Emperor of the Source

Chapter 362: The End of Andromeda's Supremacy War

Standing at the epicenter of the phenomenon, Adrian's eyes widened in genuine shock as he stared at the sea of unconscious bodies drifting through the void. For several moments, he did not move. Then, slowly, he looked down at his own hands.

"What the hell?" Adrian muttered, his voice barely a whisper in the sudden, eerie quiet.

He had not used an attack. He had not even tried to exert his power. He had only yelled at them to stop. Yet even as confusion filled his thoughts, a realization began settling within his mind. Other cultivators might not have been able to perceive the nature of the intangible energy that had just erupted from him, but as the source of it, Adrian could feel it far more clearly than anyone else.

At the exact instant he had shouted, he had felt his consciousness strain violently, becoming clouded and heavy, as if some deep, newly awakened part of his mind had been used like a weapon without him knowing how to properly control it. His willforce, which had expanded tremendously due to the countless connections established through the [Crown of the Source], now felt nearly drained, and a deep, agonizing fatigue throbbed behind his eyes unlike physical exhaustion, mana depletion, or the usual pressure of combat.

He understood that whatever had happened was related to willforce. Willforce was the energy of mind, intent, and consciousness, and he had relied on it constantly throughout his Rule Stage battles to command authority and sustain techniques. But this was vastly different from the raw, unrefined willforce he had used before. This was deeper, infinitely more potent, and structured in a way he still could not fully understand.

Adrian remembered Hazel's roar back in the micro-dimension, how her invisible willforce had nearly shattered the minds of Octaven and Kaelar, forcing even high-tier Peak Rule Stage beings to kneel in the void. What he had just done felt like that same kind of phenomenon, but magnified to a scale that was almost incomprehensible.

"I need to understand what this is," Adrian thought as he immediately cast his willforce recovery spell upon himself. "If I cannot control it, it will become a liability."

Golden essence stirred within him, moving toward his mind and trying to soothe the violent fragments left behind by the sudden expenditure. Adrian closed his eyes, attempting to stabilize his thoughts, but the fragmented, turbulent state of his willforce made it difficult to even maintain his position in the void. His body still had mana, and his flesh was not on the verge of collapse, but his consciousness felt as though it had been dragged across a battlefield and left bleeding.

While Adrian was trying to process the terrifying new depths of his own existence, a soft, familiar presence moved to his side.

Hestia floated up beside him, her crimson-green aura pulsing with calm, reassuring warmth. Unlike the terrified remnants of the enemy army, she did not look at him with fear. Having reached the Astral Stage herself, she had somehow been able to perceive the invisible wave of energy that had erupted from him, and from Adrian's reaction, as well as the instability he showed while floating in the void, she could guess that whatever had happened was something even he had not fully understood. More importantly, it had strained him far more than the battlefield itself.

She gently placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him in the quiet void. "We need time to understand this new state, Adrian. You have already spent a long time in battle, and your mind has clearly been strained. Do not push yourself any further right now."

Adrian looked at her, and after a moment, he gave a small nod.

Hestia turned her gaze toward the vast, silent battlefield. The remaining conscious enemies were shivering in the void, their spirits completely and utterly broken. They offered no resistance. They held no desire to fight. The war for supremacy had ended not with a final bloody clash of swords, but with a single word.

"Go and rest for now, Adrian," Hestia said, her voice now carrying the steady authority of a sovereign who had finally claimed her throne. "I will take care of everything. The Andromeda Galaxy is ours."

"Alright," Adrian said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I will leave the rest to you, Hestia."

Adrian trusted that Hestia could manage everything that remained. He raised a trembling hand and opened a portal despite his mental exhaustion. Space folded before him, twisting and tearing open to reveal a rift threaded with serene violet light, anchored directly to the inner-zone base of the Azure Garden in the Virelith Galaxy.

"If anything comes up, call me," Adrian said.

With that, he stepped into the portal. The rift collapsed instantly behind him, sealing shut and leaving the chaotic, triumphant battlefield of the Andromeda Galaxy behind.

