The void above Aethelia Prime swarmed with thousands of warships; they formed a massive blockade against a single man.

Adrian looked upon the blockade, his hand tightening slightly on the Source whip that bound Helcarion’s leg, the emperor dangling behind him like a discarded relic of a long-fallen dynasty.

The fleet commanders issued rapid orders. Cannons swivelled, locking onto Adrian’s position. Stellar warriors emerged from hangar bays, domains flaring to life across the void. They formed defensive formations, layering their power in overlapping shields.

Adrian’s voice carried effortlessly through the vacuum by his essence, “Since you all support Aethelia, you will also face my wrath.”

His domains surged outward.

Fifteen overlapping circles of authority unfolded like blooming stars, each one carrying a different concept, each one crashing into the next, forming a storm that swallowed the entire Imperial Capital System.

Across the galaxy, trillions watched the broadcast in stunned silence.

Everyone was flabbergasted seeing this sight. Even the top clans and extremely powerful warriors in the galaxy had at most seen tri-essence warlords. Four or five essences were history these days, legends spoken of in hushed tones around council tables.

But now they witnessed fifteen domains.

This was reality-breaking for most.

And especially the normal warriors who were watching the broadcast, the moment they all saw it, even the ones who didn’t believe the Origin Path changed their minds.

In a training hall on a minor world, an instructor who had dismissed Adrian’s multi-affinity claims as propaganda fell to his knees. Around him, students stared at the broadcast with wide eyes.

That was no longer a number mortals could comprehend.

It was a statement of cosmic hierarchy, one that the galaxy had never witnessed before.

Across the void of Aethelia Prime, tens of thousands of warriors felt their bodies torn. The blockade that once stood so confidently now resembled ants standing before a tidal wave.

A fleet admiral screamed orders into his comms, “Pull back! All units—”

His words died as gravity inverted around his flagship, crushing the vessel into a sphere of compacted metal.

Then Adrian looked at them, just one glance.

The reaction was instantaneous and horrifying.

Warships shattered like fragile carvings pressed under a hammer. Crews disappeared, their bodies collapsing into dust as multiple domains folded around them. Fire consumed some. Ice froze others mid-scream. Shadow swallowed entire squadrons whole. Gravity compressed warriors into points too small to see.

No screams reached the void, no resistance registered; Every warrior caught inside the overlapping domains was snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.

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Where thousands of ships had floated moments before, only debris remained.

On the broadcasts across billions of screens, viewers recoiled.

Mothers pulled children away from displays. Warriors who had fought demons for decades felt their hands tremble. Even hardened veterans who had witnessed the worst atrocities of the Edge found themselves stepping back from the images.

This was no longer a battle.

Everyone felt like this was the judgment of a being who no longer fit within their scale of power. The kind of force that didn’t negotiate or compromise. The kind that simply erased obstacles from existence.

Helcarion saw this and felt the last remnants of his arrogance crumble into dust. For the first time in his life, an emperor of Aethelia felt fear down to his marrow.

He doubted whether even Arcton could have done this. Could Arcton even have had this much mana to perform this level of action? The ancient cultivator had possessed divine concepts, power that transcended normal cultivation, yet watching Adrian erase tens of thousands without visible strain made Helcarion question everything he thought he knew about power.

What was Adrian?

The answer terrified him.

Adrian simply floated forward, dragging Helcarion behind him through the void, the emperor’s face pressed against the cold emptiness as he struggled helplessly against the grip of the Source whip.

Fear spread across Aethelian territory like wildfire through dry grass.

On distant worlds that had sworn fealty to the empire, clan leaders gathered in emergency councils. Projections flickered between them, showing the same broadcast that the entire galaxy watched.

“We need to act—”

“Act how? Did you see what he just did?”

“The emperor is finished. We need to distance ourselves before—”

Clans that once flew the imperial banners burned them within minutes. Flags came down from towers. Insignias were scraped off buildings. Those who once pledged fealty to the imperial clan stormed their estates and dismantled their power structures, tearing down monuments and seizing assets.

The Aethelian Imperial Clan fell in less than an hour, torn apart by its own vassals, not out of vengeance or rebellion, but out of terror.

They were too afraid of Adrian now, even more than the Demon Emperor.

The demon waged war, yes, but war had rules, patterns, predictable rhythms. You could defend against demons, you could prepare.

But this? This was something else entirely.

A message spread through some channels, passed from clan to clan in whispered transmissions: Do not touch civilians, do not harm innocents. The Origin Patriarch protects the weak!

Even in all this chaos, no one touched the innocents and civilians in any Aethelian territory. The galaxy clearly knew about the Origin Patriarch’s character, so they didn’t want to make that mistake. Riots remained targeted. Estates burned, but hospitals stood untouched. Imperial warehouses were seized, but food distribution continued.

The lesson had been learned.

Touch his people, face annihilation.

Harm the innocent, become his enemy.

…

Meanwhile, Adrian dragged Helcarion across the stars, his path leading straight toward the Origin Capital. The broadcast followed him relentlessly, capturing the trail of destruction and shifting political tides in real time.

But the wider galaxy had reached its breaking point.

The heads of the empires could no longer ignore the situation. What Adrian had begun was not a mere feud. It threatened the balance of power the galaxy had upheld for millennia, at a time when the Demon Emperor was gathering every demon under his command.

One by one, fast-travel imperial starships pierced through the void and arrived following Adrian’s attached location, which kept updating wherever he went.

The first vessel materialised in a flash of silver-blue light. From it, Empress Lysandra of Lexaria emerged, her silver-blue robes shimmering with embedded starlight.

A crimson tear in space followed, disgorging a sleeker craft. From the Duranthian vessel, Empress Alice stepped out, composed yet visibly burdened.

Following them, Emperor Drazmir of Emberion, Emperor Zerathul of Volkrith, and Emperor Seranth of Scaelith arrived, each radiating enough power to dominate a battlefield, but none compared to what they were witnessing.

They all floated in the void, witnessing a sight they never imagined possible: Adrian dragging Helcarion like a criminal across his own territory.

Even among rulers accustomed to galactic upheavals, this was unprecedented.

In that moment, they saw not a patriarch… but the beginning of something far greater.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep