Chapter 174: Prelude to the Hunt: The Dragon Army Awakens
Exactly one week had passed since the cosmic silence claimed the obsidian coliseum. A week since the Forty-Five Sequences, the supreme geniuses of the Morningstar Clan, were erased from existence by their own Patriarch's crimson darkness breath, only to be reconstructed by the miraculous matrices of the Maiden of the Mirror.
For seven days and seven nights, the Realm of the Eternal Dawn had remained in a tense and reverential stillness. The immense healing domes, forged from jade crystal and fed directly by the luminescent sap of the Stellar World Tree, throbbed with a slow and deep rhythm. Inside them, the shattered bodies and souls pushed beyond madness were assimilating the final trauma of their six years of hell in the accelerated dimension.
And then, on the morning of the eighth day, the sound of decompression broke the silence.
A deafening hiss of spiritual steam flooded the Citadel's main plaza. The thick hatches of the domes opened simultaneously, releasing clouds of Qi so dense that the mist shone with amethyst, crimson, and silver tones.
From within the mist, they began to emerge.
They did not walk like human cultivators. Their footsteps made no sound, but the weight of their presences warped the gravity around them. Kael Morningstar was the first to cross the threshold, his eyes burning with flames of atomic friction that seemed to devour the oxygen in the air. By his side, Dante emerged like an interference in reality, his Asura Eye instinctively scanning the "death lines" of every mote of dust floating in front of him.
Behind them, Violeta, Eris, Cedric, Borg, Iris, Jareth, and the rest of the Imperial and Void Sequences stepped out into the artificial sunlight. Gone was the despair, the fear of death, and the fragility of mortal flesh. For six years they had been shattered, boiled, frozen, and annihilated. Now, in the Saint Realm, their gazes lacked the hollow arrogance of the young masters from the outer continent. Their eyes were those of alpha predators who had stared directly into the abyss and ripped its teeth out. They were Walking Calamities.
The Great Plaza of the Eternal Dawn awaited them. And it was not empty.
The colossal space, paved with slabs of polished obsidian and stellar marble, housed the entirety of the Morningstar Clan. The sight was so overwhelming that even the air seemed to tremble under the immense martial pressure.
Formed in perfect phalanxes, like an ocean of dark steel and sepulchral silence, stood thirty thousand Magic Cyborgs. The Dead Blood Guard. Thirty thousand soldiers with Black Ice Alloy bodies, whose base cultivation levels did not drop below the Origin Realm. They did not breathe, they did not blink, they felt no fear. They were a hive mind of destruction, waiting for a single order to march and reduce entire cities to rubble.
At the head of this steel ocean were the Praetorian Captains: Ancestor Feng-Wu and Ancestor Lian-Hua. After their immersion in the Origin Dragon Pond and Vexia's modifications, both cyborgs radiated the crushing power of a Peak Stage 2 Great Saint. Their metallic bodies emitted a dark glow that nullified the sunlight, and their soulless gazes were the wall against which any empire would crash. Beside them, the Four Original Guardians, now solidly established in the Saint Realm, maintained their positions with absolute stoicism.
In the shadows cast by the plaza's gigantic dragon statues, a hundred barely perceptible figures vibrated out of phase with reality. They were the Silent Shadows, led by Malak the Shinigami, whose Stage 7 Saint Realm aura was a well of gravitational terror that suffocated the light around him.
Atop the grand quartz staircase that dominated the plaza, the Deities of the family waited.
Samael Morningstar sat on the Sovereign's Throne, a massive structure of obsidian and void crystal. He wore an immaculate tunic of dark hues with purple dragon embroidery. His crimson-violet eyes observed his creation with a blood-chilling coldness and pride.
Beside him, on the Lotus Throne, Seraphina radiated the majesty of an icy deity. Her figure had reached a pinnacle of divine maturity; her hips, in a voluptuous inverted heart shape, and her chest of impeccable proportions, projected an aura of fertility and undeniable power that not even the silk of her tunic could hide. Her skin, now flawless, possessed the indestructible quality of White Immortality, and her silver hair contrasted with the stellar frost that perpetually floated around her, her mere presence stabilizing the immense energetic chaos of the plaza.
Just below them, on the command platform, stood the three women who upheld the empire's infrastructure.
Vexia, the Grand Marshal of the Void, wore a severe tactical officer's uniform inspired by the cut of a Victorian maid, with a perfectly starched white apron. The dark fabric stretched tightly over her heavy and prominent figure, revealing voluptuous curves that contrasted with her cold discipline. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back into a strict bun secured by needles that looked like daggers, and behind her runic crystal glasses shone ceaseless data streams. Beneath her white gloves, some of her fingers flashed with the coldness of divine metal.
