Chapter 148: The Eye of Destiny and the Awakening of Calamities
The runic sun of the newly forged Realm of the Eternal Dawn was at its perfect zenith, bathing the floating continents and islands in a pure, golden light. It was not an ordinary light; it did not cast deceitful shadows over the marble, but revealed absolute truths.
In the immense Plaza of Origin, the silence was total, heavy, and reverential. A thousand souls, the survivors forged in the carnage of the Purple Light Sect, held their breath. Their eyes were fixed on the upper dais, where the pinnacle of their devotion rested.
Samael Morningstar, seated on his obsidian throne with the Imperial Armor of the Void Dragon absorbing the light around him, did not look at the crowd with human eyes. His pupils had dilated until they almost disappeared, being replaced by two immense violet and crimson vortexes that slowly spun counterclockwise, containing entire constellations within them.
[Divine Skill Activated: Eye of Destiny (Grade: Forbidden)]
To the Primordial Sovereign, the physical, material, and banal world vanished completely. He no longer saw bruised flesh, broken bones, or the bloodstained gray tunics of his infantry. He saw the threads of the universe. He saw Causes and Effects. He saw the very destiny of his disciples manifested as pillars and columns of metaphysical light rising from their heads toward the indigo firmament.
The System's classification was absolute and undeniable.
The vast majority of the soldiers who formed his phalanxes possessed columns of light of a brilliant but static White color (Mortal Destiny). They were common warriors, without martial talent granted by the heavens. They were loyal to the bone, useful for sustaining the clan's foundations, but their paths, according to the laws of the universe, ended in old age or in minor deaths serving as cannon fodder.
Samael scanned the squad leaders. There he saw pillars of a vibrant Green color (Outstanding Talent), geniuses who in minor clans would be worshiped as treasures. Further back, in the upper ranks, he saw dense columns of Blue (Regional Geniuses), individuals with the potential to lead entire sects or become supreme elders in the outside world. He could even see distant glimpses of Purple auras (Historical Heroes) faintly pulsing in those who had survived the worst battles.
There were no Golden auras (Children of Destiny) among the thousand regulars; those protagonists pampered by the heavens, with unlimited potential and obscene luck, were rare prey that the universe jealously protected.
But what made Samael smile internally was what he found hidden among the ranks. Pillars of dark fire.
He saw Red auras. The Taboo color. The Calamity.
According to the heavens, the color red marked beings who were destined to be destroyed by the natural order. Why? Because their mere existence would bring untold massacres, break empires, and defy the karmic balance. They were the heralds of disaster. And Samael had several of them in front of him, feeding off his Imperial Luck.
Interesting, Samael thought, his voice resonating only in his vast cerebral cortex. The war has not only forged their steel; it has corrupted and purified their luck. The heavens want them dead, but I will make them immortal.
His omniscient gaze shifted for a millisecond toward the shadows of the third row, locking onto Dante Morningstar.
Dante was a gross anomaly in the fabric of the universe. His destiny column was not a solid pillar. It was like toxic smoke trapped inside broken glass, constantly shifting, mutating, and fracturing. One second, his destiny glowed with the dim white of a beggar destined to starve in an alley; the next microsecond, it erupted into a Black (Destiny Breaker) and Red vortex, the signature of an Assassin God who would exist outside all laws.
Chaos favors you deeply, boy, Samael thought, and a very slight half-smile formed on his albino face. You are not an innate genius, you are a cosmic parasite that steals destiny by stabbing. Keep cooking. You will go far.
Samael blinked and raised his dark crystal-gloved hand, deactivating the Eye of Destiny. The physical world of marble, jade, and gray tunics returned to his retina. He turned his face toward his Marshal.
"The mortal chaff has been separated from the wheat," Samael decreed. "Now, Vexia, show me the steel."
Vexia nodded with an impeccable bow. She took a step forward on the upper dais, her heels ringing out like the hammer blows of a judge of death.
"From Rank 24 to 20!" Vexia ordered. Her voice, propelled by the cold runic magic of her implants, literally struck the chests of the five thousand disciples. "Let the next ones step forward! These are the warriors who didn't just blindly follow orders. They interpreted the Patriarch's bloodthirsty will and executed it to perfection. And all of them... have reached the Peak of Stage 2 of the Transcendent Realm."
Five figures separated from the mass of infantry, advancing down the central aisle.
