Planet Teleopea – Training Sector, Seventh Arena

“Lord Xiao, I’m terribly sorry, but Training Field No. 7 is already in use.”

The administrator in charge of the combat simulators looked genuinely apologetic as he spoke to the commander of the Special Operations Unit. He kept glancing at the monitor, searching for any vacant arena numbers, hoping to find a substitute.

“Is that so? Who’s using it?”

Xiao frowned. He’d booked this simulation hall several star-rings ago—how could someone have stolen the slot?

It wasn’t that he was petty, but Field No. 7 held the best equipment in all of Teleopea. The simulation fidelity was nearly identical to real-world combat. He had submitted the request a full star-ring year ago, and it had only been approved seven days earlier. Now some bastard had cut in line. Anyone would be furious.

Catching a glimpse of Xiao’s expression, flatter than usual, the administrator bowed his head repeatedly in apology.

He could hardly help it—after all, the one inside was that person. The Chancellor’s “special project.”

Inside the precious training hall that Xiao had fought so hard to reserve, someone else was silently wishing to be anywhere but there.

After being taken to Shi’s residence, Chen had learned what true hell looked like.

There were rules for walking, rules for sitting, rules for lying down—(apparently one must not sleep upside-down in one’s room; the last time he did, the man threatened to slice off his tail with a plasma saber).

Rules for eating, rules for dress, and endless lessons in Teleopean culture, history, politics, philosophy, technology, and every other torment imaginable.

Raised alone on a ruined planet, Chen hadn’t even known how to spell the seventy-three basic letters of the Teleopean alphabet. The towering data-crystals of the study filled him with quiet horror.

By the time he was mentally exhausted from it all, Shi had dragged him here, declaring that physical conditioning was also part of the curriculum—and refusal would lead to %￥## (he didn’t need to know the rest to understand).

Resigned, the young Teleopean followed behind him like a condemned man.

“Come on, kid, straighten up! How old are you—already crippled? Chest out! Head up! Eyes forward! And stop flicking your tail like that—what are you, a baby?!”

The golden-haired Teleopean, whose beauty usually radiated effortless authority, now barked like a drill sergeant. Seeing Chen twitch, he struck his right shoulder sharply.

“I said don’t move! You twitch one more time and I’ll cut off whatever part you moved!”

It wasn’t an empty threat.

Chen believed him. After yesterday’s tail-separation incident, it still hurt to sit.

Shi gave him one last warning glare, then turned, his tone suddenly cool and precise.

“As a Teleopean, intellect alone isn’t enough. Physical power is the mark of the strong. And only the strong have the right to say no. The weak exist to obey.”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

“To reach what you desire, strength—when required—is the absolute instrument.”

His last sentence triggered something in Chen’s mind—an echo, faint and fleeting. His golden eyes lost focus, staring into nothing.

“And spacing out is not part of the training!” Shi snapped. He grabbed a short metal rod—something like a teaching baton—and struck him cleanly across the shoulder. The blow snapped him out of it.

Chen said nothing. He rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him with quiet fury. His golden eyes blazed like molten metal.

If he could, he would have killed this infuriating man on the spot. But Shi could knock him flat in seconds, and the device on his wrist suppressed his telepathy. All he could do was glare.

Shi met his eyes, utterly unfazed by the murderous gleam. Instead, he smiled approvingly.

“Good eyes,” he said. “But eyes alone aren’t enough.”

From nowhere, he produced a small control module. Smiling almost pleasantly, he pressed a key.

“This simulator can generate any natural—or unnatural—environment. Unlike a holo-projection, these are tangible. You can touch them. They burn.”

The metal-walled space vanished.

A red inferno replaced it.

Chen stared, stunned. He was standing on a slab of rock surrounded by molten lava. Even through his boots he felt the heat biting into his feet.

It looked like a volcanic cavern, stretching beyond sight, rivers of fire lighting the jagged ceiling.

“What is this…?” he asked, haltingly, in his clumsy, newly learned Teleopean.

A chunk of rock cracked beneath him; when it touched the lava below, the explosion of heat made him recoil instinctively.

“This is a common lava tunnel,” Shi said matter-of-factly. “I set the coordinates three kilometres below the surface. Find the tunnel that leads up. Reach the surface, and training’s over.”

What?!

A low growl rose from Chen’s throat, almost beast-like.

Watching him struggle in the scorching air, Shi added “helpfully,”

“Oh, and I forgot to mention—if you fall in, you’ll really die.”

Meanwhile – Council Hall, High Chancellor’s Residence

“Is that so?” Mien said after hearing the report. He waved a hand dismissively. “Let him be, as long as he doesn’t go too far.”

“Yes, Chancellor.” The intelligence officer nodded on the screen before Mien terminated the link and leaned back into his seat.

Shi was training the “continuation” as though grooming the next Star Emperor. Mien shook his head inwardly. Pointless sentimentality.

The continuation was only meant to be an assassin. Whether or not it succeeded, it would be disposed of afterward.

He almost wished he could tell Shi that everything he was doing was a waste of time.

And yet… there was something curious about this one.

Its psychic strength was unlike anything he’d seen. The creature had destroyed twenty-six suppression devices before Mien was forced to commission a specially reinforced version—multiplied in strength manyfold—just to restrain it.

Even the current Emperor couldn’t do that.

Perhaps, Mien thought, the “continuation” might serve a role greater than that of a mere tool.

He narrowed his silver eyes, thinking deeply—until another transmission cut through his thoughts.

High Chancellor, His Majesty the Star Emperor summons you to the Front Hall.

Mien exhaled slowly.

What must come, always comes.