A few steps away floated Sienna, the Maiden of the Infinite Mirror. Wrapped in a qipao of immaculate white silk that emitted a spectral light, she always walked barefoot, without her feet ever touching the stone. Her beauty was ethereal and ghostly, but her body, embraced by the silk, showed dominant curves of a generous cup and wide hips that projected an overwhelming physical presence. Her ink-black hair, cut straight at the jaw, framed the most terrifying part of her face: two eyes without irises or pupils, perfect silver mirrors that reflected the sins of anyone who looked at her. On her left wrist, a red thread with a small golden bell tinkled, being her only anchor to mortal reality.
And completing the triumvirate, Lilith Morningstar, the Ash Calamity. Her war tunic in smoky hues and deep scarlet clung to her majestic silhouette, highlighting a neckline of lethal harmony and dominant hips that perfectly combined her maternal instinct with the fire of destruction. Her hair, a white cascade with silver and reddish streaks, waved around her skin of ashen glow. Her dark red eyes brimmed with a thirst for war she had spent decades repressing.
However, amidst this monstrous congregation of power, death, and darkness, there was a contrast that defied all logic.
Running freely across the upper platform, completely oblivious to the spiritual pressure that would have liquefied the organs of any common cultivator, was Celeste. The two-year-old girl was laughing out loud, chasing a small floating anomaly: Kala, the Void Dragon hatchling, fluttering around her as if she were an ordinary pet instead of a destiny-devouring beast.
Celeste tripped and fell near the edge of the steps. In an instant, Dante's pupils contracted, and Kael took a half-step forward, ready to cross the space and catch her. But the little girl simply stood up, dusted off her little white dress, and hugged the void dragon, letting out a crystalline giggle that echoed in the deadly silence of the plaza.
Samael looked at her, and for a microsecond, the Sovereign's icy mask softened. That was the purpose of it all. That little girl who didn't understand massacres, sects, or blood, was the clan's anchor. Everyone present—the cyborgs, the assassins, the tortured geniuses, and the deities—were the demons willing to hold the sky and the world on their shoulders, willing to burn the nine continents, just to ensure she could continue playing in peace.
Samael stood up.
The moment the Sovereign stood, the thirty thousand cyborgs, the hundred shadows, the elders, and the Forty-Five Sequences planted a knee on the ground. The sound of thirty thousand metal armors hitting the obsidian was like the impact of a meteorite.
"Look up," Samael's voice was not a shout, but the Law of Space carried it directly into the mind of every being present, vibrating in their souls. "Almost a decade ago, the Morningstar name was a corpse rotting in exile. We were hunted, despised, and weak. We survived in the shadows because the light of the outer continent burned us."
Samael descended the first step. The pressure of his aura, now at the pinnacle of a Saint King, made the air as dense as mercury.
He looked at the Forty-Five Sequences. "You were the scum I scraped from the bottom of the barrel. You were humiliated, broken, and reduced to nothing. But for the last six years in the Mirror Labyrinth, you died a thousand deaths so you would never have to die in the real world. You are no longer fragile iron, but the steel that will cut the throats of the gods. I congratulate you. You have survived me. That means there is nothing beyond these walls that can kill you."
Kael and Dante's chests swelled with fierce pride. The Sequences clenched their fists, their draconic bloodlines vibrating with anticipation.
"But a group of strong assassins does not make an Empire," Samael continued, his eyes scanning the plaza. "The outer world is dominated by ancient sects, dynasties with infinite resources, and millions of soldiers. To crush them and take back what is ours, the Morningstar Clan must evolve. Today, we are no longer a hidden family. Today, I present the definitive military structure of our domain. The machinery that will split the sky. The Hammer of the Dawn."
Samael reached out his hand toward the platform, pointing to the figures flanking him.
"Force Zero. Supreme Command and the Deities. These are the wills that dictate the destiny of our wars. Grand Marshal Vexia, the absolute brain of our operations, who manages logistics and probability. Sienna, our jailer and master of realities. And protecting our core, fused with the veins of this very earth, the Crimson Void Eternal General, the Tectonic Guardian ensuring our Citadel is impregnable."
Samael turned to the woman with ash and fire hair. "And in charge of executing my will, the Third in Command. The Supreme Commander of the Siege Force and Black Ops: Lilith Morningstar. Under her authority will fall all extermination divisions. She is the calamity that will walk ahead of you."
Lilith stepped forward, striking her chest with a clenched fist. A blast of entropic heat swept the plaza, a silent oath of blood and ash.
"Force One: Black Ops and Extermination," Samael pointed at the vibrating shadows. "The Legion of Silent Shadows. Under the command of Malak the Shinigami. Their function is not open battle. It is psychological warfare, deep infiltration, high-value assassinations, and soul harvesting. They will operate under the Eclipse Veil. When an enemy sect believes it is safe in its palaces, Force One will ensure they wake up headless and hopeless."
