Hart brought from the Sanjing Sea a gigantic anti-gravitational architectural structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest. This massive building could actually accommodate over ten thousand council members simultaneously.
Starting from the very bottom, the silver-colored structure spiraled upward in a tiered, circular formation, with more than one hundred and fifty layers in total. At the very top, seated upon a floating silver throne, was naturally Yang Hao.
Just one level below Yang Hao sat the regional administrators of the East and West, along with Hart.
Looking down at the solemn faces of over ten thousand council members seated beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the imperial throne was so alluring. This overwhelming sense of power, towering above all others, was indeed a deep-rooted dream within human hearts.
However, with over ten thousand council members below, Yang Hao also fully realized why Emperor Yinglie had insisted on maintaining the monarchy and refused to implement a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too annoying.
Each of those ten thousand planetary rulers refused to yield to others. They began shouting and arguing over every single issue, no matter how trivial. There were dozens of planetary rulers ready to clash even over the smallest matters. If their seats hadn’t been fixed by anti-gravity devices, they probably would have already come to blows.
Yang Hao, growing increasingly annoyed, turned to look at Shimingyuan and Hart.
Shimingyuan, still a young girl herself, had never experienced such chaos. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, indicating her inability to handle the situation. As for old Hart, he was even more extreme—he had actually fallen asleep early on.
To be able to sleep in an environment with over 150 decibels of noise was truly worthy of a peak Saint Realm expert.
The main topic of today’s parliament was the relationship with the Galactic Empire.
Since the formation of the United Cosmic Federation, its power had grown so immense that even the traditional cosmic empires felt uneasy. Although the Senate had already installed the Crown Prince as a puppet emperor, their grip on imperial resources remained unstable, especially regarding the military, where less than half the fleets remained loyal. The Senate was also deeply troubled by the Mind King. During the rebellion, the Mind King had clearly sided with Emperor Yinglie. However, after the rebellion failed, the Senate found themselves unable to deal with the Mind King.
The reason was simple: the Mind King was simply too important. Without him, not only would the military cease to function, but the entire galaxy might collapse without power. With no choice, the Senate could only temporarily tolerate the Mind King’s independence.
Because of these issues, combined with the fact that two of the senior elders had been killed and injured by Yang Hao, the Senate grew even more fearful. Reluctantly, they sent an envoy who announced their intention to establish diplomatic relations with the United Cosmic Federation.
This was absolutely unthinkable. The mighty Galactic Empire actually bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic relations with rebels was essentially an acknowledgment of the United Cosmic Federation’s legitimacy.
This major development became the first topic of discussion at the Federation’s inaugural parliamentary session. Whether or not to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire became a difficult decision for all the council members.
This situation highlighted the differences between the Eastern and Western factions. The Eastern systems had always been content with modest prosperity. When they first declared independence, they had never imagined achieving such success. Their planets were now enjoying far better lives than before. Therefore, most of the Eastern council members strongly supported peaceful negotiations, urging the swift establishment of diplomatic ties and the signing of a peace treaty.
However, the Western council members opposed this view. Led by Queen Ming of the Raymon System, Kevin of the Saint Illumination System, and the leader of the Great Du Resistance Organization, the Western radical faction had long resisted the Empire. They had witnessed the Empire’s rise and fall and knew that the Empire’s call for peace was merely a temporary truce. They demanded immediate military action for a final strike to completely annihilate the Galactic Empire.
Herd brought a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest from the Three Crystal Sea. This colossal building, resembling an enormous overturned nest, could surprisingly accommodate over ten thousand council members simultaneously.
Starting from the very bottom, the silver structure rose in concentric tiers, spanning more than one hundred and fifty levels. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Chief Executive, was naturally Yang Hao.
One level below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Governors, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of the ten thousand council members beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring—this overwhelming sense of power was indeed the deepest nightmare lurking in human hearts.
However, with over ten thousand council members below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always maintained a monarchy and refused to adopt a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic shouting matches. Even the smallest issues could pit dozens of system governors against each other. If not for the anti-gravity restraints on their seats, they would likely have already brawled in the chamber.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned to Shi Mingyuan and Herd for help.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young girl at heart, had never witnessed such a scene before. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, signaling her inability to intervene. As for Herd, that old dog, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, considering the deafening noise level of over 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm master.
Today’s parliamentary session revolved around the primary debate: relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the establishment of the Cosmic Federation, its influence had grown so immense that even the once-dominant Galactic Empire trembled in fear. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet, their control over the Empire’s resources remained shaky, especially concerning the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate was also deeply troubled by the AI Sovereign, who had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor during the rebellion. Yet, after the rebellion’s failure, the Senate found themselves powerless against the AI Sovereign.
The stakes were too high. Without the AI Sovereign, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would crumble from the loss of its driving force. Reluctantly, the Senate had to tolerate the AI Sovereign’s distant presence.
Compounding these issues was the fact that two Senate elders had fallen into Yang Hao’s hands—one dead, the other injured. This further heightened the Senate’s wariness, forcing them to dispatch an envoy to announce diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling. The mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic ties with them would effectively legitimize the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliamentary session: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire. It was a dilemma facing every council member.
This starkly highlighted the divide between the Eastern and Western factions. The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better living conditions than before. Thus, most Eastern council members fervently supported peace negotiations, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western council members, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by Empress Leiming of the Thunder Star, Kevin of the Holy Radiance Star, and the leader of the Great Resistance Movement, these radical Western representatives had long resisted the Empire. They had witnessed its rise and fall and knew the Empire’s peace offer was merely a stalling tactic. They demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and completely dismantle the Galactic Empire.
The two sides argued relentlessly. The Western faction relied on their current military superiority over the Empire, while the Eastern council members invoked the Supreme Sovereign. In their view, as long as no one could surpass the Supreme Sovereign, the Senate could never be truly overthrown.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the incessant bickering.
In truth, both sides had valid points. The crux lay in the ultimate choice:
Should they allow the Senate’s delaying tactics to play out, saving the final confrontation for later? Or should they strike first, gambling that the Supreme Sovereign would not intervene again?
In any case, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The perpetual threat of the Supreme Sovereign looming overhead was unbearable.
Just as the Western council members hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl in the chamber—several guards suddenly burst in, accompanied by a group of people.
Under normal circumstances, no one was allowed to interrupt a parliamentary session. Yet, these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom happened to be one of the Chief Executive’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the chamber with such ferocity that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face twisted as if the world owed her money, made the council members shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Chief Executive had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to stab someone in the backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two people with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack, the Ghost Blade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early wanderings in the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severing from him. That a humble tavern hid a Saint Realm master spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in tattered but dignified clothing, the middle-aged man carried himself with refined manners. Yang Hao felt he had seen him before but couldn’t recall who he was.
Kan Ling recognized him and introduced, “This is General Clyde. He is…”
“Ah!” Yang Hao suddenly remembered. He hadn’t just seen General Clyde before—he had encountered him many, many times.
General Clyde was a highly respected military officer in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branch Wars of the royal family, when the Senate launched its counterattack, most of the royal forces fled. Only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young imperial guard soldier who also stood in the palace, defending the Heroic Emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the imperial capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as a future Privy Council minister under the Crown Prince, ensuring the two formed a close bond.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was by his side—his most trusted confidant. Yet, his unremarkable appearance had left too faint an impression for Yang Hao to recognize him immediately.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide appear before him, Yang Hao knew something significant must have happened. With a wave of his hand, the entire chamber underwent a dramatic transformation.
The once vibrant, kaleidoscopic hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by an immobilizing spell.
In an instant, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and General Clyde in a private temporal pocket where only the two of them existed.
Yang Hao descended from his silver throne, smiling at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde remained dazed for a moment before dropping to one knee in salute. Rising, he said, “Lord Governor, how have you grown so powerful in such a short time?”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them faced execution, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Black Wind Elder was impossible to conceal, and figures like Clyde had already pieced together the implications.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed, recalling the weak-willed prince. Though the Crown Prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore him no grudge. During his time in the capital, the Crown Prince had helped Yang Hao numerous times, aiding his narrow escapes from danger.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly recounted the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight. The political acumen of a true statesman was something Yang Hao could never hope to match.
Just before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his own imperial guards and the Crown Prince’s retinue. He knew that if he succeeded, power would be his. But if he failed, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain control. Thus, a Crown Prince kept at arm’s length would remain relatively safe.
As the Heroic Emperor predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack spared the Crown Prince. The elders swiftly installed him as the new emperor—a puppet with no freedom, but alive nonetheless.
Hearing of the Crown Prince’s current state, Yang Hao nodded. “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen crowd, and realized Yang Hao had created this pocket of privacy for their conversation. Without hesitation, he said, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“In secret?” Yang Hao blinked, then understood. Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted demeanor meant he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic entourage but had slipped through smuggling channels to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times and faced mysterious pursuers along the way. Fortunately, he encountered Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm master, intrigued by Yang Hao’s peculiarities, had taken an interest in such anomalies. Learning of Clyde’s mission, Old Jack escorted him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter he insisted I deliver personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew grave.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still wish to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around them. “If not for that, why would I bother with this mess? Ten thousand council members bickering daily is driving me insane.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you—if you want to overthrow the Senate and dismantle the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal envoy of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime. It was the joke of the century.
Yet Clyde’s face betrayed no hint of humor. He spoke earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him: ‘Do you want to be a puppet emperor, or do you want to be yourself?’ He has now decided—he chooses to be himself.”
A bolt of lightning seemed to strike Yang Hao’s mind. He vividly remembered those words, spoken during the turmoil of his broken engagement with the princess, when he urged the Crown Prince not to fear the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand the Crown Prince’s mindset. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor. Though he died by the Supreme Sovereign’s hand, he had no regrets. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he thought securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. The Crown Prince believes failing to stand by his father in battle was an act of filial betrayal. Now, he is determined to correct that mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde quickly relayed a few sentences—words that would completely reverse the current cosmic balance and alter the course of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme Sovereign has entered seclusion again.” This was Clyde’s first statement.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news, but he was baffled as to how Clyde and the Crown Prince had obtained it.
Clyde didn’t explain, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
Yet it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it. Yang Hao knew it.
The Supreme Sovereign was the universe’s sole remaining threat. If the Sovereign remained in seclusion, everything would fall back into Yang Hao’s control.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded solemnly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But now, the Senate controls his every move. So, Lord Yang Hao, you must—absolutely must—help His Majesty destroy the Senate.”
The only person who could make the final decision remained high above, trying to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao was driven to the edge by the endless quarrels.
Actually, both sides had some valid points. The key lay in the final decision.
Herd brought a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest from the Three-Crystal Sea. This colossal building, resembling a giant overturned nest, could surprisingly accommodate over ten thousand councilors simultaneously.
Starting from the lowest level, the silver structure ascended in a circular, tiered fashion, spanning more than one hundred and fifty layers. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Chief Executive, was naturally Yang Hao.
One tier below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Executives, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of the ten thousand councilors beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring. The intoxicating sense of absolute power was indeed the deepest nightmare lurking in the human heart.
However, with over ten thousand councilors below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always upheld the monarchy and refused to implement a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic, nonsensical arguments. Even the smallest issues could pit dozens of system governors against each other. If not for the anti-gravity devices locking their seats in place, they would have likely already brawled.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned to Shi Mingyuan and Herd for help.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young girl at heart, had never witnessed such a scene before. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, signaling her inability to intervene. As for Herd, the old dog, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, considering the deafening noise level of over 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm expert.
Today’s parliamentary session revolved around the contentious issue of relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the establishment of the Cosmic Federation, its overwhelming influence had even unsettled the once-dominant empire. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet, their control over the empire’s resources remained shaky, especially concerning the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate was also deeply troubled by the AI Sovereign, who had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor during the rebellion. Yet, after the rebellion’s failure, the Senate found themselves powerless against the AI Sovereign.
The stakes were too high. Without the AI Sovereign, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would lose its power source and crumble. Reluctantly, the Senate had to tolerate the AI Sovereign’s aloof existence.
Compounding these issues, the death and injury of two Senate Elders at Yang Hao’s hands only deepened the Senate’s fear. In desperation, they dispatched an envoy to announce diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling. The mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic ties with them would effectively legitimize the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliament: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire.
This dilemma starkly highlighted the divide between the Eastern and Western factions.
The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better lives than before. Thus, most Eastern councilors fervently supported peace negotiations, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western councilors, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by the Thunderstar’s Empress Ming, Saint Radiance’s Kevin, and the Great Resistance leader, these radical Western representatives had long resisted the empire. They saw through the empire’s peace offer as a mere stalling tactic and demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and annihilate the empire entirely.
