Several days had passed since the conclusion of the Andromeda's supremacy war.
The Crimson Vital Sect had not rested in the wake of their unprecedented victory. The aftermath of a galactic war demanded a level of logistical coordination that was almost as exhausting as the combat itself. Millions of hostile cultivators had been incapacitated and captured during the final moments of the conflict, and over the past few days, the sect's administrative and combat departments had worked relentlessly to process them.
Deep within the secured detention facilities established on the outskirts of the sect's territory, the elders had been methodically extracting information from the highest-ranking prisoners. Torvain, Maelis, and Varcain oversaw the interrogations, trying to extract whatever secrets the fallen powers had hoarded over millions of years.
The hidden spatial coordinates of the Ashen Vortex and Grave-Sky Sect's resource channels, the defensive bypass codes for the Ironbound Path Sect's armories, and the exact locations of the Everlasting Pill Sect's most heavily guarded alchemy vaults, all of it was laid bare.
Whatever wealth, rare medicinal plants, and artifacts the dominant sects had accumulated were systematically seized and transferred into the Crimson Vital Sect's treasury.
But with the secrets secured, the matter of the prisoners themselves had to be resolved.
Millions of enemy combatants remained in custody. Among them were the die-hard loyalists, the commanders who had ordered the slaughter of Crimson Vital disciples, and the mercenaries who had willingly accepted contracts to erase an entire sect for profit.
Executing millions of beings simultaneously was a logistical nightmare, but more importantly, it could cause trauma for the Crimson Vital Sect disciples. Hestia understood that these enemies needed to die, but she did not want her disciples to witness a massacre of that scale.
The disciples had already endured the horrors of a galactic battlefield. To force them to watch rivers of blood flowing through their own home, to turn their sanctuary into a slaughterhouse, would only invite unnecessary trauma and desensitize them to the value of life.
Instead, the mass executions were handled quietly and silently within the isolated depths of the void by the elders and elite enforcement squads. There was no spectacle or grand display. Just the cold, necessary eradication of threats.
However, there was one execution that could not be handled in the shadows.
Today was the day of execution for the one person who stood at the very center of the sect's suffering.
The public execution was reserved solely for Yselia.
If there was a singular root cause for the war, the despair, the shattered fleets, and the countless dead disciples of the Crimson Vital Sect, it was the leader of the Everlasting Pill Sect. If Yselia had simply kept quiet, if she had accepted fair competition when the Crimson Vital Sect began to grow and expand its alchemical production, none of this would have happened. But her greed, her fear of losing market share, and her arrogant belief that she could crush a rising rival without consequence had ignited a conflict that ultimately burned the entire galaxy.
Because of her, the Crimson Vital Sect had been pushed to the brink of annihilation. She was an existence of pure hatred for the disciples, a phantom that had haunted their nightmares and driven them to desperation.
They needed to see her fall. They needed to witness the physical end of the nightmare she had created.
β¦
The execution was set within the grand central plaza of Sanguis Prime, the main planet of the Crimson Vital Sect.
The plaza was vast, an enormous expanse of polished white stone that stretched outward from the base of the towering Crimson Spire. Today, it was filled to its capacity. More than one hundred and fifty thousand disciples stood in perfect, disciplined formation. Despite the sheer number of people gathered, an eerie, suffocating silence hung over the entire planet.
The twin suns of the Sanguis System cast long, sharp shadows across the ground, illuminating the faces of the disciples. Many of them wore thin white mourning bands tied around their arms. Their expressions were sad, and in the eyes of many, unshed tears glimmered in the harsh light.
These were the cultivators who had lost masters, juniors, siblings, and friends to the Everlasting Pill Sect's unprovoked ambushes. They had carried the weight of those deaths for decades, fueling their brutal training inside the time formation, pushing themselves to the brink of madness just to gain the strength to survive.
At the very center of the plaza, an elevated platform had been constructed from dark stone.
Kneeling at the center of that platform was Yselia.
She was entirely unrecognizable from the arrogant, untouchable sovereign who had once sat upon a crystalline throne surrounded by floating cauldrons and endless streams of pure mana.
