The Omnipotent System

The once lively, anticipatory atmosphere had turned into a dense, almost suffocating silence as **the old foggies and ancestral figures** hovered around the monolith, their faces shadowed with frustration. For hours, they had attempted various methods to enter the secret realm—infusing their auras, summoning ancient techniques, even attacking the portal with sheer force. Nothing worked.

The portal remained closed to them, the energy shimmering as if mocking their efforts.

**The Crimson Emperor paced furiously,** his blood-red armor clinking with each step, eyes blazing with frustration. "Damn this cursed thing!" he snarled, slamming his fist into the air, the impact causing a tremor to ripple through the ground. "What kind of test is this, that even emperors and immortals are barred from entry?"

His generals remained silent, standing a respectful distance away, none daring to speak in his current state. The sight of their emperor being thwarted was enough to make them uneasy, but the sense of helplessness only made the tension worse.

Nearby, **the Celestial Weaver watched with quiet detachment,** her silvery gaze locked on the portal. Her fingers moved subtly, weaving invisible threads of energy through the air as she studied the situation. There was no anger on her face, only a slight narrowing of her eyes, betraying her deep concentration.

**The True Immortal, standing tall with his hands behind his back, let out a low hum.** His face remained calm, but there was a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, as if holding back a growing annoyance. "We are not meant to enter," he said softly, his voice carrying despite its gentleness. "The realm… it requires something different. A different level of strength."

"Different level?" **the Crimson Emperor spat,** his voice dripping with disdain. "Are you saying we aren't worthy?"

The True Immortal's golden eyes flickered toward the emperor for the briefest of moments, and he gave a slow, deliberate smile. "Not unworthy. Just… too powerful."

At that, the group shifted uneasily, exchanging glances as the realization began to dawn on them. Even the most powerful among them could not brute-force their way in. This realm had rules they could not bend, no matter their cultivation level.

**From the edge of the gathering, a dark figure from the Shadowlands stepped forward, his movements quiet but deliberate.** His eyes, hidden beneath his hood, glowed faintly as he studied the monolith with renewed curiosity. "If brute strength will not open it… then perhaps we should determine *who* it will allow inside."

The suggestion lingered in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke.

It was then that **the Celestial Weaver's lips twitched slightly,** the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her face. Her gaze turned to the portal, then back to the crowd. "Every empire," she said softly, her voice like silk drifting through the air, "must send their best."

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Her words were calm, but there was a weight behind them, a finality that caught everyone's attention. Her fingers stopped moving, and she raised her hand slowly, gesturing toward the portal. "The secret realm has its requirements. It will not open for us. But it will allow those who fall within its threshold."

**The Crimson Emperor scowled,** his fists clenching at his sides. "Threshold? Speak clearly, woman."

She turned to him then, her silvery eyes meeting his blood-red gaze with an unshakable calm. "Great Sage Realm," she said, the words rolling off her tongue with certainty. "And below."

There was a collective intake of breath. Several of the younger cultivators exchanged wide-eyed looks, while the older, more experienced ones frowned in thought. **The True Immortal's golden eyes glinted** with understanding, though he remained silent, his face unreadable.

"Impossible," one of the southern leaders, a man with fiery hair and bronze skin, scoffed. "You're telling me that only weaker cultivators can enter?"

The **Celestial Weaver's expression remained serene,** but there was an almost imperceptible lift to her chin, a subtle confidence in her posture. "It's not weakness the realm seeks," she said softly. "It is a test of potential, not brute strength. Every empire will send their best—those geniuses from the Great Sage Realm and below—to venture inside. They are the ones who will be allowed entry."

**The Crimson Emperor growled low in his throat,** but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Despite his pride, he could see the truth in her words. He wasn't foolish enough to keep throwing his strength at a door that wouldn't budge. "Fine," he muttered, his voice a dangerous rumble. "We'll send our best. But when they return, those treasures will belong to the Blood Empire."

**The True Immortal's mouth twitched** in amusement, but he gave a slight nod. "We shall see who lays claim to the treasures, Emperor."

In the distance, young cultivators were already preparing, their faces pale with a mix of excitement and dread. The call of the secret realm was irresistible, but so was the fear of the unknown. They whispered among themselves, their expressions mirroring the awe and anxiety that hung in the air.

The emperors and ancient figures reluctantly broke away from the gathering, their frustration barely concealed behind stern expressions. Each headed toward their respective camps, where their most talented disciples and geniuses awaited, brimming with excitement and nervous anticipation. The portal's rules had been made clear—only those below the Great Sage Realm could enter.

Now it was time to pick their finest.

---

**The Crimson Emperor's camp** was a vision of blood-red banners fluttering in the wind, the symbol of his empire—a blazing crimson phoenix—emblazoned on each. He strode toward his gathered geniuses with fiery intensity in his eyes. His aura pulsed like a roaring flame, making the young cultivators tense with anticipation.

