In all cases, everyone understands one thing clearly…

being a Guardian who shares a seventh stage law with other cultivators is a terrible situation—an exceptionally dangerous and restrictive position that few would willingly accept.

And yet, despite the risks and the countless stories of those who fell because of such choices, some people still choose to advance using a law already claimed by others.

Why would anyone take that gamble?

Because it is generally easier, safer, and perhaps the law itself is more powerful.

For example… the Patriarch of the Destra Family generously provided all Destruction-Path laws to his children, handing them down like weapons forged directly from his own comprehension.

From Hedrick's perspective, among that arsenal, the strongest in his eyes was clearly the Crumbling Law, so he chose it without hesitation.

But six of his siblings followed the same path after him, not because they sensed something he didn't, but simply because Hedrick had already demonstrated overwhelming power when he wielded it.

He was the prodigy known across sectors as the Son of Destruction—why would they dare choose anything else when his results were so absolute?

Of course, those six were later killed in the vicious internal family war, and Hedrick eventually got rid of the competition without lifting a finger.

But not every child born to the mighty Behemoth families is so fortunate…

Many minor laws are so alluring, so dangerously tempting, that numerous heirs throw themselves into brutal conflict just for a chance to claim them.

For example, the famous Purgatory Law branching from the Path of Purity—one of the most violent, aggressive, and universally sought-after laws in that path!

And also… the Armoring, Poison, and Charge laws belonging to the ferocious Savage Path, each of them a treasure worth waging countless battles for.

…Scorvian glared at Hedrick with burning, smoldering anger, the type that threatened to erupt at any moment, yet he didn't dare take a single step forward.

Not because he believed a Monarch truly possessed greater strength—

but because he knew precisely, down to the smallest detail, who he was standing before:

the Son of Destruction.

"Good boy."

Hedrick nodded twice, amused, when he saw Scorvian restrain himself.

"Tell me," he continued as he lifted his brows toward him with casual arrogance,

"what do you think the forces of the Mid-Sector 101 will say when they see you—

a foreign infiltrator—standing here in front of me while negotiations are supposed to be ongoing at the border?

Aren't you even slightly afraid that this whole ridiculous charade will be exposed in an instant?"

More than three years ago, Theo came to him with urgent news:

a joint army from the Curse Behemoth Galaxy and the Savage Behemoth Galaxy had gathered on the borders of Mid-Sector 101 with one clear purpose—

to eliminate him.

Theo told him he must request aid from the Radiance Galaxy to halt that external threat.

And if Radiance refused to intervene, then Hedrick would have no choice but to invade Radiance itself and fight the Behemoth Kaylis to the death.

But fortunately for everyone involved, the Radiance Galaxy decided to step back rather than escalate the war.

They sent envoys to obstruct the enormous army at the sector's borders…

That political announcement was made more than three years ago—

and even now, the so-called negotiations are still "ongoing," a performance dragging endlessly with no conclusion.

At least, until today, the threat from that direction had been completely restrained…

until this very moment.

Today, one of the four Swarm chiefs slipped through all those barriers, infiltrated the region, and reached the command level of the army targeting the heart of the Crumbled Dreams Empire.

Kaylis deceived the universe into believing she was trying to stop everyone and protect her supposed allies…

yet somehow she allowed a Custodian to slip through her territory unnoticed?

"Announce whatever you like."

Scorvian showed a mocking, almost playful smile.

"Couldn't I simply have taken a long detour and separated myself from the negotiation site? What a pathetic excuse."

Then he stared straight into Hedrick's red eyes with pure ridicule.

"Secondly, if you know it's all a staged act, then why participate at all?

If you truly have the courage you boast about, come attack us at the border—fight like a man, like a real warrior, like the champion you always pretend to be."

"Why should I fight with honor against those who possess none?"

Hedrick tilted his head slightly, voice steady and cold.

"I fight alone in a war the entire universe calls cosmic—alone.

Have you no shred of pride?

How do any of you sleep at night when all of you gather together just to hunt a single man?"

"…?!"

Scorvian's expression darkened further before he exploded,

"Alone?! Then what do you call the Shadow Swords?!".

He had intended to expose what he believed was the involvement of one of Hedrick's allies, to strike at Hedrick's reputation and shake the balance of the confrontation.