Her luxurious azure robes had been stripped away, replaced by coarse, ash-colored prisoner garments. Her long, deep blue hair hung in matted, dirty strands across her face. Her divine concept was completely suppressed by the special cuffs locked around her wrists. These were not ordinary suppression artifacts. Adrian had specifically crafted them by etching runes of Causality into their structure, forming restraints capable of managing even Peak Rule Stage beings by binding any attempt to call upon power to the immediate effect of failure.
Yselia was reduced to an existence weaker than a mortal.
The oppressive weight of more than one hundred thousand hateful gazes pressed down upon her, but she did not look at the crowd. Her eyes were fixed on the stone beneath her knees, hollow and bloodshot.
From the steps of the Crimson Spire, Hestia descended.
Hestia wore her sect leader robes, deep crimson edged with dark gold. Her presence did not leak any overwhelming pressure, yet the ambient mana of the world seemed to bow as she walked. She had ascended to the Astral Stage, and her very existence was now fundamentally different from others.
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She stepped onto the platform, her foot echoing softly in the silence of the plaza, and stopped a few paces away from the kneeling woman.
"Look at what your greed has brought you, Yselia." Hestia's voice was calm, yet it carried across the vast plaza, amplified by her essence so that every single disciple heard it clearly.
Yselia flinched slightly at the sound of the voice. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head. Her pale, luminous blue eyes, once clear and sharp as ice, were now clouded with a mixture of bitter hatred and despair.
"Greed?" Yselia scoffed, her voice raspy and broken, lacking all of its former commanding resonance. "You call it greed? It was the natural order of the universe. You were a lesser minor sect stepping into a market that belonged to me. Did you expect me to simply hand over the foundation I spent a million years building?"
A hollow laugh escaped Yselia's cracked lips. "Do not act so righteous, Hestia. You did not defeat me because of your alchemy. You did not defeat me because your foundation was stronger. You won because you found a monster hiding in the dark. If that man had not appeared out of nowhere to hold your hand, your sect would be nothing but ash drifting in the void, and you would have died like the rest of your pathetic clan!"
A violent ripple of anger surged through the assembled disciples. Weapons clattered as grips tightened, and intense killing intent radiated from the crowd.
Hestia did not react to the insult. Her expression remained completely serene, completely unaffected by the venom of a defeated rival.
"You are right about one thing," Hestia said softly, her pale golden eyes looking down at Yselia with a cold, piercing clarity. "Adrian gave us the strength to fight back. But do not mistake the reason for your downfall, Yselia. You did not lose because of him. You lost because you forgot what it means to be a sect leader."
Hestia took a slow step forward.
"You fought for a market share. You fought for UNI-Coins, for contracts, for the pride of maintaining a monopoly over healing pills," Hestia continued, "But I fought for my people."
Hestia's gaze seemed to look past Yselia, briefly staring into the empty air as if seeing the ghosts of those who were no longer there.
"When I arrived in this galaxy a million years ago, I came as a refugee. My clan died in the void to give me a chance to build a sanctuary where people could live without the constant fear of being slaughtered. I built the Crimson Vital Sect not to conquer the Andromeda Galaxy, but to create a home. And when we simply tried to grow, when our disciples worked tirelessly to refine pills and secure a future, you hunted them."
"You sent your elders to ambush our transport ships. You murdered children who had just formed their essence seeds. You forced us into starvation and desperation, all because our alchemical output doubled and you feared your profit margins would drop." Hestia leaned down slightly, her eyes locking onto Yselia's broken gaze. "You traded millions of lives for a percentage point on the UNI-Market Index. That is why you are kneeling in the dirt, and that is why you will die today."
Yselia stared back at her. For a moment, she opened her mouth as if to hurl another insult, to maintain her arrogance to the bitter end. But as she looked into Hestia's eyes, she saw no hesitation, doubt, or mercy. The reality of her total defeat finally crashed over her, suffocating the last remnants of her pride.
She slumped forward slightly, the chains rattling against the stone.
Some distance away, leaning quietly against a towering pillar in the shadows of the Crimson Spire, Adrian watched the scene unfold.
