Mirror Dream Tree-V.4.163. Execution
The great city awakens before dawn.
Its walls stretch across the horizon like a sleeping beast, ancient formations humming as streams of cultivators pour in from every direction.
Flying ships descend in orderly lines.
Beasts land on floating platforms.
Teleportation lights flash endlessly.
Today, the city holds only one purpose.
Execution.
From every race and faction, people flood toward the open ground at the city’s heart—a vast plaza capable of holding millions.
Spirit Dragon banners hang from towering pillars.
Ancient God runes glow faintly in the air.
The crowd grows denser by the breath.
Humans.
Beasts.
Yao.
Shadow races.
Divine clans.
All gathered for blood.
“Bring them out!”
“Execute them!”
“Blood for blood!”
The cries rise and fall like waves, thick with hatred.
At the centre of the plaza stands a raised execution platform, forged from dragonbone stone, stained dark from past rites.
Above it, execution arrays spin slowly, locking space and sealing destiny.
When the appointed time arrives, the gates beneath the platform open.
Silan and Mengui are pushed forward.
Forbidden chains wrap their necks, wrists, and ankles, engraved with sealing runes that suppress cultivation, bloodline, and soul.
Each step is heavy.
Each breath labored.
They are forced onto the platform.
The crowd erupts.
“KILL THEM!”
“TRAITORS OF THE HEAVENS!”
“PAY FOR JINJI CITY!”
The bloodthirst is raw, unhidden.
High above, on elevated terraces, figures sit in silent authority.
Elders of the Spirit Dragon Race.
Representatives of the Ancient God Clan.
Leaders of races that have long harboured hatred toward the human race.
Their gazes do not linger on the prisoners.
They scan the sky.
They watch the streets.
They wait.
The executioner steps forward, his voice amplified by formations.
“Ten breaths.”
His gaze sweeps the plaza.
Nine.
Eight.
The higher-ups lean forward slightly.
If Merin comes—
It will be now.
The executioner’s voice echoes across the plaza.
“Five.”
The crowd leans forward as one.
Then the sky splits.
A streak of human Saint Essence tears through the execution arrays, followed by dozens more, sharp and decisive.
“MOVE!”
Yuanzhen’s roar shakes the arena as he descends like a falling star, his Quasi-Supreme field unfolding midair and slamming into the outer formations of the plaza.
Lou Yuan follows at his side, Qinglong Dao roaring behind him, starlight flooding the sky.
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Human cultivators surge in from every direction.
Saint Kings.
Great Saints.
Hidden elders who have not shown themselves in centuries.
They strike without warning.
The execution platform trembles as defensive formations crack.
The crowd explodes into chaos.
“THE HUMAN RACE!”
“THEY’VE COME!”
“KILL THEM!”
Spirit Dragon Race elders rise instantly.
Ancient God Clan members step forward, divine auras erupting.
Quasi-Supreme fields bloom.
One.
Two.
Three.
Golden, draconic, and shadowed domains overlap, sealing the arena like layered heavens.
Yuanzhen’s field collides head-on with a Spirit Dragon Quasi-Supreme elder, the impact shredding clouds and collapsing space into fragments.
Lou Yuan charges toward the platform, Rain Sword already forming—
—and is stopped.
A massive Sacred Shield slams down, blocking his path.
Ancient God Clan cultivators descend in force.
The rescue stalls.
Silan and Mengui remain bound on the platform.
The executioner does not stop.
“Four.”
The city’s puppet guards activate.
Thousands of metallic figures rise from the streets, eyes glowing dragon-blue as Spirit Dragon control arrays light up.
They move as one.
They attack the human cultivators.
Steel and Dao collide.
Human Saints begin to fall.
The crowd roars in approval.
The humans are outnumbered.
Out-positioned.
Surrounded by hostile territory.
Yuanzhen’s expression darkens.
This was expected.
But the cost is still high.
“Three.”
Lou Yuan is forced back, blood spraying as he takes a Sacred Thunder head-on.
Yuanzhen locks blades with a dragon elder, both bleeding, both refusing to yield.
The human assault begins to buckle.
Then—
Something changes.
A tremor runs through the ground.
The puppet guards freeze mid-strike.
For a single heartbeat, the entire city falls silent.
Then the puppets turn.
Not toward the humans—
But toward the other races.
Their weapons swing.
Metal blades cut through Spirit Dragon formations.
Puppet fists crush Shadow Race cultivators.
Ancient God Clan disciples are impaled by machines they once commanded.
The plaza erupts into screams.
“What’s happening?”
“THE PUPPETS—THEY’VE TURNED!”
It is Jinji City all over again.
At the same time, the city’s core formations ignite.
Not defensive.
Offensive.
Array-lines embedded beneath the plaza flare crimson and silver, releasing waves of annihilating Dao energy that sweep through the stands of non-human races.
Flying cultivators are dragged from the sky by gravity arrays.
Protective domains are pierced by precision strikes.
The balance tilts.
Human cultivators rally instantly.
Lou Yuan’s eyes widen as he feels the shift.
Yuanzhen laughs—short, fierce, unrestrained.
“He’s here,” he mutters.
The executioner’s voice wavers for the first time.
“Two—”
Spirit Dragon elders react violently.
“SUPPRESS THE CITY CORE!”
“OVERRIDE THE PUPPET COMMANDS!”
Multiple Dao fields expand at once.
Quasi-Supreme suppression domains slam down over the city, crushing the rebelling puppets, forcing formations into instability.
The plaza becomes a battlefield of layered heavens.
Fields within fields.
Arrays within arrays.
The sky fractures.
The ground bleeds light.
Human cultivators surge again, pushing toward the platform amid the chaos.
Lou Yuan breaks through a collapsing Sacred Shield and finally sees Silan and Mengui clearly.
Their heads are bowed.
Their chains glow brighter as execution arrays attempt to force the countdown forward.
“One.”
The executioner raises his hand.
At that exact moment, the city’s main formation screams.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
A shrill, metallic cry echoes as control inscriptions are forcibly rewritten.
The ground splits.
A massive Dao imprint spreads outward like a chessboard pattern—
Precise, absolute, merciless.
Quasi-Supreme fields flicker.
Some collapse outright.
Others strain, their masters coughing blood.
The higher-ups finally stop scanning the crowd.
They look inward.
Fear flickers.
More suppression domains descend desperately, trying to smother the rebellion of puppets, the city formation, and the spreading Dao imprint.
But the momentum has shifted.
The arena is no longer theirs alone.
The execution has not ended.
And everyone knows—
This is no longer just an execution.
It is a declaration.
For a brief moment, hope surges among the human cultivators.
Then reality crashes down.
The Human Race reveals its full hand—ten Quasi-Supreme weapons blazing across the battlefield, each one anchoring a Dao field, each one straining its wielder to the limit.
Across from them, the response is merciless.
One by one, the other races reveal their reserves.
Spirit Dragon Race.
Ancient God Clan.
Shadow races.
Beast monarch lineages.
More than twenty Quasi-Supreme weapons descend.
The sky darkens as layered domains overlap, crushing space until it screams.
Even with the rebelling puppets and the city’s formation core suppressing parts of the battlefield, the balance tilts again.
Human cultivators begin to bleed.
One Quasi-Supreme field shatters.
Another flickers.
A third collapses entirely as its wielder is blasted from the sky.
Yuanzhen roars, forcing his field wider at the cost of his own origin.
Lou Yuan grits his teeth, starlight dimming as his essence burns dangerously low.
The puppets are being suppressed.
The city formations are being overridden one layer at a time.
Control is returning.
On the execution platform, the execution array stabilises.
The original executioner lies dead, torn apart during the initial clash.
Another step forward.
Cold.
Unhesitating.
The countdown resumes.
“Ten.”
The word echoes like a death sentence.
Human cultivators curse openly.
They do not have the strength to push again.
Not against this many Quasi-Supreme weapons.
Not now.
Then—
Pressure descends.
Not from a weapon.
Not from a Dao field.
From heaven itself.
The sky above the city twists violently as clouds gather with unnatural speed, spiralling inward, dark and vast.
Tribulation clouds.
They blot out the sun.
A ripple of shock spreads through the battlefield.
Someone—
inside the city—
has chosen to break through.
At this moment.
Curses erupt instantly.
“DAMN IT!”
“WHO IS BREAKING THROUGH NOW?!”
“ARE YOU INSANE?!”
The conflict halts.
Not because of mercy—
But because no one dares to remain beneath a tribulation cloud.
Saint King or not, being caught in another’s tribulation is courting annihilation.
Formations disengage.
Fields retract.
Puppets freeze.
Cultivators scatter in every direction, fleeing the city like a collapsing dam has burst.
No one looks back.
No one remembers Silan or Mengui.
Survival comes first.
Lou Yuan does not hesitate.
The moment the pressure descends, he lunges forward.
Chains shatter.
Execution arrays are torn apart by brute force and desperation.
Silan and Mengui collapse into his arms, weak but alive.
Yuanzhen covers them with his remaining field as human cultivators retreat in a tight formation, abandoning the city without a second thought.
They vanish beyond the horizon.
The plaza empties.
The stands are deserted.
The sky clears of cultivators in seconds.
Only the tribulation remains.
Thunder rolls like the roar of ancient beasts.
Lightning coils within the clouds, thick and merciless.
At the centre of the city, a single figure rises slowly into the air.
He stands beneath the tribulation clouds.
Alone.
The pressure around him is absolute.
The city trembles.
He does not flee.
He does not hide.
He waits.
The first bolt of tribulation lightning descends—
And the heavens prepare to witness the birth of something they may come to regret.
.
!
V.4.163. Execution
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