As everyone gradually calmed down from the overwhelming information they learned about UNI-OS, Adrian shifted his focus toward understanding sects.

He already knew what sects were from the Guardian Spirit’s explanations, but that knowledge had been vague and incomplete. He lacked a clear understanding of how sects were classified, how they operated, and what truly separated one from another in the greater universe.

His fingers moved across the UNI-OS interface, searching deeper through the Andromeda Local Network, and pieces slowly fell into place.

Sects in the universe were divided into three primary tiers: Minor Sects, Major Sects, and Great Sects. These tiers were not determined solely by the quality of their Divine Concepts, but by the overall power each sect possessed.

A Minor Sect typically possessed a mid-tier divine concept, and at most, one powerhouse who had reached Peak Rule Stage. Such sects were common throughout the universe and formed the backbone of local cultivation societies.

Major Sects stood on an entirely different level. These sects wielded high-tier divine concepts, and in some cases, even ultimate-tier ones. Their strongest existences had reached the Astral Stage, and their influence often extended across multiple regions or galaxies.

As for Great Sects, Adrian found almost no publicly available information. No matter how deeply he searched, the Andromeda Local Network offered nothing substantial. Their strength, structure, and limits were deliberately obscured.

He tried different search terms: Great Sect hierarchy, Great Sect territories, Great Sect Divine Concepts.

Each query returned the same result: Information restricted. Upgrade UNI-Authority for access.

“Of course,” Adrian said, his tone flat.

Yet with just this, they learned one thing was common to all sects, regardless of tier.

Every sect existed for the same ultimate purpose. Transcendence.

To understand what transcendence meant in universal terms, Adrian continued searching and soon encountered a recurring term, Heavenly Order.

The Heavenly Order was the name given to the unknown force or existence that defined the rules of the universe itself. Different civilizations called it by different names, but this one was the common name.

He read the description twice, then expanded the entry. The text elaborated on various interpretations. Some cultures believed the Heavenly Order was a sentient being, others thought it was an unconscious natural law, and some others claimed it was the collective will of all existence.

But the core idea remained consistent.

The Heavenly Order wrote the rules. It governed concepts, dictated the flow of mana, defined the boundaries of reality itself.

The moment Adrian read this, everything clicked. For a long time, he had questioned who created these rules that created the concepts. He had assumed that somewhere in the universe, answers might already exist. Yet even here, beings who had lived for millions or billions of years were still searching.

Overall, in universal terms, transcendence meant surpassing the Heavenly Order itself.

With that understanding, Adrian broadened his research. If sects existed solely for cultivation and transcendence, then how did they sustain themselves? Cultivation required enormous resources. Since things like UNI-Coins existed, he was sure a sect could not survive on ideals alone. So he searched.

The answer, as it turned out, was multifaceted.

Most sects controlled vast regions of space under their influence. Within these regions existed countless empires. While sects did not directly govern mortals or interfere in their daily affairs, they provided protection in exchange for tribute. In addition to this, sects controlled mana mines, alchemical resource fields, and other resource-rich locations.

Even so, these methods alone were insufficient. Cultivation was resource-intensive on a scale that far exceeded what tributes and mines could support.

The true backbone of a sect’s economy lay in what the universe called Fields.

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In essence, every sect specialised in one or more Fields, areas of expertise that allowed them to provide services to the wider universe. These Fields were not much different from a clan’s speciality, but on a vastly larger and more refined scale.

There were Fields such as information network, alchemy, mercenary operations, rune inscription, artifact refinement, and many others, some of which were entirely unfamiliar to Adrian. And a sect’s fields were monetised to the wider universe with premium networks that they had seen before.

Through these Fields, sects earned resources, wealth, and influence, which in turn fuelled their pursuit of transcendence.

Adrian leaned back, letting the information settle.

The picture was clear now. Even though the sects claimed they were purely cultivation organisations, the truth was not just that. They were economic powers, territorial authorities, and service providers all at once. They existed in a carefully balanced ecosystem where strength, resources, and influence reinforced one another.

After absorbing this information about the sects, Adrian shifted his focus toward something even more critical: Combat in the universe.

