"…If you are the one seeking this alliance, then you will have to pay the price."

Arro's smile widened slightly, his tone calm but cutting. "You mean to tell me you'll give nothing in return, and the pact won't even be eternal—merely bound by time? I must say, there's a striking lack of appreciation for the Grave Centennial Empire here. Still, I'll assume it's just a negotiation tactic."

He arched an eyebrow, feigning amusement. "But no, I won't give you ten fleets. Five will be my limit, especially since you're setting a time constraint."

"Only five?" Ezekiel frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing before he looked off into the distance. "Fine then—one thousand years."

"Just that?" Arro's brows twitched as he folded his arms. "That's barely a cultivation retreat! Why not make it ten thousand years instead? This alliance will benefit you too—it'll strengthen your flank. You know we don't have any major enemies at the moment."

Of course, inside, Aro was already celebrating. A thousand years is more than enough. Nihari's ascension was less than five centuries away. By the time that day came, those five fleets could serve as an impenetrable defense under the agreement. And once the storm passed, those arrogant fools could burn for all he cared—if they were still alive by then.

Still, Aro had to keep up his act, pretending uncertainty, even mild reluctance. If he appeared too eager, Ezekiel might suspect something brewing on the horizon.

Plus, the five fleets will be used to defend Nihari when the time comes, so there is no real loss here.

"I said one thousand years," Ezekiel repeated firmly, his tone cold and commanding. "If you want more time, you'll have to pay more. I'll make you a special offer—five fleets for a millennium, or ten fleets for ten thousand years. What will it be?"

"Argh, no can do. I need them for the current wars," Arro sighed, running a hand through his hair before nodding as though reluctantly agreeing. "Fine, I accept. Let's hope that after the first millennium of friendship, our bond will only deepen—stronger, steadier, and more valuable."

"Ha! Excellent!" Ezekiel burst out laughing as he stood and clapped his hands loudly. "Now show me those fleets—I want to see them with my own eyes!"

"Patience," Arro rose slowly, his expression collected as he drew out a radiant crystal orb. "We'll seal this pact properly first."

"Hm?" Ezekiel turned sharply toward him, glancing Arro up and down with a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Do you not know that this is an insult? Has no one taught you that a king's word is law?"

"Of course I know," Arro replied smoothly, his smile sharp as a blade. "But in this case, I simply want a small assurance. I need to be certain my allies will stand beside me in times of crisis. Surely that's reasonable." Then he added with a gracious tilt of his head, "Naturally, I'll have the Emperor himself take an identical oath and hand you the sphere afterward."

If disaster devours them before Nihari rises, then so be it. May that crippled fool perish as well. Aro thought behind his calm façade, suppressing the dark amusement rising in his chest.

"Tsk, what a nuisance," Ezekiel muttered, snatching the crystal sphere from Arro's hand. "Let's see what this is all about."

The moment his gaze landed on the inscriptions carved into the orb, his entire expression shifted. Shock and disbelief flashed across his face. "Wait… is that the 'W' and 'D' seal engraved on it? This is a Vow Sphere forged by the Twin-Star Royal soul master—Lord Winfred himself? Are you insane?!"

"It is indeed his work," Aro replied without hesitation, his tone almost casual. "I paid a fortune for this sphere. It's the most renowned and unbreakable one in existence. There's no need to discuss its reputation—you already know it."

Ezekiel's jaw tightened, his aura flaring slightly. "I refuse," he snapped, tossing the orb aside with visible irritation. "Those things leave a trace in the soul's domain—I will not bear such a mark."

Arro's expression twitched ever so slightly, though his smile didn't fade. "As long as you don't break the oath, the sphere won't harm you in any way." Then his tone sharpened just a little, his words sliding out like a dagger wrapped in silk. "Or perhaps… you were planning to betray me once you got the fleets?"