"Rank 24: Borg, the Line-Breaker!"
The jade floor seemed to groan beneath the heavy boots of the advancing man. Borg was a giant of burly build, with a barrel chest that looked ready to burst his gray tunic, and limbs thick as the trunks of centennial trees. He wore a thick, wild beard stained with dried blood, and his fists, the size of melons, were covered in thick, yellowish calluses.
Borg was joyful chaos incarnate. He stopped in front of the dais and smiled, showing broken teeth.
"Borg," Vexia spoke, reading the black dragon scale scroll. "You were a useful tool of devastation. You aided the vanguard like a wall of meat, killing dozens of enemies in the Qi Sea Realm. But your real merit lies in the fact that, being only a Stage 2 Transcendent, you held back, fought, and mutilated two experts from the Purple Light Sect who were at the Peak of Stage 4. You stood out in brute strength and suicidal loyalty."
Borg let out a loud, hoarse laugh that echoed in the plaza, scratching his beard.
"Your rewards, dictated by the Sovereign, are the following: The Heaven Grade (Low) weapon known as the Black Iron Bonebreaker Mace, and two Heaven Grade martial arts: Charge of the Horizon's End and Bronze Bastion Stance."
A dimensional portal the size of a door opened in front of Borg, courtesy of Vexia's spatial network. From it, a colossal hammer fell heavily. Its head was an immense block of Black Iron of the Depths, matte, ugly, without adornments or edges, just a rough surface designed for inertial mass annihilation. Its handle, made of reinforced steel with beast tendons, creaked when Borg lifted it with a single hand, resting it on his shoulder.
At the same time, two spheres of light containing the knowledge of the techniques shot toward the giant's forehead, assimilating the information into his brain: The Charge of the Great Collapse (a spectral bronze battering ram of absolute penetration that nullifies friction) and The Laughing Mountain (an infinite mass anchor that renders him physically immovable).
Borg struck the handle of his immense hammer against his chest, giving a deep, rough bow.
"I don't need to understand the laws of heaven, Patriarch!" Borg roared with burning devotion. "You point your finger, and I will turn the defenses of any breathing scum into meat paste!"
Samael nodded very slowly. But in his mind, a very different network of golden gears was turning at a dizzying speed.
[Clan Investment System Activated]
«Deduction: An investment has been made in a Loyal disciple.
Investment: 1 Weapon (Low Heaven Grade) + 2 Techniques (Heaven Grade).
Initiating calculation of random Chaos probability multiplier...»
Time seemed to stop for Samael as the invisible roulette spun in his cerebral cortex.
«DING! Medium probability reached! Multiplier obtained: x85.»
«Generating Reimbursement... The laws of equivalent exchange have been altered.
Reimbursement granted: You have received [1 Abyssal Meteorite Steel Ingot (Low Saint Grade)] and [Gravity Technique Comprehension Crystal (Peak Heaven Grade)]. The items have been deposited in your dimensional inventory.»
Samael didn't blink, but the pure pleasure of the System's greed coursed through his veins. By giving Borg an immense but basic hammer by higher standards, the universe had just gifted him the material to forge weaponry capable of wounding a Saint King.
"Next," Samael ordered.
"Rank 23: Lia Morningstar!" Vexia announced.
The temperature in the front row seemed to drop several degrees. A girl barely 1.65 meters tall, with an athletic hourglass figure and long legs, stepped forward in absolute silence. She wore her cyan hair pulled back in a tight, military braid. But what chilled the blood of those who looked at her wasn't her beauty, but her face: the left half was covered by bandages soaked in dark blood. She had lost an eye in the crossfire, but her single right eye, of a glacial cyan color, was devoid of pain or trauma. There was only tunnel vision, pure and vengeful.
She carried in her hands the splintered remains of a common wooden bow that she had refused to let go of.
"Lia," Vexia said, and for a fraction of a second, there seemed to be the slightest hint of approval in the iron Marshal's gaze. "You hate missing more than you love your own life. You killed from a distance, supporting entire squads. You have multiple recorded kills in the Qi Sea Realm and confirmed executions of five Purple Light Sect Transcendents. You killed them from the shadows, with Qi arrows piercing their skulls before they had time to process they were in combat. A freezing efficiency."
Lia didn't smile. She didn't nod. She remained as rigid as a nocked arrow.
