Days passed, and the galaxy moved with the urgency of a civilization standing at the edge of annihilation. No one knew when the Demon Emperor would strike. No prophecy, no omen, no reading of essence signatures could narrow the window. Only one truth hung over the galaxy: They had no time to waste.

…

In the heart of Lexaria’s capital, Lysandra stood within a newly risen dome of golden distortion. Using the Origin Ink Adrian had entrusted to her, she had successfully recreated a time-dilation formation without wielding the Time Concept.

The realization still unsettled her.

She had inscribed a time-dilation formation without comprehending time.

Here, one day outside equalled four years inside, and her inscribers trained relentlessly to memorize and master the tattoo symbols Adrian had provided.

Around her, two hundred of Lexaria’s finest inscribers sat in meditative rows, their hands glowing as they traced the Origin emblem over and over. Each repetition burned the pattern deeper into their minds.

The structure of the tattoo was dense, tightly interlinked runes and conceptual frameworks compressed into a form resembling the Origin emblem.

Lysandra had tried to alter the tattoo’s aesthetic at first, to adjust it into something more “Lexarian.” A small vanity, perhaps, but also a test of her own mastery.

Yet no matter how she attempted to reshape the runes, she just couldn’t do it. Every alteration caused the formation to collapse, the mana flow severing instantly. She possessed centuries of knowledge in the Language of Mana, yet her knowledge was not enough to rewrite a single thread of the symbol.

Only then did she fully understand the depth of Origin’s superiority.

Their mastery over the Language of Mana was beyond Lexaria’s highest scholars. Whatever Adrian had become, whatever he wielded, his empire’s foundation was already standing on a peak the others had never glimpsed.

Still, she trained her inscribers, and Lexaria’s inscribers were not ordinary. They were the artisans capable of crafting Nodes, microscopic inscription devices with thousands of embedded runes. To them, the structure of the tattoo, no matter how complex, was something they could eventually memorize and apply.

Within weeks, she produced dozens of new masters.

Within another week, hundreds.

And as she finished training each wave, she dispatched them to the other empires.

Soon, Volkrith, Emberion, Duranthia, and Scaelith all began raising their own time fields and etching tattoos across their armies.

The transformation had begun.

…

In Volkrith and Emberion, military powerhouses pushed their warriors through brutal training inside new time fields. Entire battalions were etched with Origin tattoos, each one unlocking multiple affinities overnight, something once considered heresy against nature.

General Varkos of Volkrith stood in the center of a vast training arena, watching his warriors spar with essences they had never touched before. A fire-affinity soldier conjured ice shards. An ice cultivator summoned bolts of lightning.

“This is madness,” he muttered.

On the far side of the arena, a squad of twenty warriors formed the resonance network. Their mana pooled, channeling through a central warrior who raised both hands.

A sphere of fire coalesced above them, compressed and roiling.

Varkos recognized the spell, a Stellar-level. The kind of attack only a domain-wielder should manifest.

The central warrior hurled it at a reinforced target. The impact vaporized the structure, leaving a crater ten meters deep.

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No matter how many times he got used to this sight, it was still mindblowing to him.

…

In Duranthia, master forgemasters forged weapons, armor, and constructs with new flexibility, knowing their warriors could now wield any concept.

In Scaelith, mana crystals and raw mana ink components flowed like rivers. Their entire economic engine had shifted to produce pure mana ink at a scale never before imagined.

They also kept shipping endless mana crystals and barrels of newly produced mana ink to the Origin Empire.

Every empire, once hoarders of their own secrets, now contributed openly.

All because the Demon Emperor was gathering like a storm.

…

Meanwhile, inside the Origin Construct, Adrian stood alone in a vast, empty chamber.

The demand for Origin Ink had become astronomical. The galaxy consumed it faster than a single person could produce, even someone like him.

If the Origin Empire was to stand the test of time, it needed automation, it needed factories, it needed a system that would continue producing the ink without Adrian.

He knelt and pressed his hand against the floor. Origin Ink flowed from his palm, sweeping across the chamber in white-grey rivers that branched and split. The ink wove itself into runes, symbols, and command sequences, each one carving itself.

