"…We have a massive order!" Zara strode swiftly through the endless corridors of a colossal complex, where the air itself hummed with activity. Countless workers moved in perfect rhythm like a swarm of tireless bees, each step echoing with the thrum of urgency. Behind her followed dozens of officials, engineers, and coordinators, all trying to match her pace but struggling to keep up with her relentless stride.

At their head—of course—was Adrian Barnett, the strongest Soul Lord in the True Beginning Empire, panting slightly yet still maintaining his formal tone:

"Your Highness, what order are you referring to? We are already operating at full capacity! The northern Nihari region isn't even fully prepared as an industrial base yet—we're still missing key infrastructure!"

Years earlier, Zara herself had decreed that the northern region be transformed into a grand shipyard, a warship cradle ten times larger than that of Jura. Her long-term plan was to expand it even further later on—building specialized zones for armor forges, matrix constructors, weapon foundries, and other essential industries that would serve the empire's war machine.

But such ambition did not come easily. The landmass required for such a project —ten times the size of the old dockyard— was nearly twice the size of the Continent of Flame itself!

Even with round-the-clock labor, Adrian and his teams had only managed to prepare a shipbuilding complex seven times larger than the original. Construction crews were already working furiously across multiple layers of the site, while expansion continued outward day after day. The Warlords themselves were participating personally—flattening mountains, redirecting rivers, and reshaping the very geography with the might of their soul force to make room for the Empire's dream fleet.

"For some reason," Zara said briskly as her heels struck the metallic floor, "Brother Theo has ordered several fleets to be sent to Middle Sector 101, and they must arrive there within just three years! That means they need to start moving immediately!" She increased her pace again, her robe sweeping behind her like a storm.

"W-what!?" Adrian halted mid-stride; the sudden stop caused the entire group behind him to collide in a chaotic tumble of papers, voices, and footsteps. He steadied himself quickly and sprinted after her again, his voice rising in disbelief.

"But that's insanity, Your Highness! Pure madness! How can we possibly gather multiple fleets for a war that's already raging in that sector?! Where would we even find the resources, the ships, the crews?!"

Zara didn't answer right away. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though her heart trembled, her expression remained cold and imperial. She wanted to scream that she didn't know either—but as the highest authority under the imperial brothers, she could not afford such a display.

Brother Theo had always been the embodiment of logic and restraint. A master strategist who calculated every move with surgical precision—after all, he was the head of the intelligence network, the shadow mind that had secretly guided the rise of the three great empires for centuries. But this time, even for him, the situation he had created was perilous beyond reason.

"Marshal Caesar has already dispatched his aide, General Alexander, to command the fleets," Zara continued, her tone tightening with each word. "He's doing everything possible to prepare for what seems to be an impossible campaign. He must face two hundred fleets from the Mid Belt…" She exhaled sharply and forced her voice to remain steady. "He managed to borrow ten fleets from the armies of the Young Belt, under sealed orders from the First Shadow Sword and the First Marshal themselves. He's already on his way to Mid Sector 101—but that won't be enough. We must send more after him!"

Adrian nearly lost his composure entirely. "…?! Facing two hundred fleets from the Mid Belt? And he's taking only ten with him?" His voice cracked in disbelief. "How exactly does he plan to fight them—by performing comedy shows until they die of laughter?!"

Zara turned her head sharply, her brows drawing together in a glare that could freeze iron.

Adrian stiffened, immediately lowering his voice. "…I apologize, Your Highness," he said quickly, swallowing his frustration. "But surely you realize how utterly irrational this sounds?"

"Our duty," Zara replied coldly, resuming her march, "is not to decide what is rational or insane—our duty is to execute." Her voice grew firm, echoing through the metallic halls. "Brother Theo accepted the mission. Brother Caesar accepted the mission. General Alexander accepted the mission. Are we the ones who will hesitate and refuse?"

Adrian clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth ground audibly. He wanted to argue further, to say that no amount of loyalty could change the limits of production or the laws of time. "No, Your Highness," he finally muttered, "I didn't mean that… but with our current production rates, I'm afraid we won't be able to supply what he needs—even if we worked until our bones broke and walked on our heads."

