Chapter 34: Rebirth Beneath the Crimson Moon (Part 2)
The stench of fresh blood and toxic frost suffocated the Jade Coliseum. The Valois coalition of five hundred elite cultivators had been reduced to a terrified remnant of barely two hundred men, cornered against the edges of the immense golden barrier. The Morningstar Clan's Soul Nexus had turned six teenagers into a perfectly oiled meat grinder.
In the VIP box, Valerius Valois could no longer bear the humiliation. With bloodshot eyes and his sanity hanging by a thread, he gave the order that would break the continent's ultimate taboo.
"Break the seals!" he roared at his Supreme Elder.
The Elder, sweating cold at the blasphemy he was about to commit, struck a hidden jade panel with a complex hand seal.
BOOOOOOM!
An artificial earthquake shook the floating plateau. The combat arena cracked in the exact center. From the fissure, a thick, almost black-purple miasma began to spew, instantly rotting the stone tiles around it.
A colossal black iron sarcophagus emerged from the crack. The heavy doors fell forward with a deafening crash. A figure stepped out of the darkness. It wore rusted armor from the Purple Light Sect. Its skin was gray and taut, and in its empty sockets burned a corrupted violet will-o'-the-wisp.
It was the Sealed Saint Puppet. A desecrated corpse forced to retain the cultivation and bodily density of a Stage 1 True Saint.
The moment the Puppet set foot in the arena, the pure, incomprehensible spiritual pressure of a True Saint Realm fell upon the coliseum. The air turned to lead. Gravity seemed to multiply a hundredfold.
The weakest cultivators of the Valois coalition, those at Transcendent Stage 5, began to bleed from their eyes and ears, crushed against the ground by the dead deity that was supposed to save them.
Even the Morningstar heirs felt the impact. Kael drove his sword into the ground to keep from falling to his knees. Violeta and Eris paled, while Cedric clenched his teeth, forcing his Qi Sea to resist the oppression that surpassed him by two entire major realms.
Samael, at Stage 9 of the Origin Realm, felt the overwhelming weight of the level difference. His dragon bones creaked under the pressure of a True Saint. He couldn't face it in close combat; a single direct hit from that thing would reduce him to bloody pulp, no matter how expanded his core was.
But Samael did not panic. A wide, dark smile, laden with mockery, spread across his pale face. He used his Void to create a zero-gravity field around himself and his clan, slightly alleviating the suffocating pressure of the Saint so his heirs could breathe.
In the boxes, the Patriarchs of the Hundred Sects stood up, shouting curses at Valerius for using the corpse of a Saint in a youth tournament.
Valerius clung to the railing of his box, laughing like a madman. "Behold a true god, Samael!" Valerius bellowed. "Kill them! Crush them all!"
The Saint Puppet turned its head with a crunch of dry vertebrae, fixing its flaming sockets on Samael. It flexed its knees, about to launch itself at a supersonic speed that would tear the Morningstars apart before they could conjure a shield.
"Valerius..." Samael's voice, amplified by Qi, cut through the screams in the arena. "You are so predictable it borders on insulting. Did you really think you were the only one in this tournament with dead toys in their inventory?"
Samael raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
The space behind him and Lilith distorted violently. Two immense shadows, dense and freezing, materialized from the Patriarch's storage dimension.
The first figure was over two meters tall, clad in frigid armor and wielding an immense mace of eternal ice. Its eyes were lifeless, but its aura was not a millimeter inferior to that of the Valois puppet. It was the Protector of the Frozen Abyss, the True Saint that Samael had cleaved in two in the desert and stitched back together with necromancy. Beside him, wrapped in black bandages and wielding curved daggers, appeared the Dune Shadow, the Semi-Saint level assassin.
When the combined aura of an undead True Saint and a Semi-Saint erupted from the Morningstar side, the Jade Coliseum fell into a silence so absolute it felt like the vacuum of space.
Valerius Valois stopped laughing. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and his knees trembled so much that he fell back into his seat in the box. Two Saint-level puppets?! Valerius's mind shrieked. That damn desert barbarian uses the Puppet Art too?!
"Kill the false god," Samael ordered coldly, lowering his hand.
The clash was apocalyptic. The Valois Puppet charged forward, but was intercepted halfway by the Protector of the Frozen Abyss. The two True Saints collided in the center of the arena. The impact of their dead fists completely shattered the jade tiles within a hundred-meter radius, sending the survivors of the Valois army flying through the air like broken dolls.