The debate raged on. The Western faction relied on their superior military strength, while the Eastern councilors invoked the Supreme Sovereign’s authority, arguing that as long as no one surpassed the Supreme, the Senate could never be truly destroyed.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the incessant bickering.
Both sides had valid points, but the ultimate choice lay in his hands.
Should they accept the Senate’s delaying tactics and wait for the final showdown, or strike first and gamble that the Supreme Sovereign wouldn’t intervene?
In short, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The constant shadow of the Supreme Sovereign looming overhead was unbearable.
Just as the Western councilors hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl—a group of guards burst into the chamber, accompanied by several others.
Normally, no one was allowed to disrupt a parliamentary session, but these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom happened to be one of the Chief Executive’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the chamber with such fury that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face etched with an expression that suggested the world owed her money, made the councilors obediently shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Chief Executive had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to stab someone in the backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two people with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack, the Ghost Blade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early wanderings in the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severing from him. That a humble tavern hid a Saint Realm expert spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in tattered but dignified clothing, the middle-aged man carried himself with refined manners. Yang Hao felt he had seen him before but couldn’t recall who he was.
Kan Ling recognized him. “This is General Clyde. He is…”
“Ah!” Yang Hao suddenly remembered. He hadn’t just seen General Clyde before—he had encountered him many, many times.
General Clyde was a respected military figure in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branch Wars, when the Senate counterattacked and most royal forces fled, only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young Imperial Guard soldier who also stood in the palace, steadfastly defending the emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the imperial capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as the future Crown Prince’s Privy Council minister, ensuring the two grew close.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde accompanied him as his most trusted confidant. His unremarkable appearance, however, made him easy to overlook—hence Yang Hao’s delayed recognition.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide arrive unannounced, Yang Hao knew something significant was afoot. With a wave of his hand, the entire chamber underwent a dramatic transformation.
The once-colorful, surreal parliamentary hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by a paralysis spell.
In an instant, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and Clyde in a private temporal pocket.
Descending from his silver throne, Yang Hao smiled at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde, momentarily dazed, quickly dropped to one knee in salute before rising. “Lord Governor, it hasn’t been that long, yet you’ve grown so formidable.”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them faced execution, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Black Wind Elder couldn’t be concealed, and figures like Clyde had already pieced together the implications.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed, recalling the timid Crown Prince. Though the prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore no grudge. During his time in the capital, the Crown Prince had repeatedly helped him escape danger.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly updated Yang Hao on the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight. The political acumen of a true statesman was something Yang Hao could never replicate.
Before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had already taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his own Imperial Guards and the prince’s retinue. He knew that if he won, absolute power would be his. But if he lost, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain order—hence the Crown Prince’s relative safety.
As predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack spared the Crown Prince, who was swiftly installed as the new emperor. Though stripped of freedom, he remained alive.
Nodding at the update, Yang Hao asked, “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic relations?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen crowd, and realized Yang Hao had created this space for privacy. Without hesitation, he replied, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“Secret?” Yang Hao blinked, then understood. Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted demeanor indicated he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic entourage but had slipped past the Senate’s surveillance via smuggling routes.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times and faced mysterious pursuers along the way. Only by chance did he encounter Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm expert, intrigued by Yang Hao’s earlier encounter, took an interest in Clyde’s mission and escorted him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter he insisted I deliver personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew serious.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still intend to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around. “If not for that, why would I endure this chaos? Ten thousand councilors bickering daily is maddening.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you—if you wish to overthrow the Senate and dismantle the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal envoy of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime.
But Clyde’s grave expression showed no hint of jest. “The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him: ‘Do you want to be a puppet emperor, or do you want to be yourself?’ He has now decided—he chooses to be himself.”
A bolt of realization struck Yang Hao. He remembered those words vividly—spoken during the princess’s annulment crisis, urging the Crown Prince to defy the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor. Though he fell to the Supreme Sovereign, he died without regret. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he thought securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. The Crown Prince believes failing to stand with his father in battle was unfilial.” Clyde’s voice hardened. “Now, His Majesty is determined to correct that mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde swiftly relayed a few sentences—words that would irrevocably alter the cosmic balance and redirect the course of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme Sovereign has entered seclusion again.” This was Clyde’s first revelation.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news, but he was puzzled—how had Clyde and the Crown Prince learned of it?
Clyde didn’t elaborate, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
Yet it was worth it. Both the Crown Prince and Yang Hao knew it.
With the Supreme Sovereign—the universe’s sole remaining threat—in seclusion, everything once again lay within Yang Hao’s grasp.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded solemnly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But with the Senate controlling his every move, he implores you, Lord Yang Hao, to help him destroy the Senate.”
Herd brought from the Three-Crystal Sea a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest, capable of seating over ten thousand council members simultaneously.
Starting from the lowest level, the silver structure ascended in concentric tiers, totaling more than one hundred and fifty layers. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Supreme Governor, was naturally Yang Hao.
One tier below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Governors, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of the ten thousand council members beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring—this overwhelming sense of power was indeed the deepest nightmare lurking in the human heart.
However, with over ten thousand council members below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always maintained a monarchy and refused to adopt a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic shouting matches. Even the smallest issues could pit dozens of governors against each other. If not for the anti-gravity restraints on their seats, they would likely have already brawled in the chamber.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned his gaze to Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young woman, had never witnessed such a scene before and merely shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao. As for Herd, the old fox, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, given the deafening noise level of over 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm master.
Today’s parliamentary debate centered on relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the formation of the Cosmic Federation, its power had grown so immense that even the once-dominant Galactic Empire trembled in fear. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet emperor, their control over the Empire’s resources remained shaky, especially regarding the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate also found the AI Overlord a major headache. During the rebellion, the AI Overlord had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor. Yet after the rebellion failed, the Senate realized they could do nothing about it.
The AI Overlord was simply too crucial. Without it, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would lose its power source and crumble. Helpless, the Senate could only tolerate the AI Overlord’s distant existence for now.
This series of issues, coupled with the death and injury of two Senate Elders at Yang Hao’s hands, made the Senate even more wary. Reluctantly, they dispatched an envoy to announce diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling—the mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels and establishing diplomatic ties, effectively legitimizing the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliament: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire.
The divide between the Eastern and Western factions of council members became starkly apparent. The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better lives than before, so most Eastern council members fervently supported peace talks, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western faction, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by Empress Leiming of the Thunder Star, Kevin of the Holy Radiance Star, and the leader of the Great Resistance, these radical Western council members had long fought against the Empire. They had witnessed its rise and fall and knew the Empire’s peace offer was merely a stalling tactic. They demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and completely annihilate the Galactic Empire.
The two sides argued fiercely. The Western faction relied on the fact that they had already drawn significant military strength from the Empire, while the Eastern council members invoked the Supreme One—arguing that as long as no one could surpass the Supreme One, the Senate could never be truly destroyed.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the endless bickering.
Both sides had valid points, but the ultimate choice lay in Yang Hao’s hands.
Should they accept the Senate’s delaying tactics and wait for the final showdown, or strike first and gamble that the Supreme One would not intervene?
In short, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The constant threat of the Supreme One looming overhead was unbearable.
Just as the Western council members hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl—several guards burst into the chamber, accompanied by a group of intruders.
Normally, no one was allowed to disrupt parliamentary proceedings, but these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Because leading the charge were two Saint Realm masters, one of whom was also one of the Supreme Governor’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the chamber with such fury that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face twisted as if the world owed her money, made the council members obediently shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Supreme Governor had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to skewer someone’s backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two people with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack, the Ghost Blade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early wanderings in the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severance from him. That a mere tavern hid a Saint Realm master spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in rags yet exuding refined manners, the middle-aged man seemed familiar, but Yang Hao couldn’t place him.
Kan Ling recognized him. “This is General Clyde. He is—”
“Ah!” Yang Hao jolted with realization. He finally remembered who General Clyde was—not only had he seen him before, but countless times.
General Clyde was a respected military figure in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branch Wars of the royal family, when the Senate counterattacked, most of the imperial forces fled. Only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young imperial guard soldier who also stood in the palace, loyal to the Emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the imperial capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as a future Privy Council minister for the Crown Prince, ensuring the two grew close.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was by his side as his most trusted confidant. But his plain appearance made him easy to overlook, which was why Yang Hao hadn’t recognized him immediately.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide appear before him, Yang Hao knew something significant must have happened. With a wave of his hand, the entire chamber underwent a drastic transformation.
The once-colorful, surreal parliamentary hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by a paralysis spell.
With a mere gesture, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and General Clyde in a private temporal bubble.
Descending from his silver throne, Yang Hao smiled at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde remained dazed for a moment before dropping to one knee in salute. Rising, he said, “Lord Governor, how have you grown so powerful in such a short time?”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them would be executed, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Black Wind Elder couldn’t be concealed, and figures like Clyde had already pieced together the truth.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed, recalling the weak-willed prince. Though the Crown Prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore no grudge—after all, the prince had helped him multiple times in the capital, aiding his narrow escapes.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly updated Yang Hao on the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight—a politician’s cunning that Yang Hao could never replicate.
Shortly before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his imperial guard and the prince’s retinue. He knew that if he won, power would be his. But if he lost, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain control, ensuring the Crown Prince’s survival.
As predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack spared the Crown Prince, who was swiftly installed as the new emperor—albeit under house arrest, but alive.
Hearing of the Crown Prince’s current state, Yang Hao nodded. “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen crowd, and understood Yang Hao had created this space for privacy. Without hesitation, he said, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“Secretly?” Yang Hao blinked, then realized—Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted state meant he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic entourage but through smuggling channels to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times and faced mysterious pursuers along the way. Only by chance did he encounter Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm master, intrigued by Yang Hao’s earlier encounter, took an interest in Clyde’s mission and escorted him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter, so he insisted I deliver this message personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew grave.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still wish to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around. “If not for that, why would I endure this mess? Ten thousand council members bickering daily is maddening.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you—if you want to overthrow the Senate and dismantle the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal envoy of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime. It was the joke of the century.
But Clyde wasn’t joking. He spoke earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him whether he wanted to remain a puppet emperor or become his own man. He has now decided—he chooses to be himself.”
A bolt of lightning seemed to strike Yang Hao’s mind. He remembered those words vividly—spoken during the princess’s annulment crisis, when he urged the Crown Prince to defy the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor, dying without regret at the Supreme One’s hands. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he thought securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. The Crown Prince believes failing to join his father in battle was unfilial. Now, he seeks to correct that mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde swiftly relayed a few sentences—words that would irrevocably alter the cosmic balance and redirect the course of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme One has entered seclusion again.” These were Clyde’s first words.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news, but he was baffled as to how Clyde and the Crown Prince had learned of it.
Clyde didn’t explain, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
But it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it. Yang Hao knew it.
With the Supreme One—the universe’s sole remaining threat—in seclusion, everything was back in Yang Hao’s hands.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded firmly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But the Senate controls everything about him now. So, Lord Yang Hao, you must—absolutely must—help His Majesty destroy the Senate.”
Just as the Western council members hurled the first boot at their Eastern counterparts, threatening to ignite a bloody parliamentary battle, several guards suddenly rushed in alongside a group of people.
Normally, no one was allowed to interrupt a parliamentary session, but the guards couldn’t stop the intruders—not that they dared to try.
Because leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom was none other than one of the Grand Administrator’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the chamber with such ferocity that everyone fell silent.
A stunning beauty wielding a long spear, with a face that looked like everyone owed her money, caused the council members to quickly shut their mouths. Everyone knew that this wife of the Grand Administrator had a terrible temper and might stab someone’s backside at any moment.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two people in.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them. Wasn’t that Ghost Blade Old Jack from the Adventurer’s Bar?
Yang Hao naturally hadn’t forgotten that when he first wandered the East, he had fought Ghost Blade Old Jack and even learned the skill of spatial slicing from him. The fact that a small bar could hide a Saint Realm expert showed just how many hidden experts roamed the universe.
However, the other person made Yang Hao frown. The middle-aged man, dressed in rags but behaving with obvious refinement and courtesy, seemed familiar to Yang Hao, though he couldn’t place him.
Kan Ling recognized him and introduced, “This is General Clyde. He is…”
“Ahh!” Yang Hao suddenly realized. He finally remembered who General Clyde was. He hadn’t just met him once—he had met him many times.
General Clyde was a respected military figure in the Galactic Empire, known especially for his loyalty to the royal family. During the conflict involving the thirty-six royal branches, when the Senate launched its counterattack, most of the royal army scattered. Only the old swordsman and Qin Feng remained by Emperor Yinglie’s side. At that time, few noticed that there was also a very young Imperial Guard soldier standing in the palace, standing by Emperor Yinglie.