Adrian’s eyes traced the flowing patterns, his mind already three steps ahead, adjusting the mana flow ratios, reinforcing the conversion nodes, ensuring the structure could sustain itself indefinitely.

This formation was modeled after the Knowledge Forge, but repurposed. Instead of imprinting knowledge into spheres, this one had the instructions set to infuse Source into mana ink, converting it into Origin Ink automatically.

When he activated it, a holographic console rose from the center of the formation.

› Origin Ink Production Interface Active

› Infusion Sequence Initiated

› Mana Conversion In Progress…

Pure mana flowed from mana crystals embedded in the core. The formation drew upon every concept Adrian had etched into the structure, and the Source inside the ink acted as a medium, converting the pure mana into Source essence.

Source essence formed as a mist, and that mist drifted outward into surrounding barrels of mana ink, converting each into the white-grey liquid known now throughout the galaxy as Origin Ink.

Adrian watched the first barrel complete its transformation, and smiled faintly.

Then he began etching another formation.

Hours passed. His fingers moved without pause, inscribing rune after rune, layering command sequences and failsafes into the stone. The chamber expanded around him as formation after formation took shape, each one a perfect replica of the first.

By the time he stepped back, dozens of Origin Ink forges pulsed quietly like silver hearts, each one converting mana ink into the Origin’s most valuable resource.

The Knowledge Forges had once been the pride of the Origin Construct. Now, they were only one part of a growing industrial giant.

Yet even as he admired the progress, one concern lingered in his thoughts.

He was distributing Source-infused ink to the entire galaxy, and he did not know what someone would create with this in the future.

If someone had enough knowledge, it was even possible to create this same formation to produce the Origin Ink. The possibilities were endless.

He could not prevent this.

Just as Lexaria had monopolized knowledge for generations, he would have to trust the same principles, political advantage, goodwill, fear of retaliation, to protect his empire.

For now, this was the only path. And the Origin Empire would rise along it.

…

When the majority of the galaxy learned about the tattoos and the ink, it was chaos.

In every empire, requests flooded the imperial clans: etch us, train us, prepare us.

Forums across the Galactic Net exploded with debate. Threads titled “Origin Tattoos” and “Origin Ink Changes Everything” accumulated millions of responses within hours. Videos of warriors wielding fire and ice simultaneously circulated endlessly, each one dissected by scholars who still couldn’t explain how it worked.

And in the midst of this upheaval, many more minor clans quietly dissolved themselves to join the Origin Empire.

Actually, Origin was not a mere clan anymore and it was already recognized as an empire, but still the minor clans had to disband because the Origin Empire worked on its own rules.

Unlike the other empires, the Origin Empire did not split its territory into clans or political factions. It remained unified, a single entity with a single banner.

And Adrian wanted only those with clear histories, loyal records, and good intentions. He desired no power-hungry factions, no traitors, no greed-driven clans.

And so, voluntarily, willingly, eagerly, countless clans dissolved themselves overnight, choosing to submit their oaths and histories to the Origin.

In the Origin Construct’s administrative hall, Varik stood before a holographic display showing the incoming applications. The numbers climbed every second.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, though Adrian had yet to properly claim the title of emperor. “We’ve received over three hundred dissolution requests in the last day alone. Most are legitimate. Some are… questionable.”

Adrian stood beside him, arms crossed, his gaze scanning the scrolling names.

“Reject any clan with blood debts unresolved. Reject any with a history of slavery or exploitation. Reject any who’ve aligned with Aethelia before.”

Varik nodded, already flagging entries, “That eliminates nearly half.”

“Good.”

“What about the rest?”

Adrian paused, then gestured toward the display, “Interview each one, let them explain why they wish to join. If their intentions are pure, accept them; if not, send them away.”

Varik bowed slightly, “Understood.”

The Origin Empire grew selectively, deliberately, with the vision of a unified, peaceful society.

It was the opposite of every empire before it, and still, no one argued.

Because when Adrian spoke, the galaxy listened.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep