Villain System in a Cultivation World-Chapter 52: Purge

In the resplendent heart of the Royal Palace in Fudu City, capital of the Kingdom of Fuguo, Emperor Fu Kang sat in meditative stillness, an imperial colossus draped in robes of crimson and gold.

The silken folds flowed around him like molten sunlight, their intricate embroidery of celestial phoenixes catching the flickering glow of ethereal lamps suspended from the chamber's vaulted ceiling.

Each breath the emperor took resonated with the boundless authority of the Divine Spirit Realm's pinnacle, his aura a vast, slumbering ocean capable of drowning a mountain with a single ripple.

The air tightened as an elderly aide, clad in whispering indigo silk, emerged from the shadows. His steps were silent on the polished marble floor, yet his presence pressed against the chamber's sanctity.

He sank into a deep bow, his silver-threaded hair brushing the ground, his voice a low, tremulous thread. "Your Majesty, grave tidings from Qingcheng Province. It lies in ruin... obliterated. Our inquiries point to the Ye clan as the calamity's root."

Fu Kang's eyes snapped open, twin embers of divine light piercing the dimness. A flicker of shock cracked his regal composure, a rare fracture in the impervious facade of a ruler who had weathered centuries of intrigue.

"The Ye clan? Ye Qiu's relatives?" His resonant voice, deep as a temple bell, trembled with disbelief, stirring the delicate chains of the ethereal lamps.

The aide nodded, his weathered face etched with grim certainty. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The Ye clan is no more."

A spark of anger flared in Fu Kang's gaze, his fingers tightening on the armrests of his throne, a masterpiece of obsidian and jade carved with phoenixes frozen in mid-flight, their eyes glinting with embedded starstones.

"How were they responsible?" he demanded, his tone a thunderclap that seemed to shake the palace's foundations. The air grew heavy, charged with the emperor's barely restrained power, as if the heavens themselves held their breath.

Fu Kang had placed unshakable faith in Ye Qiu, a prodigy whose meteoric rise had promised to etch his name into the annals of the Eastern Wilderness. He had sworn an oath, sealed with the weight of his crown, to protect the Ye family while Ye Qiu ventured beyond Fuguo's borders, pursuing the elusive path to immortality.

Now, the annihilation of Qingcheng Province and the Ye clan gnawed at Fu Kang, a blade twisting in his chest. To face Ye Qiu now, bearing such tragic news, would be to confront not only Fu Kang's failure as an emperor but also his shortcomings as a mentor.

The aide's voice wavered, as if treading a path of splintered glass. "It is said, Your Majesty, that Ye Qiu, in secret, succumbed to the demonic path. Countless witnesses—disciples, elders, even rogue cultivators roaming the wilds—attest to his descent into forbidden arts. Worse, he dared to strike at Young Master Qin Ting of the Xuantian Sect."

Fu Kang froze, his heart gripped by a vise of betrayal. The name Qin Ting loomed large in the Eastern Wilderness, a True Disciple of the Xuantian Sect whose power could sunder mountains and whose whims could topple kingdoms.

"Ye Qiu... a demonic cultivator? And he attacked Qin Ting?!" His voice roared, a tempest that rattled the jade walls and sent the ethereal lamps swaying, their flames flickering wildly. "How could I, with all my power, fail to sense such darkness in him?"

The aide bowed lower, his forehead nearly grazing the marble, his tone cautious as one navigating a frozen lake.

"Your Majesty, the evidence is irrefutable. Ye Qiu's heresy was laid bare, and Young Master Qin Ting, as a True Disciple, acted within his rights. He eradicated Ye Qiu, the Ye clan, and Qingcheng Province, suspecting them of harboring demonic taint. Not a soul remains."

Fu Kang surged to his feet, his robes snapping like a war banner in a gale. Anger and shock churned within him, a maelstrom threatening to shatter the iron discipline that had defined his reign.

"Ye Qiu betrayed my trust!" he thundered, his voice echoing with the weight of a divine edict. "To fall so far and dare to provoke Qin Ting? A fool's gambit!"