Malak, from the shadows, slightly tilted his spectral scythe. Dante and Ren, from the ranks of the Void Sequences, exchanged a look of deep respect toward that invisible shock force.
"Force Two: Heavy Infantry," Samael pointed to the immense ocean of thirty thousand cyborgs. "The Dead Blood Guard. Commanded by Praetorian Captains Feng-Wu and Lian-Hua. They are our anvil. A divine alloy hive mind that knows no fear, doubt, or pain. They execute formations with zero seconds of delay. They are the absolute siege."
Samael paused, and the silence in the plaza became sepulchral.
"However," the Patriarch said, his voice dropping an octave, turning darker, "thirty thousand Origin-level bodies are just cannon fodder to a Great Saint. Our goal is for those thirty thousand to have Saint-level physiques, so that barely a thousand of them can dismember a Peak Stage 1 Great Saint. We lack resources, and we will take them from the corpses of our enemies. But in the meantime, I will not send my army to be massacred in vain. Vexia."
The Grand Marshal stepped forward. Her pale hands moved quickly over her holographic Codex. Runes of bloody red and ancient gold began to materialize in the air, floating above the army's heads. The runes emitted a pressure so ancient and tyrannical that even the Imperial Sequences felt a weight on their souls.
"What you see before you," Vexia spoke, her sibilant voice amplified by sound matrices, "is not a Divine or Imperial-Grade technique. It is a vestige of a Forgotten Era. A Primordial Legion Unification Scripture. The [Ancient Codex: Art of War of the Tyrant Dragon]."
Vexia adjusted her glasses, and a fanatical gleam illuminated her many eyes.
"The concept of this scripture is absolute: 'The World is the Dragon's Body; the Army is its Will.' It was created for a single sovereign to command millions of souls as if they were the fingers on his own hand. From today on, the Dead Blood Guard will abandon individual cultivation. Their entire existence will be sacrificed to feed a Higher War Entity."
The elders held their breath. Vexia moved a finger, and the runes expanded, displaying biological and spiritual diagrams.
"First Law: The Universal Dantian. The Tyrant's Network. The thirty thousand cyborgs will fuse their seas of energy into a single ocean of infinite Qi under the Patriarch's command. There will be no individual limits. A low-ranking soldier of our infantry will be able to draw Qi from the 'common pool' to launch Saint-level attacks. As long as a single member of this army is still standing, everyone will have energy. We will be able to besiege worlds for decades without exhaustion."
Kael Morningstar's eyes widened. The logistics behind that was heresy against all the rules of orthodox cultivation.
"Second Law: The Eternity Scale Body. Mass Indestructibility. Damage taken by an individual will be instantly diluted among the entirety of the army through ancient law threads. If an enemy Great Saint tries to disintegrate a battalion of a hundred of our soldiers, the impact of that blow will be distributed among the thirty thousand. An apocalyptic attack will become a simple, shared scratch. To kill just one of our soldiers, the enemy must have the brute power to kill all thirty thousand in a single strike."
A murmur of reverential terror rippled through the Void Sequences. Tormund, the Wall of Flesh, nodded with deep appreciation for that absolute defense.
"Third Law: The Manifestation of the Apocalypse Dragon." Vexia raised both hands, and an illusion of a colossal dragon, formed by thousands of screaming souls, appeared in the air. "Our legion will be able to materialize a physical avatar made of their combined will and war Qi. It is not an illusion. It is an Ancient-Grade being possessing its own Killing Intent, capable of devouring the luck of enemy empires and collapsing the Dragon Veins of entire continents with just the shockwave of its roar."
Vexia lowered her hands, looking directly at the Praetorian Captains.
"And the Fourth Law, the most important for our evolution: The Assimilation of the Fallen. Every enemy killed by the Dead Blood Guard will be 'digested' by the Codex. Their blood, their soul, and their cultivation will be absorbed by the Art of War. Our army will feed on corpses. The bloodier the war, the faster each cyborg will level up, transforming the battle of attrition into our stairway to divinity. They will train this technique to perfection before marching."
Vexia bowed to Samael and stepped back. The revelation of the technique had left everyone present with the certainty that the outer continent was about to face a biological apocalypse.
Samael spoke again, his voice cutting through the audience's awe.
"For this Hammer to strike without breaking, it needs a strong arm to wield it. An empire does not survive solely on assassins and zombies. It needs infrastructure, economy, research, and relentless intelligence. Therefore, today I found the Three Branches of the Morningstar Empire."
The Patriarch looked toward a specific group of his geniuses.
"First Branch: The Crucible of the Dawn. It will be the heart of our research, alchemy, forging, matrices, and life creation. War requires resources. This branch will manufacture the Black Ice Alloy, distill our cultivation pills, and design the weapons that will break the world."