The deathly ice of the Protector clashed against the purple miasma of the Purple Light Puppet. They were monsters that felt no pain, tearing off chunks of gray flesh and armor in a brutal exchange of blows that an Origin cultivator could barely follow with their eyes.
While the two True Saints tore each other apart, the Dune Shadow (the Semi-Saint) did not just watch. Like the supreme assassin he was, he vanished into the shadows of the shattered arena and appeared right in the blind spot of the Valois Puppet, plunging his dark Qi-imbued daggers directly into the backs of the enemy corpse's knees, destabilizing its stance.
Samael watched the clash of titans from a safe distance, keeping his heirs behind him.
"Their puppet has a constant supply of corrupted energy coming from the coliseum's formations," Cedric analyzed rapidly, his bicolored eyes shining. "If we don't cut that flow, their Saint will eventually wear ours down, which relies only on the cores you implanted in it, Patriarch."
Samael nodded, and glanced sideways at Lilith. The Grand Elder was already walking forward. Her left arm, forged of gray and black ash flames, crackled with hunger. She was only at Origin Stage 1, but her bloodline did not rely on brute strength; it relied on the nature of her element.
"Leave it to me," Lilith croaked, her voice resonating with the echo of the Phoenix.
Lilith didn't try to get close to the core of the melee combat; the Saints' shockwave would have torn her to pieces. Instead, she approached the crater from which the Valois Puppet had emerged. The cables of corrupted purple Qi feeding the monster were exposed there.
Lilith raised her phantom fire arm and unleashed her newly awakened Ash Flame. It wasn't a domain; it was simply the Qi-devouring fire of the Phoenix in its purest state.
The gray embers fell upon the thick lines of purple miasma. Lilith's fire didn't melt the stone; it clung to the corrupted energy and began to devour it at an alarming rate. The ash spread through the supply lines like a plague, burning away the spiritual connection between the arena and the Valois Puppet.
The Purple Light corpse, fifty meters away, suddenly stumbled. Its will-o'-the-wisp flickered. It was losing its fuel.
The Protector of the Frozen Abyss didn't miss the opening. The True Saint brought its immense mace of eternal ice crashing down directly against the helmet of the Valois Puppet, caving in the rusted metal and forcing the corpse to drop to one knee. Simultaneously, the Dune Shadow severed the tendons in its arms, rendering it immobile.
The deity of the Valois was on its knees, immobilized by two monsters and stripped of its energy by Lilith's ashes.
Samael knew it was time. The enemy was suppressed. The Patriarch walked toward the kneeling Saint. His violet eyes showed no mercy. Ten meters away, Samael channeled his Law of the Void. He wasn't going to fistfight Saint-level steel.
He extended his hand toward the immobilized and weakened corpse. "Zero Gravity: Core Collapse."
Samael injected a concentrated pulse of infinite gravity directly into the center of the cracked chest of the Valois Puppet. With the corpse's Qi defenses purged by Lilith's flames and its body shattered by the Protector, there was nothing to resist the Void.
The Puppet's chest imploded. The gravitational force crushed its corrupted energy core down to the size of a pebble, and then erased it from existence.
The violet fire in the enemy corpse's sockets extinguished instantly. The empty armor collapsed onto the sand, turned into useless scrap metal.
Samael lowered his hand and, with a thought, his two undead puppets stepped back and vanished into his shadow dimension.
The silence that followed the destruction of the Saint Puppet was deafening. The Patriarchs in the stands were pale, trembling uncontrollably. The Morningstar Clan didn't just have unparalleled geniuses; they had their own army of Saints in their pocket and a Phoenix that could burn pure energy.
Samael Morningstar looked up at the destroyed box of Valerius Valois. His violet eyes promised a slow, cold, and absolute death.
The final trap had been completely shattered, and they had just realized that they were not the hunters. They had always been the prey.
Author's Note: (The false god has fallen in the arena, but the true monsters of the continent are still watching from above. In this conclusion to the Hundred Sects Tournament, Patriarch Morningstar will claim his prize, but he will discover that the Empire is vast, and the true war has barely peeked over the horizon).
Chapter 34: Rebirth Beneath the Crimson Moon (Part 3)
The echo of the gravitational collapse's implosion resonated in the bones of every cultivator present in the Jade Coliseum. The Saint Puppet, the heretical weapon of the Valois Family, was now just a pile of rusted scrap metal and ashes scattered across the sand.
Samael Morningstar stood at the epicenter of the destruction. Around him, the battlefield was a tapestry of desolation. Of the five hundred executioners of the coalition who had entered with orders to kill them, barely two hundred remained. They were cornered against the edges of the golden barrier, weapons trembling in their hands, staring at the group of black-clad youths as if they were incarnate demons.