"Your rewards: The Heaven Grade (Low) Bow Zenith of the Static Storm, along with the techniques Bolt of Celestial Judgment and Faraday's Scale Cage."
The portal spat out an asymmetrical bow that defied mortal logic. Forged in Lightning Silver, it had no physical string; instead, a filament of cyan plasma buzzed and crackled between its limbs. Upon taking it, Lia felt the current stabilize with her own Qi thanks to the weapon's induction core.
The two spheres of light granted her methods of assassination: The Bolt of Judgment (an arrow causing nervous breakdown and paralysis via electrical overload in the enemy) and the Arc Shield (a static dome that deflects physical attacks).
Lia threw the remains of her broken bow to the ground. She raised the Zenith of the Storm, the plasma string reflecting in her single cyan eye. She dropped to one knee on the jade.
"My arrow is blind to mercy, Sovereign," Lia said, her voice lacking inflection, like the freezing wind in a graveyard. "It will only fly toward the throat you command. I will be your electric shadow."
On the throne, the System sang again for Samael.
[Clan Investment System Activated]
«Investment: 1 Bow (Low Heaven) + 2 Techniques (Heaven).»
«Initiating random calculation... DING! Low-medium probability reached! Multiplier obtained: x40.»
«Reimbursement granted: You have received ['Widow's Kiss' Spatial Piercing Bow (High Heaven Grade)] and [10 Eagle Eye Perception Pills (Peak Earth Grade)].»
A lower multiplier this time, Samael thought, but even so, an absurd and free return for weapons that Vexia had looted from the enemy vault.
"Next."
"Rank 22: Ren Morningstar!"
A thin, wiry boy with short, messy hair shot to the front almost like a spring. His eyes were always wide open, scanning the pillars, the sky, the ground, constantly shifting from left to right. Ren exuded hyper-vigilant paranoia, as if expecting an assassin to fall from the aurora sky at any second. His muscles were tense like violin strings about to snap.
But behind that apparent fear, the warriors around him knew the truth. From the ranks, several disciples lowered their heads respectfully and murmured inaudible words of gratitude in his direction.
"Ren," Vexia read, her clinical tone analyzing the facts. "You are skittish, paranoid, and a bundle of nerves. And precisely because of that, you are lethal. You have the highest perception and sensitivity to danger of all the infantry. You entered into combat against a large group of superior cultivators, dodged one hundred percent of the attacks, coming out with only scratches, and used your abnormal reaction time to slit the throats of the enemy executioners fractions of a second before they killed your fallen comrades. You are the scout and assassin of perfect reaction."
Ren swallowed audibly, rubbing his hands nervously.
"Your rewards: The Heaven Grade (Low) Dagger Fang of the Ethereal Gale, and the martial wind set: Blind Wind's Fang and Aeolian Shadow Shift."
The dagger that appeared before him was sublime. Crafted from an almost translucent pale green Feather Steel, it emitted a very faint, constant whistle as it cut through the air on its own. It was an aerodynamic catalyst designed to nullify wind resistance, allowing attacks at speeds invisible to the human eye, completely in silence. The techniques that absorbed into his mind complemented his nature: The Instinctive Slash (attacking 3 seconds before the enemy's intention through pure causality) and the Reflex Reaction (a biological evasion the body executes without the need of the brain).
Ren gripped the green dagger, and his hands immediately stopped shaking. The paranoia vanished, replaced by the coldness of a one-hit killing machine.
"N-no one... no one will hear my footsteps approaching their necks, Patriarch," Ren stammered, kneeling quickly, but with a sharp gaze. "Their lives... I will cut the threads before they act."
[Clan Investment System Activated]
«Initiating random calculation... DING! High probability reached! Multiplier obtained: x210.»
«Generating Reimbursement... You have received [Primordial Essence of Sacred Wind (Mid Saint Grade Material - Capable of forging Wind Wings of pure Laws)] and [Codex of the Void Assassin (Low Saint Grade Manual)].»
Samael crossed his fingers over his chest, hiding his immense satisfaction. A multiplier over two hundred had just handed him a Saint grade manual, something entire sects would kill just to thumb through. And he obtained it simply for giving a glorified knife to a paranoid scout.
"Next."
"Rank 21: Tormund Morningstar!"