That was General Clyde.
From that night onward, General Clyde embarked on a glorious path. When Yang Hao entered the capital, Clyde was already the captain of the Crown Prince’s bodyguard unit. According to Emperor Yinglie’s plan, Clyde was being groomed to become a Privy Council minister under the future Crown Prince, so the two had been arranged to spend time together.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was always by his side, the Crown Prince’s most trusted confidant. However, this man’s unremarkable appearance made him easy to forget, which was why Yang Hao hadn’t recognized him immediately.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s chief confidant seeking him out, Yang Hao knew something significant must have happened. He waved his hand, and instantly, the entire chamber underwent a dramatic transformation.
The colorful, surreal chamber suddenly turned gray. Strangely, the ten thousand people inside seemed to have been frozen in place, like lifeless puppets, no longer moving.
With just a wave of his hand, Yang Hao had split the chamber into two spaces, placing himself and General Clyde into a private, two-person dimension.
Yang Hao floated down from his silver throne, looking at the stunned Clyde with a smile: “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde stood there for a moment, then gave Yang Hao a half-kneeling military salute and said:
“My Lord, it’s been a while. How did you become so powerful?”
The rumors of Yang Hao becoming a god had spread widely in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such news was strictly forbidden. Anyone spreading such rumors would be executed, so few actually knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s previous killing of Elder Heifeng could not be concealed and had already reached Clyde’s level of understanding.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao’s mind drifted back to the timid Crown Prince, and he sighed involuntarily. Although the Crown Prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao didn’t blame him. After all, during their time in the capital, the Crown Prince had helped Yang Hao many times, helping him through several life-threatening situations.
But Clyde looked deeply dejected and briefly explained the Crown Prince’s situation.
At this moment, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire Emperor Yinglie’s meticulous planning. Such political skills were something Yang Hao would never learn.
Before the attack on Elder Mountain, Emperor Yinglie had already taken precautions for the Crown Prince, separating his own Imperial Guard system from the Crown Prince’s entourage. He knew that if he succeeded, power would naturally be his. But if he failed, the Senate would still need a royal family member to control the situation. Therefore, a Crown Prince who remained neutral would be relatively safe.
As Emperor Yinglie had predicted, during the Senate’s massive counterattack, the Crown Prince himself was never harmed. He was quickly elevated by the elders as the new emperor, though without personal freedom, he was still alive.
Hearing the Crown Prince’s current situation, Yang Hao nodded and asked, “Did the Emperor send you here to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde looked around and noticed that the ten thousand people were still motionless like puppets. He realized this was Yang Hao’s deliberate creation to allow them to speak privately. Without hesitation, he replied, “I didn’t come officially. The Emperor secretly sent me out.”
“Smuggled out?” Yang Hao was momentarily stunned before realizing. Clyde’s ragged appearance and tired demeanor obviously indicated that he hadn’t arrived in the East with an official diplomatic delegation but had taken a smuggling route to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In fact, Clyde’s journey was far more dangerous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly avoided detection by the Senate’s system over a dozen times. Throughout his journey, mysterious forces had pursued him. Fortunately, he encountered Ghost Blade Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Bar. This Saint Realm expert, having met Yang Hao once before, had been particularly interested in such an unusual person. Upon learning of Clyde’s mission, he decided to protect him all the way to Angel Star.
“The Emperor has a confidential matter and insisted that I meet you in person,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression turned serious.
“Lord,” Clyde stared intently at Yang Hao, “do you still want to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course,” Yang Hao waved his hand around, “if it weren’t for overthrowing the Senate, why would I go through all this trouble? Having ten thousand council members arguing every day is annoying enough.”
“Good,” Clyde said, “the Crown Prince wants me to tell you that if you want to overthrow the Senate and topple the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao suddenly felt a mix of emotions. The person standing before him was the current Emperor of the Galactic Empire’s personal representative, yet this Emperor was inviting Yang Hao to overthrow his own nation. It was almost laughable.
But Clyde showed no sign of joking. He spoke very earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to convey a message to you. You once told him the choice was between being a puppet emperor or being himself. He has now decided—he wants to be himself.”
Yang Hao’s mind was struck by a bolt of lightning. Of course, he remembered those words. It was back during the incident when he had advised the Crown Prince not to fear the Senate while dealing with the princess’s broken engagement.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand the Crown Prince’s mindset. “The Emperor finally doesn’t want to be a puppet anymore?”
Herd brought a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest from the Three Crystal Sea. This colossal building, resembling a giant overturned nest, could surprisingly accommodate over ten thousand council members simultaneously.
Starting from the very bottom, the silver structure rose in concentric tiers, spanning more than one hundred and fifty levels. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Supreme Governor, was naturally Yang Hao.
One level below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Governors, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of the ten thousand council members beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring. This overwhelming sense of power was indeed the deepest nightmare lurking in human hearts.
However, with over ten thousand council members below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always upheld the monarchy and refused to implement a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic shouting matches. Even the smallest issues could pit dozens of system governors against each other. If not for the anti-gravity devices locking their seats in place, they would likely have already brawled.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned his gaze to Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young girl at heart, had never witnessed such a scene before. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, signaling her inability to intervene. As for Herd, that old dog, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, considering the deafening noise level of over 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm expert.
Today’s parliamentary session revolved around the primary debate: relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the establishment of the Cosmic Federation, its influence had grown so immense that even the once-dominant Galactic Empire trembled in fear. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet, their control over the Empire’s resources remained unstable, especially regarding the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate also found the AI Sovereign a major headache. During the rebellion, the AI Sovereign had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor. Yet, after the rebellion failed, the Senate realized they could do nothing about it.
The stakes were too high. Without the AI Sovereign, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would crumble from the loss of power. Helpless, the Senate could only tolerate the AI Sovereign’s distant existence for now.
Compounding these issues was the fact that two Senate Elders had fallen into Yang Hao’s hands—one dead, one injured—deepening the Senate’s fear. Reluctantly, they dispatched an envoy to announce the establishment of diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling. The mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic ties with them would effectively legitimize the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliamentary session: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire.
This dilemma laid bare the differences between the Eastern and Western factions.
The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better lives than before. Thus, most Eastern council members fervently supported peace negotiations, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western council members, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by the Thunderstar’s Empress Ming, the Saintlight Star’s Kevin, and the Great Resistance leader, these radical Western representatives had long resisted the Empire. They had witnessed its rise and fall and knew the Empire’s peace proposal was merely a stalling tactic. They demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and completely dismantle the Galactic Empire.
The two sides argued relentlessly. The Western faction relied on their current military superiority over the Empire, while the Eastern council members invoked the Supreme Sovereign. In their view, as long as no one could surpass the Supreme Sovereign, the Senate could never be truly destroyed.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the incessant bickering.
Both sides had valid points, but the crux lay in the ultimate choice:
Should they allow the Senate’s delaying tactics to persist until the final showdown, or should they strike first and gamble that the Supreme Sovereign would not intervene again?
In short, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The perpetual shadow of the Supreme Sovereign looming overhead was unbearable.
Just as the Western council members hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl—a group of guards suddenly burst into the chamber.
Under normal circumstances, no one was permitted to disrupt parliamentary sessions. Yet, these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom happened to be one of the Supreme Governor’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the assembly hall with such ferocity that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face twisted as if the world owed her money, made the council members obediently shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Supreme Governor had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to stab someone in the backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two men with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack, the Ghostblade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early days wandering the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severance from him. That a humble tavern hid a Saint Realm expert spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in tattered but dignified clothing, the middle-aged man exuded refinement. Yang Hao felt he had seen him before but couldn’t recall who he was.
Kan Ling recognized him and introduced, “This is General Clyde. He is…”
“Ah!” Yang Hao jolted awake with realization. He remembered now—General Clyde. He hadn’t just seen him once; he had encountered him countless times.
General Clyde was a highly respected military officer in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branch Wars of the royal family, when the Senate counterattacked, most of the royal forces fled. Only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young imperial guard soldier who also stood in the palace, steadfastly supporting the Heroic Emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the imperial capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as a future Privy Council minister for the Crown Prince, ensuring the two grew close.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was by his side—his most trusted confidant. Yet, his unremarkable appearance had left little impression on Yang Hao, delaying his recognition.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide appear before him, Yang Hao knew something significant had happened. With a wave of his hand, the entire assembly hall underwent a dramatic transformation.
The once vibrant, kaleidoscopic hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by an immobilizing spell.
With a mere gesture, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and Clyde in a private temporal pocket where only the two of them existed.
Yang Hao descended from his silver throne, smiling at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde remained frozen for a moment before dropping to one knee in salute. Rising, he said, “Lord Governor, how have you grown so formidable in such a short time?”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them faced execution, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Blackwind Elder couldn’t be concealed, and figures like Clyde had already pieced together the implications.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed, recalling the timid Crown Prince. Though the Crown Prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore no grudge. During his time in the capital, the Crown Prince had aided him repeatedly, helping him escape numerous crises.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly recounted the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight. The political acumen of a true statesman was something Yang Hao could never replicate.
Shortly before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his imperial guards and the Crown Prince’s retinue. He knew that if he won, power would naturally fall into his hands. But if he lost, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain control. Thus, a Crown Prince kept at arm’s length would remain relatively safe.
As the Heroic Emperor predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack spared the Crown Prince. He was swiftly installed as the new emperor—a puppet with no freedom, but alive nonetheless.
Hearing of the Crown Prince’s current state, Yang Hao nodded. “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen crowd, and understood Yang Hao had created this space for privacy. Without delay, he said, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“In secret?” Yang Hao blinked, then realized. Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted demeanor made it clear he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic entourage but had slipped through smuggling channels to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times and faced inexplicable forces hunting him. Fortunately, he encountered Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm expert, intrigued by Yang Hao’s peculiarities, had protected Clyde once he learned of his mission, escorting him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter he insisted I deliver personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew grave.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still wish to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around them. “If not for that, why would I endure this mess? Ten thousand council members bickering daily—it’s maddening.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you: if you want to overthrow the Senate and dismantle the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal representative of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime. It was the joke of the century.
Yet Clyde’s face betrayed no humor. He spoke earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him: ‘Do you want to be a puppet emperor, or do you want to be yourself?’ He has now decided—he chooses to be himself.”
A bolt of lightning flashed through Yang Hao’s mind. He remembered those words vividly. They dated back to the scandal surrounding his broken engagement with the princess, when Yang Hao had urged the Crown Prince not to fear the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand the Crown Prince’s mindset. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor. Though he died by the Supreme Sovereign’s hand, he had no regrets. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he thought securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. The Crown Prince believes failing to stand by his father in battle was unfilial.” Clyde’s voice hardened. “Now, His Majesty is determined to correct that mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde relayed a few critical sentences—words that would irrevocably alter the cosmic balance and redirect the course of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme Sovereign has entered seclusion again.” This was Clyde’s first revelation.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news, but he was stunned that Clyde and the Crown Prince knew.
Clyde didn’t explain, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
Yet it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it. Yang Hao knew it.
The Supreme Sovereign’s presence had been the universe’s sole lingering dread. With him in seclusion—and hopefully gone for good—everything would fall back into Yang Hao’s control.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded solemnly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But now, the Senate controls his every move. So, Lord Yang Hao, you must—absolutely must—help His Majesty destroy the Senate.”
“How?”
Clyde quickly whispered a few words to Yang Hao. These words would completely reverse the current cosmic situation and change the entire trajectory of the United Cosmic Parliament.
Herd brought from the Three Crystal Sea a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest, capable of seating over ten thousand councilors simultaneously.
Starting from the lowest level, the silver structure rose in concentric tiers, totaling over one hundred and fifty layers. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Supreme Governor, was naturally Yang Hao.
One tier below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Governors, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of over ten thousand councilors beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring—this overwhelming sense of power was indeed the deepest nightmare lurking in human hearts.
However, with over ten thousand councilors below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always maintained a monarchy and refused to adopt a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic arguments. Even the smallest issues had dozens of governors fiercely opposing each other. If not for the anti-gravity restraints on their seats, they would likely have already started brawling.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned to Shi Mingyuan and Herd for help.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young girl at heart, had never seen such a spectacle before. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, signaling her inability to intervene. As for Herd, the old dog, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, given the deafening noise level exceeding 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm expert.
Today’s parliamentary session revolved around the primary debate: relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the establishment of the Cosmic Federation, its overwhelming influence had even unsettled the once-dominant Galactic Empire. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet, their control over the Empire’s resources remained shaky, especially concerning the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate also found the AI Sovereign a major headache. During the rebellion, the AI Sovereign had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor. Yet, after the rebellion’s failure, the Senate realized they could do nothing about it.
