Dale, Seraphim, and Reynold watched with expressions of utter shock, their faces frozen in disbelief. They could scarcely comprehend what they had just witnessed. When the conversation had arisen about a spar between Anthony and Kingsley, their imaginations had run wild.

They had expected an intense exchange, a storm of attacks raining down in literal endless and continuous succession: defense and counterattacks, parries and martial techniques unleashed with precision, perhaps even destruction on a cosmic scale, asteroids pulverized, stars ignited, planets shattered.

Their minds had conjured visions of titanic clashes, cataclysmic energy surges, the very fabric of reality bending under the weight of their duel. Yet before them, none of it had manifested. None of the spectacle they had envisioned had occurred. Initially, Anthony had intended to exchange only a few attacks with Kingsley, testing him lightly.

But with Kingsley's request, his desire to see the gap between their strengths, Anthony had altered his approach. And the result was beyond anything they could have imagined.

Dale, Seraphim, and Reynold had indeed anticipated Anthony's victory, yet they had not expected it to appear so effortless, so entirely stress-free. The augmented perception provided by the glasses they wore, calibrated to Kingsley's level, revealed nothing.

They could not see Anthony move. They could not discern his attacks. They had no clue whether his strike had been a punch, a kick, a slap, or something far more incomprehensible. How could they? Kingsley himself had been unable to track Anthony, and so, by default, neither could they.

But they had witnessed the consequences. They had seen Kingsley's body slammed into the planet, witnessed him hurled into a star, and then saw him streak across the galaxy once more after an unseen strike from Anthony. Each impact left their minds reeling, their imaginations struggling to rationalize what their senses perceived.

Their thoughts returned, almost involuntarily, to Kingsley's own words: he had wanted to see the gap between himself and Anthony. But could he have truly perceived it? Even if he had, even if he had trained tirelessly to bridge it, who was to say Anthony had not also been preparing, not also growing, not also widening the chasm further?

'How strong is he… truly?' The question passed silently through all three minds simultaneously. They swallowed hard, words refusing to escape their lips. Their thoughts drifted to Anthony's earlier claim, that he had already surpassed every Supreme Monarch.

At the time, they had not doubted him. But seeing the scene laid bare before them, witnessing the scale of power first-hand, his words solidified into reality. And yet, they had not even encountered a Supreme Monarch, let alone observed one in combat.

'If this is the gap between Anthony and Kingsley… then what of the gap between Anthony and us?' The trio could not suppress the shudder that ran through their spines. They had seen Kingsley fight, witnessed his nearly flawless form, and only once had he ever been injured: during his battle against the Executioner from the higher dimension. Now, before their eyes, they watched the same man struck three times, bloodied, and... not still standing.

They dared not imagine how many strikes they themselves could endure from Anthony. Could they survive a sneeze? A snort? A cough? Their minds spun with possibilities, crashing against the limits of comprehension, for this was the first time they had witnessed a planetary-level battle so intimately and directly.

At the side, Vega, Spectre, and Clement floated, expressions unchanged, impassive. They had long understood the futility of Kingsley's position. Though the full extent of Anthony's power remained unknown to them, they knew one immutable truth: no matter what Kingsley attempted, it would all end in futility, as every other challenger before him had discovered.

Had Anthony not chosen to humor Kingsley's request, perhaps he would have unleashed a handful of attacks, each blocked or dodged effortlessly. Even if a strike had landed, it would have caused no harm, the gap in bloodline and power rendering any impact trivial. And yet, Anthony had restrained himself further.

Vega's mind briefly shifted to Kingsley's Sleep Training ability. Though his body had fallen unconscious, his mind had endured the constant influx of pain, she was confident that he remained active within the realm of his training, though his physical form could no longer respond.

"The three of you do not seem surprised," Dale's voice finally cut through the silence, sharp and incredulous.

Reynold and Seraphim turned their attention toward Vega, Spectre, and Clement, who remained composed and calm in the void, their expressions unchanging.

"What is there to be surprised about?" Spectre replied, his voice flat, eyes fixed upon a distant nebula. "This was the natural conclusion. Anthony never intended otherwise. Kingsley never stood a chance."

Vega's calm, measured voice followed, weaving into the silence. "What Spectre says is accurate. Even so, knowing Anthony, I am certain he still held back. Had he struck with his full force, one blow would have ended it. The gap Kingsley sought to perceive would have remained hidden. Now, he endured three attacks. Whether he glimpsed the true gap or a partial one depends entirely on his own senses and perception."

She floated serenely, seated upon nothing, as though the galaxy itself had bent to support her, a sovereign within the void.

Dale, Reynold, and Seraphim remained mute, overwhelmed. Earlier, they had considered it remarkable that Kingsley had survived three attacks. Now, they learned that Anthony had deliberately restrained himself, that he had withheld his power.

"This… this is insane," Seraphim whispered, his voice trembling.

"Insane?" Vega shook her head slowly. "Kingsley is the insane one, for making such a request in the first place."

Reynold's eyes glinted crimson, the fire of his red phoenix lineage visible even in the void. "So this… this is the level of a planetary being," he murmured to himself, awe etched in every syllable. Then, turning toward Vega, he asked, "Your combat power has reached planetary level. Tell me… how strong are you, compared to Anthony?"

Vega remained silent for a long moment, contemplating. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost detached, yet heavy with truth: "I honestly do not know. I am certain, however, that he is stronger than me. As for the true gap… I would rather not discover it."

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