. She wore an impeccable, form-fitting white silk qipao that shone with a faint spectral light. She always walked barefoot, but Samael noticed with his Eyes of Truth that her pale feet levitated a millimeter off the ground; she would never soil herself with the dust of the mortal world.
Her hair was as black as the ink of the abyss, cut rigidly straight and symmetrical at jaw level. On her left wrist, she wore a thin red thread tied, holding a small golden bell, the only adornment that seemed to anchor her to tangible reality.
Physically, Sienna was a monument to fertility and dominant power, the standard of beauty idealized in ancient fantasy literature. She possessed a very large, heavy, and prominently voluptuous chest (D-Cup) that dominated her profile and dangerously stretched the white silk of her gi at the top, making it impossible to hide her attributes. Her lower body was equally imposing; wide hips and voluptuous buttocks at the base, creating the classic and heavy shape of an Inverted Heart. She projected an image of maturity, undeniable physical presence, and an overwhelming carnal and martial authority.
But the most terrifying and captivating thing about Sienna was her face. Specifically, her eyes. They had no iris. They had no pupils or color. They were, literally, two perfect silver mirrors, polished to obsession, reflecting the soul, the face, and the karmic sins of whoever dared to look at her.
Samael scanned her. He detected no Qi cultivation level. Her level was, in practical terms, "Null." But the system gave him the answer.
[Name: Sienna. The Goddess of Truth. The Instructor of Perfect Agony.]
[Race: Biological Combat Construct / Enlightenment Entity.]
[Level: Mirror (Automatically identical to or higher than her current opponent).]
[Main Passive Attribute: Absolute Perfection (Physically incapable of making a single martial mistake or wasting Qi).]
Sienna blinked slowly, her mirror eyes reflecting the Patriarch on the throne. She walked with predatory grace and stopped three meters away. She bowed in a martial greeting of exactly ninety degrees. Not a degree more, not one less.
"Patriarch," Sienna spoke. Her voice was melodic, soft, polite, and aristocratic, like the sound of crystalline water running over smooth stones in a stream; a voice that would continue to sound just as calm while breaking your neck. "The Sanctuary of the Infinite Mirror has opened its doors for you."
"What is your exact function, Sienna?" Samael asked, crossing his fingers beneath his chin. He knew the answer thanks to the information transmission, but he needed to hear it from her; he needed to measure her ego.
Sienna stood up, looking directly at him with her silver abysses. Her smile was polite, but loaded with an enigmatic sadism.
"I am the mistake your mind refuses to see, my Lord," she answered calmly. "My duty is to fight against you and your soldiers using exactly your same techniques, your same strengths and weaknesses. But I will do it without fear, without fatigue, and without your flaws. I will show you the painful imperfection of your Dao... breaking your bones into a thousand pieces until you understand it."
Samael raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the Guardian's audacity.
"And if I manage to beat you?"
"Then you will have achieved true Martial Enlightenment in that specific move, Patriarch," she said, tilting her head. "And I will simply raise the difficulty level in the next round."
Sienna raised a pale bare hand and traced a circle in the air. An illusory mirror formed, showing the interior of the Sanctuary: an immense blinding white labyrinth, with no distinguishable ceiling, floor, or walls, only infinite reflections.
"My method is Perfect Agony," Sienna continued with her courtesan tone. "When your warriors cross my doors, I will use my mirrors to tear out a perfect Shadow Copy of themselves. Karmic cloning. They will fight against their own demons. And while the disciple fights to the death against their own exact copy... I will also enter the fray. An infernal two-on-one. I will exclusively attack the blind spots their own mind ignores. Surviving my halls requires transcending physical limits. Pain forces the mind to evolve. A month bleeding in my mirrors is equivalent to a year of solitary meditation to understand the 'Intents' of weapons."
Samael smiled, showing his teeth. A dark and genuinely satisfied smile.