The AI Sovereign was simply too crucial. Without it, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would lose its power source and disintegrate. Helpless, the Senate could only tolerate the AI Sovereign’s aloof existence for the time being.
Compounding these issues was the fact that two Senate Elders had fallen into Yang Hao’s hands—one dead, the other injured. This deepened the Senate’s fear, forcing them to send an envoy to announce diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling. The mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic ties with them would effectively legitimize the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliament: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire.
This starkly highlighted the divide between the Eastern and Western factions.
The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better lives than before. Thus, most Eastern councilors fervently supported peace negotiations, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western councilors, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by Empress Leiming of the Thunderstar, Kevin of the Holy Radiance Star, and the leader of the Great Resistance, these radical Western councilors had long fought the Empire. They had witnessed its rise and fall and knew the Empire’s peace offer was merely a stalling tactic. They demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and completely dismantle the Empire.
The two sides argued relentlessly. The West relied on their current military superiority, while the East invoked the Supreme Sovereign’s authority, arguing that as long as no one could surpass the Supreme Sovereign, the Senate could never be truly destroyed.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the endless bickering.
Both sides had valid points, but the crux lay in the ultimate choice:
Should they fall for the Senate’s stalling tactic and wait for the final showdown, or strike first and gamble that the Supreme Sovereign wouldn’t intervene?
In short, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The constant shadow of the Supreme Sovereign looming over him was unbearable.
Just as the Western councilors hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl—a group of guards suddenly burst in, accompanied by several others.
Normally, parliamentary sessions were strictly off-limits to interruptions. Yet, these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom was none other than one of the Supreme Governor’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the chamber with such fury that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face etched with an expression that suggested the world owed her money, made the councilors obediently shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Supreme Governor had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to stab someone in the backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two people with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack, the Ghost Blade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early wanderings in the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severing from him. That a mere tavern hid a Saint Realm expert spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in tattered but dignified clothing, the middle-aged man carried himself with refined manners. Yang Hao felt he had seen him before but couldn’t recall who he was.
Kan Ling recognized him and introduced, “This is General Clyde. He is…”
“Ah!” Yang Hao suddenly remembered. He had not only met General Clyde before but had encountered him many, many times.
General Clyde was a highly respected officer in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branches War, when the Senate counterattacked, most of the royal forces fled. Only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young Imperial Guard soldier who also stood in the palace, siding with the Emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as the future Crown Prince’s Privy Council minister, ensuring the two grew close.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was by his side—his most trusted confidant. Yet, his unremarkable appearance had made him easy to overlook, which was why Yang Hao hadn’t recognized him immediately.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide arrive, Yang Hao knew something significant must have happened. With a wave of his hand, the entire chamber underwent a drastic transformation.
The once-colorful, surreal parliamentary hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by a paralysis spell.
With a mere gesture, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and Clyde in a private temporal bubble where only the two of them existed.
Yang Hao descended from his silver throne and smiled at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde remained dazed for a moment before dropping to one knee in salute. Rising, he said, “Lord Governor, how have you grown so powerful in such a short time?”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer regions, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them faced execution, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Black Wind Elder was impossible to conceal, and figures like Clyde had already pieced together the implications.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed, recalling the weak-willed Crown Prince. Though the Crown Prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore no grudge. During his time in the capital, the Crown Prince had helped him repeatedly, even saving him from peril on several occasions.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly recounted the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight—a political acumen he himself could never match.
Shortly before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his own Imperial Guards and the Crown Prince’s forces. He knew that if he won, he would hold absolute power. But if he lost, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain control. Thus, a Crown Prince kept at a distance would remain relatively safe.
As the Heroic Emperor predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack never harmed the Crown Prince. He was swiftly installed as the new emperor—though stripped of freedom, he was at least alive.
Hearing of the Crown Prince’s current state, Yang Hao nodded. “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen crowd, and realized Yang Hao had created this space for privacy. Without delay, he said, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“Secretly?” Yang Hao blinked, then understood. Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted demeanor made it clear he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic envoy but had slipped through smuggling channels to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times and faced mysterious pursuers along the way. Fortunately, he had encountered Old Jack at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm expert, intrigued by Yang Hao’s earlier encounter, took an interest in Clyde’s mission and escorted him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter he insisted I deliver personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew serious.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still wish to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around them. “If not for that, why would I bother with this mess? Ten thousand councilors arguing nonstop—it’s maddening.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you: if you want to overthrow the Senate and dismantle the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal representative of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime. It was the joke of the century.
But Clyde showed no hint of jest. He spoke earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him: ‘Do you want to be a puppet emperor, or do you want to be yourself?’ He has now made his choice—he wants to be himself.”
A bolt of lightning seemed to flash through Yang Hao’s mind. He remembered those words vividly—spoken during the princess’s annulment crisis, when he had urged the Crown Prince not to fear the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand the Crown Prince’s mindset. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor. Though he died by the Supreme Sovereign’s hand, he had no regrets. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he thought securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. Yet the Crown Prince believes failing to stand with his father in battle was an act of unfiliality. Now, he is determined to correct that mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde quickly relayed a few sentences—words that would completely reverse the current cosmic order and alter the trajectory of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme Sovereign has entered seclusion again.” This was Clyde’s first revelation.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news itself, but he was puzzled as to how Clyde and the Crown Prince had obtained it.
Clyde didn’t elaborate, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
Yet it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it. Yang Hao knew it.
The Supreme Sovereign was the universe’s sole remaining concern. If the Supreme Sovereign remained in seclusion, everything would fall back into Yang Hao’s control.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded firmly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But for now, the Senate controls everything. So, Lord Yang Hao, His Majesty implores you—help him destroy the Senate.”
Yang Hao was not surprised by the news, though he was curious how Clyde and the Crown Prince had found out.
Clyde didn’t explain. From the look in his eyes, there was clearly pain brewing within. It was easy to imagine the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid to obtain this secret.
But it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it was worth it, and so did Yang Hao.
Herd brought a massive anti-gravity structure shaped like an inverted bird’s nest from the Three Crystal Sea. This colossal edifice, resembling a giant overturned nest, could surprisingly accommodate over ten thousand councilors simultaneously.
Starting from the lowest level, the silver structure ascended in a circular, tiered fashion, spanning more than one hundred and fifty layers. At the very top, seated on the floating silver throne of the Chief Executive, was naturally Yang Hao.
One tier below Yang Hao sat the Eastern and Western Executives, Shi Mingyuan and Herd.
Gazing down at the solemn faces of the ten thousand councilors beneath him, Yang Hao finally understood why the throne was so alluring. The intoxicating sense of supreme power was indeed a deep-seated human obsession.
However, with over ten thousand councilors below him, Yang Hao also fully grasped why the Heroic Emperor had always maintained a monarchy and refused to adopt a parliamentary system.
Because democracy… was simply too exhausting.
Those ten thousand system governors refused to yield to one another, erupting into chaotic shouting matches. Even the smallest issues could pit dozens of system governors against each other. If not for the anti-gravity devices locking their seats in place, they would likely have already brawled.
Yang Hao, utterly exasperated, turned to Shi Mingyuan and Herd for help.
Shi Mingyuan, still a young girl at heart, had never witnessed such a spectacle before. She shrugged helplessly at Yang Hao, signaling her inability to intervene. As for Herd, the old fox, he had already fallen asleep—an impressive feat, considering the deafening noise level of over 150 decibels. Truly befitting a peak Saint Realm expert.
Today’s parliamentary session centered on the primary debate: relations with the Galactic Empire.
Since the establishment of the Cosmic Federation, its influence had grown so immense that even the once-dominant Galactic Empire trembled in fear. Although the Senate had installed the Crown Prince as a puppet, their control over the Empire’s resources remained shaky, especially regarding the military—less than half of the fleets remained loyal.
The Senate was also deeply troubled by the AI Sovereign, who had clearly sided with the Heroic Emperor during the rebellion. Yet, after the rebellion’s failure, the Senate found themselves powerless against the AI Sovereign.
The stakes were too high. Without the AI Sovereign, not only would the military collapse, but the entire galaxy would crumble from the loss of power. Reluctantly, the Senate had no choice but to tolerate the AI Sovereign’s aloof existence.
Compounding these issues was the fact that two Senate Elders had fallen into Yang Hao’s hands—one dead, one injured—further fueling the Senate’s fear. In desperation, they dispatched an envoy to announce diplomatic relations with the Cosmic Federation.
This was utterly baffling. The mighty Galactic Empire, bowing to rebels? Establishing diplomatic ties with them would effectively legitimize the Cosmic Federation’s existence.
This monumental shift became the first major topic of debate in the Federation’s inaugural parliamentary session: whether to formally establish diplomatic relations with the Galactic Empire. It was a dilemma facing every councilor.
The divide between the Eastern and Western factions quickly became apparent. The Eastern systems, content with modest prosperity, had never imagined achieving such heights when they first declared independence. Their planets now enjoyed far better lives than before. Thus, most Eastern councilors fervently supported peace negotiations, urging swift diplomatic ties and a peace treaty.
The Western councilors, however, vehemently opposed this. Led by the Thunderstar’s Empress Ming, the Saintstar’s Kevin, and the Great Resistance’s leader, the Western radicals had long resisted the Empire. They had witnessed its rise and fall and knew the Empire’s peace offer was merely a stalling tactic. They demanded immediate military action to deliver the final blow and annihilate the Galactic Empire once and for all.
The two sides argued relentlessly. The West relied on their current military superiority over the Empire, while the East invoked the Supreme Sovereign’s authority. In their view, as long as no one could surpass the Supreme Sovereign, the Senate could never be toppled.
The only person who could make the final decision sat high above, straining to extract useful suggestions from the tsunami of insults. Yang Hao’s head throbbed from the incessant bickering.
Both sides had valid points, but the crux lay in the ultimate choice:
Should they accept the Senate’s delaying tactics and wait for the final showdown, or strike first and gamble that the Supreme Sovereign wouldn’t intervene?
In short, Yang Hao was deeply unsettled. The perpetual shadow of the Supreme Sovereign looming overhead was unbearable.
Just as the Western councilors hurled the first shoe at their Eastern counterparts—nearly sparking a bloody brawl—a group of guards burst into the chamber, accompanied by several others.
Under normal circumstances, no one was permitted to disrupt a parliamentary session. Yet, these guards couldn’t—or didn’t dare—stop the intruders.
Leading the charge were two Saint Realm experts, one of whom happened to be one of the Chief Executive’s wives.
Kan Ling stormed into the assembly hall with such ferocity that everyone fell silent.
A stunningly beautiful woman brandishing a spear, her face twisted as if the world owed her money, compelled the councilors to shut their mouths. Everyone knew this particular wife of the Chief Executive had a fiery temper and wouldn’t hesitate to skewer someone’s backside.
But Kan Ling wasn’t here to stab anyone. She had brought two men with her.
“Jack?” Yang Hao immediately recognized one of them—Old Jack the Ghostblade from the Adventurer’s Tavern.
Yang Hao would never forget him. During his early wanderings in the East, he had crossed blades with Old Jack and even learned the art of spatial severing from him. That a humble tavern hid a Saint Realm expert spoke volumes about the hidden talents scattered across the universe.
The other man, however, made Yang Hao frown. Dressed in tattered but dignified attire, the middle-aged man exuded refinement. Yang Hao felt he had seen him before but couldn’t recall who he was.
Kan Ling recognized him. “This is General Clyde. He is—”
“Ah!” Yang Hao jolted with realization. He finally remembered who General Clyde was—not only had he seen him before, but he had encountered him countless times.
General Clyde was a highly respected officer in the Galactic Empire, renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the royal family. During the Thirty-Six Branch Wars of the royal family, when the Senate launched their counterattack, most of the imperial forces fled. Only the old Sword Saint and Qin Feng remained by the Heroic Emperor’s side. Few noticed the young imperial guard soldier who also stood in the palace, steadfastly supporting the Emperor.
That soldier was General Clyde.
From that night onward, Clyde’s career soared. During Yang Hao’s time in the imperial capital, Clyde served as the Crown Prince’s guard captain. The Heroic Emperor had intended to groom Clyde as the future Privy Council Minister under the Crown Prince, ensuring the two formed a close bond.
Every time the Crown Prince visited Yang Hao, Clyde was by his side—his most trusted confidant. Yet, his unremarkable appearance had left too faint an impression for Yang Hao to recall immediately.
Seeing the Crown Prince’s top aide appear before him, Yang Hao knew something significant must have happened. With a wave of his hand, the entire assembly hall underwent a dramatic transformation.
