The sky didn't tear like cloth.
It tore like law being rewritten.
A pale-gold seam opened above the ridgeline—silent, clean, merciless—spilling celestial light into the mortal world as if the heavens had finally decided the ground below was filthy enough to disinfect.
Xueya's Lunar Frost Domain flickered instinctively. The air hardened. The temperature dropped. Yet even her moon felt… small, like a lantern raised against a sun.
Jin Wei's runes brightened along his Runic Heart-Plate, forming defensive patterns without being asked.
The Empress fell to her knees, fingers digging into the stone.
Drakonix's Trial Realm doorway—sealed behind them—shuddered once, as if something inside sensed the same descent and roared back through blood.
And the Silent Bell monk stood calmly at the edge of it all, hands folded, face gentle.
As if he'd just invited a storm to tea.
Shan Wei rolled his sleeve up fully.
The heavenly brand blazed on his forearm—circle, seven lines, crimson dot—pulsing like a verdict that refused to stay silent.
He lifted his gaze into the crack in the sky.
"Show yourselves."
The seam widened.
And the Tribunal answered.
1. The First Wave: Enforcers of the Heavenly Tribunal
They descended not as falling meteors, not as dramatic cavalry—
but as figures stepping down invisible stairs made of condensed law.
One after another.
Seven… twelve… more.
White robes edged with pale gold. Script-bracelets orbiting their wrists. Faces too still, eyes too clear, as if emotion was a mortal disease they'd burned out long ago.
At their front walked three.
Not leaders—something worse.
Judges.
Each wore a different mark on their chest:
A Mirror Sigil that reflected all aura signatures.
A Chain Sigil that radiated binding law.
A Quill Sigil that dripped living script like ink.
The one with the Quill Sigil spoke first, voice flat and absolute.
"Paradox Entity confirmed."
The Chain Sigil judge looked down at the land, as if measuring how much of it needed to be erased to correct the mistake standing upon it.
"Kill the beast."
The Mirror Sigil judge lifted his gaze—straight to Shan Wei's exposed brand.
"Capture the bearer."
Xueya's sword scraped half an inch out of its sheath.
"No."
Her voice was cold enough to fracture stone.
"You will not touch him."
The Mirror Sigil judge turned his eyes to her lunar moon and paused—ever so slightly.
"A mortal frost cultivator freezing law-energy."
He sounded almost curious.
Then the Quill Sigil judge lifted one finger.
A strand of glowing script spilled into the air, forming a rotating device—sleek, precise, unnatural.
A Karmic Signature Scanner.
The Empress gasped, eyes wide with terror.
"Those—those are not mortal tools… they read sins, destiny, and future echoes…"
Shan Wei's internal monologue sharpened.
So even their 'technology' is law-based.Canon. Fate-karmic lists. Scanners. They're not guessing anymore.They're measuring.
The scanner pulsed.
The brand flared.
The crimson dot beat once—
and a thin beam of pale gold snapped toward Shan Wei like a leash finding its collar.
Jin Wei moved.
His Runic Heart-Plate roared to life.
A barrier snapped into existence, intercepting the beam.
The beam bent, hissed, then tried to pierce again.
Jin Wei's voice boomed, steady and loyal:
"MASTER TARGETED.DEFENSE: ENGAGED."
The Chain Sigil judge's eyes narrowed.
"A puppet."
Then—quietly, like an insult—
"Remove it."
2. Time Turns Sharp: The Monk Freezes the World Again
The Silent Bell monk lifted his wrist.
The bell chimed once.
Doooom.
The world… paused.
Not fully frozen this time.
Not still like a picture.
It became thick—as if every movement had to push through syrup made of time.
The Tribunal enforcers slowed mid-step, their robes drifting as if caught in deep water.
Xueya felt her moon's edge vibrate as time pressed against it.
Shan Wei could still move.
Barely.
Because the brand burned like a paradox anchor, resisting the flow.