**A young man named Darion**, the prodigy of the Blood Empire, stepped forward with unshakable confidence. His long, dark hair was tied back, revealing his sharp features and eyes that glowed with the same crimson intensity as his emperor's. He knelt on one knee, fist to chest, awaiting his emperor's words.

"Darion," the Crimson Emperor began, his voice a low growl filled with authority. "You are the pride of my empire. In this secret realm, you will claim the treasures that belong to us. Do not return empty-handed." His eyes narrowed dangerously, and for a moment, the surrounding cultivators felt the weight of his power pressing down on them.

"If you bring me the secrets of that realm—cultivation resources, techniques, rare treasures—you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. Fail… and you shall never again rise in the empire's ranks."

Darion lifted his head, his expression determined. "I will not fail, Your Majesty," he said with conviction. His fists tightened, veins pulsing beneath his skin. The fire in his eyes mirrored the emperor's, and it was clear he would stop at nothing to meet these expectations.

**The Crimson Emperor's gaze softened for a fleeting moment**, the briefest trace of paternal pride flickering across his features before his iron mask returned. "Good. You are dismissed."

---

**In the Golden Light Sect's camp**, where everything seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, **the True Immortal** gathered his chosen disciples. His expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with the same golden light that made his sect so feared and revered.

His disciples, in contrast to the fiery display of the Blood Empire, carried an air of quiet grace, their white and gold robes fluttering softly in the breeze. Among them stood **Lysandra**, the sect's most talented disciple, her long golden hair cascading down her back, her pale blue eyes reflecting the skies above.

"You are to act with dignity and wisdom," the True Immortal began, his voice carrying like a gentle breeze. "This is not merely a test of strength, Lysandra, but a test of mind and spirit. The treasures of the secret realm are not for the reckless. Approach them with calm deliberation, and the realm will open itself to you."

Lysandra bowed low, her expression serene yet focused. "I will do as you say, Master. The Golden Light Sect will emerge victorious."

**The True Immortal's gaze softened** as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Should you succeed, you will receive resources that even the emperors would covet. But remember, caution. For there are dangers that no amount of talent can overcome."

Lysandra nodded once more, the determination in her eyes speaking volumes. "I understand."

---

**In the Valley of Shadowlands**, where darkness seemed to pool in every corner, the Shadowlord moved like a wraith among his disciples. His deep-set eyes scanned them with an almost imperceptible smile as he stopped before **Kael**, a tall, lean genius cloaked in black, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood.

The other disciples kept their distance, a mixture of reverence and fear in their gazes. Kael had always been an enigma—a shadow within the shadows.

"You understand what this means, Kael," the Shadowlord whispered, his voice barely above a breath. His presence seemed to grow darker, more oppressive as he spoke. "In the secret realm, it is not about the light, but what you can hide within the darkness. Bring me the secrets it keeps locked away. Let the others fight and scramble—be the shadow that moves unseen, and claim what belongs to us."

**Kael's lips curled into a sly smile**, his eyes flickering with malice. "The shadows will swallow them whole. The treasures… will be ours."

The Shadowlord's smile widened, his hand resting briefly on Kael's shoulder. "Return with something of worth, and I will make sure you rise to the highest ranks of the Shadowlands."

---

Across the camps, the scene was similar. **Each emperor and sect leader** gathered their best geniuses, whispering promises of greatness, of power and influence, should they succeed in bringing back the treasures and secrets of the realm.

---

**At the Silver Moon Pavilion**, the elegant yet deadly warriors of the Moonlit Empire stood gathered in silence, their expressions calm but their postures ready for battle. **Serena**, the empire's top prodigy, was the focus of all eyes as she knelt before the Silver Moon Empress, her silver hair cascading down like a waterfall, her violet eyes reflecting the light of the moon even in the day.

"Serena," the Empress said, her voice melodic yet sharp as steel. "This is the moment you've been waiting for. In the secret realm, you will find what you need to ascend beyond your current limits. Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment. The Moonlit Empire will reward you greatly upon your return."

**Serena's face remained composed,** but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes—a hunger for power, for greatness. She bowed her head. "I will not fail you, Empress. The treasures of the secret realm will belong to the Moonlit Empire."

---

As the old foggies and ancient powerhouses returned to their respective empires, **they looked at their chosen geniuses**, each with a glint of expectation in their eyes. For these young cultivators, the secret realm represented not just an opportunity for treasures but a chance to step out of the shadows of their elders and make names for themselves.

The pressure mounted as their masters and emperors promised them great rewards—wealth, cultivation resources, techniques, and power beyond imagining—if they returned with the right relics, techniques, and special encounters.

The secret realm was not just a test of skill—it was a battlefield of ambition, and only the strongest, most cunning, and most resourceful would emerge victorious.