The once vibrant, kaleidoscopic hall turned entirely gray. Stranger still, the ten thousand people inside seemed frozen in place, as if struck by an immobilizing spell.
With a mere gesture, Yang Hao had split the space, isolating himself and General Clyde in a private temporal pocket.
Yang Hao descended from his silver throne, smiling at the stunned Clyde. “General, it’s been a long time.”
Clyde stared blankly for a moment before dropping to one knee in salute. Rising, he said, “Lord Governor, how have you grown so formidable in such a short time?”
News of Yang Hao’s ascension to godhood had spread like wildfire in the outer realms, but within the Galactic Empire, such rumors were strictly suppressed. Anyone caught spreading them faced execution, so few knew the truth.
However, Yang Hao’s slaying of the Blackwind Elder was impossible to conceal, and figures like Clyde had already pieced it together.
“How is the Crown Prince?” Yang Hao sighed inwardly, recalling the timid Crown Prince. Though the prince had become the Senate’s puppet emperor, Yang Hao bore him no ill will. During his time in the capital, the Crown Prince had aided Yang Hao repeatedly, helping him escape danger more than once.
Clyde’s face darkened as he briefly recounted the Crown Prince’s situation.
Here, Yang Hao couldn’t help but admire the Heroic Emperor’s foresight. The political acumen of a seasoned statesman was something Yang Hao could never hope to match.
Shortly before the assault on the Senate’s mountain, the Heroic Emperor had taken measures to protect the Crown Prince, severing ties between his imperial guards and the prince’s retinue. He knew that if he won, power would naturally fall into his hands. But if he lost, the Senate would need a royal figurehead to maintain control. Thus, a Crown Prince kept at arm’s length would remain relatively safe.
As the Heroic Emperor predicted, the Senate’s massive counterattack spared the Crown Prince, who was swiftly installed as the new emperor. Though stripped of personal freedom, he remained alive.
Hearing of the Crown Prince’s current state, Yang Hao nodded. “Did His Majesty send you to discuss diplomatic matters?”
Clyde glanced around, noting the frozen assembly, and realized Yang Hao had created this pocket of privacy for their conversation. Without delay, he said, “I’m not here on an official visit. His Majesty sent me in secret.”
“Secretly?” Yang Hao blinked, then understood. Clyde’s ragged appearance and exhausted demeanor made it clear he hadn’t arrived with a diplomatic entourage but had slipped through smuggling channels to evade the Senate’s surveillance.
In truth, Clyde’s journey had been far more perilous than Yang Hao could imagine. He had narrowly escaped detection by Senate agents over a dozen times, pursued by mysterious forces along the way. Only by chance did he encounter Old Jack the Ghostblade at the Adventurer’s Tavern. The Saint Realm expert, intrigued by Yang Hao’s peculiarities, had taken an interest in such figures. Learning of Clyde’s mission, he escorted him safely to Angel Star.
“His Majesty has a confidential matter he insisted I deliver to you personally,” Clyde said.
“What is it?” Yang Hao’s expression grew grave.
“Lord Governor,” Clyde locked eyes with Yang Hao, “do you still wish to overthrow the Senate?”
“Of course.” Yang Hao gestured around them. “If not for that, why would I endure this mess? Ten thousand councilors bickering daily is maddening.”
“Good. The Crown Prince asked me to tell you—if you want to overthrow the Senate and topple the Galactic Empire, now is the time.”
Yang Hao nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here stood the personal envoy of the Galactic Empire’s current emperor, inviting him to overthrow his own regime. It was the joke of the century.
Yet Clyde’s face betrayed no hint of humor. He spoke earnestly:
“The Crown Prince asked me to relay a message. Once, you asked him: ‘Do you want to be a puppet emperor, or do you want to be yourself?’ He has now decided—he chooses to be himself.”
A bolt of lightning seemed to flash through Yang Hao’s mind. He remembered those words vividly. They dated back to the scandal of his broken engagement with the princess, when Yang Hao had urged the Crown Prince not to fear the Senate.
“He wants to be himself?” Yang Hao began to understand the Crown Prince’s mindset. “His Majesty no longer wishes to be a puppet?”
“His Majesty said the Heroic Emperor lived a life of valor. Though he died by the Supreme Sovereign’s hand, he had no regrets. But the Heroic Emperor was wrong—he believed securing a peaceful life for his son was a kindness. The Crown Prince feels that failing to stand by his father in battle was an act of unfiliality. Now, he is determined to correct this mistake.”
“How?”
Clyde relayed a few sentences that would irrevocably alter the cosmic balance and redirect the course of the United Cosmic Parliament.
“The Supreme Sovereign has entered seclusion again.” These were Clyde’s first words.
Yang Hao wasn’t surprised by the news itself, but he was stunned that Clyde and the Crown Prince knew of it.
Clyde didn’t explain, but the pain in his eyes hinted at the heavy price the Crown Prince had paid for this intelligence.
Yet it was worth it. The Crown Prince knew it. Yang Hao knew it.
The Supreme Sovereign was the universe’s sole remaining concern. If the Sovereign remained in seclusion, everything would fall back into Yang Hao’s grasp.
Taking a deep breath, Yang Hao nodded solemnly.
“There’s more.” Clyde wasn’t finished. “The Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. But for now, the Senate controls his every move. So, Lord Yang Hao, you must—absolutely must—help His Majesty destroy the Senate.”
“There’s more,” Clyde continued, “the Crown Prince has decided to abdicate. He would rather merge the Galactic Empire into the United Cosmic Federation than remain a puppet. However, the Senate currently controls everything, so he begs Lord Yang Hao to help the Emperor eliminate the Senate—please, please help him.”
Yang Hao, upon hearing this, furrowed his brows. A new plan surged into his mind. He then quietly asked Clyde a few questions in a low voice.
Clyde’s expression changed drastically. After a moment of deep thought, he finally nodded silently.
An indescribable smile appeared on Yang Hao’s face. In those few whispered words, a grand and daring plan had already been confirmed. The foundation of Yang Hao’s new order would be laid through this plan.
The first year of the Mingyou Emperor’s reign was also the first year of the United Galactic Assembly, becoming a pivotal turning point that all future cosmic war chronicles could not ignore.
For the first time in centuries of unity, the universe finally split into two parts in this year. The so-called “One and Only God” universe also entered an era of dual deities.
Yet what truly captured people’s attention at the beginning of this year was the first major battle between the United Galactic Federation and the Milky Way Empire. This initial engagement was decisive and became the sole generational clash between the two empires.
In this so-called “Dual Divine War,” the Eastern States nearly committed all their resources.
Five hundred thousand warships lined up near the First Spiral Arm of the Eastern Region, confronting twelve Death Star fortresses of the Milky Way Empire. Under the command of Shi Mingyuan, over ten million soldiers marched into battle.
More than two thousand planetary governors brought their personal guards into the war zone. Nearly every Eastern senator joined this earth-shattering conflict.
In the Xianyin Realm, immortals who had reached the Feixian level or higher endured a hundredfold reduction in power, serving as ordinary soldiers in the sword master divisions. The already formidable adventurer groups also mobilized entirely, with all top one hundred names from the world rankings joining the Eastern armies. Many veteran adventurer groups, long retired, charged to the front lines under the leadership of Ghost Blade Jack.
The Eastern States deployed such a massive force—it was clearly a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble.
The Milky Way Empire, of course, could not afford to be careless either. In truth, it was the Senate that dared not underestimate the threat. Finally, in a last resort, they severed the connections between the artificial intelligences and resorted to manual human control of each independent AI. While this move weakened the AI King’s control over the imperial military, it also reduced the Empire’s combat effectiveness by forty percent.
Even so, the Empire’s accumulated military might over the past century was still shocking when it deployed defenses in the Eastern sector.
The Glory Legion and the reformed Titan Legion, along with dozens of family armies, claimed to have a million warships. Like a monstrous beast, they crouched on the left side of the spiral arm, glaring hungrily at the Eastern fleet.
On the sword master front, the Senate even dispatched fifty senators and two executive elders, determined to overwhelm the Eastern Holy Domain warriors in one fell swoop.
In theory, with such a stark disparity in strength, there was no need to even begin the battle. Even Shi Mingyuan knew that whether they attacked or defended, they could not breach the defensive line established by the imperial army.
Yet this battle had to be fought—it was absolutely necessary.
Because the East needed to pin down half of the Milky Way Empire’s military forces. Only then could the real western offensive have a chance to succeed.
That’s right—it was indeed Yang Hao’s strategy of feinting east while attacking west. The United Galactic Federation’s strength was entirely concentrated in the Shenyu Autonomous Territory of the western region.
Yang Hao floated above the Sanjinghai star system, watching endless streams of warships flow out of the military ports and head toward the front lines. His heart swelled with indescribable emotions.
Back then, he had also departed from this place, heading toward Qiu, but at that time, he was merely a puppet leader who couldn’t even command half a warship.
But now? The number of fleets launching from Sanjinghai had already reached twice that of the imperial forces, and their technological level was in no way inferior.
This was all thanks to the previous governor of Sanjinghai, Steve. Without his cunning foresight, it would have been impossible to accumulate such a massive fleet. Later, the AI King’s full support rapidly propelled Sanjinghai’s technological capabilities beyond those of the Milky Way Empire.
An unimaginable army, an unprecedented war, was about to erupt between the Sanjinghai star system and the outer edges of the Milky Way Empire.
As Yang Hao was lost in thought, Elder Hede suddenly appeared beside him. He also gazed at the warships weaving through space like silver threads and sighed, “It’s magnificent.”
“Yes,” Yang Hao nodded. “Who would have thought that we would actually gain absolute superiority in warships?”
“Losing the moral high ground means losing support,” Hede, dressed in full military regalia, seemed to return to the days when he and Situ Hai once resisted the imperial fleet together. His aura was bold and heroic. “How arrogant the Senate used to be! Yet within just a century, they’ve nearly lost everything. The imperial royal family no longer supports them, the AI King and the military no longer support them, the Ten Sword Streams no longer support them, and even the people of the Empire no longer revere them as gods.”
“I often wonder,” Yang Hao said softly, “what it is that life in this universe truly needs.”
Though the words were simple, they exuded an unparalleled arrogance. Yang Hao indeed had the right to ponder such a question now—he was one of only two gods in the universe. He could bring change to all living beings. He could grant life or death at will.
If he won the Dual Divine War, he could become the master of everything.
“To survive,” Hede nodded toward Yang Hao. “They don’t need anything else—they just want to survive.” Then, Hede vanished into the dark blue backdrop of space. He had more important matters to attend to in today’s battle.
Yang Hao stared at the spot where Hede had disappeared, suddenly chuckling bitterly.
Indeed, it was simply about survival—something so basic and fundamental, yet which god had ever truly understood?
The gods of old didn’t understand. They launched wave after wave of divine and demonic wars.
Upon hearing this, Yang Hao frowned, and a new plan surged into his mind. He then whispered a few questions to Clyde.
Clyde’s expression also changed drastically. After a moment of contemplation, he finally nodded subtly.
An indescribable smile appeared on Yang Hao’s face. In those few whispered words, a grand yet perilous plan had been confirmed, and the foundation of Yang Hao’s new order would be laid through this very plan.
The first year of the Mianyou Emperor’s reign, also the first year of the Cosmic Union Parliament, became a pivotal turning point in all cosmic war chronicles.
For the first time in centuries, the once-unified cosmos was split into two factions, and the so-called “One True God” of the universe entered an era of dual deities.
But what truly captured the world’s attention at the beginning of that year was the first major battle between the Cosmic Union and the Galactic Empire. This initial clash was decisive—the only one of its kind in the age of the two empires.
In this so-called “Dual Deities War,” the Eastern Union threw nearly all its resources into the fight.
Five hundred thousand warships were deployed near the First Spiral Arm of the East, facing off against the Galactic Empire’s twelve Death Star Fortresses. Under the command of Marshal Shi Mingyuan, over ten million soldiers took to the battlefield.
More than two thousand system governors led their personal guard forces into the warzone, and almost every Eastern legislator participated in this earth-shattering conflict.
In the realm of the Immortals, even those who had ascended beyond the mortal plane endured a hundredfold reduction in their powers to serve as ordinary soldiers in the Swordmaster Corps.
The already formidable adventurer guilds mobilized en masse—every single one of the top one hundred ranked teams in the world joined the Eastern forces. Even long-retired veteran teams, led by the infamous “Ghostblade” Jack, charged into the front lines.
The Eastern forces had clearly staked everything on this battle.