He turned his head slowly toward the monk.
"You did this."
The monk's gaze stayed kind.
"I did."
"Why?" Shan Wei's voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.
The monk's answer was gentle enough to hurt.
"Because if you die before your fate stabilizes… the river of time becomes uglier."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
"So you accelerated the countdown to zero to force this confrontation now."
The monk didn't deny it.
"I wanted to see if you would run."
"And?" Shan Wei asked.
The monk's smile faded into solemnity.
"You did not."
That wasn't praise.
It was a diagnosis.
Then the monk's eyes flicked briefly to the heavens' crack, to the descending enforcers.
"I will give you one gift," he whispered.
"One breath of time… thinner than the rest."
Shan Wei felt it—a pocket of looseness, a narrow window where motion became possible.
The monk's bell did not ring again.
But the world gave Shan Wei permission to act.
Shan Wei inhaled once.
"Xueya," he said, voice calm as ice. "Freeze the reporting routes. Not their bodies."
Xueya's eyes sharpened.
She understood instantly.
"Jin Wei," Shan Wei continued, "shield line forward. Don't chase—hold."
Jin Wei stepped in front of them like a golden wall.
"And me," Shan Wei whispered to himself.
I weaponize the brand.
He raised his branded arm.
Prismatic flame crawled over it—not burning flesh, but layering microscopic formation glyphs into the skin's surface, rewriting how the brand's pulse leaked into the world.
A prismatic language, born in a heartbeat.
A lie written inside truth.
3. The First Clash: When Heaven Touches Earth
Time snapped back.
The Tribunal enforcers moved in a synchronized wave, like a tide of white blades.
The Chain Sigil judge lifted both hands.
A chain formed—not metal, not qi—
law-chains, etched with heavenly script.
They shot toward Shan Wei, not aimed at his limbs.
Aimed at his meridians.
To bind his cultivation foundation.
Xueya's Lunar Frost Domain expanded.
She reached upward and froze the air where the chains would "decide" to exist.
The chains slowed, resisted, then pushed through—because heavenly law was stubborn.
Xueya's lips parted.
Blood threatened her throat.
She forced her domain tighter.
Not bigger.
Sharper.
"Freeze," she whispered.
For one breath—
the chains stalled.
Jin Wei slammed his fist into the ground.
A Runic Shield Wall erupted, layered barriers stacking like interlocking plates.
The chains struck.
The first barrier cracked.
The second bent.
The third held.
Jin Wei's runes flared, auto-correcting damage.
Then the Mirror Sigil judge stepped forward and spoke a single word:
"Reflect."
A pulse rippled outward.
The shield wall shimmered—
and suddenly the force of the chains tried to rebound back onto Jin Wei.
A trap.
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
They're not just strong. They're elegant.
He moved.
Heavenstep Flash—
seven micro-directions, one real.
He appeared beside Jin Wei and pressed two fingers to the shield wall's rune seam.
A prismatic glyph flashed.
MIRROR-INVERT.
The reflected force didn't bounce back to Jin Wei.
It folded sideways—
and slammed into the ridge behind the Tribunal line, carving a crater.
The Mirror Sigil judge's expression shifted by a fraction.
"…He is writing new script."
The Quill Sigil judge's gaze sharpened.
"Anomalous."
Then the Quill judge lifted his hand.
A rain of tiny, ink-like script fell from the sky—each glyph a micro-judgment that sought targets.
They didn't explode.
They labeled.
Once labeled, a being could be erased easier.
The Empress screamed softly.
"Those are Verdict Dots!"
Shan Wei's sleeve fluttered.
The brand pulsed.
The verdict-rain curved toward him.
Xueya tried to freeze them, but there were too many.
Shan Wei raised his branded arm—
and let the brand pulse outward.
But not as a beacon.
As a spear.
A burst of prismatic resonance shot upward, meeting the falling glyphs and swallowing them into a vortex of colored light.
