The sky above the battlefield looked like a broken mirror. Light split into thin colors, then snapped back into darkness. The Court's dome still covered the ruins like a cold shell, and inside it, every breath felt watched.
At the center, Drakonix's cocoon shook again. A crack ran across it like a lightning line, and a thin prismatic flame leaked out. It did not burn like normal fire. It burned like truth. It made the air tremble.
Zhen stood beside the cocoon like a golden tower. His Imperial Shield Matrix was already active, and the dome around them was no longer a simple wall. It moved with them, sliding like a fortress that could walk. Every time the Court's pressure pushed inward, Zhen's second layer answered with a quiet pulse, as if saying: Denied.
Qi Shan Wei stood in front of them, calm as a mountain in a storm. His robe was torn, his hair was loose from battle, yet his eyes did not shake. He looked toward the Court platform, where the judges floated on layered jade rings.
A long scroll of light opened in the air. It was not paper. It was law.
The Court elder's voice spread through the dome. "The Six Consort Threads will be audited."
Six thin lights appeared, each one like a thread pulled from a star. They hovered above the platform and slowly turned, showing their cuts, knots, locks, and scars.
The crowd of watchers outside the dome went silent. Even arrogant geniuses held their breath. The name "Consort Threads" was not a romance word to them. It was a fate word. It meant destiny lines. It meant the heavens could decide who belonged to whom.
The elder pointed, and the first thread flashed.
"One thread was severed by force."
The second thread flickered.
"One thread was locked by a seal that does not belong to this era."
The third thread shook like it was afraid.
"One thread was stolen across cycles."
The fourth thread was not broken, but it looked thin, like it had been drained.
"One thread was leeched."
The fifth thread was tied into a knot made of shadow.
"One thread was masked."
The sixth thread was the worst. It looked… wrong. Like it had been rewoven.
"One thread was rewritten."
The elder's gaze moved to Qi Shan Wei. "These threads circle one man. Qi Shan Wei. If the Court confirms the threads are 'lost,' he will be judged as a destabilizing obsession."
A sharp sound rang out.
Not a gong. Not a drum.
A bell.
A small bell.
A monk stepped forward from the Court's side. His robe was plain. His face was calm. His eyes were empty like still water.
On his chest hung a silver bell, no bigger than a thumb. Yet the sound it made felt heavier than mountains.
"The Silent Bell Monastery has reviewed the Court's concern," the monk said. "If Consort Threads are proven missing, we advise… early execution."
Outside the dome, people finally dared to whisper. The words "Silent Bell" spread like poison. Some cultivators bowed without thinking. Others looked away, afraid their eyes might offend.
Ling Xueyao took one slow step forward.
Her face was pale. Her breath was steady, but the space around her still carried "frozen law" scars—thin lines in the air that glittered like broken moonlight. Every time she moved, the scars cracked and healed again.
She looked at the threads, then at Qi Shan Wei.
There was pain in her eyes, but also something else. Something deeper. Like her heart was waking up and did not know how to stop.
Qi Shan Wei did not turn to comfort her with words. He simply lifted his hand, and a small formation pattern appeared beside her, like a quiet shield made of prismatic lines.
It did not shout. It did not flash.
It just protected her, automatically.
Ling Xueyao's eyes softened for half a breath.
Then the world tried to kill them.
A ripple moved through the crowd outside the dome, and for a moment, even Zhen's sensors paused. It was not because the threat was strong.
It was because the threat was clean.
A person in a mask stepped into view as if they had always been there. The mask was white and smooth, with a thin smile carved into it. Their clothing was plain, and that was the scariest part. No sect badge. No aura pride. No visible greed.
Only a contract seal glowing on their wrist.
The masked assassin spoke in a voice that did not rise or fall. "The Thousand Masks Pavilion activates Clause Nine."
A black line of text appeared in the air, written in sharp symbols.
Kill without karmic debt.
The Court elders' eyes narrowed.
Even the Silent Bell monk's fingers twitched, just slightly.
Karmic debt was the chain that punished killers. It was what the heavens used to pull murderers into bad endings.
This clause was not power.
It was permission.
Permission to murder inside the Court's sight… without the Court being allowed to answer.
The assassin lifted a hand.
A thin needle of shadow flew straight at Qi Shan Wei's throat.
It was too fast. Too clean. Too certain.
Zhen moved first.
His arm rose, and the Imperial Shield Matrix shifted like a living wall. The needle struck the shield and vanished into a layer that swallowed force without sound.
The assassin did not react with surprise. They simply moved again.
Three needles this time.
One at Qi Shan Wei's chest.
One at Ling Xueyao's heart.
One at Drakonix's cocoon.
The third needle made Qi Shan Wei's eyes sharpen.
He did not move like a panicked man. He moved like an emperor choosing where the world would break.
His Heavenpiercer Ruler turned slightly in his hand.
A single prismatic line cut through the air—not a wide slash, not a loud attack.
Just a clean severing.
The needles aimed at Ling Xueyao and the cocoon snapped apart mid-flight. Their "permission" line was cut, as if the attack had lost the right to exist.
The needle aimed at Qi Shan Wei still moved.
Because it was aimed at him.
And the heavens were always willing to watch him bleed.
Zhen's shield caught it again.
Qi Shan Wei's voice was calm. "Zhen. Hold second layer. Lock the dome's floor. Do not let the assassin touch the cocoon."
Zhen answered with his usual blunt timing. "Understood. If they touch, I will remove their arms."
This was not a joke. But the way he said it—flat and simple—made a few people outside the dome shiver like children.
The assassin slid sideways, like a shadow stepping through cracks.