Hestia glided forward through the void, placing herself between the remnants of the enemy armada and the front lines of the Crimson Vital Sect. Her crimson-green domain expanded outward, showing her eighty percent authority to the entire galaxy. The pressure of an Astral Stage being settled over the battlefield was impossible to ignore.

"The leaders of the Grave-Sky Sect and the Ironbound Path Sect are dead," Hestia's voice resonated across the silent void, amplified by her essence so that every conscious being heard her clearly. "The leader of the Ashen Vortex Sect has abandoned you to die. You have no hope of victory. Lower your weapons. Anyone who resists, and anyone who attempts to flee, will be erased from existence."

The ultimatum hung in the void, and for a moment, the tension was thick enough to crack the surrounding space.

Then a heavy, ornate broadsword slipped from the hands of a Grave-Sky Sect elder. It drifted downward, colliding soundlessly against the hull of a shattered warship. That single action broke the dam. Across the sprawling expanse of the battlefield, the surviving cultivators began to disarm. Swords, spears, hammers, staffs, daggers, and countless artifacts slipped from trembling hands and floated away into the emptiness.

"Lara, Torvain," Hestia commanded, her gaze sweeping over her people. "Imprison those from the three dominant sects. Pay special attention to the Everlasting Pill Sect. If they try to run, execute them. For the cultivators of the subsidiary sects, analyze their records. If they were truly forced into this war, bind them through UNI-Contracts and place them under supervision. If they willingly joined this battle with the intent to destroy our sect, imprison them as well."

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"Yes, Master," Lara and Torvain responded in perfect unison.

This decision of Hestia was extremely important for her future path as the ruler of the galaxy. Everyone here had been an enemy, but not all enemies had chosen the war freely. Some had been truly forced, pushed into the conflict by the situation Ignis and the Ashen Vortex Sect had created. Hestia understood that clearly and was not petty enough to simply slaughter everyone in revenge.

As someone who had lost countless disciples in her life, she knew the value of every single life. Her wrath belonged to those who had truly wished to kill her disciples and destroy her sect, but beyond that, she did not want to rule Andromeda like Morka had ruled Virelith. What she wanted was a peaceful environment where people could live without being crushed every day by the fear of survival.

The Crimson Vital elders, Lara, Maelis, Torvain, Varcain, and Caelum, moved forward immediately. Having recently demonstrated their power as Peak Rule Stage beings, their presence alone was enough to crush any lingering thoughts of rebellion.

The Crimson Vital Sect disciples secured the perimeter, their customized weapons at the ready. Mid-range fighters shifted their spears and bladed chains, ensuring no enemy could activate a hidden spatial artifact to escape. Support cultivators raised defensive barriers, creating holding zones for the millions of surrendering enemies, while inscribers moved quickly to lay down space suppression fields to prevent any sudden retaliation.

"Form a line and register your mana signatures," Maelis ordered a group of subsidiary sect leaders.

She held her UNI-OS in one hand, and since the Crimson Vital Sect had already gathered considerable information on many of the individuals present, she began checking their identities as they registered their mana signatures. She carefully compared their past data, their recorded actions, their alliances, and the role they had played in the war. She searched for those who were genuinely decent people, or at least those who had acted purely out of survival rather than malice. Those whose records revealed malicious intent, deliberate massacres, or eagerness to destroy the Crimson Vital Sect were immediately handed over to Torvain for imprisonment.

For the others, Lara manifested dozens of translucent UNI-Contracts in the void before them. Her gaze remained calm, but the pressure of her Peak Rule Stage aura made it clear that negotiation was not being offered. "Sign them. Now."

The remaining enemy leaders, their faces pale and spirits crushed, did not hesitate. They could see that the contracts would bind them as subsidiary sects of the Crimson Vital Sect, essentially taking away the freedom they had tried to preserve by aligning with the dominant powers. It was bitterly ironic. They had followed the Ashen Vortex Sect, Grave-Sky Sect, and Ironbound Path Sect to avoid destruction, only to end up kneeling before a new ruler. But right now, signing away their freedom was the only way to keep their lives. Compared to execution, imprisonment, or being erased by the Astral Stage woman floating above them, a contract was mercy.