For a second, it looked like Shan Wei had consumed heaven's judgment.
Then he snapped his wrist.
The vortex reversed direction.
The verdict-rain scattered—back toward the Tribunal line.
The Quill Sigil judge's eyes widened.
He lifted his sleeve to protect his chest.
Too late.
Three Verdict Dots struck the enforcer ranks.
They didn't kill.
They branded.
And the Tribunal line—perfect, synchronized—hesitated for half a breath.
Because they were not used to being labeled by their own tools.
Shan Wei's voice was calm.
"I told you," he said quietly. "I'll make you pay attention to the wrong things."
4. The Moon-Masked Girl Arrives
A shadow moved where there should have been no shadow—
inside the pale-gold light.
A silhouette slipped between two Tribunal enforcers like smoke through armor gaps.
A whisper.
A flash of steel.
One enforcer staggered as a thin strip of script was sliced from his wrist-bracelet—cleanly, surgically.
The bracketed script fell like severed jewelry.
The enforcer froze, confused, as his law-connection flickered.
Then a figure appeared atop a stone spire beside Shan Wei, balanced effortlessly as if gravity was optional.
A girl.
Slim. Dark robes. A moon-shaped mask—half crescent, half full—covering her face.
Her voice was playful velvet.
"Wow."
She tilted her head, watching Shan Wei like he was a rare treasure and a problem in one.
"You really are expensive."
Xueya's sword snapped toward her throat instantly.
"Who are you?"
The girl didn't flinch.
She stared at Xueya's lunar moon with amused interest.
"Frost Star Fairy," she purred. "Your moon is pretty."
Xueya's eyes narrowed.
"And you're standing too close to him."
The girl's mask turned toward Shan Wei.
"Close?" she repeated, teasing. "I'm practically in his shadow. That's polite."
Drakonix wasn't here to growl—locked in his Trial Realm—but Jin Wei stepped half a pace forward, barrier runes flickering.
"UNIDENTIFIED THREAT."
The girl lifted both hands, exaggerated innocence.
"I didn't come to steal him."
Then, softly, like a secret:
"Not today."
Shan Wei's gaze locked on her.
He recognized the aura pattern—twisted, layered, disguised.
Thousand Masks.
But different from the assassins.
More… personal.
"You're not part of the harvest team," Shan Wei said.
The moon-masked girl chuckled.
"No. Those are amateurs."
She leaned forward slightly.
"I'm here because the Silent Bell rang… and because heaven opened a crack… and because you have the most interesting brand I've seen in a century."
Xueya's voice was ice.
"Leave."
The girl sighed dramatically.
"I would… but if I leave, these heavenly dolls might actually catch you." She pointed lazily at the Quill Sigil judge.
"And that would be terrible for business."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
"So you want to profit."
The girl's mask tilted.
"I want to choose what I profit from."
Then her voice lowered—dangerous now.
"And I don't like the Tribunal buying everything."
She flicked her fingers.
A shadow spike shot toward a Tribunal enforcer's ankle, pinning him long enough for Jin Wei's shield wall to slam him back.
The Quill Sigil judge's gaze snapped toward her.
"Thousand Masks."
The moon-masked girl bowed politely.
"At your service," she said, voice sweet. "But not today."
Xueya's grip tightened.
Shan Wei's internal monologue snapped into focus.
This is her.The one tied to the Thousand Masks Pavilion.The shadow moon.The moon-masked girl the chapter has been circling around.
A new piece on the board.
And it arrived during the worst possible moment.
Which made it… perfect.
5. The Tribunal Shows Its Real Weapon: Anti-Cultivator Judgment
The Chain Sigil judge stepped forward and raised both hands.
The air grew heavy.
The ground's spiritual veins trembled.
Then he spoke in a voice that wasn't his.
A voice that sounded like thousands of judges chanting as one.
