The sight of the Void Sovereign, a being of conceptual terror, now forced into a physical form and kneeling on the floor, had shattered the worldview of every guest present.
Sect Master Jian Wushuang, the pinnacle of the mortal path, stood with his hand frozen on the hilt of his divine sword. He was a man who had faced heavenly tribulations and battled ancient monsters, but the casual, almost bored, display of power he had just witnessed was something else entirely. It was not a technique; it was a command. The host had not attacked the Void Sovereign; he had simply told reality to reshape him, and reality had obeyed without question. Jian Wushuang's Dao Heart, which was as firm and unyielding as his blade, now had a hairline crack in it. He finally understood that his sword, the source of his pride and power, was as meaningless here as a child's wooden toy.
The Demonic Emperor, a late-stage Heavenly Immortal, felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine, a sensation he hadn't experienced since he was a lowly Qi Condensation disciple. His grand entrance, his retinue of demons, his throne of bone—it was all the posturing of a provincial warlord in the court of a true, cosmic emperor. He stared at the exquisite, glowing fruit on his table, a treasure that could start a war in his home realm, and suddenly felt a profound, chilling sense of his own insignificance.
The Oracle of the Immortal Alliance, her face hidden behind a featureless white mask, remained perfectly still, but the illusory light that made up her form flickered almost imperceptibly. Her arts, which allowed her to ride the currents of fate and glimpse the future, were utterly blind here. This place, and the man who commanded it, were a complete and total void in the river of destiny. She was not a player here; she was a piece, and she had no idea what game was being played.
Ao Xian's warm smile never wavered as he took his seat at the head of the hall, on a throne that was simple and unadorned, yet felt like the natural center of the entire pocket dimension. "Please," he said, his voice a calm invitation. "The feast is prepared. There is no need for such tension."
At his words, a silent, invisible pressure seemed to lift, allowing the guests to breathe once more. The celestial soldiers, who had been standing as motionless as statues, began to move. They moved with a silent, fluid grace, their silver armor making no sound as they brought forth the dishes that Feng Wu had prepared.
The first course was a simple-looking fruit platter. But the fruits were Sun-Kissed Plums that radiated a gentle warmth and Celestial Melons whose flesh shimmered with the light of a captured nebula. The moment the aroma wafted through the hall, the guests felt their cultivation stir, their spiritual energy purifying itself without any effort on their part. The Demonic Emperor, who had been eyeing the Great Khan next to him with murderous intent, took a bite of a melon slice and felt a century of accumulated battle-lust and demonic resentment simply melt away, leaving a state of clarity he hadn't felt in millennia. He looked at his old rival, and while the hatred was still there, the urge to immediately rip his throat out was gone, replaced by a cold, wary caution.
Next came the main course. A dozen celestial soldiers carried in a massive, golden platter. Upon it rested the roast Qilin, its form perfectly intact, its skin roasted to a divine, golden-brown. The meat had been infused with Feng Wu's life-giving phoenix essence, and its aroma alone was enough to cause the spiritual energy in the hall to form visible, rainbow-hued clouds.
Each guest was served a single, small slice. Jian Wushuang, the swordsman, took a bite and felt a torrent of pure, gentle energy flood his body. A profound insight into the very nature of the Sword Dao, an enlightenment he had been seeking for five hundred years, simply appeared in his mind. He closed his eyes, his soul trembling with the sheer, unadulterated truth of it. This single bite was worth more than all the ancient texts in his sect's library.
Even the Void Sovereign, who had been forced to take a seat by the Oracle, was given a portion. He ate it, and the damage to his soul and the humiliation he felt were instantly healed, a gesture of casual, almost insulting, benevolence from the host.
The feast was not just a meal; it was another display of power, a statement of wealth so vast that it defied comprehension.
Finally, after the last of the divine wine had been poured, Ao Xian cleared his throat, and the hall fell silent once more. "I did not invite you all here simply to share a meal," he began, his tone shifting from that of a gracious host to one of supreme authority. "As some of you may have sensed, the cosmic tides are shifting. The Nether-Tide is rising. An era of chaos, a time of great and terrible change, is upon us."
He looked around the room, his gaze meeting that of every guest. "Ancient factions, long thought dead, are stirring in the darkness. They are planting their seeds in your realms, manipulating your sects, and using your empires as pawns in a game that has been dormant for eons. They seek to overturn the current order, to plunge the myriad realms into a war that will burn galaxies and shatter the heavens."
The Oracle of the Immortal Alliance shifted slightly. The Void Sovereign's hands, hidden beneath the table, clenched into fists. They knew he was talking about them. But how could he know?
"This chaos," Ao Xian continued, "is an opportunity for some, and a calamity for others. A new destiny for the realms must be forged." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "And I am here to oversee its creation."
The Matriarch of the Nine Poisons School, a beautiful and deadly Heavenly Immortal, finally found her voice. She had been observing the host, her mind racing. The sheer quality of the food, the power of his servants—it all pointed to a background she couldn't even imagine. She decided to test the waters. "A noble goal, Lord Ao Xian," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "But what gives you the authority to oversee the destiny of a thousand realms?" She subtly activated one of her innate techniques, a charm that could make even the most resolute Dao Heart waver.
Ao Xian simply smiled at her, his eyes holding a hint of amusement. The charm washed over him, completely ineffective. "Authority?" he repeated, as if the concept were a curious one. "My authority comes from the simple fact that I am here, and you are all my guests." His smile widened. "And because I can do... this."
He snapped his fingers.
The world outside the pavilion's open arches vanished. The swirling, chaotic void was replaced by a perfect, real-time projection of the Heavenly Sword Sect's main peak. They could see Jian Wushuang's disciples practicing their sword arts, completely unaware that they were being watched.
"An impressive illusion," Jian Wushuang commented, his voice tight.
"It is no illusion," Ao Xian replied. With another snap of his fingers, a single, colossal finger made of pure, golden light descended from the heavens of the Azure Dragon Realm and gently tapped the top of the sect's highest mountain. The mountain, a peak that had stood for a million years, did not shatter or explode. It simply... dissolved into a fine, harmless dust that rained down on the stunned disciples.
Jian Wushuang shot to his feet, his face a mask of horror and disbelief. He had just witnessed the symbol of his sect's power, a mountain that had been reinforced by generations of sword masters, being erased with the ease of a child wiping a drawing from a slate.
The projection vanished, replaced by the chaotic void once more.
"That," Ao Xian said, his voice still pleasant, "is my authority." He looked at the pale, trembling faces of his guests. "Now," he said, his tone becoming brisk and business-like. "Let us discuss the future."