Universal battles should be vastly different from galactic ones, and Adrian knew this was an area where his knowledge was dangerously lacking.

He scrolled through the Andromeda Local Network, bypassing threads about sect politics and territorial disputes, searching for anything that might illuminate how beings at this level truly fought. The posts blurred past until a single term stopped his hand mid-motion.

Authority Techniques.

Adrian leaned forward, his pulse quickening despite himself.

The topic was brief, almost dismissive in its simplicity. Authority Techniques were manuals and methods designed to teach cultivators how to properly use the authority they possessed.

Adrian quickly realized why this topic was so fundamental.

Before ascension, a mortal cultivator possessed no authority and could only wield the concepts they had comprehended. But once a Divine Concept formed, regardless of which arcane concepts composed it, the result was that they always got authority.

With authority came the ability to manipulate reality itself, even beyond the boundaries of one’s original concepts, and even to attempt modifying rules tied to concepts one did not fully understand. This was extremely dangerous.

Adrian read several recorded cases where newly ascended cultivators had been overwhelmed by the realization that their authority allowed them to do almost anything. Most such cultivators had only comprehended a handful of concepts, leaving massive gaps in their understanding.

If such a cultivator attempted to modify a high-level rule like time with low authority, the result was catastrophic. First, the action itself would consume their mana and willforce in microseconds due to their authority being low, and they were attempting this on an extremely powerful concept. Worse still, modifying time without proper comprehension would cause immediate backlash, resulting in instant death.

Reading this, Adrian fully grasped the danger of wielding authority without understanding.

As he scrolled further, another reason emerged.

Not every cultivator could master every concept, especially difficult ones like space. If a cultivator feared causing backlash by modifying space rules and therefore never attempted it, then they were effectively wasting the authority they possessed.

Authority Techniques existed to solve this exact problem.

They taught cultivators precisely what aspects of a rule could be modified to achieve a desired effect safely and efficiently.

Adrian immediately thought of the pirates he had encountered.

He didn’t sense any space essence in their divine concept. So they mostly didn’t possess comprehension of the Space Concept, yet they had used authority to modify spatial rules in a way that dramatically increased their speed. They could do this because they mastered an authority technique that taught them this exactly.

Adrian’s fingers moved across the interface, searching deeper. If Authority Techniques were this fundamental, there had to be catalogues, instructional materials, something that would give him more insights.

But the results came back sparse.

Most entries redirected to locked pages. Others simply stated: Information restricted. Upgrade UNI-Authority for access.

He tried different search terms: Authority Technique fundamentals, Basic authority manipulation, Beginner’s guide to reality alteration.

Each query returned the same frustrating wall.

Such knowledge was not publicly available. He found that Authority Techniques could either be purchased through UNI-Markets located in UNI-Hubs or learned by joining a sect, which would pass them down as part of its inheritance.

“Of course they’d lock this behind a paywall,” Selena muttered.

“Or sect membership.”

Overall, this alone fundamentally changed the nature of combat. Because now combat was no longer limited by concepts alone. One can surely wield their divine spells, yes, but they would also wield these authority techniques, which could change things. And Adrian was sure these techniques should not only be just for escaping, but there should be more. Also, at the end of the day, these were all governed by energy fuel.

That brought Adrian back to two critical elements: Mana and Willforce.

He returned to the search interface, typing with renewed purpose. His previous encounter with willforce depletion after erasing the Demon Emperor had taught him how little he understood this second energy source. The Guardian Spirit’s brief explanation had been insufficient.

But he could not find much concrete information about Willforce. While that was the case for Willforce, another term repeatedly appeared alongside discussions of mana: Mana Sea.

“Mana Sea,” he read aloud.

The command deck went quiet. They already knew that once a being reached SSS-rank, their mana liquefied within their body. After that, the only known method to increase mana capacity was through deeper comprehension of concepts or through comprehending more concepts.

It was a truth they’d all experienced. The transition from gaseous mana to liquid had marked a fundamental threshold, a transformation that had taken decades of effort for most of them.

But this term suggested something beyond that.

So what was a Mana Sea? Was it a different path entirely, or simply a higher refinement of mana?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep