The invitations were not delivered by parchment or bird. Instead, a ripple of violet static traveled across the ley lines of the continent, vibrating within the meditation chambers of the ten most powerful Sect Masters in the Ancient Realm. It was a psychic summons that tasted of ozone and ancient hunger.
"The Sovereign requests your presence at the Sun-Eater Spire. Bring your ledgers. Bring your humility. Do not bring your armies."
Ten days later, the mountain path of the former Heavenly Pavilion—now a jagged spine of obsidian and silver—saw a procession of the world's elite. These were men and women who could level cities with a wave of a hand, yet as they climbed the stairs of the Spire, they moved with the cautious tread of thieves in a sleeping giant's house.
At the summit, a grand hall had been carved directly into the peak. The walls were translucent Void-crystal, offering a dizzying view of the clouds below. A long table made of petrified starmetal stretched across the room.
Cain sat at the head of the table. He wore no crown, but the way the light seemed to bend toward him made the gold-trimmed robes of the visiting Sect Masters look like cheap theater costumes. To his right sat Elena, her grey eyes scanning the "guests" with a predatory stillness that made even the Level 88 Ancestors uncomfortable.
"Sit," Cain commanded.
The Sect Masters took their seats. Among them was the Matriarch of the Sun-Seekers, the silent Grand Monk of the Iron Mountain, and the proxy for the Azure Frost.
"You invited us to a banquet," the Matriarch said, her voice trembling despite her attempts at dignity. She looked at the table, which remained empty of food or wine. "Yet I see no feast."
"The feast is already over," Cain said, leaning forward. "I ate the Nine-Fold Execution of the Heavens last week. I am quite full. This gathering is for your benefit, not mine."
He flicked his fingers, and a holographic map of the Ancient Realm projected onto the starmetal table. Ten locations were marked with glowing violet embers.
"These are your sects," Cain continued. "For centuries, you have hoarded 90% of this world's natural mana. You have built walls to keep the common folk weak and 'Righteous' arrays to keep the Outer Void out. But you failed."
"We have maintained the balance!" the Grand Monk interjected, his voice like grinding stone. "Without us, the rift would have opened a thousand years ago!"
"The rift didn't open because the Void was scared of you," Elena said, her voice cutting through the Monk's protest. "It didn't open because it was waiting for a beacon. Cain is that beacon. And now that the door is unlocked, your little 'arrays' are just kindling for the fire that's coming."
Cain tapped the map. The violet embers spread, connecting the ten sects to the Sun-Eater Spire.
"As of this moment, the 'Righteous' Alliance is dissolved," Cain declared. "You are now the Sovereign's Decants. Each of your sects will become a node in a global defense network. You will provide the mana, and I will provide the shield."
"You are asking us to become slaves," the Matriarch hissed, her hands glowing with solar fire.
"I am asking you to be the foundation of an empire that survives the next century," Cain replied.
Suddenly, the doors of the hall burst open. A young man in simple white linen robes, carrying a wooden sword that looked like a toy, stepped into the room. He didn't have the heavy, suffocating aura of the Sect Masters. In fact, he felt like nothing at all.
[WARNING: Unknown Entity Detected.]
[Analysis: Level 0... Level 99... Level ERROR.]
Cain's eyes narrowed. He felt a chill—the first time he had felt cold since his evolution. Beside him, Elena stood up, her hand reaching for the "Hollow" pulse in the air.
"The banquet is crowded," the young man said, his voice cheerful and strangely out of place in the grim hall. He looked at Cain with a curious smile. "I heard a monster was eating the sky, so I walked here from the Southern Isles to see if he wanted to play."
The Sect Masters gasped. "The Nameless Hermit?" the Grand Monk whispered, his face turning ashen. "The one who defeated the Dragon God with a twig?"
Cain stood up, the violet gravity in the room intensifying until the starmetal table began to groan and warp.
"I don't play," Cain said, his black scales rippling under his skin.
"That's a shame," the Hermit said, raising his wooden sword. "Because the world is a very fragile toy, and I think you're squeezing it too hard."
The air in the room didn't just vibrate; it split. The first True Hero had arrived—not as a general of an army, but as a lone check against the Sovereign's absolute power.
Is this a fight to the death, or will the Hermit offer Cain a perspective that changes the Sovereign's path?