If Borg was a fat, joyful giant, Tormund was a carved stone monolith devoid of expression. He was over two meters tall and as wide as a castle wall. Bald, with skin so brutally tanned by the sun and beatings that it looked like rhinoceros leather, his face lacked any visible emotion. Tormund walked with a slight limp, and his entire left side was deformed by broken ribs and fractured arm bones still healing under the effect of the new Qi.
"Tormund," Vexia's voice grew grave. "You possess no speed, nor great talent in manipulating Qi from a distance. Your only skill is refusing to die. You held the front line when the rest collapsed. You stepped in front of a desperate attack from a Stage 6 Transcendent Elder of the Purple Light Sect. Your body was crushed, your bones broke under the pressure of a four-stage difference... and yet, you survived and stood your ground until your comrades flanked him. You are the anvil of the Legion."
Tormund nodded, a millimetric movement of his head. His brown eyes, dull as mud, looked at the throne without fear or pride, only with absolute duty.
"Your rewards: The Heaven Grade (Low) Retractable Shield Plate Bulwark: The Golem's Carapace, and the geokinetic arts Root of the Eternal Mountain and Tectonic Plate Collapse."
An immense teardrop-shaped shield, heavy and dark, made of Bronze of the Depths, fell before him. Tormund inserted his healthy arm into the mechanism, and with a loud "clack-clack-shhk", the pneumatic plates instantly retracted to form a heavy gauntlet, then expanded back into an impenetrable barrier. The spheres of light taught him to fuse his weight with the earth's crust (Root of the Mountain) and use his own inertia of infinite mass to strike (Tectonic Collapse).
Tormund struck the shield with his injured fist, ignoring the piercing pain in his splintered bones.
"My blood and my bones are the first wall of your Citadel, Patriarch. As long as I breathe, no enemy attack will graze the tunics of my brothers in the rearguard. I swear it by the rock of this realm."
[Clan Investment System Activated]
«Initiating random calculation... DING! Low-medium probability reached! Multiplier obtained: x60.»
«Generating Reimbursement... You have received [Beating Heart of a Mountain Golem (Peak Heaven Grade Living Material)] and [Immortal Bone Reinforcement Pill (Supreme Earth Grade)].»
Useful, Samael evaluated internally, calculating that this Golem heart could be inserted by Vexia into one of her higher-grade Puppets to create a nearly indestructible siege tank.
"And lastly in this vanguard squad..." Vexia made an intentional pause, and the atmosphere in the plaza suddenly turned gloomy, uncomfortable, and cold. "Rank 20: Jareth Morningstar!"
The impeccable formation of the gray infantry broke for an instant. The soldiers, hardened in cold-blooded murder and war, took an almost imperceptible step back, hurriedly opening a path. They looked at him out of the corners of their eyes. Many, in fact, trembled slightly upon remembering what they had witnessed in the alleys of the North Courtyard during the battle.
A thin youth stepped out, so skeletal that his dark gray tunic, plagued with multiple hidden pockets, hung from his shoulders as if on a wire hanger. His paleness bordered on the cadaverous. Under his eyes, he possessed dark circles so black and deep they looked like chronic bruises from asphyxiation. His hands, long as a spider's, had fingertips of a perpetual necrosed purple color. He smelled of freshly dug cemetery dirt, dampness, and distilled bitter herbs.
Jareth advanced, a small, unsettling smile drawn on his dry lips. He didn't walk with warrior pride; he walked with the curiosity of an anatomist in an autopsy room.
"Jareth..." even Vexia seemed to look at him with a mix of calculated caution. "You single-handedly stopped, massacred, and processed two hundred enemy disciples who tried to flank the lower vaults of the mountain." Vexia looked at the crowd, who were still backing away from the boy. "I will not detail publicly the heretical methods or alchemies you used to achieve this, as the witnesses still suffer from insomnia. For you, the enemy was not a threat, it was simply a raw material farm."
Jareth bowed deeply, gently stroking one of his pockets, from which a sub-harmonic buzzing seemed to emanate, like thousands of insects rubbing their legs together.
"The Patriarch rewards your twisted efficiency," Vexia declared, moving a millimeter away from the dais railing. "Your rewards: The complete knowledge of the heretical manual Poison Sutra of the Thousand Insects (Origin/Heaven Grade), along with the deadly techniques Palm of the Wandering Centipede, Corrosive Chitin Carapace, and Stinger of the Inner Void. Furthermore, by direct order of the Marshal, you are granted special Grade 4 access to the Medicine Gardens of the World Tree for your... research."
