"…Credibility? Showing respect?"

The massive man beside Vanir narrowed his heavy, stone-like brows, his deep voice echoing across the room. "And how much, exactly, does that cost, Professor?"

"Indeed, Professor Burton," said the short-horned noble, his tone calm but firm. "Your logic is sound. Yet without a defined price, we cannot advance this discussion." He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped. "Why don't you name your price first, and then we'll negotiate accordingly?"

"Hm…" Robin sighed faintly, leaning back in his chair as if weighing invisible scales. "That does sound somewhat reasonable," he admitted, "but how would I ever determine the value of your possessions, or your so-called fortunes?" His lips curved faintly before he snapped his fingers, and a light hum of energy rippled through the air. "Morgana," he said, his tone soft but commanding, "bring me the communication ring connected to Harper."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." With a motion smooth as water, Morgana extended her hand, and a shimmering silver ring appeared, gleaming faintly with runic light before settling upon Robin's palm. Then, as though resuming a sacred ritual, she returned and began to gently knead his shoulder with a serene smile.

It wasn't that someone like Robin needed a massage. His physique was beyond things like this. Even if he remained motionless for a thousand years, not a single fiber of his muscle would tighten. But it was a symbol — a quiet offering, a personal devotion from the woman whose life he had saved. Something more emotional than physical.

"Harper," Robin said aloud as he poured a faint trace of his soul sense into the ring, his voice calm and yet filled with authority that silenced the hall, "put on something decent and come to the academy's central hall. I need you here immediately."

The ring pulsed softly with energy.

"….?!" The gathered nobles glanced at each other, whispers spreading like wind across dry leaves. Who was this Harper? And why did Robin summon him as though calling a courtier rather than a student in a respectable academy?

After a brief pause, Robin examined the ring, weaving his will through it before replicating the soul imprint belonging to the academy's Shadow Sword guardian — Harper himself. Once done, he handed the ring back to Morgana.

"He'll be here within seconds," Robin said with a pleasant smile. "We can continue our little talk once he arrives."

Then, resting both hands lightly over his stomach, he looked toward the rows of students before him. "Now then… tell me," he said, his tone shifting to a teasing curiosity, "why have you been holding yourselves back from breaching into a World Cataclysm?"

For most who entered the academy, it took roughly a thousand years to complete their studies — and another thousand years to gather enough understanding, courage, and foundation to transcend into the realm of World Cataclysm. It was the great wall of evolution, one that separated mortals from legends. Crossing it before the age of a thousand was an achievement so rare that the entire sector would speak of it for centuries.

Yet the students remained still, their silence louder than any confession.

"In truth…" one muttered after a long pause, his voice faint as mist, "we don't really wish to… yet."

"Breaking through to a World Cataclysm would make us lose most of the benefits we gained from you, Professor," another added timidly, wringing his hands.

"Once we ascend, all the growth you gave us would weaken… maybe vanish entirely."

"Hah!" Robin threw his head back and laughed, his voice booming and warm, almost musical in its mockery. "So that's it! You'd rather remain eternal prodigies — bright stars in the night — than ordinary adults beneath the sun, is that it?" He grinned wide. "Well, I suppose that choice deserves some respect."

And truthfully, they weren't wrong. The techniques he had given them were masterpieces — but their power was bound to their current realm. Once they ascended, the old framework would crumble.

For example, Merina had learned an art that allowed her to condense natural energy into living gel, no longer needing to use her own blood. It was elegant and efficient — but it only created a fourth-stage slime. Against the might of a World Cataclysm being, it would dissolve like smoke.

Then there was Kayla — she'd received a method for merging her soul force with her light-based gifts, amplifying her illusionary magic severalfold. In the recent grand battle, she hadn't even moved; she had simply stood still while her enemies turned their blades on themselves, lost in her illusions. Yet such tricks would be useless before true world Cataclysms.

Robin's eyes — deep and calm as an ancient sea — swept over the group again. He watched as they avoided his gaze, shame and hesitation plain upon their faces.

"But that's not the whole story, is it?" he asked, his tone soft but laced with quiet authority.

"..."

"Ah~ you seven sly little foxes," Robin said, his grin widening into a sharp smirk. "You're delaying your breakthroughs because you hope to stay in the Martial Emperor realm long enough to uncover the next stage of my techniques, aren't you?"

His laughter echoed through the hall like thunder wrapped in velvet. "But alas… if it were truly that easy, your families wouldn't have spent thousands of years failing to unravel what I created in a single afternoon."

The seven lowered their heads completely now, guilt weighing on their shoulders. That was their secret plan. And while Robin had never forbidden it, hearing him expose it so effortlessly made them feel as though they had betrayed his trust.

"Professor Burton," spoke the woman with the feathered crown, her voice now sharp, feathers trembling faintly with agitation. "We haven't even begun to discuss your offense of tampering with the blood secrets of our noble lines — and yet you stand here mocking us, insulting not only us but our ancestors as well?"