The Galactic Empire, of course, did not take this lightly—or rather, the Senate dared not underestimate the threat. In a desperate move, they severed the connections between their AI networks, opting for manual human control over each independent AI system. While this reduced the AI Overlord’s influence over the Imperial military, it also weakened their combat effectiveness by forty percent.
Yet even so, the Empire’s century-long accumulation of military might was staggering when fully deployed in the East.
The Glory Legion and the rebuilt Titan Legion, bolstered by dozens of noble house armies, boasted a million warships. Like a monstrous beast, they crouched on the left flank of the spiral arm, glaring at the Eastern fleet.
For the Swordmaster Corps, the Senate dispatched fifty elders and two high-ranking executive elders, aiming to overwhelm the Eastern Sacred Domain warriors in one fell swoop.
Logically, such a lopsided battle should never have begun. Even Marshal Shi Mingyuan knew that neither offense nor defense would breach the Imperial lines.
But this battle had to be fought—it was unavoidable.
Because the East needed to pin down half of the Galactic Empire’s forces, creating an opportunity for the real offensive in the West.
Indeed, this was Yang Hao’s strategy of “feinting east while striking west.” The Cosmic Union’s true advantage lay entirely in the Western Divine Mandate Autonomous Region.
Yang Hao hovered above the Three Crystal Sea Galaxy, watching the endless stream of warships flow from the docks toward the front lines. A complex emotion stirred within him.
Once, he too had set out from here—bound for Earth—but back then, he was merely a puppet leader, unable to command even half a warship.
And now? The fleets departing the Three Crystal Sea outnumbered the Imperial forces twofold, with technological prowess to match.
He owed this to the former governor of the Three Crystal Sea, Steve. Without his cunning, such a formidable fleet would never have been amassed. Later, the AI Overlord’s full support rapidly elevated the Three Crystal Sea’s technological capabilities beyond the Galactic Empire’s.
An unimaginable army, an unprecedented war, was about to unfold between the Three Crystal Sea and the Galactic Empire’s outer rim.
As Yang Hao lost himself in thought, Elder Heard suddenly appeared beside him. Gazing at the warships streaking through space like silver threads, he sighed, “Quite a sight.”
“Indeed,” Yang Hao nodded. “Who would have thought we’d ever hold such an overwhelming advantage in warships?”
“Those who lose the Way find few allies,” Heard said, clad in full battle armor, his spirit reminiscent of the days when he and Situ Hai had resisted the Imperial fleet. “The Senate was once so arrogant, yet in just a century, they’ve lost everything. The Imperial family no longer supports them, nor does the AI Overlord or the military. The Ten Sword Schools have abandoned them, and even the Empire’s people no longer worship them as gods.”
“I often wonder,” Yang Hao mused, “what do the lives in this universe truly seek?”
Simple as the question was, it carried an air of supreme arrogance. Yang Hao now had the right to ponder it—he was one of the two deities in the cosmos, capable of altering the fate of all life, granting life or death at will.
If he triumphed in the War of the Dual Deities, he could become the master of all.
“To survive,” Heard said, nodding at Yang Hao. “They need nothing else—just to survive.” With that, he vanished into the dark-blue cosmic backdrop. Today’s battle held more pressing tasks for him.
Yang Hao stared at the spot where Heard had disappeared, then suddenly chuckled.
Yes, survival—that was all people truly wanted. Simple, primal. Yet which god had ever truly understood that?
The ancient pantheon had not. They had waged war after war between gods and demons.
The Supreme One had not. In his quest for power, he had destroyed entire planes of existence.
And now, it was Yang Hao’s turn.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his shoulders—yet his heart brimmed with confidence. A fire burned within him, no longer just for himself.
The entire universe was ablaze.
Or more precisely, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm. This oddly named region lay between the Three Crystal Sea and the Empire’s inner territories—a heavily fortified zone. Though the Galactic Empire had recognized the Divine Mandate Autonomous Region’s existence, they had never ceased their frenzied military buildup. Hundreds of Death Star Fortresses dotted the spiral arm.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The Imperial general defending this sector was a true fanatic of defense. He had transformed thousands of major planets into Death Star-like fortifications, turning the entire spiral arm into an impregnable chain of defenses.
In short, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm was a defensive barrier between the Three Crystal Sea and the Empire—one that no force could easily breach.
“So?” Yang Hao appeared aboard the flagship Doomsday Battleship, now emblazoned with the grand insignia of the Alchemy Sect.
The Western campaign’s commander, Long Yun, was overseeing his first battle of this scale, supported by a formidable staff.
The names of these advisors alone could shake the cosmos.
Among them were the Empire’s former Deputy Chief of the Privy Council, all thirteen senior strategists of the Privy Council’s General Staff, and twenty-two former Imperial Grand Marshals.
These were men who, before the Battle of the Elder Mountain, had been secretly evacuated from Earth under the Heroic Emperor’s orders. After the coup, their families left behind had been slaughtered by the Senate, forcing them to flee to the Divine Mandate Autonomous Region—now serving as Yang Hao’s top advisors.
Notably absent was the Privy Council’s Chief Minister. Upon learning of the Heroic Emperor and Qin Feng’s deaths at the Supreme One’s hands, the old statesman had refused the position of Military Governor of the Divine Mandate. One moonlit night, facing Earth, he had placed a gun to his temple.
The Chief Minister of the Privy Council—one of the Heroic Emperor’s three closest confidants. Though he had not stood with his emperor against the Supreme One, his loyalty had endured to the end.
History would remember his name.
Long Yun, seeing Yang Hao, immediately pulled up a holographic map of the Lotus Root Spiral Arm’s defenses. Frowning, he tapped the display. “This is a tough nut to crack. Rumor has it the commanding officer here is an idiot.”
“What’s there to fear from an idiot?” Yang Hao chuckled.
“An idiot when it comes to everything but defense,” Long Yun said wryly. “Those who know him say he’s a complete fool in daily life, but the moment defense tactics come up, he’s a genius. In the Empire’s war games, no one could breach his setups—until the AI Overlord itself calculated an all-out assault using the Empire’s full might.”
“So there’s hope?”
Long Yun’s expression grew even more pained. “The problem is, in that simulation, the AI Overlord lost over half its forces—a casualty ratio of a hundred to one.”
Yang Hao gasped. “No wonder the Senate dared to shift their main forces east, even knowing our feint. They planted this hard nut here for us.”
“Exactly,” Long Yun shook his head. “This defensive chain has been reinforced for years—it’s practically unbreakable. If we bypass it to strike deeper into the Empire, his Death Star forces could cut our supply lines, trapping our main army in Imperial territory.”
“Have we tried surrender terms?” Yang Hao asked the crucial question.
Since Yang Hao’s resurgence, surrender offers had been a cornerstone of strategy. Many Imperial officers despised the Senate, especially after the Privy Council Chief’s suicide. Numerous high-ranking defectors had joined Yang Hao’s cause.
But today, even that tactic failed.
Long Yun spread his hands. “We sent three generals to negotiate—two of them his former superiors. They were treated courteously but sent back empty-handed. That idiot just wants a good fight.”
“Does he support the Senate?”
“No, he just wants to fight,” Long Yun sighed. “Hence the ‘idiot’ label. His life’s dream was to command a defensive war—now that he’s got his chance, why would he give it up?”
So battle it was.
But victory wouldn’t come easy. The enemy had spent years preparing under a master of defense, while Long Yun had mere months. Even with superior numbers, a hundred-to-one casualty ratio would leave them too weakened to push into the Empire’s core.
Yet regardless, the Battle of the Lotus Root Spiral Arm—deemed the Empire’s life-or-death struggle—began.
Even as the first shots were fired, Long Yun couldn’t fathom Yang Hao’s bizarre tactics. To him and the entire General Staff, Yang Hao’s deployment seemed nonsensical—a recipe for disaster.
The Lotus Root Spiral Arm’s defenses spanned countless planets.
Thousands of major worlds had been transformed into impregnable fortresses, forming an interlocking chain that shifted with orbital mechanics, always maintaining defensive coverage.
Behind this planetary chain lurked a hundred mobile Death Star Fortresses—General Hua Ge’s trump card. These could strike or retreat at will, forming a deadly crossfire capable of repelling tens of thousands of warships.
Long Yun’s plan was to concentrate the Union’s most powerful battleships and Titan-class fleets against one or two key points, hoping to breach the chain and send strike teams to eliminate Hua Ge’s command ship.
But Yang Hao shook his head. “This plan won’t work—it might even doom our offensive.”
“Why?” Long Yun insisted. Concentrating superior force was standard military doctrine.
“The casualty ratio,” Yang Hao said. “Destroying one fortress planet could cost us a thousand ships. That’s unsustainable.”
“No choice,” Long Yun said. “Their defenses are too dense. Focusing on one point lets them concentrate fire. A thousand ships per planet is optimistic.”
“But planets move.” Yang Hao traced an arc on the star map. “After sacrificing thousands to destroy one, another would rotate into its place. At least three backup planets cover every point.”
Now, it was finally Yang Hao’s turn.
Yang Hao took a deep breath. He felt the weight on his shoulders, but his heart was filled with confidence. A fire seemed to burn within his body—it was no longer just for himself.
The same fire burned across the universe.
More accurately, it burned across the Lian’ou Star Arm—a strangely named spiral arm located at the border between Sanjinghai and the imperial heartland. It was an area filled with defensive fortifications. Although the Milky Way Empire had recognized the existence of the Shenyu Autonomous Territory, it had not abandoned its war preparations. Thus, over a hundred Death Star fortresses were scattered across this star arm.
If that alone wasn’t terrifying enough, the imperial general defending this region was a true defensive fanatic. He had constructed Death Star-like defenses and counterattack systems on thousands of large planets throughout the star arm, granting these planets similar defensive capabilities.
In short, the entire Lian’ou Star Arm was a defensive chain stretching between Sanjinghai and the imperial heartland—an almost impenetrable barrier for anyone to cross.
“What do you think?” Yang Hao appeared aboard the battleship *Doomsday*, the iconic warship now painted with the emblem of the Danding Sect and serving as the flagship.
Today’s overall commander of the western campaign was Long Yun. Though it was his first time commanding such a large-scale operation, he was supported by a powerful team of advisors.
The mere mention of these advisors’ names would shake the entire universe.
They included the former Deputy Chancellor of the Imperial Privy Council, all thirteen senior general advisors from the former Privy Council’s General Staff, and twenty-two former Imperial First-Class Admirals.
These individuals had been arranged by Emperor Yinglie to leave Qiu in advance during the Battle of Elder Mountain. After the failure, their families remaining on Qiu were all slaughtered by the Senate. Forced into exile, they fled to the Shenyu Autonomous Territory and now served as senior advisors under Yang Hao.
Upon hearing this, Yang Hao frowned, and a new plan surged into his mind. He then whispered a few questions to Clyde.
Clyde’s expression also changed dramatically. After a moment of deep thought, he finally nodded subtly.
An ineffable smile appeared on Yang Hao’s face. In those few whispered words, a grand yet perilous plan had been confirmed, and the foundation of Yang Hao’s new order would be laid through this very scheme.
The first year of the Mianyou Emperor’s reign, also the inaugural year of the Cosmic United Council, became a pivotal turning point that could not be ignored in all cosmic war chronicles.
For the first time in centuries, the unified cosmos was split into two factions, and the so-called “One True God” of the universe entered an era of dual deities.
But what truly captured the world’s attention at the beginning of that year was the first great battle between the Cosmic United Federation and the Galactic Empire. The very first engagement was decisive—the only one of its kind in the era of the two empires.
In this so-called “Battle of the Twin Gods,” the Eastern Federation nearly exhausted all its resources.
Five hundred thousand warships were deployed near the First Spiral Arm of the East, facing off against the Galactic Empire’s twelve Death Star fortresses. Under the command of Marshal Shi Mingyuan, over ten million soldiers took to the battlefield.
More than two thousand system governors led their personal guards into the warzone, and almost every Eastern legislator was mobilized for this earth-shattering conflict.
In the realm of the Immortals, even those who had ascended beyond the mortal plane endured a hundredfold reduction in their powers to serve as ordinary soldiers in the Swordmaster Corps.
The formidable adventurer guilds, already powerful in their own right, threw everything they had into the fight. The top one hundred ranked adventurers in the world all joined the Eastern forces. Even long-retired veteran teams, led by the infamous “Ghostblade Jack,” charged into the frontlines.
The Eastern Federation’s deployment was nothing short of an all-or-nothing gamble.
The Galactic Empire, of course, dared not take this lightly—or more accurately, the Senate could not afford to be complacent. In a desperate move, they severed the connections between their AI networks, opting for manual human control over each independent AI system. While this weakened the AI Overlord’s grip on the Imperial military, it also reduced their combat effectiveness by forty percent.