As ruler of Fuguo, Fu Kang understood the Eastern Wilderness's brutal hierarchy with chilling clarity. The Xuantian Sect stood above all, an unassailable titan whose decrees were law. Qin Ting, a favored son of that celestial sect, wielded power that could reduce Fuguo to ash with a single gesture.

Ye Qiu's death was no longer the heart of Fu Kang's concern; the true dread was whether Qin Ting's wrath would turn toward the royal family. The emperor's open favor toward Ye Qiu, coupled with Prince Fu Yue's sworn brotherhood with the fallen prodigy, was a chain that could drag the kingdom into oblivion. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

The chamber fell silent, the air thick with unspoken consequences. Fu Kang's gaze grew distant, his mind a battlefield of icy deliberation. The fate of his court, his generals, and his children was bound to the looming specter of Xuantian's judgment. To safeguard Fuguo and maintain the fragile balance of power, he would have to act with ruthless precision.

His voice, when it came, was cold as a winter blade, each word honed to cut through the silence.

"Proclaim this decree: Fu Yue, through his reckless transgressions, has defied the sacred tenets of our house. His title as Crown Prince is hereby stripped. As justice demands, he shall meet his end by his own hand, drinking poison, a fate sealed by his own misdeeds. Summon Fu Zeng from the ancestral land and restore him to his rightful place as heir."

The aide trembled, his bow so low it seemed he might meld into the floor. "Yes, Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice barely audible yet heavy with the weight of what was to come. He knew, as Fu Kang did, that a bloodstorm loomed, its shadow darkening the gilded halls of Fudu.

Fu Kang stood motionless, a statue carved from sorrow and resolve. 'Yue'er, forgive your father,' he thought, the words a silent requiem for the son he had condemned. In a flash of spiritual energy, he vanished from the throne room, leaving only a subtle pulse in the air.

That night, the Kingdom of Fuguo became a crucible of slaughter. The executioner's blade fell not only on Prince Fu Yue but on every soul, family, and faction tied to Ye Qiu's legacy. Blood flowed like rivers through Fudu's ancient streets, and it stained the cobblestones crimson under the crescent moon's mournful gaze.

It was a grim offering, a desperate sacrifice to prove Fuguo's unwavering loyalty to the Xuantian Sect, their celestial overlord. Entire lineages were extinguished—merchants who had traded with the Ye clan, scholars who had praised Ye Qiu's talents, even distant cousins who bore no fault beyond a shared name.

The palace guards, clad in armor etched with silver runes, moved like specters through the city, their blades silent but merciless.

Yet, high above in his celestial fortress, Qin Ting remained untouched by the carnage below. To him, Fuguo's frenzied atonement was but a fleeting ripple in the vast ocean of his indifference. The Kingdom of Fuguo bled to appease a god who did not care to look.

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Within the opulent sanctum of the Auric Celestial Skyspire, Qin Ting stood bathed in the ethereal glow of a crystalline system panel, its luminescent display casting fleeting shadows across the polished starstone throne at the chamber's heart.

The throne, carved from a single slab of cosmic mineral, shimmered with veins of opalescent light, as if fragments of a fallen galaxy were bound within.

The chamber was a marvel of arcane artistry: obsidian walls inlaid with golden runes pulsed like the veins of a living beast, their rhythmic glow synchronized with a subtle resonance through the Skyspire.

Qin Ting's amethyst robes rippled as he shifted, the golden dragons embroidered across the fabric catching the light with every subtle movement, their sinuous forms seeming to writhe with a life of their own.

His sapphire eyes, sharp and unyielding as a blade's edge, fixed on the system panel's radiant display. The text flickered with cold precision: the annihilation of the Ye clan had earned him 100,000 Villain Points, swelling his total to 1,400,000. A faint smirk curved his lips, though his gaze remained glacial, unsoftened by triumph.

'How far I've come,' he thought, the words a whisper in the vast cathedral of his mind. 'In my past life, I was a specter—a nobody adrift in a colorless, mundane existence, clawing for scraps of meaning.'

