Adrian continued drifting forward through the void, dragging Helcarion behind him. He said nothing more; everything that needed to be spoken had already been said. From here on, it was left to the emperors floating behind him to decide whether they wished to stop him or stay silent.

The broadcast followed every movement. Trillions watched the lone figure advancing through the darkness, and the five rulers of the remaining empires suspended in silence, not daring to obstruct his path. The sight alone unsettled even the bravest warriors across the galaxy.

The rulers were all being forced into a decision, right now. Stay with Aethelia, a long-standing ancient empire, or stand beside Origin, a clan barely a year old but supported by the terrifying existence. The choice should have been obvious in any logical world. But in this galaxy, logic bent around strength, and strength bent around fear. And right now, every instinct whispered to them that standing against Adrian would be no different from walking willingly into the maw of the Demon Emperor.

Alice shook her head and turned toward Lysandra, her voice carrying frustration and disbelief, “You… you and your schemes!”

Lysandra had placed herself on Adrian’s side from the beginning of this confrontation, and it had elevated her position immeasurably. That fact alone stung the others.

Lysandra lifted one elegant brow, feigning innocence, “Schemes? All I did was stay observant. You simply didn’t have the brains to deduce he was the anomaly of the Astral Omen.”

Alice glared, “You could have at least shared that deduction with me…”

The two empresses had always shared a closer bond than the emperors; they were the only women among the ruling six, often forced to navigate the political currents together.

Lysandra’s voice softened slightly, “It’s not too late. I see your little strategist Seris has guided you well; you didn’t offend him, and you helped him when he needed it. You should be fine.”

Her eyes shifted toward the three emperors, “But I’m not so sure about those three.”

Drazmir gave an irritated huff, “It’s not the time for your petty chats. The Demon Emperor could begin the final war at any moment. We should be preparing, and we absolutely need the Origin Patriarch’s help if we want any chance to win this war.”

He paused, letting the weight of the next truth settle.

“You all should have seen the footage of what happened in Nyseren. It’s not just Adrian who defies logic; even his SSS-ranks are using multiple essence concepts.”

All five rulers quieted.

“If we could understand even a fraction of his methods…”

If they could understand how Adrian had achieved this, how he trained warriors capable of blinking across the void, fighting with multi-affinity spells, then the entire balance of war would shift. Every empire could raise legions strong enough to withstand even the demon onslaught.

Lysandra warned, “Do not become greedy, you saw what happened to Aethelia. Approach him with respect and sincerity, or not at all.”

Everyone nodded, their minds haunted by the drifting severed head of Arcton still floating somewhere behind them, a reminder of what defiance now meant.

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Lysandra continued, “And seriously… stop calling him ‘Origin Patriarch.’ Does he look like a clan patriarch anymore?”

The emperors exchanged a long, unsettled glance. Aethelia’s imperial clan was annihilated, and the empire itself was collapsing. By all galactic laws, the domain belonged to the victor.

So… was Adrian simply a patriarch anymore?

Ahead, they saw Adrian’s silhouette, Helcarion’s broken form trailing behind him.

Lysandra added quietly, “Sooner or later, the Origin Clan will become an empire. Do not say I didn’t warn you.”

Given enough time, the Origin Clan would inevitably become an empire of its own, a sixth power among the galaxy’s core rulers.

Alice nodded slowly, her elegant features resigned, “Then we’d best ensure we’re counted among his allies when that day comes.”

One by one, the rulers drifted back toward their own starships, their vessels aligning behind Adrian’s path.

They slowly drifted with Adrian.

…

Adrian did not accelerate; he moved through the void at a controlled, steady pace, the broadcast capturing every motion. Hours later, the familiar glow of the Origin Capital star system appeared, crowned by the massive star-system formation that shielded it.

He floated inward, passing through the outer boundary without pause.

Inside the capital, warriors rose from planets, lifting into the void to watch. They had witnessed the broadcast; they knew what he’d done.

Hundreds, then thousands of figures ascended, forming a silent honour guard that stretched across the darkness.

Behind him, five imperial vessels followed. To the warriors watching, it looked like the entire galaxy had come to bear witness.

Aboard the Lexarian flagship, Lysandra pressed one hand against the viewing port, staring at the star-system formation with undisguised astonishment. The symbols were partially obscured by spatial distortion, but even the fragments she could perceive sent tremors through her comprehension.

“Those runes…” she whispered.

Adrian finally descended toward a plaza in the Origin Construct.

The plaza was vast, a white stone expanse beneath a sky of controlled starlight. Thousands had already gathered, core members, origin warriors who returned from the Nyseren sector, all waiting.

Adrian landed as he dragged Helcarion forward and slammed him into the centre of the plaza.

Many glared at him with undisguised hatred. It was his deployment order that had nearly sent them all to die in the Edge. His execution sentence that forced them to train for eighty years inside the time field, years of desperation, dread, and the constant awareness that survival depended on becoming strong enough to defy the fate set before them.

Adrian walked toward Helcarion, the Source whip reforming into a blade of luminous white-grey.

He stopped directly above the fallen emperor, looking down without expression, “Such a damaged face doesn’t suit you… Helcarion.”

Adrian repeated the exact phrase Helcarion had spoken inside the imperial throne room, word for word, dripping with the same contempt the emperor had shown when he’d believed Origin Clan was destroyed.

“You should have minded your own business when you had the chance.”

Helcarion’s eyes widened, recognition and rage flooding his battered features as his own words were turned against him.

“Now you and your entire empire will serve as the example.”

Hearing his own mockery redirected, He roared and lunged in a final, desperate burst of essence, as he threw everything into one last strike.

But the attack never reached its target.

The Source blade flashed once, and Helcarion’s head separated cleanly from his body and fell to the ground, rolling twice before coming to rest facing the gathered crowd.

His eyes remained open, frozen in eternal shock.

The body collapsed beside it.

Above, the rulers who had followed from afar watched this scene.

Below, Origin warriors erupted in cheers that echoed across the entire construct, voices rising in a wave of sound that shook the plaza itself. The roar spread outward, carried by those floating in the void above, amplified by thousands of throats releasing eighty years of locked tension.

“IT’S OVER!” someone screamed.

“ORIGIN! ORIGIN! ORIGIN!”

The chant built, warriors slamming fists against chests in rhythm, the sound rolling like thunder.

Adrian raised one hand, and the cheering gradually subsided, thousands of voices falling silent to hear their leader speak.

“This is only the beginning. Don’t forget we still have a war to face against the demons!” His gaze swept across the assembled thousands, “So rest tonight, celebrate this victory. Then tomorrow, we return to training.”

Solemn nods answered him.

Adrian stepped back, and the celebration resumed, though tempered now with renewed purpose.

This moment would be marked in galactic history as the end of Aethelia and the rise of Origin.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep