Lucien awoke in the cold pre-dawn darkness, the weight of a silent message pressing on his chest like a stone. The room around him was still, bathed in the faintest hint of moonlight leaking through the latticed window, but his mind was aflame. The Heavenly Executioner System had delivered a new Judgment Trial — and its decree was more brutal than any he had faced before.
"Eliminate the source of corruption — Sect Master Myra."
The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. Sect Master Myra. The very name carved deep wounds into Lucien's heart. She was not just the leader of the sect; she was the wife of his master, a woman who had held the sect's reins for decades, revered for her composure and strength. How could the divine will demand her death?
Lucien's breath caught, cold and shallow. The trial's verdict was final, an unbending mandate of celestial justice. Yet within him, a tempest brewed—a fierce storm of loyalty, doubt, and fear. His master had been kind to him, a steadfast pillar in a harsh world. To kill the woman he loved and respected… was it justice, or sacrilege?
The sky outside faintly brightened with the promise of dawn as Lucien sat motionless, the verdict echoing relentlessly in his mind. Could he carry out this divine sentence? Could he turn his blade on his master's wife? The weight of the Heavenly Executioner's will settled like a shroud over his soul.
The memory of Myra's face haunted him — serene, graceful, almost regal in public, commanding unwavering respect from disciples and elders alike. She was the embodiment of the sect's glory, a symbol of strength in turbulent times. Yet rumors—whispers in shadowed corridors—had begun to surface in his thoughts. Dark accusations, hushed voices speaking of secret dealings, corruption festering beneath her polished exterior.
Lucien closed his eyes, trying to reconcile the image of the woman he knew with the grim portrait painted by divine judgment. Could it be possible? Or was this some cruel mistake of fate? His heart pulled in two directions: gratitude and reverence for his master's family, and an unrelenting drive to root out corruption as the Executioner.
His karma value fluctuated visibly — a swirling balance on the edge of chaos. Doubt, loyalty, justice—all jostling within him, each vying for control. His system's voice was silent now, leaving him alone with the most difficult choice of his life.
How do you kill the root without destroying the tree?
With no clear path forward, Lucien resolved to prepare himself in secret. If the divine system demanded proof, if it demanded that he sever corruption at its source, then he would do so with clarity and certainty. He could not act blindly—not this time.
He slipped away from the bustling sect grounds under the cover of darkness, retreating to a secluded corner deep within the mountain's embrace. There, hidden beneath a canopy of ancient pines and jagged rocks, lay a forgotten training ground—an abandoned courtyard from a bygone era.
Lucien's every movement was deliberate and silent as he began his regimen. The harshness of the night air sharpened his senses. He practiced forms of stealth and evasion, honing his ability to move unseen. His cultivation focused on refining spiritual senses—learning to detect even the faintest trace of corruption in a person's aura.
The most important progress came with his awakening of a new divine gift—the ability to purify spiritual taint with his touch, a skill granted by the Executioner System itself. This was a double-edged sword: power to cleanse the guilty, but only if the guilty could be found and confirmed.
He repeated the divine injunction in his mind: "Eliminate the root of corruption to save the sect and ensure its future." The words became a mantra, an unyielding force that steeled his will through each exhausting session.
Several days later, under a sky streaked with twilight, Lucien approached the Karma Lake. This hidden sanctuary was known only to a few—an ethereal pool of water with the unique property of revealing the spiritual truth beneath a person's facade.
Legends spoke of the lake as a mirror of the soul, a place where karma and purity became visible and tangible. To stand by its shores was to stand before the final arbiter of justice.
Lucien knelt at the water's edge, dipping his fingers into the cool liquid. His mind cleared, and he whispered the Invocation of Revelation—a sacred chant that unlocked the lake's power. The surface rippled, glowing faintly blue, and images began to form.
He tested the waters first with known allies—disciples whose loyalty was unquestioned. Their auras shimmered bright and pure, glowing with golden light that spoke of virtuous karma.
Then he turned his attention to other senior sect members. Some revealed faint shadows in their essence—blemishes of greed, envy, and selfish ambition. Their corruption was there, subtle but undeniable.
Finally, with a heart pounding like thunder, Lucien focused on the image of Myra. The water darkened, the glow dimmed, until an inky shadow erupted from beneath the surface. It was a thick, twisting corruption, black as void and seething with malevolence. The source of the rot was unmistakable.
Lucien's breath hitched. The divine mandate was confirmed—her aura was polluted beyond redemption. Yet, he knew, the evidence from the lake was not enough. Killing a sect master was no trivial matter; he needed proof that could stand before any tribunal, mortal or divine.
Over the following days, Lucien shadowed Myra's movements with the utmost caution. Cloaked by his cultivated stealth, he witnessed secret meetings behind closed doors—hushed exchanges with cloaked figures and unfamiliar faces.
Pieces of a terrible puzzle began to fall into place. Myra was not merely a political manipulator but a conspirator weaving dark alliances with demonic factions. She siphoned spiritual resources meant for the sect's protection, redirecting them toward sinister ends. Her influence extended like poison through the very veins of the sect's power.
Each revelation deepened Lucien's resolve, yet also sharpened his fear. To confront her meant risking not only his own life but also the wrath of his master, who might never forgive such a betrayal.
He returned often to Karma Lake, testing his growing doubts against the purity of truth it revealed. The darkness in Myra's aura never wavered; the corruption was real.
One night, under a cold, silver moon, Lucien found himself alone at the lake's edge once again. The water was still, reflecting the star-studded sky like a celestial mirror.
He whispered a vow, his voice trembling yet resolute:
"I am the blade of divine justice. I will cut the rot at its root, no matter the cost. For the sect. For my master. For the balance between light and shadow."
The weight of his decision settled firmly in his chest, an iron pact forged in solitude.
The moonlight bathed him in its pale glow, and for a moment, Lucien felt the crushing loneliness of his burden. The path ahead was fraught with peril and heartbreak.
Yet, the executioner within him stirred, ready to act.