The logistical puzzle was complete. Vexia would provide them with resources, discipline, and lethal formations. Malak, the General of the shadows, would teach them the raw art of surviving and killing incomprehensible beasts. But Sienna... Sienna wouldn't teach them how to fight. Sienna would teach them technical perfection. She would forge true unbreakable Masters.
"Welcome to the Morningstar Clan, Sienna," Samael decreed, standing up from the throne. "You have a lot of work. You have forty-five extremely difficult, arrogant, and flawed students, and a thousand bloodthirsty novices. Break them every day until they are perfect."
"The mirror of truth has enough space and pain for all of them, Patriarch," she replied with a bow, before vanishing in a flash of silver light to take her place on the new island.
Samael walked to the edge of the main balcony of the palace, resting his gloved hands on the jade railing. Below, the Realm of the Eternal Dawn stretched out in all its glory, illuminated by the perpetual runic sun.
He invoked the general command communication matrix. Vexia's giant holographic image projected beside him, floating above the immense empty plaza.
"Patriarch, the structural preparations are complete," Vexia reported with military promptness. "The Yggdrasil Seed has taken deep root, purifying and saturating the atmosphere. The Wall of Jericho is active; the spatial blockade is total. The temporal relationship between our dimension and the outside world has been stabilized by the fusion of veins and the new pressure of the tree."
"Give me the exact figures, Marshal," Samael demanded.
"Ten days in the outside world... are equivalent to exactly a full month inside here, my Lord."
Samael processed the time dilation, his mental gears clicking into place perfectly.
"The infamous Tournament of the Hundred Empires begins in exactly two years on the outside world's calendar," he calculated aloud, his voice trailing a promise of destruction. "That means... we have six years of relative time in here."
Vexia nodded.
"Six years without external interference, my Lord."
"We are not going to skip this time in idle meditation, Vexia. We are going to live it second by second, wound by wound." Samael gripped the edge of the balcony, his knuckles turning white. "Six years... An entire lifetime for a common mortal. For us, it will be the longest bloody forge in martial history. Dante, Kael, the Sequences, yourself... when you all come out of here, I want your minds to have forgotten what it felt like to be weak."
Samael gave his final orders, his voice echoing in every corner, pavilion, and floating island of the Mini-World, reaching the ears of all his soldiers.
"Open the Tower of Challenge missions, Vexia! Let Sienna prepare the labyrinths of the Infinite Mirror. Let Malak sharpen the scythes and release the beasts of the abyss. Let the forty-five Monsters of the vanguard begin to climb and massacre each other in the arenas. Recess and celebrations are over. True hell begins today!"
Samael raised his goblet of Dragon Blood Wine toward the runic sun, toasting the imminent massacre of the weak.
"Close the world, Marshal. Let the Era of Isolation begin. And when we finally open our eyes again and break our own seals... let the bastard Gods of the continent pray that we have an ounce of mercy. Because we will not have it."
Behind Samael, bathed by the light of the tree and the energy of his decrees, the colossal shadow of a dragon of galactic proportions was cast against the sky of the realm. Its scales were formed by the dust of dead stars and dying constellations. Its twisted horns intertwined to form the crown of a primordial tyrant. The dragon raised its head and unleashed an inaudible cosmic roar that shook the very foundations of existence. For a brief and terrifying second, the vision of the world, the laws of physics, time, and space in the entire universe seemed to tear, bend, and distort under the supreme will of the beast.
BWOOOOOM!
The temporal distortion barrier closed hermetically over the Realm of the Eternal Dawn. From the perspective of the outside world, the immense mountain and the citadel disappeared completely from the face of the earth, turned into a blurry smudge, an inscrutable blind spot in the flow of time.
But inside, in the domain of the War God, the clock had just begun its relentless march.
Tick. Tock.
Six years of absolute hell, unimaginable pain, and extreme perfection had just kicked off.
And amidst the Qi storm rising in the palace, the invisible camera of reality zoomed in sharply, closing the scene on the Patriarch's face. His violet and crimson eyes, with the golden hourglass shining in his left pupil, exuded the bloodlust of a monster about to devour the sky.