But now, he wielded power that could sunder mountains, erase provinces, and snuff out thousands of lives without a tremor in his heart. The Ye clan's destruction was no mere act of conquest; it was a calculated spectacle, etched in ash and blood.

They had posed no true threat—merely a convenient stage for his dominance. Their annihilation was a lesson to the world: Qin Ting was no longer a shadow. He was the storm.

His eyes darkened, the sapphire hue deepening to storm-cloud blue as he murmured to the empty chamber, his voice low and resolute.

"I'd rather betray the world than let it betray me. In this dog-eat-dog realm, mercy is a blade turned inward, a poison that festers in the weak. Only strength commands respect. Only fear ensures loyalty. All weakness must be purged—root and branch."

He turned back to the system panel, its glow casting his angular features in stark relief. Every 100,000 Villain Points granted a draw from the Wheel of Fate, a celestial lottery that could yield treasures to shake the heavens or trinkets barely worth a glance.

[Host has fourteen Wheel of Fate opportunities. Confirm use of one?] The system's voice was a cold, mechanical hum, devoid of inflection yet resonant with possibility.

Qin Ting inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Confirm."

A radiant roulette materialized, its edges wreathed in shimmering runes that danced like starfire. The pointer spun, a blur of gold and shadow slicing through the air, accompanied by an otherworldly chime. The chamber seemed to hold its breath as the wheel slowed, the pointer wavering before settling with a soft click.

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming a common item: Mind-Clearing Pill.]

A pill materialized in his palm, its surface smooth and luminous, gleaming like polished jade under the sanctum's arcane light. Qin Ting's lips curled into a sneer, his fingers closing briefly around the pill before loosening in disdain.

'No matter how perfect, it's still trash,' he thought, his smirk tinged with wry amusement.

The Mind-Clearing Pill was a novice's bauble, a trifle even fledgling alchemists could concoct. Though the system's version was flawless—its essence distilled to unmatched purity—it remained insignificant, a mere stepping stone for lesser cultivators.

The Wheel of Fate was a fickle mistress, its rewards as likely to mock as to marvel. Yet Qin Ting was no stranger to its caprice.

"Continue drawing," he commanded, his voice steady, unshaken by the mediocre yield.

The roulette spun again, each revolution a pulse of anticipation in the still chamber. One by one, the draws unfolded, each accompanied by the system's dispassionate pronouncements.

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming an uncommon weapon: Hundred-Mile Sword.]

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming a common item: Primordial Pill.]

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming a rare skill: Flying Snake Scripture.]

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming an uncommon item: Seven Virtues Pill.]

The rewards accumulated at his feet, a modest pile of gleaming artifacts and scrolls, each radiating a faint aura of power. To lesser men, they would be treasures, objects of reverence. But to Qin Ting, they were mere scraps, tools fit for acolytes, not a sovereign of his stature.

His expression held detached irony, a faint spark of humor glinting in his eyes. 'Is my luck truly this wretched today?' he thought, the thought unfurling with quiet derision.

Thirteen draws had yielded nothing worthy of the Skyspire's master, nothing to match the ambition burning in his veins.

With one chance remaining, he exhaled softly, the sound carrying tempered expectation. "Draw again," he said, his tone resolute, as if daring fate to defy him.

The roulette whirred to life, its pointer a streak of light against the runic haze. The chamber's resonance grew louder, the golden runes on the walls flaring in sync with the wheel's frenetic spin. Time stretched, each second heavy with possibility, until the pointer slowed, before halting with a resonant chime.

[Congratulations, Host, for claiming a legendary technique: the Code of All Gods.]

A scroll materialized in Qin Ting's hands, its parchment ancient yet pristine, pulsing with a faint celestial light that seemed to hum with the whispers of forgotten deities.

His fingers tightened around it, the predatory gleam in his sapphire eyes flaring like a star igniting in the void. A slow, triumphant smile curved his lips, sharp and dangerous.

Qin Ting's breath caught, his pulse quickening as he opened the description of the Code of All Gods.