"Grandmother, the Professor didn't mean to offend you!!" the young student beside her panicked, her voice trembling as she tried desperately to defuse the storm gathering in the hall. Her hands clutched at the older woman's sleeve as if afraid the very air might ignite from the tension.

"Shh~" Robin raised a finger to his lips, silencing the girl before she could speak further. The gesture was effortless, yet it carried an authority that pressed upon everyone present. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, turned toward the older woman — cold, refined, and merciless, like a blade forged in an age when gods still bled. "You should consider it an honor that I deigned to spare even a few minutes of my time to examine your tainted bloodline," he said, his voice calm but carrying a resonance that filled the chamber. "That's not something I usually bother doing. You ought to be thanking me — and thanking your grandchildren for their diligence — instead of raising your voice in my presence like an unrefined merchant."

"You…!!" The woman shot to her feet so violently that her feathered crown nearly toppled. Its radiant plumes quivered, and her aura exploded outward like an iridescent flame blazing across the marble floor.

"...!!" The other nobles recoiled slightly, though their outrage soon followed. They turned toward Robin, their faces tightening with visible anger and disbelief. His words had not merely insulted the empress's widow — they had condemned them all. Tainted blood? The arrogance, the venom hidden in that calm tone, was enough to make even the proudest hearts boil. Murmurs rippled through the gallery like a tide of indignation.

Knock Knock

A composed voice spoke from beyond the heavy double doors.

"Professor, I've come as you requested."

The sound echoed through the grand hall, cutting through the tension like a blade of order through chaos. Robin's lips curled faintly — that familiar, dangerous smile.

"Enter." He gestured with a flick of his wrist, not once looking away from the feather-crowned woman. His gaze remained locked on hers, predatory and cold, like a hawk observing prey that still didn't realize it was caught.

Step.

The great doors opened. A young man stepped inside, framed by the storm of noble glares. He wore the academy's formal white-and-violet robes, his every movement radiating discipline and composure. His boots struck the marble with quiet precision. Without hesitation, he crossed the length of the hall, the pressure of a hundred judging eyes sliding off him like rain from polished armor. Stopping beside Robin, he bowed slightly. "How may I assist you, Professor?"

"...." Jabba, Shaddad, and Morgana exchanged startled glances of recognition. None of them needed confirmation — this was Harper, the academy's Shadow Sword.

"Yes," Robin said, nodding slowly, as if the pieces of a puzzle were falling neatly into place. "I just need a bit of information. Nothing major." He raised a hand lazily and pointed toward the woman among the nobles. "Who is she, and what's the extent of her wealth?"

The woman's fury reignited like oil to a flame. "Once again you attempt to belittle me, you insolent—" she spat, pointing at him with trembling outrage. "Do you think a mere student would know who I am? Do you imagine that—"

"This lady," Harper interrupted smoothly, his tone factual yet cutting, "is the widow of the late founder of the Peacock of the Hundredfold Solitude Empire." His voice carried no hesitation, only sharp precision. "Their bloodline descends from the Six-Colored Peacock Beast King, who was slain and drained of his blood essence after reaching the high-level Nexus State. The lady herself has reached the pinnacle of that heritage — a high-level Nexus State cultivator, capable of manifesting six feathers and wielding chromatic flame."

A faint murmur spread through the audience as Harper continued, his tone never wavering. "The Peacock of the Hundredfold Solitude Empire currently governs one hundred and thirty-five planets and has maintained dominion for approximately three million years. Their total accumulated wealth is estimated at eight hundred and eighty million Pearls, with twenty-seven pieces of planetary-grade equipment spanning multiple tiers. Their political influence extends across three major parts of the southern nebula regions."

"You…!!" The empress's widow froze mid-breath, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief. The hand that had been pointed at Robin now trembled as it shifted toward Harper, her voice faltering. The precision of his words pierced her composure like a dagger — he had recited their empire's guarded secrets as if reading them from an open ledger.

Even her granddaughter and the entire noble delegation rose from their seats in alarm, their faces paling, eyes wide with shock and quiet killing intent. To them, it was as if Harper had walked straight out of their vaults, seen every seal, every ledger, and left untouched — but knowing all.

"Hm," Robin hummed lightly, tapping a finger against his armrest, "no wonder you like to raise your voice." His tone was deceptively calm, his smile faint yet venomous. "You've got quite the treasury backing you. That explains the noise."

Then, with a single sharp clap that echoed like a judge's verdict, he declared, "For the technique I bestowed upon your granddaughter, I'll be taking four hundred million Pearls, ten planetary weapons, and thirty-five planets. You may keep one hundred — so your empire can still pretend to be called a centennial one."

The nobles gasped audibly. The empress's widow's face twisted between disbelief and terror.

Harper inclined his head slightly beside him, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips. he said softly, "Your heart is kind as always, Professor."

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