"The matters will be decided then, according to the situation." Hezekiel advanced, each step echoing sharply against the marble floor until he stood just a breath away from Aro. His shadow loomed large under the shifting lights of the throne hall. "If you truly wish to act like one of the greats—if you want to play the game of kings—then play it to the end. Speak and act as a sovereign, not as some child hiding behind toys and empty tricks." His tone dripped with disdain, every syllable sharpened to wound.

Aro said nothing at first. He held Hezekiel's gaze, eyes reflecting the defiance of a man cornered yet unbroken. The silence stretched, heavy enough to bend the air. Then, with a faint smile that seemed carved from stone, he replied quietly, "You honored us with this visit, Lord Hezekiel. You'll find an excellent rabbit stew waiting on the dining table."

"Hah?" The other man blinked, then broke into a sudden, roaring laugh. "Ha ha ha! Are you dismissing me, insect? Do you even comprehend what you're doing?" His expression darkened. "Do you know who stands before you? I have shattered empires greater than your pitiful necrotic realm for far smaller insults! Entire worlds burned because someone looked at me the wrong way." He took another step forward until his nose nearly brushed Aro's. "Do you understand that I could crush you here, now, with a single breath before leaving?"

"…Leave to where, exactly?" Aro's diplomatic smile vanished, dissolving into something colder, sharper—something predatory. His eyes gleamed with quiet fury and terrifying confidence. The temperature in the hall seemed to plummet as his voice dropped to a whisper like cracking ice: "…If you kill me, Hezekiel, there will be no home left for you to return to."

"You—!!" Hezekiel's fury exploded. He seized Aro by the throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air. For an instant, raw power radiated from his palm, distorting the space around them. A single twitch of his fingers could have ended Aro's life, and they both knew it.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh!

Three Nexus States appeared at once, surrounding Hezekiel in a flash of blinding light. Their auras surged like storms ready to erupt. Blades gleamed, energy pulsed, and the air grew dense enough to choke. They didn't strike— not yet.

They didn't have to. Their presence alone was enough to remind Hezekiel where he stood. Killing Aro here would mean war—an uncontainable, political disaster that could swallow both empires whole.

Paah!

With a scoff, Hezekiel released Aro, letting him fall heavily to the polished floor. "Take your laughable friendship," he sneered, his lip curling in contempt, "and shove it down whatever abyss you crawled out of, you upstart pretender! I've wasted enough time in this miserable graveyard." He shoved one of the three Nexus States aside, "Out of my way you old fuck!" and turned sharply, his cloak flaring as he stormed toward the exit.

"…" Aro remained seated on the ground, his breathing steady but his entire body trembling with suppressed rage. His hands clenched into fists; his eyelids twitched violently as his expression darkened, simmering with hate.

This was the seventh negotiation that had crumbled to dust.

So far, he had reached out to five multi-world empires, each ruling over more than seventy planets, and two ancient centennial empires—each older, prouder, and more arrogant than his own. Every single one had refused for the same reason. No one wanted to bind themselves by oath. No one wanted accountability. Every leader had repeated the same cowardly line: "We will see when the time comes."

But "when the time comes," they would all turn their backs. He knew it. They all would.

If Nihari ascended and the war began, every one of those so-called allies would flee or feign neutrality. They would leave the Necrotic Empire to burn while they watched from afar. That was why he needed a binding oath—a vow written in the essence of soul and truth itself. Without it, everything would collapse.

And even with it, there was no guarantee; some empires would rather watch their emperors die than enter a war they couldn't win.

This time, he had even offered five full fleets—the famed "Note," a force so valuable it could shift the balance of sectors—fleets he desperately needed for his own defense. Yet even that hadn't been enough.

He had failed.

Miserably.

The recruitment of those ancient monsters had gone exactly as he feared. Aro knew the truth: no great alliance could ever be forged without deep, personal bonds between rulers. But where could he find such ties when his empire was young, rootless, and built on graves? Should he start marrying their princesses to earn favor? What a farce.

"Damn it!!" he roared, slamming his fist into the obsidian floor hard enough to crack it.

Once again… he was back to square one.

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