"ANTI-CULTIVATOR WEAPON: DAO FOUNDATION CLEANSING."
A spear of pale-gold light formed above his palms.
Not aimed at Shan Wei's body.
Aimed at his Dao root.
If it struck, it wouldn't kill him.
It would reduce him to a mortal—strip cultivation, shatter meridians, erase comprehension.
A living death.
The Empress screamed.
"That's a Foundation Breaker!"
Xueya's Lunar Frost Domain surged, trying to freeze the spear.
The spear didn't slow.
It was law itself.
Jin Wei moved—shield wall forward.
The spear pierced the first barrier like paper.
Second barrier cracked instantly.
Third barrier buckled.
Jin Wei's runes screamed.
The spear kept coming.
Shan Wei didn't panic.
He didn't run.
He did what the heavens feared:
He thought.
It targets foundation. Not body.So I don't block it with body.I redirect its judgment.
He raised his branded arm.
Prismatic glyphs flared.
PARADOX VERDICT ARRAY.
He forced the brand to pulse—not outward as a beacon, but inward as a converter—turning the spear's "foundation cleansing" directive into a loop of contradictory instructions.
For a fraction of a second—
the spear hesitated.
Confused by paradox.
Shan Wei used that instant.
He stepped sideways, palm slicing through the air.
"Void Pulse."
The shockwave didn't hit the spear.
It hit the space beneath it—tilting the vector.
The spear's trajectory bent—
and slammed into the ground beside Shan Wei.
The earth did not explode.
It emptied.
A circular zone of dead spiritual space formed—silent, gray, cultivation-less.
A scar.
A warning.
Xueya's eyes widened.
"That would have—"
Shan Wei's voice remained calm.
"Yes."
He looked at the Chain Sigil judge.
"Try again."
The judge's eyes narrowed.
"Anomaly confirmed."
The Quill Sigil judge's script-bracelets spun faster.
"Escalate to true name verification."
Shan Wei's blood cooled.
The monk's bell chimed faintly—almost apologetic.
Doooom.
Not a freeze this time.
A countdown.
6. Drakonix's Trial Realm Shakes
A tremor rippled through the ground.
Not from the Tribunal's spear.
From somewhere deeper.
From inside blood.
The sealed doorway to Drakonix's Trial Realm pulsed violently, prismatic light leaking from its edges like a struggling heartbeat.
Xueya glanced at it, breath tight.
"He's fighting something."
Shan Wei felt it through their resonance thread.
Drakonix's pain.Drakonix's fury.Drakonix's refusal to kneel.
Brother… I won't submit…I won't…
The Trial Realm's roar echoed faintly through the air—unheard by mortals, but heard by blood.
The Chain Sigil judge turned his head slightly toward the sealed door.
"Bloodline disturbance."
The Mirror Sigil judge's gaze sharpened greedily.
"Open it."
The moon-masked girl's voice turned sharp.
"Don't."
Shan Wei's eyes narrowed.
If they opened that door now, they wouldn't just fight Tribunal.
They'd fight Drakonix's ancestry spilling out uncontrolled.
And Drakonix—mid-trial—could be broken.
Shan Wei's leadership hardened.
"Jin Wei," he said. "Anchor the door. Do not let them touch it."
Jin Wei stepped to the Trial door, placing his palm against it.
Runes spread like golden vines, stabilizing.
"ANCHOR ENGAGED."
Xueya moved beside Shan Wei, lunar moon brightening.
Her voice was quiet.
"If they push me far enough…"
Shan Wei looked at her.
"I know."
Xueya's eyes trembled with resolve.
"…My Forbidden Awakening tried to show me a frozen dead star."
Shan Wei's voice softened.
"Not today."
Then his eyes sharpened again.
"But if it comes… I'll be the one to pull you back."
Xueya swallowed hard and nodded—trust tightening like a bond.
The moon-masked girl watched them, mask tilted, amused and… almost jealous.