He stood with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. He had no desire to take the center stage today. This was not his moment.
This was Hestia's closure.
Adrian's white-grey eyes observed the exchange, his mind quietly analyzing the intricate web of cause and effect that had led to this exact second. The Prime Arcane Concept of Causality resonated faintly within his Source Seed, allowing him to perceive the invisible threads tying Yselia's past decisions directly to her impending death. Greed had been the cause; annihilation was the effect.
He felt a deep sense of respect for how Hestia was handling the situation. She was not gloating. She was not dragging out the execution for the sake of torture. She was simply delivering unavoidable justice for the thousands of lives that had been extinguished under her care. She carried the burden of leadership flawlessly, shielding her disciples from the true horrors of mass execution while giving them the one focal point they needed to move forward.
"She truly is fit to rule a galaxy," Adrian thought, a faint, proud smile touching his lips.
Back on the platform, Hestia slowly straightened her posture.
She did not summon her crimson cloths, nor did she invoke the devastating power of her Astral Core to make a spectacle of the execution. There was no need to display overwhelming power against an opponent who had already been broken.
She raised her right hand, and a simple, razor-thin blade of condensed crimson essence materialized in her grasp.
"For the disciples who fell in the void," Hestia said, her voice echoing one final time across the silent plaza. "For the futures you stole. Your existence ends here."
With a single, fluid motion, Hestia swung the crimson blade downward.
In her last moment, Yselia's eyes widened with sudden, desperate malice. She tried to force her divine concept to awaken. Even if she could not escape, even if she could not win, even if all she could do was self-destruct her core and create a blast large enough to take thousands of Crimson Vital disciples with her, she was willing to do it. Her hatred surged, her will clawed toward the suppressed core within her, and for the briefest instant, a flicker of blue essence tried to rise.
But Yselia could not even do that.
The Causality restraints Adrian had crafted responded instantly. The prime arcane rule engraved into the cuffs bound her attempted cause to a predetermined failure, suppressing the chain of action before the effect could manifest. Her mid-tier divine concept struggled against an arcane concept before being crushed completely. She could not gather mana. She could not ignite her Rule Core. She could not even turn her final hatred into damage.
The blade passed cleanly through Yselia's neck. For a fraction of a second, her body remained frozen in place. Then, her head slid from her shoulders, tumbling onto the dark stone platform with a dull thud. Her lifeless body swayed before collapsing sideways, pooling dark blood across the execution block.
The deed was done.
For several long, agonizing seconds, the plaza remained completely silent.
Then, somewhere in the vast crowd, a weapon clattered to the ground.
It was followed by the sound of a choked sob.
A young male disciple, standing near the front ranks, fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently as years of pent-up grief, rage, and terror finally broke free. Beside him, an older woman tightly gripped a shattered jade pendant that had once belonged to her fallen junior sister, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
The emotional release cascaded through the crowd like a breaking dam.
All across the plaza, disciples dropped to their knees or leaned heavily against their companions. The suffocating tension that had gripped the Crimson Vital Sect for decades finally evaporated into the atmosphere.
Aerin stood among the disciples, her eyes softened. She held onto Caelia's hand tightly, her own eyes brimming with tears. She had seen war, she had nearly died in the micro-dimension, but seeing the orchestrator of all that misery finally dead brought a strange, heavy emptiness to her chest.
Killing Yselia could not bring back the disciples who had sacrificed themselves. The dead were still dead, and the empty seats in the lecture halls would remain empty.
But as the sound of weeping filled the plaza, there was an undeniable sense of relief woven into the grief.
The shadow of the Everlasting Pill Sect had finally been erased. They no longer had to look over their shoulders. They no longer had to fear the dark.
Hestia stood on the platform, looking out over the weeping sea of her people. She allowed the crimson blade to dissolve from her hand, her pale golden eyes softening with a deep, sorrowful warmth. She had kept her promise.
From the shadows of the spire, Adrian pushed himself off the marble pillar. He gave the plaza one last, quiet look before turning away, walking back into the quiet corridors of the sect headquarters. The war was officially over.
Now, the true era of the Origin Sect could begin.