Samael did not give the order to massacre them. Through the silent and invisible connection of the Soul Nexus—a secret the outside world must never understand—he transmitted a simple sense of calm to Kael, Violeta, Eris, Cedric, Xylia, and Elowen. The generals lowered their weapons, though they kept their auras ignited. There was no honor in slaughtering pawns whose spirits were already broken; besides, the true threat was not in the arena.
Samael, with a thought, ordered the Protector of the Frozen Abyss and the Dune Shadow to retreat. The two undead puppets, which barely operated at eighty percent of their original power, melted back into the shadow dimension of his inventory. They had fulfilled their purpose, but Samael knew perfectly well that they were not invincible.
The Patriarch looked up toward the south wall, toward the obsidian VIP box.
With a firm step and his tunic billowing in the breeze, Samael used his Minor Law of Space to condense the air beneath his boots, ascending through the coliseum sky as if walking up an invisible staircase.
As he approached the box, the atmosphere changed drastically. The terror felt by the minor sects in the stands was not shared by the titans occupying the balcony of the Purple Light Sect.
When Samael landed on the marble of the VIP box, he did not find men kneeling or crying. He found a wall of absolute arrogance.
The elite guards of the Purple Light Sect unsheathed their weapons with impeccable discipline, their auras at Transcendent Peak burning without a hint of fear. And standing before them, blocking the path to a furious Valerius, stood the Supreme Elder.
The Supreme Elder did not tremble. His gray eyes looked at Samael with the disdain of a god observing a pesky insect. Without saying a word, the elder released his aura.
True Saint. Stage 3.
The pressure was apocalyptic. It was not the crude, brutish, corrupted force of a corpse; it was the refined, pure, and crushing power of a living cultivator who had mastered the Laws of the world. The marble beneath Samael's feet cracked instantly. The air became as heavy as mercury.
Samael felt his dragon bones grind, groaning under the overwhelming difference of two entire major realms. His meridians, despite being expanded to four hundred percent at Origin Stage 9, throbbed painfully. If the Supreme Elder decided to attack at that instant, Samael's puppets, limited to 80% of Stage 1, would be swept away in a single exchange, and he himself would be in grave danger.
But Samael did not retreat a single centimeter. He anchored his feet to the stone. He channeled the Absolute Void not as a weapon, but as a passive shield, devouring the spiritual pressure that threatened to crush his lungs. He kept his back straight, his pale face transforming into a mask of cold tyranny.
The Supreme Elder raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised that the youth was not vomiting blood, but his arrogant expression did not change. "You have destroyed an expensive toy, desert boy," the Elder said, his voice resonating with a terrifying calm. "You have talent. More than I expected from a barbarian. But do not confuse surviving a skirmish with having the power to defy heaven."
Behind the Elder, Valerius Valois stepped forward. His purple tunic was spotless, though his eyes burned with homicidal fury. He had lost his golden genius, he had lost his puppet, and his pride had been trampled before the Hundred Sects, but the Holy Son of the Purple Light was not broken. He was thirsty for revenge.
"You thought winning this tournament would make you a king, Samael," Valerius spat, his voice dripping with poison. "You have won a piece of land and a chest of treasures, but you have earned the enmity of House Valois and the Main Branch of the Purple Light. The North will not forget this humiliation. When my father's true army marches, your puppets and your little geniuses will not save you."
Samael tilted his head, meeting Valerius's gaze. He was not intimidated by the threats, nor by the oppressive aura of the Stage 3 Saint standing a meter away. "The North can come whenever it wants, Valerius," Samael replied, his voice calm and cutting as ice. "I will be in the desert, waiting to rip off their limbs. Just make sure to bring someone worth killing next time. Your toys break too easily."
Valerius's jaw tightened. He made a move to advance, but the Supreme Elder raised a hand, stopping him. The old master knew that starting a battle to the death here, in front of witnesses and after having broken the rules using necromancy, would irreversibly tarnish the Main Sect's reputation. Besides, even though he could kill Samael, he wouldn't come out unscathed from facing a lunatic with two Saint-level puppets and a group of geniuses with an incomprehensible synergy.
"The tournament is yours, Patriarch Morningstar," the Supreme Elder decreed, suddenly withdrawing his crushing Stage 3 aura. "Enjoy your fleeting glory. The trees that grow too fast are the first to be split by lightning."