Watching the systematic dismantling of what had once been the greatest military alliance in the galaxy, Nightshade drifted forward from the shadows.

For millions of years, the Andromeda Galaxy had maintained a fragile equilibrium upheld by its four strongest upper minor sects. None of them had been able to decisively overpower the others, and the balance had survived through mutual restraint, assassinations, proxy conflicts, mercenary arrangements, and endless caution. But as Nightshade looked at Hestia, who now radiated the undeniable authority of the Astral Stage, he realized that the era of four dominant powers was permanently over. The power structure of the Andromeda Galaxy had been shattered and rewritten.

"The Thousand Veils Sect chose correctly," Nightshade thought, a sense of relief washing through him. He had aligned his sect with the Crimson Vital Sect early because he had recognized that Adrian was an anomaly whose power defied reality. Had he chosen to stand with Ignis, or even remained neutral, his sect would now be kneeling in the void, waiting to be bound by UNI-Contracts or slaughtered.

Nightshade approached Hestia and lowered his head in a deep, respectful bow, a gesture he had never offered to another sect leader in his millions of years of existence.

"Sect Leader Hestia," Nightshade said, his voice stripped of its usual edge and replaced by genuine reverence, "the Thousand Veils Sect stands ready to assist in the integration of the surrendered territories. The galaxy is yours to command."

Hestia glanced at him, her pale golden eyes calm. "Your support in this war will not be forgotten, Nightshade. Coordinate with Elder Varcain to secure the resource channels of the Ashen Vortex, Grave-Sky, and Ironbound Path Sects. I want their headquarters locked down before their remaining disciples attempt to plunder their own treasuries."

"It will be done," Nightshade replied.

He vanished into the shadows immediately, moving to execute her orders.

Further back in the void, the people who had come from the Milky Way Galaxy were finally allowing the adrenaline to bleed out of their systems. Draven let out a long, ragged exhale, wiping a streak of crystallized blood from his jaw as he looked over the endless sea of surrendering enemies and then toward the place where Adrian had been moments before.

"He told them to stop, and half the galaxy just… turned off," Draven muttered, shaking his head in sheer disbelief.

Max chuckled weakly beside him, leaning on his weapon as his shoulders finally loosened. "I do not think I will ever get used to that. One second, we are fighting for our lives against a million maniacs, and the next, the war is just over."

The other celestials, Elara, Thomas, Selena, Lysandra, the rulers and everyone floated nearby as they all celebrated.

Aurelia pulled Aerin into a tight embrace, burying her face in her daughter's shoulder as though confirming again and again that she was alive. Aerin hugged her mother back tightly, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Uncle really is a monster," Aerin thought.

She had felt the crushing, suffocating pressure within the micro-dimension, witnessed the unfathomable depths of Peak Rule Stage combat, and awakened something terrifying within herself only because death had reached for her. Yet Adrian had stood above all of that, bending the battlefield to his will. The gap between them was still vast, so vast that it made her chest tighten with awe, frustration, and determination all at once.

Nearby, Marivelle floated silently, watching the captured disciples of the Everlasting Pill Sect being dragged into containment zones.

This war, in a way, should have given her happiness. She had already accepted Adrian as her master, not merely because of the contract binding her, but because of the genuine respect she now held for him. He had given her purpose after the Everlasting Pill Sect abandoned her, and the Crimson Vital Sect had become the place where her talents were valued instead of exploited.

But as she watched Yselia being dragged away and saw the disciples of the Everlasting Pill Sect surrendering in fear, the heart of the former elder still clenched slightly. For all its cruelty, all its arrogance, and all the betrayal she had suffered, that sect had once been her home.

Yet the pain did not last long. She remembered how Kenric and the other disciples had fled from the relic world, leaving her alone to die at Adrian's hands. She remembered that Yselia, the sect leader who should have at least tried to recover her, had not cared about her at all. Those memories hardened her heart again, washing away the small ache that had briefly risen within her.

Marivelle looked away from the captured Everlasting Pill Sect disciples and toward the Crimson Vital Sect's organized lines. Her expression slowly settled into calm acceptance.

The old order had ended.

And she had chosen the side that survived.