After three years — the southeastern border of Mid Sector No. 101

Silence

Hedrick placed his hands firmly behind his back, lifting his head high with a proud, unshaken posture.

For the first time ever, he appeared publicly with his white hair tied neatly behind his head, revealing a hardened, unyielding face and a pair of crimson eyes that shimmered like polished ruby gemstones.

His mere presence was enough to send a chilling wave through the hearts of all who beheld him; despite wearing no armor whatsoever, his physique radiated the impression of an immovable fortress—an unbreakable wall no force could hope to cross.

And before him?

Hundreds of thousands of warships encircled him in a massive bow-shaped formation, positioning Hedrick precisely at the very center.

Hundreds of colossal mother-ships, thousands of auxiliary vessels, and hundreds of thousands of fully armed battleships… every last one of them had turned their prows toward Hedrick, their cannons glowing with the familiar white-blue luminescence that signaled full power and imminent readiness.

In that moment, it seemed as though Hedrick stood surrounded by a constellation of blazing stars—stars that trembled with destructive energy, all prepared to strike him down simultaneously!

Yet despite this ocean of overwhelming power, Hedrick did not take a single step back… and equally, the ships did not dare fire.

Shhhk

At that instant, the main gate of the central mother-ship—located precisely at the heart of the bow formation—opened slowly, its metallic layers parting to reveal two figures stepping out.

Had Sakaar been present, he would have recognized the man in the rear immediately: Marshal Brontor, the very one who had wrapped him in burial cloth and whom Amon had hurled away with the hammer.

That man stood at the absolute peak of the Nexus State, someone only one heartbeat away from taking the final, monumental step toward becoming a Monarch!!

And yet… even his presence paled dramatically before the figure walking in front of him.

The leading man had deep, dark skin; even his eyes were unnervingly black and bulging, giving off a predatory gleam. A thick layer of overlapping scales covered his skull and the exposed parts of his body, reflecting the light like polished obsidian, and from behind him extended a long, sinewy tail with a hooked stinger at its very end.

He advanced forward with heavy, deliberate footsteps, Brontor following closely behind. Only when he reached a distance he deemed secure did he finally halt, lift his chin slightly, and speak:

"On a chessboard, the king moves only when death is closing in. So tell me—why have you chosen to use yourself as a mere pawn here? Should I consider this an admission of defeat?"

"Consider me a special type of king," Hedrick replied loudly, his voice echoing across the battlefield so even the farthest soldiers could hear. "One who can sever throats with his own hands, without waiting for anyone's assistance. And as always—no one here is going anywhere."

"Hmm… You've done well surviving out here for the last three years," the man said, his voice deep and dismissive. "But surely you didn't truly believe you could halt the advance of an entire army—three hundred full fleets—by yourself forever, did you, Lord Hedrick?"

He leaned forward slightly, locking his pitch-black gaze with Hedrick's gleaming red eyes.

"The era of you throwing aside the rules of engagement is over. The era of you terrorizing the weak has passed… because I am the one standing in front of you now."

"Rules of engagement?" Hedrick's lips curled into a distorted smile.

"Should I simply fold my arms and stand idly while an army marches toward my home? Should I wait patiently until they raze it to ashes so I can drift homeless through the void—just so you won't call it 'terrorizing the weak'?"

He let out a short laugh and shook his head slowly.

"You people are hopelessly delusional. You can't distinguish between expansion wars and extermination wars. You send hundreds of fleets to obliterate me, and then you expect me to remain a distant spectator. The sheer stupidity is astonishing."

"And secondly… Just because you showed up—Skorvian—you expect me to tremble, retreat, and stop 'bullying the weak'?"

He raised one eyebrow, expression filled with contempt.

"In my eyes, you're simply one more among the countless others. Since you came… I'll bully you the same way I bully them!"

"Show some respect, Lord Hedrick."

The dark-skinned, scale-covered man tightened his thick, leathery brows, his voice carrying a sharp edge.

"Am I, a Guardian, just another weakling in your eyes? What do you imagine yourself to be exactly? Did you secretly obtain a Galaxy Spirit and ascend into a Behemoth without anyone noticing?"

"No," Hedrick replied calmly.

"I am a Monarch, a Monarch of a Law born from the Path of Destruction itself.

While you… you are merely a Guardian."

Hedrick allowed a faint, confident smile to stretch across his face.

"Tell me—do you wish to play a little game with me now, since you believe the gap between a Guardian and a Monarch doesn't exist?"

"Arrogance and classism… typical Monarch behavior."

The dark man's expression hardened, his features twisting in anger.

"You Monarchs always claim superiority just because no one else wields the same law as you. You think that makes you untouchable. Such thinking is childish—utterly illogical!"

"Indeed…" Hedric nodded slowly.

"It would be childish—if that were truly the only difference between a Monarch and a Guardian.

But… that's not the only difference, is it?"

His smile deepened, carrying both amusement and a hint of threat.

"If you refuse to believe in the real gap between us… then very well. I'll give you a special lesson today."

"You dare?!"

The dark-skinned man nearly lunged forward, his muscles coiling with killing intent, but he held himself back at the last possible moment.

…Indeed, the rumors had never stopped spreading.

The difference between a Custodian and a Monarch wasn't merely a matter of titles, nor was it simply because one wielded an exclusive law while the other shared his law with several individuals.

There was a far deeper division… one that most people only whispered about.

In truth, the seventh cultivation realm had never originally been called Behemoth, Guardian, or Monarch.

These were merely labels attached to people depending on their state, their condition, and their relationship with their law.

The realm itself had a more ancient name: Law Domination.

In the Seventh Realm, a cultivator is said to dominate the law they have bled, sweated, and trained with throughout their entire life.

They uncover its hidden layers, its subtle intricacies, its forbidden depths.

And at that stage, if the law acknowledges them, the cultivator becomes its master—its Monarch—gaining access to overwhelming authority and unmatched control.

It is said… that when someone becomes a Monarch, he dominates the law in its entirety.

He commands all of its power freely, drawing from it without restriction.

But if another person breaks through using that same law, then a serious problem arises.

The law grants no inherent superiority to either of them.

Instead, both end up drawing from the same reservoir of power—splitting the source between them.

It is like having a full meal to yourself one day… and waking up the next to find that someone else now shares your plate, leaving you with half, or even less.

This idea has never been publicly confirmed.

No Monarch, no Behemoth, no high-realm figure has ever come forward to claim that it happened.

Yet the actions of those people continue to fuel the rumor.

Because whenever someone has long held the mantle of Monarch over a law, and a new cultivator breaks through using that same law somewhere across the universe, the old one rushes across the cosmos to eliminate the newcomer immediately.

Meanwhile, the newly ascended cultivator—who has never once felt the full, undivided strength of the law—remains confused, unable to understand why death is suddenly coming for him.

Even to this day, battles to the death erupt among Guardians.

Some were former Monarchs desperate to reclaim their stolen power.

Some wish to test whether the rumor is true.

And others simply don't believe any of it and desire the beautiful, coveted title of Monarch for themselves!

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