Without adding another word, the Supreme Elder turned on his heel. Valerius cast one last look laden with promises of death at Samael, and followed his master. The elite guards unsheathed their weapons in unison and escorted their leaders.
The detachment of the Purple Light Sect and the Valois Family retreated from the VIP box with a freezing, arrogant dignity. They were not fleeing; they were simply withdrawing from the board to prepare for a war on a scale that the tournament could not contain. Down in the arena, the two hundred survivors of the enemy coalition took advantage of their leaders' retreat to escape through the secondary gates, fleeing back to their respective territories.
Samael watched them go. He knew that Valerius's death and the destruction of the Purple Light branch would come, but not today. Destiny had other battlefields prepared for them in the future. Today, the prize had to be consolidated.
The Patriarch slowly turned to the Head Judge, who was petrified in a corner of the balcony, hugging the official tournament scroll. Unlike the titans of the Purple Light, the judge was terrified. Patriarch Morningstar extended his hand, his face inscrutable. "The board is clear, Judge. Do your job."
The judge nodded frantically. He floated hurriedly to the edge of the box, amplifying his trembling voice to echo throughout the Celestial Jade City.
"The... The Hundred Sects Tournament has concluded!" the judge announced, his voice echoing in the silent stands. "With the retreat of the coalition and the victory in the Battle of Heritages, I declare the Morningstar Clan as the Absolute Champions of the Summit!"
The instant the official proclamation echoed in the sky, the panel of golden light that only Samael could see erupted in a blinding glare in his retinas. The Patriarch System had registered the crushing tactical victory and the clan's survival.
[Patriarch System: Final Evaluation of the 'Crown of the Legend Devourers' Mission.][Conditions: Tournament conquered. Enemies repelled. Continental hierarchy successfully fractured.][Calculating Rewards...][Major Reward Unlocked! The Morningstar Clan's Rank has evolved. New Rank: SUPREME DYNASTY (Minor Imperial Grade).][Dynasty Effect: Qi recovery in the clan's 'Holy Land' (Skull Rock) increases by 500%. Reputation passively intimidates Earth Grade and Minor factions.][Special Reward Obtained: 'Divine Favor' (Stored in Inventory). Allows invoking a karmic intervention or altering a future tribulation.]
Samael closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, feeling the destiny of his desert base transform. They had come as survivors; they were returning as monarchs of their own empire.
The silence in the coliseum remained profound. Valerius and the Purple Light had left, but dozens of Patriarchs from neutral, minor, and medium sects still remained in their boxes. They were evaluating the new superpower. They didn't know if Samael would try to massacre them to claim the entire city.
Samael Morningstar walked to the edge of the VIP box. He rested both hands on the obsidian railing and looked down. In the center of the blood-bathed arena, Kael, Violeta, Eris, Cedric, Xylia, and Elowen stood firm, cleaning their weapons, flanking Lilith, whose ash arm had already disappeared. Through the invisible Soul Nexus, they shared an unshakable calm that fortified their leader's posture.
"Listen to me well," Samael's voice was not amplified by Qi, but its natural density made it resonate in the chest of every Patriarch present. "We came to this tournament to prove a point. And the point was made clear in the blood of the arena."
Samael swept his violet gaze across the boxes of the neutral families and merchant guilds. "The Valois Family and the Purple Light believe the North belongs to them, and soon they will have their war. But the South and the deserts have changed owners. As of today, Skull Rock is not a refuge; it is a Supreme Dynasty."
The Patriarch paused, letting the title assimilated by the System wreak havoc in the minds of those present. "Any sect in this city, or from the southern borders, that wishes to trade, travel, or exist in our domains without shedding blood... will pay us tribute. If you seek our protection against the tyranny of the Purple Light, the gates of my empire are open. If you decide to cross us, remember what happened to the puppet in the arena."
Samael turned around, turning his back on the continent without waiting for answers. He didn't need them to kneel today; the fear he had sown would do the political work for the coming months.
He descended from the floating box and rejoined his family in the arena.
Kael finally sheathed his sword with a metallic "click." Violeta and Eris nodded in silence. Cedric was already mentally calculating the trade routes they were going to dominate, while Xylia and Elowen shared a look of pure exhaustion and pride. Lilith, with her seal broken, walked with her back straighter than she had in decades.
The Hundred Sects Tournament was over. The Morningstar Clan began their long march back toward the desert, leaving behind a Celestial Jade City that would never be the same again.
The war with the North was barely looming on the horizon, but the Dragon and his heirs were already prepared to devour the world.
END OF CHAPTER 34