"Aww," she murmured. "Loyalty. Disgusting."
Xueya's glare could have killed.
"Say one more word."
The girl chuckled.
"I like her," she whispered to Shan Wei. "She'd stab me."
Shan Wei didn't respond.
Because the Quill Sigil judge lifted his hand—and the air screamed with script.
7. The Heavens Try to Speak His Name
The Quill Sigil judge pointed at Shan Wei.
A ring of living script formed around Shan Wei's branded arm, rotating like a halo.
The brand burned.
Shan Wei's teeth clenched.
He felt something trying to pull information from his soul.
Not memories.
Not thoughts.
Identity.
A name older than this life.
The Quill Sigil judge's voice became layered, chanting through the script.
"True Name Verification… begin."
Xueya surged forward, Lunar Frost Domain biting into the script ring.
The script resisted.
Jin Wei tried to raise a barrier.
The script slipped through it—because it wasn't an attack.
It was a declaration.
The moon-masked girl's shadow flared. She flicked her dagger, slicing at the script ring—
and her blade passed through, useless.
Her voice turned serious for the first time.
"That's not cuttable."
The monk's eyes softened—sad again.
"You cannot stop a name once the heavens decide to speak it."
Shan Wei's gaze snapped to the monk.
"Then why are you here?"
The monk's voice was quiet.
"To see what you do when the heavens speak."
The script ring tightened.
Shan Wei's brand blazed.
His veins lit with prismatic energy.
He felt the half-erased syllables clawing up from somewhere deep:
祁…玄…赤…
The sky above them—still cracked—began to pulse in response.
As if the heavens recognized the name and prepared to answer it.
Xueya's voice cracked with strain.
"Shan Wei—fight it!"
Shan Wei's internal monologue was a storm.
If my true name is spoken… the heart below will hear.The Tribunal will hear.The Silent Bell will record it.And the world will rewrite itself around that identity.
So I do what I always do.
I refuse the script.
He raised his branded arm and pressed his palm against the rotating ring of heaven-script.
Prismatic flame erupted—not outward, but inward—into the ring's structure.
He injected his own glyph language.
A single concept.
A single command.
DENY.
The ring trembled.
The Quill Sigil judge's eyes widened slightly.
"Impossible."
Shan Wei's voice was low, steady, terrifyingly calm.
"I am not your record."
He pushed.
The ring cracked.
Script splintered into drifting fragments.
For a fraction of a breath, it looked like Shan Wei had shattered heaven's attempt to name him.
Then the Quill Sigil judge spoke one word, cold and absolute:
"Override."
The fragments snapped back together—
and the heavens spoke.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
But enough.
A voice rolled from the crack in the sky—deep, ancient, indifferent.
It pronounced the half-erased name like a verdict:
"祁…玄…"
The world shook.
Xueya's lunar moon flickered violently.
Jin Wei's runes screamed.
The Empress screamed aloud, collapsing.
The Trial Realm door behind them blazed.
Drakonix's roar erupted from within like a star being born.
And above Shan Wei's arm—
the heavenly brand surged, expanding in a burst of pale gold and crimson—
until it looked like a second seal was being written over his skin.
Shan Wei's eyes widened.
Because he felt it.
The sky was not just speaking his name.
The sky was answering it.
A new mark formed midair above him—massive, rotating, alive.
A sigil shaped like an eye… and a crown.
The Tribunal enforcers bowed instinctively.
The monk's gaze turned solemn.
The moon-masked girl went still.
And the voice from above—no longer flat—carried a hint of recognition.
A hint of hunger.
A hint of ancient memory.
"Returning…" it whispered.
Then, as the sky's crack widened into a blinding wound—
a presence began to descend that made even the Tribunal judges feel small.
Shan Wei's heart pounded once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
He lifted his chin into the descending light and smiled—slow, fearless, and dangerous.
"Good," he whispered.
"Let the heavens come closer."
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.