Yet even so, the Empire’s century-long accumulation of military might was staggering when fully deployed in the East.
The Glory Legion and the rebuilt Titan Legion, along with dozens of noble house armies, boasted a million warships. Like a monstrous beast, they crouched on the left side of the spiral arm, glaring menacingly at the Eastern fleet.
For the Swordmaster Corps, the Senate dispatched fifty senators and two presiding elders, aiming to overwhelm the Eastern Federation’s elite warriors in one fell swoop.
Logically, such a lopsided battle should never have begun. Even Marshal Shi Mingyuan knew that neither offense nor defense would shake the Empire’s entrenched lines.
But this battle had to be fought—it was inevitable.
Because the East needed to pin down half of the Galactic Empire’s forces, creating an opportunity for the real offensive in the West.
Indeed, this was Yang Hao’s strategy of “feinting east while striking west.” The Cosmic United Federation’s true advantage lay entirely in the Western Divine Mandate Autonomous Region.
Yang Hao hovered above the Three Crystal Sea star system, watching the endless stream of warships flow from the military docks toward the frontlines. A complex emotion stirred within him.
Once, he too had set out from here—bound for Earth—but back then, he was merely a puppet leader who couldn’t even command half a warship.
And now? The fleets departing from the Three Crystal Sea outnumbered the Empire’s by twofold, and their technological prowess was no less formidable.
This was thanks to the former governor of the Three Crystal Sea, Steve. Without his cunning foresight, such a formidable fleet would never have been amassed. Later, the AI Overlord’s full support rapidly elevated the Three Crystal Sea’s technological capabilities beyond the Galactic Empire’s.
An unimaginable army, an unprecedented war, was about to unfold between the Three Crystal Sea and the Galactic Empire’s outer rim.
As Yang Hao lost himself in thought, Elder Heard suddenly appeared beside him. Gazing at the warships streaking through space like silver threads, he sighed, “Magnificent.”
“Indeed,” Yang Hao nodded. “Who would have thought we’d ever hold such an overwhelming advantage in warships?”
“Those who lose the Way find few allies,” Heard said, clad in military attire, his spirit reminiscent of the days when he and Situ Hai had resisted the Imperial fleet. “The Senate was once so arrogant, yet in just a century, they’ve lost nearly everything. The Imperial family no longer supports them, the AI Overlord and the military have abandoned them, the Ten Sword Schools oppose them, and even the Empire’s people no longer worship them as gods.”
“I often wonder,” Yang Hao mused, “what do the lives in this universe truly need?”
Though simple, his words carried an air of supreme arrogance. Yang Hao now had the right to ponder such questions—he was one of the two gods in the cosmos, capable of altering the fate of all life, granting life or death at will.
If he triumphed in the War of the Twin Gods, he could become the master of all.
“To survive,” Heard replied with a nod. “They need nothing else—just to survive.” With that, he vanished into the dark-blue cosmic void. Today’s battle held more pressing tasks for him.
Yang Hao stared at the spot where Heard had disappeared, then suddenly chuckled to himself.
Yes, survival—that was all people truly desired. Simple, primal. Yet how many gods truly understood this?
The ancient gods had not. They had waged war after war between gods and demons.
The Supreme One had not. To increase his power, he had destroyed entire planes of existence.
And now, it was Yang Hao’s turn.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his shoulders—yet his heart brimmed with confidence. A fire burned within him, no longer just for himself.
The entire universe was ablaze.
More precisely, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm. This oddly named region lay between the Three Crystal Sea and the Empire’s inner territories—a heavily fortified zone. Though the Galactic Empire had recognized the Divine Mandate Autonomous Region’s existence, they had never ceased their frenzied preparations for war. Hundreds of Death Star fortresses dotted the spiral arm.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The Imperial general defending this sector was a true fanatic of defense. He had transformed thousands of major planets into near-impenetrable fortresses, each equipped with defenses and countermeasures akin to Death Stars, turning the entire spiral arm into an unbreakable chain of fortifications.
In short, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm was an impregnable barrier between the Three Crystal Sea and the Empire.
“How does it look?” Yang Hao appeared aboard the flagship Doomsday Battleship, now emblazoned with the insignia of the Alchemy Sect.
The Western campaign’s overall commander, Long Yun, was overseeing his first large-scale battle, supported by a formidable staff of advisors—names that could shake the cosmos.
Among them were the Empire’s former Deputy Chief of the Privy Council, all thirteen senior strategists from the General Staff, and twenty-two former Imperial Marshals.
These were the men who, before the Battle of the Elder Mountain, had been secretly evacuated from Earth under the late Emperor Yinglie’s orders. After the Emperor’s fall, their families on Earth had been slaughtered by the Senate, leaving them no choice but to flee to the Divine Mandate Autonomous Region. Now, they served as Yang Hao’s top strategists.
Notably absent was the Privy Council’s former Chief Minister. Upon learning of Emperor Yinglie and Qin Feng’s deaths at the hands of the Supreme One, the old statesman had refused the position of Military Governor of the Divine Mandate. One moonlit night, facing Earth, he had placed a gun to his temple.
The Chief Minister of the Privy Council—one of Emperor Yinglie’s three closest confidants. Though he had not stood with the Emperor against the Supreme One, his loyalty to the throne had endured to the end.
History would remember his name.
Long Yun, seeing Yang Hao, immediately pulled up a holographic map of the Lotus Root Spiral Arm’s defenses. “This is a tough nut to crack,” he said worriedly. “The commanding officer here is said to be an idiot.”
“Why fear an idiot?” Yang Hao smiled.
“An idiot when it comes to everything except defense,” Long Yun grimaced. “Those who know him say he’s a complete fool in daily life, but a genius in defensive tactics. In the Empire’s war games, no one could breach his defenses—until the AI Overlord itself intervened, throwing the Empire’s full military might at the problem, and even then barely succeeding.”
“So there’s hope?”
Long Yun’s expression grew even more troubled. “The Overlord lost over half its forces in that simulation. The casualty ratio was over a hundred to one.”
Yang Hao gasped. “No wonder the Senate dared to shift their main forces east, even knowing our diversion. They planted this hard nut here for us.”
“Exactly,” Long Yun shook his head. “This defensive chain has been reinforced for years—it’s practically unbreakable. If we bypass it to strike deeper into the Empire, his Death Star corps could cut off our supply lines at any moment, trapping our main forces to starve in Imperial territory.”
“Have we tried negotiating surrender?” Yang Hao asked a crucial question.
Since Yang Hao’s resurgence, surrender negotiations had been a key strategy. Many Imperial officers, disillusioned with the Senate—especially after the Chief Minister’s suicide—had defected to Yang Hao’s side.
But today, even this tactic failed.
Long Yun spread his hands. “We sent three marshals to negotiate—two of them his former superiors. He returned them politely but refused outright. The fool just wants a good fight.”
“Does he support the Senate?”
“No, he just wants to fight,” Long Yun sighed. “Hence the ‘idiot’ moniker. His life’s dream was to command a defensive war. Now that he’s got his chance, why would he give it up?”
Then there was no choice but to fight.
But victory would not come easily. The enemy had spent years fortifying his position, and he was a master of defense. Long Yun had only months to prepare. Even with superior numbers, a hundred-to-one casualty ratio would render any breakthrough meaningless—there’d be no strength left to push into the Empire’s core.
Yet regardless, the Battle of the Lotus Root Spiral Arm—deemed the Empire’s life-or-death struggle—began.
Even as the first shots were fired, Long Yun still didn’t understand Yang Hao’s bizarre tactics. To him and the entire General Staff, Yang Hao’s deployment seemed nonsensical, almost guaranteeing defeat.
The Lotus Root Spiral Arm’s defenses were built across countless planets. Thousands of major worlds had been transformed into impregnable fortresses, forming an interlinked chain that moved with the stars’ orbits, maintaining an unbroken line.
Behind this planetary chain lurked a hundred Death Star fortresses—General Hua Ge’s greatest asset. These mobile bastions provided flexible firepower, capable of repelling tens of thousands of warships when coordinated. Should the Federation retreat, they could pursue as a devastating strike force.
Long Yun’s original plan had been to concentrate the heaviest battleships and Titan-class firepower on one or two key points, attempting to breach the chain and send smaller fleets through. If these forces could penetrate deep enough to destroy Hua Ge’s command ship, victory might be possible.
But Yang Hao had rejected it outright. “This plan won’t work—it might even ruin our chances entirely.”
“Why?” Long Yun had argued it was their best option: focusing superior forces to break through a weak point was standard military doctrine.
“The casualty ratio,” Yang Hao explained. “Destroying one fortress planet could cost us a thousand ships. That’s unsustainable.”
“No choice,” Long Yun countered. “Their defenses are too dense. Attacking a single point lets them focus crossfire on our assault fleet. A thousand ships per planet is optimistic.”
“But planets move.” Yang Hao traced an arc on the star map. “After we lose thousands of ships taking one world, its orbit would bring another into position. At every point, there are at least three backup fortress planets.”
Upon hearing this, Yang Hao frowned, and a new plan surged into his mind. He then whispered a few questions to Clyde.
Clyde’s expression also changed drastically. After a moment of deep thought, he finally nodded subtly.
An indescribable smile appeared on Yang Hao’s face. In those few whispered words, a grand yet perilous plan had been confirmed, and the foundation of Yang Hao’s new order would be laid through this very plan.
The first year of the Mianyou Emperor’s reign, also the first year of the Cosmic Union Assembly, became a pivotal turning point in all cosmic war chronicles.
For the first time in centuries of unification, the cosmos was split into two factions, and the so-called “One True God” of the universe entered an era of dual deities.
But what truly captured the world’s attention at the beginning of that year was the first great battle between the Cosmic Union and the Galactic Empire. The very first engagement was decisive—the only one of its kind in the era of the two empires.
In this so-called “Dual Deities War,” the Eastern Union threw nearly all its resources into the fray.
Five hundred thousand warships were deployed near the First Spiral Arm of the East, facing off against the Galactic Empire’s twelve Death Star fortresses. Under the command of Shi Mingyuan, over ten million soldiers took to the battlefield.
More than two thousand system governors led their personal guard forces into the warzone, and nearly all the Eastern Union’s council members were mobilized for this earth-shattering conflict.
In the realm of the Immortals, even those who had ascended beyond the mortal plane endured a hundredfold reduction in their powers to serve as ordinary soldiers in the Swordmaster Corps.
The formidable adventurer guilds, already powerful in their own right, poured out en masse. The top one hundred ranked adventurers in the world all joined the Eastern forces. Even long-retired veteran teams, led by the infamous Ghostblade Jack, charged into the front lines.
The Eastern Union’s deployment was nothing short of an all-out, desperate gamble.
The Galactic Empire, of course, did not take this lightly—or rather, the Senate dared not underestimate the threat. In a last resort, they severed the connections between their AI networks, opting for manual human control over individual AI systems. While this reduced the AI Overlord’s grip on the Imperial military, it also slashed their combat effectiveness by forty percent.
Yet even so, the Empire’s century-long accumulation of military might was staggering when fully deployed in the East.
The Glory Legion and the rebuilt Titan Legion, along with dozens of noble house armies, boasted a million warships. Like a monstrous beast, they crouched on the left flank of the spiral arm, glaring at the Eastern fleet.
For the Swordmaster Corps, the Senate dispatched fifty elders and two executive elders, aiming to overwhelm the Eastern Union’s elite warriors in one fell swoop.
Logically, such a lopsided battle should never have begun. Even Shi Mingyuan knew that neither offense nor defense would shake the Empire’s entrenched lines.
But this battle had to be fought—it was inevitable.
Because the East needed to pin down half of the Galactic Empire’s forces, creating an opening for the real offensive in the West.
Indeed, this was Yang Hao’s strategy of “feinting east while striking west.” The Cosmic Union’s true advantage lay entirely in the Western Shenyu Autonomous Region.
Yang Hao hovered above the Three Crystal Sea system, watching the endless stream of warships pour out from the military docks toward the frontlines. A complex emotion stirred within him.
Back then, he too had set out from here—toward Earth—but as a mere puppet leader, unable to command even half a warship.
And now? The fleets launching from the Three Crystal Sea outnumbered the Empire’s by two to one, with technological prowess to match.
He owed much of this to the former governor of the Three Crystal Sea, Steve. Without his cunning, such a formidable fleet would never have been amassed. Later, the AI Overlord’s full support rapidly elevated the Three Crystal Sea’s technological edge beyond the Galactic Empire’s.
An unimaginable army, an unprecedented war, was about to unfold between the Three Crystal Sea and the Galactic Empire’s outer rim.
As Yang Hao lost himself in thought, Elder Heard suddenly appeared beside him. Gazing at the warships streaking through the cosmos like silver threads, he sighed, “Magnificent.”