"And what exactly is our current production pace?" Zara's tone cut through the constant noise of machinery and shouting workers around them. Her words were precise, sharp, and heavy with authority. "I already ordered the recruitment of more Reshapers in every available sector, and commanded the creation of additional transport ships to cover all logistical needs. The chain of supply should be overflowing, not strained."

"Because of those orders, Your Highness," Adrian replied swiftly, sweat gathering at his temples, "we've managed to reach, at this very moment, a production rate of one fully equipped fleet every two years!" He took a hurried breath before adding, almost desperately, "But trying to shorten that to a single year— even to one year and eleven months—would be outright lunacy! It's simply beyond our capacity. We'd need at least five more years before enough Reshapers mature and gain the experience to work independently—before the shipyards themselves expand further and the industrial arrays stabilize!"

"…" Zara did not answer. Her expression froze as she considered his words.

One fleet every two years? That was a rate so absurdly high it bordered on divine achievement—utterly unrivaled even by the greatest powers of the Mid Belt.

And it wasn't just a number. Adrian was speaking about the construction of an entire armada: one Note of Supremacy II mothership —the pride of any empire— supported by ten Note of Destruction-Class III vessels, and backed by five hundred Note of Flood-Class III fighter ships.

A total of five hundred and eleven warships, each one built with the precision and grace that represented the peak of imperial craftsmanship—a perfection born from His Majesty's vision and refined endlessly by the Sky Opening City after him.

In the Mid Belt, even empires that had endured for millions of years barely possessed between twenty and forty fleets in total. Yet the True Beginning Empire could build that many in less than a century!

Was it the vast number of planets overflowing with rare ores, living metals, and crystal cores required for shipbuilding? Was it the unmatched efficiency born of the Shaping Law, that foundational cosmic principle interwoven into the empire's every factory? Or perhaps the ancient shipbuilding techniques once monopolized by the Intares Galaxy, now resurrected and enhanced by their own engineers? Maybe it was the new art of Rune Inscription personally developed by His Majesty?

Whatever the reason, the path that had brought the True Beginning Empire to this level of supremacy was built upon countless miracles, tragedies, and discoveries—so vast and intertwined that no historian could ever list them all.

And yet—even such greatness was not enough.

"In the next three years," Zara said finally, her voice as steady as tempered steel, "we must produce at least ten fleets. Every single one of them must depart to reinforce General Alexander in the Mid Belt."

Adrian froze in place as though struck by lightning. "Your Highness, that's… impossible!" he cried, his composure shattering. "Even if no one slept, even if no worker saw their family or children for three entire years—and even if we whipped them day and night—it still wouldn't be enough! The factories would melt from overuse, the soul circuits would collapse, and the engineers would drop dead before the first year ended!"

He was already driving his people mercilessly, working them at the edge of physical and spiritual exhaustion just to satisfy the demands of the three empires—and more importantly, to please Her Highness herself. Any additional pressure would only lead to rebellion or ruin.

"It's fine," Zara said calmly, her tone unshaken. "I'll remain here myself. I'll join them in the construction efforts." She continued walking until she reached the great reinforced gate at the end of the hall, and there, with quiet determination, she began removing the ornate pieces of armor from her wrists.

"Huh?" Adrian's face twisted into a strange, conflicted smile—one that contained disbelief more than anything. "Your Highness, with all respect, what purpose would that serve? Morale boosts are important, of course, but not to this degree! You can't possibly believe your presence alone will raise the production rate that drastically."

He admired Zara—deeply. Her authority, her composure, her beauty—she embodied the imperial ideal. But he was also a man of logic and craft, someone who understood every bolt and beam that went into a fleet. For her to imply that her mere presence could turn one and a half fleets into ten in three years… it felt like a direct insult to everything he had built and everything he knew. A blow not only to the empire's engineers, but to him personally.

Step.

Zara stopped. The air around her seemed to still. She turned her head slowly toward Adrian, her golden eyes glowing faintly beneath the corridor's light. Then, without a word, she stepped closer until only inches separated them.

Her gaze locked onto his, sharp as a blade forged from will itself. She lifted her hand and pressed a single finger against his chest—just enough for him to feel the weight of her authority.

"Don't forget," she said quietly, her voice low yet resonant like a war drum echoing in his soul, "whose daughter I am."

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