God-Tier Fishing System Chapter 2

The words of the Empress struck Ethan with the crushing force of a toppling mountain, each syllable dripping with absolute, irrevocable finality.

Serene Mirror Lake—the mere mention of the name caused a shudder to rack his frame as the memories he had inherited unveiled the gruesome reality behind that location.

"Wait! Please, Your Majesty, hear me out!" Ethan’s voice was ragged with panic as he hauled himself up, disregarding all dictates of protocol.

"This is a terrible misunderstanding! I never—"

Yet, his desperate pleas fell upon deaf ears.

The surrounding Elders and peak masters watched the scene unfold; their faces reflected a combination of pity for his tragic fate and relief that the punishment was not falling upon their own shoulders.

Serene Mirror Lake was far from a simple penal colony; it functioned as a death sentence masked by the label of imprisonment.

It was the forsaken place where the Azure Origin Sect discarded disciples guilty of the most heinous offenses, fully aware that virtually none would ever emerge with their life intact.

"Fifty years..." The weight of the implication sent Ethan’s mind into a tailspin.

While those skilled in Cultivation could exist for centuries thanks to their expanded lifespans, physical cultivators like him were shackled by the fragility of a mortal existence unless they attained peerless, legendary realms.

Given his present status, fifty years was nothing less than a lifetime—a literal final sentence.

The lake served as a cursed tomb where the most formidable ancestors of the Azure Origin Sect were interred.

In their prime, these cultivators were so powerful that their residual Qi continued to saturate the landscape long after death. The intense yin energy radiating from their burial site was so caustic that it could destabilize the sanity of any living soul within a mere few days.

The icy, bone-deep cold was more than just physical discomfort—it possessed a malevolent intent. This yin energy would infiltrate the mind first, spawning nightmarish hallucinations and driving the victim to madness.

Subsequently, it would begin to erode the skeleton, gnawing away at muscle and organ alike until the entire body was consumed. Destruction would follow a slow, agonizing, and inevitable path.

"I beg of you, Empress Lyralei!" Ethan’s tone grew unhinged as the full scope of his nightmare manifested.

"I was a child of only ten at the time! It was an accident—I was chasing a rabbit demon and stumbled into those springs by pure chance! I did not even comprehend the nature of what I was witnessing!"

The Empress remained as motionless as stone, her starlike gaze betraying no hint of empathy.

Her verdict was final, and within this realm, there existed no pathway for appeal or mercy.

"Your Majesty, I implore you!" desperation surged through Ethan, reaching a feverish intensity.

"I have served this Sect with absolute loyalty for seven years! I have never caused turmoil nor breached any decree! This entire matter is based on a misunderstanding from my childhood!"

However, Empress Lyralei waved her hand with indifference, as if she were shooing away a bothersome insect. Her bored expression remained unchanged—to her, this was nothing more than an inconsequential bureaucratic chore.

Realizing that pleading with the Empress was a futile endeavor, Ethan’s desperation forced him to pivot toward Saintess Seraphina. His eyes burned with the indignation of a man suffering under a flagrant injustice.

"Saintess Seraphina!" he shouted, his pleas resonating through the hall with raw intensity.

"I was merely a boy back then! What corrupt impulses could such an innocent youth possibly harbor? What fault could there lead to this judgment?"

His voice faltered under the crushing weight of the injustice.

"I was ten! Ten! Do you fathom what that implies? I did not even grasp the sight before my eyes, much less harbor anything perverted! I was in pursuit of a magical beast—fulfilling my duty as a disciple—when I inadvertently caught a glimpse of something forbidden!"

A heavy silence descended upon the hall following his outburst. A few Elders shifted in their seats, appearing uneasy, perhaps recalling mistakes from their own youth. Yet, their silent sympathy held no weight against the accusations of the Saintess and the final judgment of the Empress.

Seraphina turned her gaze fully upon him, her exquisite face warped by open disgust and disdain. Her ice-blue eyes swept over him as if he were a vile object stuck to the sole of her footwear.

"Regardless of your age at the time," she declared, her tone echoing with the freezing bite of winter, "even if your motives were purely accidental, I will never consent to having a mere outer sect disciple act as my protector."

Her words pierced his spirit like blades of ice, each one dripping with profound contempt.

"Do you imagine the position of Saint Protector is a trifle to be distributed carelessly? Do you presume that because the Empress bears some favor toward you, you are automatically deserving of standing at my side?" Seraphina’s voice lowered in temperature with every syllable.

"I am the future heir of this Sect, the vessel of the peerless Ice Spirit Soul Body. My protectors must be beyond reproach—flawless in both actions and reputation."

Moving forward, she radiated an aura of untouchable, towering superiority.

"Whether you were ten or twenty, whether it was an accident or by design, the reality remains that your presence there was an offense. A true disciple would have retreated instantly, averting their gaze. Your remaining there suggests a fundamental rot in your character."

Ethan felt his heart plummet, her assessment dismantling the last remnants of his hope.

The sheer unfairness was suffocating—he was being punished not for his deeds, but for the dark assumptions others projected upon him.

"Furthermore," Seraphina continued without an ounce of remorse, "even if we dismiss this incident, what credentials do you hold? You possess no Dantian, no significant spiritual roots, and no aristocratic lineage. You are nothing but an outer sect physical cultivator—scarcely better than a mortal in terms of true potential."

Her final condemnation struck like an executioner’s blade:

"I would rather be without a fourth protector than tolerate someone so vastly beneath my status. Your petition alone is an affront to myself and the sacred ranks you so arrogantly seek to join."

The surrounding crowd signaled their agreement with murmurs, bobbing their heads at the harsh but ostensibly logical argument of the Saintess. In their eyes, Ethan was indeed overreaching—a lowly outer sect disciple daring to dream of serving their illustrious Saintess.

Ethan stood motionless, trembling under the confluence of rage, yearning, and utter despair.

Every route for recourse remained bolted shut, every request discarded or mocked. The cold, unyielding reality of his future draped over him like a burial shroud.

Fifty years within the Serene Mirror Lake. Fifty years of watching his sanity fracture under the pressure of the yin energy. Fifty years of witnessing his body wither until the final moment of death.

All of this, stemming from an innocent error committed by a terrified ten-year-old child who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Guards," Empress Lyralei commanded, her voice ringing with the casual authority of one requesting tea, rather than one finalizing a man’s doom.

"Escort this former outer sect disciple to Serene Mirror Lake without delay. Ensure he is granted basic supplies for the transit, but nothing more. He is to commence his sentence immediately."

As the armored guards advanced toward him, Ethan felt the last vestiges of hope vanish from his being.

The glorious hall, which had once represented the promise of ascent and nobility, now transformed into a sepulcher—a grim forecast of what awaited him at his final destination.

The fire of injustice burned within his chest like molten iron, yet he had no choice but to confront his fate within that cursed, frozen wasteland where the Sect cast away those meant to perish.