“Indeed,” Yang Hao nodded. “Who would have thought we’d ever hold such an overwhelming advantage in warships?”
“Those who lose the Way stand alone,” Heard said, clad in battle armor, his spirit reminiscent of the days when he and Situ Hai had resisted the Imperial fleet. “The Senate was once so arrogant, yet in just a century, they’ve lost everything. The Imperial family no longer supports them, the AI Overlord and the military have turned their backs, the Ten Sword Schools have abandoned them, and even the Empire’s people no longer worship them as gods.”
“I often wonder,” Yang Hao mused, “what do the lives in this universe truly need?”
The question was simple, yet it carried an air of supreme arrogance. Yang Hao now had the right to ponder this—as one of the two deities in the cosmos, he could alter the fate of all life, granting life or death at will.
If he triumphed in the Dual Deities War, he could become the master of all.
“To live,” Heard replied with a nod. “They need nothing else—just to survive.” With that, he vanished into the dark-blue cosmic void. Today’s battle held more pressing duties for him.
Yang Hao stared at the spot where Heard had disappeared, then suddenly chuckled to himself.
Yes, survival—that simple, primal desire. Yet which god truly understood it?
The ancient deities hadn’t. They had waged war after war.
The Supreme One hadn’t either. In his quest for power, he had destroyed entire planes of existence.
And now, it was Yang Hao’s turn.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his shoulders—yet his heart brimmed with confidence. A fire burned within him, no longer just for himself.
The same fire engulfed the cosmos.
More precisely, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm. This oddly named region, straddling the Three Crystal Sea and the Empire’s inner territories, was a fortress-studded no-man’s-land. Though the Empire had recognized the Shenyu Autonomous Region’s existence, they had never ceased their frantic military buildup. Hundreds of Death Star fortresses dotted the arm.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The Imperial general defending this sector was a true fanatic of defense. He had transformed thousands of major planets into Death Star-like fortifications, turning the entire arm into an impregnable chain of defenses.
In short, the Lotus Root Spiral Arm was a barrier no one could easily breach.
“So?” Yang Hao appeared aboard the flagship Doomsday, now emblazoned with the insignia of the Alchemy Sect.
The Western campaign’s commander, Long Yun, was overseeing his first battle of this scale, supported by a formidable staff.
Their names alone could shake the cosmos.
Among them were the Empire’s former Deputy Chief of the Privy Council, all thirteen senior strategists of the General Staff, and twenty-two former Imperial Marshals.
These were the men who had fled Earth before the Elder Mountain conflict, arranged by the Martyred Emperor. After the coup, their families had been slaughtered by the Senate, leaving them no choice but to seek refuge in the Shenyu Autonomous Region—now Yang Hao’s top advisors.
Notably absent was the Privy Council’s Chief Minister. Upon learning of the Martyred Emperor and Qin Feng’s deaths at the Supreme One’s hands, the old statesman had refused the post of Military Governor of Shenyu. One moonlit night, facing Earth, he had put a bullet through his temple.
The Chief Minister—one of the Martyred Emperor’s three closest confidants—had not stood with his liege against the Supreme One, but his loyalty had endured to the end.
History would remember his name.
Long Yun, seeing Yang Hao, immediately pulled up a holographic map of the Lotus Root defenses. “This is a tough nut to crack,” he fretted. “The general here is said to be an idiot.”
“Why fear an idiot?” Yang Hao smiled.
“An idiot in life, but a genius in defense,” Long Yun grimaced. “Those who know him say he’s clueless about everything except defensive tactics. In war games, no one could break his setups—until the AI Overlord itself simulated a full Imperial assault, barely managing a breakthrough.”
“So there’s hope?”
Long Yun looked even more pained. “The Overlord lost over half its forces in that sim—a casualty ratio of a hundred to one.”
Yang Hao gasped. “No wonder the Senate dared shift their main force east, knowing our feint. They planted this hard nut here for us.”
“Exactly,” Long Yun shook his head. “This defense chain has been perfected over years—it’s nearly unbreakable. If we bypass it to strike deeper into the Empire, his Death Star fleet could cut our supply lines, trapping our forces to starve in Imperial space.”
“Have we tried surrender terms?” Yang Hao asked—a key strategy since his uprising. Many Imperial officers, disillusioned with the Senate, had defected after the Chief Minister’s suicide.
But today, even that failed.
“We sent three marshals to negotiate—two his former superiors,” Long Yun shrugged. “He returned them politely but refused. The fool just wants a fight.”
“Does he support the Senate?”
“No, he just loves war,” Long Yun sighed. “Hence the ‘idiot’ label. His life’s dream was to fight a defensive battle—now that he’s got it, why would he quit?”
Then battle it was.
But victory wouldn’t come easy. The enemy had spent years perfecting his defenses, while Long Yun had mere months to prepare. Even with numerical superiority, a hundred-to-one casualty ratio would leave them too weak to push into the Empire’s core.
Yet the Battle of the Lotus Root Spiral Arm—hailed as the Empire’s life-or-death struggle—began regardless.
Even as the first shots were fired, Long Yun couldn’t fathom Yang Hao’s bizarre tactics. To him and the entire General Staff, Yang Hao’s deployment seemed reckless—a sure path to defeat.
The Lotus Root defenses spanned countless planets.
Thousands of major worlds had been reforged into an unbreakable chain, fixed in their orbits by rotation and revolution.
Behind them lurked a hundred mobile Death Star fortresses—General Hua Ge’s trump card. These could weave a lethal crossfire, repelling tens of thousands of warships, then pursue retreating foes.
Long Yun’s plan was to concentrate their heaviest firepower on one or two points, breach the chain, and send strike teams to eliminate Hua Ge’s command ship.
But Yang Hao shook his head. “This plan won’t work—it might doom our attack.”
“Why?” Long Yun insisted it was their best shot.
“The casualty ratio,” Yang Hao said. “Losing a thousand ships per planet is too high.”
“Unavoidable,” Long Yun argued. “Their defenses are too dense. Focusing fire lets them concentrate counterattacks. A thousand ships per planet is optimistic.”
“But planets move.” Yang Hao traced an arc on the star map. “After losing thousands of ships to destroy one, its orbit would bring another into position. At every point, three backup planets await.”
His name would forever be etched into the annals of cosmic history.
When Long Yun saw Yang Hao appear, he immediately opened the defensive map of the Lian’ou Star Arm and anxiously pointed at it, saying, “This is truly a tough nut to crack. They say the commander inside is practically an idiot.”
“What’s there to fear from an idiot?” Yang Hao smiled.
“He may be an idiot, but his idiocy lies in defense,” Long Yun grimaced. “According to our familiar advisors, this person is completely clueless in daily life, but when it comes to defensive tactics, he becomes a genius. In the Empire’s military simulations, any defense he set up was almost impossible to breach. Eventually, only the AI King’s full-scale calculation, using the entire imperial military force, managed to break through.”
“So there’s still hope then.”
Long Yun’s expression turned even more helpless. “The problem is, in that simulation, the AI King suffered over fifty percent losses, with a casualty ratio exceeding a hundred to one.”
Yang Hao gasped. “No wonder the Senate dared to be so bold, knowing our feint yet still transferring their main forces to the East. They’ve set up such a tough obstacle right here for us.”
“Exactly,” Long Yun shook his head repeatedly. “This defensive chain has been fortified for many years—it’s almost impregnable. If we bypass this star arm and directly invade the imperial territory, our supply lines could be destroyed by their Death Star legions at any moment, leaving our entire army stranded and doomed to perish within the imperial domain.”
“Have we tried to negotiate their surrender?”
Yang Hao asked an important question.
Since Yang Hao resumed his campaign, offering surrender had always been a key strategy. Most imperial officers were dissatisfied with the Senate, especially after the Chief Chancellor of the Privy Council’s suicide. Many officers, deeply influenced by him, were furious and defected to Yang Hao’s side.
But this time, that strategy seemed ineffective.
Long Yun spread his hands helplessly. “We’ve already sent three admirals to negotiate surrender, including two of that idiot’s former superiors. They were politely sent back, but the surrender request was not accepted. That idiot is determined to fight us properly.”
“Does he support the Senate?”
“No, he just wants to fight,” Long Yun sighed helplessly. “Otherwise, why would we call him an idiot? His greatest lifelong wish is to fight a defensive battle. Now that he’s finally gotten his wish, how could he easily give it up?”
Then there was no choice but to fight.
But how easy could it be? The enemy had fortified this region for years, and their commander was an elite-level defensive master. Long Yun had only a few months to prepare. Although the fleet numbers were slightly higher, if the casualty ratio truly reached a hundred to one, even breaking through would leave them unable to advance further into the imperial core.
Yet regardless, the decisive battle at the Lian’ou Star Arm—the battle that would determine the fate of the Empire—had finally begun.
Even at the moment of opening fire, Long Yun still couldn’t understand why Yang Hao had arranged such a strange tactic. In his view—and indeed in the entire general staff’s view—Yang Hao’s command was completely reckless. His troop deployment had serious flaws. If the battle continued like this, the United Federation’s army wouldn’t just fail to win—they might even lose the entire war.
The defense of the Lian’ou Star Arm was built upon tens of thousands of planets.
Thousands of large planets had been transformed into impregnable super-defensive fortresses, forming a defensive chain. This chain was almost fixed, remaining in their respective orbits as the planets revolved and rotated.
And behind this planetary defensive chain were over a hundred Death Star fortresses. These mobile fortresses, with considerable maneuverability, were General Huage’s greatest asset. With these hundred fortresses, he had a considerable mobile force—capable of both offensive and defensive operations. When fully coordinated, they could form an interlocking fire network, capable of resisting attacks from tens of thousands of warships. And when the United Federation’s forces retreated, they could fly out and become an offensive force.
According to Long Yun and the senior officers’ tactical plan, they would concentrate the strongest battleships and Titan-class fleets to focus firepower on one or two key points, aiming to tear through the critical parts of the defensive chain and allow smaller fleets to break through. If these fleets could penetrate the defensive perimeter and destroy General Huage’s command ship, there would be hope for victory.
But Yang Hao shook his head repeatedly. “This plan won’t work. It might even destroy our chance of success.”
“Why?” Long Yun felt this was already the best strategy—concentrating superior forces to break through a critical point in the defense was a standard military tactic.
“The problem lies in the casualty ratio,” Yang Hao said. “Destroying a single defensive planet is expected to cost us over a thousand warships. That ratio is simply too high.”
“There’s no choice,” Long Yun replied. “Their defenses are too dense. If we attack only one point, the enemy can easily form crossfire, bombarding our attacking ships with overwhelming firepower. A thousand warships per planet is already a decent estimate.”
“But don’t forget—the planets are moving,” Yang Hao traced an arc across the star map with his finger. “After we sacrifice several thousand warships to destroy one defensive planet, due to its rotation and orbit, other planets will appear near its original position. This cycle repeats itself. At every point, there are at least three defensive planets ready to replace the fallen one.”
Long Yun’s face darkened, though he had anticipated this outcome: “That’s correct. To create several breaches, we will suffer losses of approximately fifty thousand warships.”
This was an astonishing number, nearly equivalent to a tenth of the Eastern Army’s total military strength. However, supported by the massive fleet from the West, it was barely acceptable.
“Even this number will need to be multiplied significantly,” Yang Hao sharply pointed out the crux of the issue. “What good would those breaches be anyway? According to your plan, the Da Di rapid-response fleet will enter through these gaps. But don’t forget, the enemy has over a hundred mobile death star fortresses. These fortresses are hidden within the defensive perimeter, waiting to strike once our smaller ships enter. Do you really think these small vessels can hold out long without support from heavy warships? Even if you deploy a hundred thousand swift ships, it would be difficult to accomplish the mission of destroying the enemy’s command ship.”
Long Yun fell silent. They had indeed considered what Yang Hao mentioned, but comparatively speaking, this was already the best strategy available. Their opponent was naturally an expert in defense, a madman who had constructed such a defensive line—where could any weaknesses possibly exist?
But Yang Hao wasn’t ready to accept this tactical plan.
“Following your plan,” he shook his head, “even if the Western Army sacrifices a hundred thousand or more warships, they would only manage to clear a few outer defensive points. This would contribute nothing to the overall situation. Our fleet would merely become bogged down here until the Eastern Army is defeated. By the time imperial reinforcements arrive, it will already be too late for us.”
“Then what should we do?” Long Yun kicked his chair aside in frustration. He was deeply troubled as well. Finally, they had a chance for a major counterattack, yet a madman had blocked their path midway. Their massive fleet consumed enormous amounts of energy daily, and they felt helpless against this predicament.
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