The old man tried to move.
He couldn't.
A cross of light appeared in the air—but it didn't descend from above. It manifested from an impossible direction, as if born at the edge between intention and act.
✝️ Divine Tribulation of the Twelve Crosses ✝️
They did not fall all at once.
First, the world judged where to place them.
One by one, the crosses ignited around Lin Ye, forming an incomplete circle, as if twelve judges occupied twelve invisible thrones.
The first cross inclined toward the old man.
First Cross: Cross of the Meridian
It drove into the ground before him, and a thread of light pierced his internal channels like an icy needle. It didn't kill him. Worse: it fixed his meridians as "closed."
The old man opened his mouth to scream… and no sound came out. The technique didn't steal his voice; it stole the continuity of his qi.
His knees struck the ground.
Second Cross: Cross of the Oath
This one didn't touch his body. It touched the air beside his heart. A sense of "contract" shattered like glass. Every internal pact, every technique that depended on a vow or an inheritance, was annulled.
The old man's eyes emptied.
He understood at once: he would never again sustain a Domain.
Third Cross: Cross of Form
It positioned itself behind Su Yanlin, and the air compacted. Her body ceased to be a "target" and became a "person" again; the technique crushing her unraveled like misdirected smoke. Su Yanlin fell forward, free, gasping, not fully understanding why she had survived.
Lin Ye didn't look at her. He couldn't afford to lose a second.
The fourth judge moved.
Fourth Cross: Cross of the Shadow
It struck where Shen Kuang stood.
It didn't pierce his flesh.
It pierced his shadow.
Shen Kuang's shadow was pinned to the ground as if it were molten iron. His feet moved desperately… and his body didn't advance. It was a humiliating sentence: position had defined him.
Shen Kuang tried to activate a mobility art—a brief flash of qi at the ankles, a quick-step technique—but the movement died before it existed.
"No… no!" he whimpered. "Let me go!"
Lin Ye looked at him for the first time.
There was no pleasure in his eyes.
Only decision.
Fifth Cross: Cross of the Name
It appeared before Shen Kuang, at face height. The light didn't burn him. It recognized him.
For an instant, the world seemed to ask: who are you when your position no longer holds you up?
Shen Kuang felt the panic of being "less" before reality. He didn't lose his name—but his influence became harder to invoke within that space.
Ji Ren didn't shout.
But his pupil contracted.
Because the sixth cross had turned toward him.
Sixth Cross: Cross of Permanence
It didn't descend.
It stopped a centimeter from his forehead.
Ji Ren, bearer of the Eye of Permanence, felt for the first time what it was like to be on the other side: a verdict trying to fix him in a state he had not chosen.
His body wanted to immobilize itself.
His eye wanted to impose its law.
And the two collided, generating an internal tremor that drew blood from the corner of his mouth.
"This…" Ji Ren whispered. "This isn't an art… it's a permission of… higher level…"
Lin Ye didn't answer. The divine energy was in its fourth second.
The white halo began to crack.
Not from external damage.
From limit.
The remaining judges—the seventh through twelfth crosses—did not strike. Not because Lin Ye was merciful. Because the power wasn't enough.
But before fading, the incomplete circle did one last thing:
it engraved memory.
An invisible pressure spread through the dome and imprinted itself on every seal, every formation, every nearby tablet: this happened. It could not be easily denied.
Lin Ye lowered his hand.
The crown trembled.
The halo collapsed into white motes that didn't fall—they dissolved.
The fifth second of divine energy ended.
Lin Ye remained standing… two more seconds, now without that fuel, held only by the semi-divine form as it disintegrated.
Six… seven…
The pain returned like a black wave.
Eight…
He vomited dark blood.
Nine…
His legs failed.
Ten…
The form extinguished.
Lin Ye dropped to his knees, and the world reclaimed its normal weight with violence. It was as if someone had taken away a sky and returned a mountain to his chest.
The old man was still alive, but his eyes were lost. His cultivation… had been fixed as "finished."
Shen Kuang wept in silence, his shadow still pinned for one more instant before being released, like a delayed reminder.
Ji Ren was on his knees, breathing with difficulty, his gaze no longer so neutral.
"Ten seconds…" he whispered, trembling. "And almost… almost…"
Yan Mo burst in at the edge of the dome as if the place owed him passage. He didn't break the formation with brute force. He used a different permission: registry authority.
The dome opened with a creak.
"Enough," Yan Mo said, his voice icy. "This is already written."
No one stopped him.
Not even Ji Ren dared to.
Su Yanlin crawled to Lin Ye, trying to hold him, but he was already slipping into darkness.
The last thing he saw was something simple and terrifying:
the distant sound of registry bells.
Not alarms.
Documentation.