A particularly somber sphere of light, tinged with emerald and black, floated toward Jareth and sank into his forehead.
In that instant, the veins on the young man's neck turned a bluish-black color, throbbing erratically. His Qi did not flow like a pure river; it erupted around him like a toxic, acidic mist that vibrated with a dull, infernal noise. Jareth exhaled, feeling the power of toxic symbiogenesis happily infecting his meridians, turning his body into a living hive of Qi parasites.
Jareth looked at Samael. In his eyes there were no longer normal pupils, but something that vaguely resembled the compound eyes of a praying mantis.
"The orthodox, conventional universe would have burned me alive on a pyre of holy fire for desiring this knowledge, my benevolent Sovereign," Jareth whispered, his voice squeaking slightly, like blades sharpening in the dark. "I am infinitely grateful for the war. The enemy corpses have been... fascinating test specimens. I promise that the biology, the flesh, and the fluids of our future enemies from the North will be meticulously cataloged and harvested in your name. No enemy life will be wasted as long as I live."
Samael nodded, his face inscrutable, accepting his chief necromancer's twisted devotion.
But in his mind, the System was about to go crazy.
[Clan Investment System Activated]
«Alert: Investment in Biological Taboo technique (Origin Sutra) + Active Harvest Resources.»
«Initiating calculation of random probability...»
«...»
«DING! CRITICAL! Extremely Low Probability reached in the Chaos matrix! Multiplier obtained: x750.»
Samael's violet eyes widened microscopically in surprise.
«SUPREME REIMBURSEMENT ALERT! Karmic laws have collapsed in your favor, Patriarch.
Reimbursement granted: You have received [Seed of the Primordial Poisonous Calamity Tree (Living Item - Supreme Saint Grade - Capable of poisoning entire continents if planted)], [Lost Codex of Stellar Necrosis (Mid Saint Grade Manual)], and [Black Widow Empress Blood (Forging Component - Peak Heaven Grade)].»
Samael had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling openly and breaking his stoic monarch figure in front of his troops. An investment of an Origin/Heaven Grade manual and permission to clip a few herbs from the garden, and the System, through the pure mathematics of chaos that dictated the universe, had just handed him the treasure equivalent of the entire estate of a Hidden Family from the Ice Star Empire.
The Realm of the Eternal Dawn was not just a training ground; thanks to the investments in his disciples, it was the most broken, abusive, and efficient divine resource printing machine that existed in the fabric of reality.
Samael slowly rose from his Obsidian Throne, the heavy void cape billowing behind him.
Jareth, Tormund, Ren, Lia, and Borg gave a final bow, turned around, and proudly marched back to the ranks, being received with looks of respectful terror and absolute admiration by their peers in the infantry.
Silence fell over the Plaza of Origin once again, but this time, the air vibrated with a tension so thick it could be cut with a steel blade.
Samael raised his hand and pointed directly toward the perpetual aurora sky.
Up there, the System's holographic list that Vexia had projected hours before flickered violently. The names going from rank 50 to 20 had faded, turning into digital ash.
But the remaining names... the list covering Rank 19 to Rank 1.
That upper section of the runic projection began to shine and burn with an incandescent, golden, red, and black light, so intensely overwhelming that most of the thousand regular disciples had to physically look away and cover their eyes with their forearms to avoid being blinded by the sheer weight of destiny radiating from those titles.
Samael looked at that bright light, and his mathematical mind was already anticipating what would happen when he handed out the pinnacle rewards. The Sequences. The true elite. The Monsters.
If the System had thrown him seven hundred multipliers for a rank twenty... What abominable and obscene Emperor-level rewards would the universe spit out when he invested his fortune in geniuses of the caliber of Kael, Cedric, or Violeta?
"You have seen the top twenty-five infantry soldiers," Samael declared, and the tricolor halo of his crown ignited, claiming the attention of all creation. "Their feats are formidable. They have earned their steel. They have earned the right to kill in my name."
Samael lowered his hand, and his gaze swept over the figures waiting stoically in the front row, the leaders shrouded in almost palpable auras of destruction.
"But now... we will leave behind the stories of soldiers and survival," the Sovereign whispered, his voice freezing the wind. "Prepare yourselves, my Legion. Behold how the true Legends of the continent are forged." The curtain on the second act of the Merit Ceremony was about to rise, and with it, the madness and divine splendor that would shake the foundations of the world.