The Court elders raised their hands to suppress, but the black contract text pulsed again.
The elders stopped.
They could judge. They could watch. But their law could not strike first.
The Silent Bell monk spoke softly. "The Pavilion thinks it is clever."
The assassin's mask tilted toward the monk. "Clever is alive."
Then they vanished.
Not into speed.
Into absence.
Qi Shan Wei's eyes narrowed. He did not chase blindly. He did not swing wildly.
He reached into his sleeve and took out something small: a simple bronze disc.
Outside the dome, someone laughed quietly. "A low-grade formation disc?"
The laugh died instantly when the disc activated.
A grid of light spread across the ground—soft, smooth, and silent.
The World-Grid Early Warning Formation.
It was sold across cities as a "simple detection tool." A public export. A "foundational-grade" design.
But inside the Court dome, it did something the world had never seen.
It did not search for qi.
It searched for intent.
The grid lit up in a single spot behind Qi Shan Wei.
The assassin appeared mid-step, their cloak half-out of nothingness, as if reality had grabbed their ankle.
Their mask turned sharply.
For the first time, their voice showed emotion. "That should not—"
Qi Shan Wei did not answer.
His Heavenpiercer Ruler moved in a short arc.
Not to kill.
To trap.
A prismatic formation snapped into place around the assassin like a cage made of thin light lines. The lines were so fine they looked gentle.
Then the assassin tried to move.
And their bones sang in pain.
The cage was not crushing power.
It was crushing pathways.
Every step they tried to take was severed.
The assassin hissed, then raised their wrist.
The contract seal flared.
"Clause Nine," they whispered. "Kill without karmic debt."
The seal tried to expand, trying to wash over the cage like a black tide.
That was when Drakonix's cocoon cracked wide.
A single wing punched out—not a full body, not a full rise.
Just one wing.
Prismatic. Vast. Sharp-edged like a blade made of light.
The wing spread, and prismatic flame poured out.
The flame touched the black contract text.
And the text burned.
It did not resist. It did not explode. It simply… stopped being real.
The assassin froze.
The Court elders leaned forward, eyes wide.
The Silent Bell monk's empty eyes finally showed a thin ripple.
"A flame that burns contracts," he said.
From the cocoon, Drakonix's voice came out rough, half-awake, proud even in pain. "Mine."
Then, like a sacred menace who still had time to be jealous, his wing flexed toward Ling Xueyao's direction as if warning her to keep her distance from his human.
Ling Xueyao did not laugh. She just looked at the cocoon, then at Qi Shan Wei, then away again, cheeks cold, eyes sharper.
The assassin trembled as their contract vanished. "Impossible… the Pavilion promised—"
Qi Shan Wei finally spoke, quiet and heavy. "Promises are also contracts."
He lifted two fingers.
A second disc appeared, even more plain.
The Heaven-Step Severing Formation.
It was sold as "area control." A public war tool.
Inside the dome, it unfolded like a ruler's decree.
Space hardened.
Escape paths died.
The assassin tried to slip away, but every shadow road became a wall.
They fell to one knee, forced down by invisible pressure.
They looked up at Qi Shan Wei.
"If you kill me," the assassin whispered, "the Court—"
"I do not need to kill you," Qi Shan Wei said. "I only need to show the Court what you are."
He turned his head slightly.
"Silent Bell envoy," he said. "You warned execution. Now you can witness who wants my death."
The monk lifted his small bell.
The bell rang once.
Time slowed for half a breath.
In that frozen heartbeat, the air itself seemed to listen.
The bell's sound touched the assassin.
The assassin's mask cracked.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
A hidden symbol underneath flashed—an old mark, buried deep.
The Court elder's eyes widened. "That mark… is not only Thousand Masks."
The elder's voice lowered. "It carries a time seal."
The Silent Bell monk whispered, almost to himself. "So even the Pavilion is being used."
Qi Shan Wei's gaze sharpened. "Used by who?"
The monk did not answer right away.
Instead, the Court scroll of law shifted again.
The Six Consort Threads trembled.
And then the Court spoke a sealed name, slowly, like opening a coffin.
"SILENT BELL MONASTERY."
The moment those words were spoken, something inside the dome reacted.
Not the crowd.
Not the Court.
Not even the assassin.
The Heart.
A deep prismatic beat echoed from inside Qi Shan Wei's chest, like a second heart waking up under the first.
The air shook.
Ling Xueyao's frozen law scars lit up.
Zhen's shield matrix flickered once, as if it had been struck by a sound too old to block.
Drakonix's wing trembled, and a snarl crawled out of the cocoon.
The Silent Bell monk's bell rang again—by itself this time.
The sound was not a warning.
It was a receipt.
A thin silver line appeared in front of Qi Shan Wei, written in ancient prismatic script.
It was not a normal contract.
It was a time-debt ledger.
Qi Shan Wei read it in one glance.
His eyes did not widen. His face did not change.
Only the air around him became colder.
Because the ledger did not show money.
It showed something worse.
It showed names.
And at the top of the list was a name that was not "Qi Shan Wei."
It was longer.
Older.
And it pulsed like a sealed blade.
The Silent Bell monk finally spoke, voice soft and deadly.
"Returning Prismatic One," he said, "your debt has been found."
The bell rang.
The dome's light dimmed.
And somewhere far beyond the Court's sky, a second bell answered—so deep and vast that the world itself felt like it was kneeling.
Qi Shan Wei lifted his Heavenpiercer Ruler, calm as ever.
But his voice dropped into a tone that made even the Court elders feel nervous.
"Then come," he said. "And collect it."
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
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