But the moment the words escaped his mouth, his expression twisted into instant regret.

He lowered his head, wishing—begging internally—that his voice had been quieter, that the silence of space had swallowed his accusation before anyone heard it.

But fate showed him no mercy.

"Heh… HAHAHA…"

Hedrick released a slow, taunting laugh that echoed with deliberate cruelty.

"Truly… aren't you embarrassed? Mentioning an intelligence organization whose only job is to trade information?

Not a single one of them has ever lifted a sword, fired a cannon, or even raised a hand against your forces—yet you count them among my supporters?

What next? Will you accuse the soul society delivery couriers of being part of my grand army?"

Hedrick raised his hand casually, as if brushing aside a meaningless complaint, and pointed forward—past Scorvian, toward something far behind him.

"Scorvian, for your own good, return to your ship.

Play cards with that clown behind you—

yes, that one who got knocked unconscious by a World Cataclysm and drifted half-dead in open space for a year."

His eyes narrowed, and his voice turned colder.

"Today will pass like every other day in the past three years.

You will not take a single step forward, not an inch—

and I… will restrain myself from painting this region of space with blood and shattered machinery."

"….!!"

Brontor's jaw tightened until his teeth nearly cracked.

A surge of humiliation, anger, and sheer disbelief washed over him.

Normal? Hedrick dared call years trapped among those cursed Crimson Soldiers normal?!

Nothing—absolutely nothing—about their existence was normal.

But even with fury boiling inside him, he kept silent.

In the presence of Lord Hedrick, even the proudest officers knew when their tongues would only lead to disaster.

Brontor was here for one purpose: to transmit orders if demanded.

Nothing more.

"…"

Scorvian, meanwhile, slowly turned his head, following the direction of Hedrick's gesture.

And the moment he saw what Hedrick was pointing at—

his lips peeled back, revealing long fangs in a snarl of instinctive rage.

Hedrick had not pointed at Scorvian's immense swarm of 300 fleets.

No… he had pointed at what lay farther back—hidden behind them like a silent blade.

A second swarm.

A formation of ninety fleets, cannons primed and aimed directly at the backs of the allied forces—

aligned with perfect precision, positioned like an execution squad ready to fire the instant Hedrick gave the slightest nod.

At the forefront of that formation stood a man with his arms folded across his chest, his expression carved from stone, radiating a seriousness that could freeze the blood of veterans.

His anger was obvious, barely restrained.

It was Hedrick's First Marshal—Fargus.

And at that moment, his voice thundered across the communication channels:

"Broooontoooor!!

We still have a battle that remains unfinished!

Pray—truly pray—that Lord Hedrick doesn't give the order today either!!"

Only then did the entire picture become clear.

After the allied army departed for the mid-sector on their grand operation, Fargus had received a direct command:

take his full army

and follow them—

no matter the distance.

When the allied swarm finally arrived and launched their assault, intending to break through all the way to Shather Planet as the grand strategy demanded, they found something they never expected:

Hedrick was already there, standing alone, firm as a mountain no one could move.

The moment they fired their cannons at him, sensors detected a second threat approaching fast—

Marshal Fargus's entire swarm closing in from behind.

The substitute commander of the allied swarm had tried to maneuver, to escape the trap, to circle around Fargus and force Hedrick and the Marshal into the same direction—

but Fargus had anticipated the attempt.

He immediately retreated, widening the gap between them, opening the perfect kill corridor—

and Hedrick struck them from behind with devastating precision.

Caught between two unstoppable forces, the allied swarm could neither advance nor retreat.

Their only option was to halt completely.

So the commander swallowed his pride and negotiated with Hedrick, agreeing to remain dormant—

better to sleep than die in a hopeless slaughter.

A year later, Brontor managed to infiltrate the allied swarm and reclaim leadership, but even he could not fix the impossible situation.

He, like the rest, remained trapped in enforced stillness, drinking hot beverages and waiting for orders that never came—

for years.

Their humiliation didn't end there.

They eventually forged a strange, reluctant deal with Hedrick:

permission to descend on nearby planets for food and water—

in exchange for enormous payments

directly to Hedrick himself.

A cosmic army, reduced to tenants paying rent to their enemy.

And Hedrick, of course, never let them forget it.

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