The summons went out at dawn.
Not as a request.
As a command.
By midday, the Grand Hall of Ancestral Judgment was filled.
Every elder of the Zaiton family stood in ranked rows, their robes embroidered with sigils of authority earned through generations of blood and ambition. Behind them stood the young men of the clan—successors, warriors, strategists, heirs yet untested but hungry for glory. Even branch-family representatives had been allowed entry, a silent reminder that the Zaiton name now stretched far beyond a single bloodline.
At the head of the hall sat Kaizen Zaiton.
Not on the ancestral throne.
Above it.
A newly forged black stone seat hovered slightly above the dais, etched with spear and dragon motifs. Kaizen had not ordered its creation.
The hall itself had responded to him.
Silence ruled the chamber.
Not a single whisper dared rise.
Kaizen stood.
The pressure in the room shifted instantly—controlled, immense, crushing without violence. It was the presence of someone who no longer needed to shout to be obeyed.
"You all know why I called this meeting," Kaizen said calmly.
His voice carried to every corner of the hall, steady and absolute.
"The war is over. The Coalition is dead. The region belongs to the Zaitons."
No one disagreed.
No one dared.
"But victory," Kaizen continued, "is meaningless if it is not organized."
That word—organized—made several elders straighten.
Kaizen's gaze swept across them.
"We will not rule like short-sighted tyrants. We will rule like builders of empires."
He raised a hand.
A massive projection of the surrounding territories bloomed into existence above the hall—mountain ranges, river systems, clan lands, mana convergence zones, and forbidden regions all clearly marked.
"These are the families under our control," Kaizen said. "From today onward, they will be classified into two paths."
His fingers closed slightly.
"First path: Alliance through loyalty."
The map shifted. Several regions glowed crimson.
"All weaker families," Kaizen said, "will swear full allegiance to the Zaiton Empire. In return, they will be protected, integrated, and given access to resources they could never dream of alone."
A pause.
"They will also give one child to the empire."
A ripple ran through the hall—but no one spoke.
"That child," Kaizen continued, unbothered, "will not be a hostage. They will be an investment. A contribution to the future strength of the empire."
He looked directly at the young men present.
"Blood alone does not make power eternal. Cultivation does."
Several elders nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
"Second path: Independence."
The map changed again. Other regions turned gold.
"Families that wish to remain independent may do so," Kaizen said. "But independence has a price."
His eyes hardened.
"They will pay heavy taxes—resources, spirit stones, artifacts, manpower, information. Failure to pay will result in forced reclassification."
In simpler terms:
Submit… or bleed slowly.
No one questioned the fairness.
Power decided fairness now.
Kaizen turned his gaze inward on the map, toward vast lands marked with unstable mana flows and ancient warnings.
"As for me," he said, voice lowering, "I will go to the strong mana regions."
A murmur finally escaped the elders.
Those lands were dangerous. Unstable. Filled with violent elemental surges and ancient beasts. Entire clans had vanished attempting to control even fragments of those regions.
Kaizen smiled faintly.
"I will make them usable."
Silence followed.
"Using my methods," he continued, "I will stabilize the mana, refine the environment, and turn those regions into cultivation grounds powerful enough to support an empire."
Grandpa Arron let out a low, impressed whistle.
"That boy…" he muttered proudly. "He's talking about reshaping the land itself."
Kaizen extended his hand.
From the heart of the projection, a new structure formed—vast, towering, shaped like a spear piercing the heavens, wrapped by a coiling dragon.
"From that region," Kaizen declared, "we will build a sect."
The hall held its breath.
"The sect will be named—"
His eyes flashed.
"The Dragon Spear Sect."
The name hit like thunder.
A sect.
Not a clan school.
Not a temporary academy.
A sect meant legacy. Independence. Influence beyond bloodlines.
Kaizen continued, unrelenting.
"The funds used to establish and maintain the Dragon Spear Sect will come from the taxes of both colonized and independent families."
He let that sink in.
"They will finance the very institution that ensures Zaiton dominance for generations."
Several elders exchanged glances—this was brilliance layered upon brutality.
"The children contributed by allied families," Kaizen said, "will cultivate and train within the Dragon Spear Sect."
His voice sharpened.
"They will be forged into elites. Bound not just by oath, but by shared strength and doctrine."
He turned slightly.
"This responsibility," Kaizen said, "will be entrusted to Elder Kunn."
An older man stepped forward immediately and dropped to one knee.
Elder Kunn—renowned for discipline, fairness, and ruthless training standards—bowed deeply.
"I will not fail," Kunn said solemnly. "I swear it upon my cultivation and my soul."
"You will oversee training, doctrine, loyalty enforcement, and internal discipline," Kaizen said. "The Dragon Spear Sect must be feared and respected equally."
Elder Kunn bowed again.
Kaizen was not finished.
"Additionally," he said, "all alchemists under Zaiton rule—regardless of clan—will be employed."
That caused open surprise.
"They will be organized into an Imperial Alchemy Division," Kaizen continued. "Their sole task will be to produce pills, elixirs, and body-refining medicines to accelerate cultivation."
He looked toward several elders responsible for logistics.
"No hoarding. No corruption. Pills will be distributed based on merit and contribution."
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"We will not grow strong slowly."
The hall buzzed now—controlled, awed, electric.
Grandpa Arron burst into laughter, slamming his staff against the floor.
"Hahaha! Hear that? A sect, an empire, controlled cultivation grounds, and pill supply chains!"
He turned to the elders, eyes blazing with pride.
"This is my grandson! He's not ruling land—he's ruling the future!"
Arron Zaiton, Kaizen's father, nodded deeply.
"This plan ensures dominance not just for our generation," he said, voice heavy with approval, "but for ten generations to come."
Kaizen raised his hand once more.
"Make no mistake," he said coldly. "This is not a suggestion."
The pressure in the hall intensified.
"This is the law of the Zaiton Empire."
Every elder dropped to one knee.
Every young man followed.
Even Grandpa Arron bowed his head—just slightly.
"We obey," the hall thundered in unison.
Kaizen looked down at them—not as family alone, but as the foundation of something vast.
"Prepare the envoys," he ordered. "Begin classification of families. Collect the taxes. Select the children."
He turned toward the horizon beyond the hall.
"I will depart for the strong mana regions at first light."
The Dragon Spear Sect would rise.
And when it did—
The world would no longer ask who rules this land.
They would ask whether they were worthy of surviving beneath the shadow of the Zaiton Empire.