Samael began naming the leaders with unwavering authority. "Livia, Elowen, Lys. You will lead the medical and healing talisman division. Cedric, Iris. You will be the Matrix Masters. Your first task will be to implement the [Art of the Ten Thousand Mirrors Formation], a Mythical-Grade technique that will hide our citadel beneath ten thousand superimposed layers of reality and spatial labyrinths that will return any massive attack to the sender. Cedric... I grant you the [Eye of Architectural Truth]. With it, you will see the source code of any formation or physical body, allowing you to dismantle millennial barriers with a single touch."
Cedric knelt, trembling at the magnitude of the divine gift he had just received.
"Marcus, Xylia. In charge of the Forge and Occult Research." Samael looked at Xylia knowingly, aware that her knowledge as a former Empress of a higher domain would accelerate their technology by millennia. "Tamsin, Jareth, Mira. Your domain will be the Poison Hall; I want toxins that can rot the Qi of a Great Saint and the antidotes to immunize our troops. Vorian, you will be in charge of taming and breeding war monsters."
Finally, Samael looked at the Mechanical Necromancer. "Orion. You will be the Master of Automatons. You will initiate production under the [Divine Blueprint: War God Golems – Orion Model]. You will create evolutionary automatons with Singularity Cores that will cultivate on their own, operate as a Hive Mind, and know no mercy. Your workshop will be the forge of our replacement army."
Orion smiled, a twisted and sadistic grin, imagining the mechanical atrocities he was going to assemble from the corpses of his enemies.
"Second Branch: The Eyes of the Void," Samael turned his gaze to the darkest shadows in his ranks. "Espionage, Economy, and Intelligence. Malak kills, but you will find the throats. You will infiltrate as servants, merchants, and nobles into every sect and dynasty on the continent. You will manipulate auctions, purchase vital resources, and destabilize kingdoms from the shadows before our infantry even steps foot on their lands."
Sela, Elara, Thalassa, Darius, Lyra, Altair, Ren, Joren, and Dante stepped forward and knelt in unison.
"You will be assigned five thousand camouflaged Magic Cyborgs to establish our network in the continent's underworld," the Patriarch ordered. "By the time we declare war, the enemy must already be financially broken and tactically blind. You will be the poison in the Saints' teacup."
Samael walked to the edge of the stairs, his presence encompassing every soul in the plaza.
"Third and Final Branch: The Scarlet Inquisition. The branch of Internal Affairs and Absolute Discipline. With the imminent conquest of territories, thousands of outer disciples, servants, and vassals will arrive. But listen to me well, because this is the Supreme Law of Blood: Only those through whose veins Morningstar blood flows will be part of the inner circle. Only the family will know our secrets."
Samael's tone became so cold that the temperature in the plaza dropped drastically.
"Any subjugated sect, any royal family that surrenders to us, will be a mere worker. They will receive our protection, they will live under our sky, but they will never be part of us. The Inquisition will judge treasons, purge infiltrators, and ensure that no one breathes a single word about our true strength to the outside world. He who betrays the Dawn will feed the Origin Pond."
Samael Morningstar raised his hand, and the silence in the Realm of the Eternal Dawn was absolute. The Forty-Five Sequences, the cyborgs, the Shadows, and the Elders felt as if history itself were holding its breath. They were no longer hidden survivors. They were a monstrous, perfectly oiled structure designed to devour the current era.
"You have your structure. You have your laws. And you have my power backing your every step," Samael said, a predatory smile appearing on his face. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow... we will open the gates of this world. Our first stop is the Broken Mountain Range. There is a Fallen Saint's Tomb that the hypocrites of the orthodox world claim as their own."
In that instant, waves of gravitational distortion began to emanate from Samael's outstretched hand. The air around him grew dense and suffocatingly cold. Small spatial cracks, like threads of broken glass, formed in reality as the Odachi Kurohime, the Princess in her Night Sarcophagus, materialized.
Its scabbard, the Devouring Twilight, was a physical void; a black slit in space coated with a texture of charred dragon scales that seemed to pulse very slowly. Staring at it sucked the vision, causing uncontrollable dizziness. Between the scabbard and the hilt, a leak of necrotic energy in the form of black smoke dripped to the ground, disappearing before touching it, betraying the murderous hunger contained within the weapon.
The sword's handle, wrapped in funereal silk, absorbed sweat and turned it into cold steam, and was protected by a handguard in the shape of a fractal obsidian snowflake. When Samael closed his hand over the hilt, the runes on the scabbard lit up in a violent crimson red. The sword vibrated, emitting a sound that was not metallic, but the maddening whisper of a thousand female voices begging for blood.
"We are going to teach them," Samael whispered, and his voice echoed in the bones of every member of the empire, "who truly owns death. Break formation."
The unison roar of "FOR THE ETERNAL DAWN!" made the dome's artificial stars tremble, announcing to destiny that the dragons had awakened, and the world was about to burn.