Anthony, Kingsley, and Vega made their way toward their apartment, none of them seemingly concerned about the potential consequences of their actions. Vega, in particular, simply did not care. Even if the Eclipsian race had someone stronger than her, someone capable of killing her, they would first have to contend with her parents, Klaus and Amara. That simple fact alone rendered any threat negligible in her mind.

Although Vega handled her own battles with formidable skill, she understood when it was appropriate to call upon her parents. After all, why should she suffer alone when she possessed allies of such immense power? Kingsley, on the other hand, displayed no reaction at all. Unfamiliar with the Eclipsian race, he had no fear of consequences; how could he, when he barely knew their capabilities or customs?

"Those three seemed to have come for you specifically," Vega remarked casually as they walked. Anthony's eyes met hers, and he understood immediately what she meant.

"They are from the Eclipsian race," he explained plainly, his tone flat and unembellished. "One of the top ten races in the Galaxy. They came for the rewards I earned from the Starborn Tournament, but they were wiped out. It seems their younger generation is reckless; they attempted a move that even the older generation failed to achieve."

"If they are one of the top ten races, didn't their champion at least win something?" Kingsley asked, curiosity tinged with mild incredulity as they continued walking.

Anthony shook his head. "No. Their champion, at the time, looked down on Lucian and insulted him. Lucian killed her, but they could not retaliate against him directly because his parents are also powerhouses."

"Well… that explains it," Vega said simply, letting the matter drop entirely.

Within minutes, they had returned to their apartments. "Since everything's so boring right now, I think I'll just sleep until the meetings begin," Anthony said, continuing toward his room without halting his steps. Upon entering, he collapsed onto his bed with a heavy sigh, letting the exhaustion of the past hours settle over him.

'So many prideful and egotistical fools,' Anthony thought, reflecting on the encounters he had endured in such a short span of time.

'Come to think of it, I've never experienced any 'Young Master' cliche situations since my reincarnation. Only racial discrimination,' he mused. His thoughts drifted back to the moment of his awakening, when he had mentally prepared himself to eliminate anyone foolish enough to play the part of 'The Young Master.' In retrospect, he realized he had perhaps overthought the matter at the time.

Anthony remembered his first encounter with racial discrimination vividly. It had occurred when the Forsaken Cult and demons had summoned the students to their territory. A student, a Dragon, had demanded that Anthony kneel and crawl toward him. As usual, Anthony exchanged no words; he simply ended the student's life.

'If I had been the typical hero type, or if ??? had reincarnated a heroic figure, their goal might have been to pursue equality, to eliminate racial discrimination,' Anthony mused.

With that thought, he whispered; Authority Of Severance.

Reality seemed to fold in upon itself. Threads of various colors and hues materialized midair, weaving a tapestry of possibilities. Anthony's eyes fixed on a single thread, contemplating the immense power it represented. With a mere snap of this thread, he could eradicate racial discrimination as a concept throughout the Galaxy.

Through centuries of rigorous training, Anthony had honed his Authority Of Severance to an almost absurd degree. It had been difficult, yet he had relished every moment of it. Now, with the mastery he had achieved, he could sever even abstract concepts such as discrimination itself.

He stared at the thread before him and sighed, allowing reality to return to its normal state as the luminous strands vanished. He had not snapped it. Although he could end discrimination with nothing but a thought, he chose restraint. This matter was not his responsibility. Those who sought to challenge injustice would need to take up the mantle themselves, risking life and death to do so.

'Now, let's see what's happening in the other building,' Anthony thought. Activating Authority Of Information, his vision shifted to a bird's-eye perspective, surveying the building from above. He absorbed information from the past as well as the present, piecing together the ongoing events in meticulous detail.

Within the building housing the older generation, there was no slaughter, no torture. Racial discrimination persisted, of course, but nobody had escalated their actions to violence. Anthony understood why: if the older generation were allowed to attack one another freely, this gathering would dissolve into chaos, plunging the Galaxy into conflict rather than preparation for the coming Galaxy invasion.

Every entrant to that building had signed a mana contract that prohibited harming anyone outside their own team, whether the intent was lethal or not, unless both parties agreed to a battle. This system eliminated sneak attacks and clandestine methods of assassination.

Anthony's gaze shifted across the building as he observed the hierarchy and protocols of the older generation. It all made sense to him. Rules that constrained the older generations' building were unnecessary here.

His eyes settled on a floating platform, a grander iteration of the one in his own building, where structured sparring sessions occurred. Before each spar, participants signed mana contracts specifying the rules, preventing "accidental" fatalities.

At this moment, the First Supreme Monarch's body sliced through the air, clashing with a woman from a mid-tier race. He wielded no bladed weapon; his claws alone were sufficient, sharper and deadlier than any sword. By now, he had faced nine opponents, and the woman before him was his tenth.

'He's really putting on a show,' Anthony mused, observing the Monarch's calculated yet dynamic movements. He already understood the plan: the First Supreme Monarch was a man of sagely demeanor and measured restraint. His excessive activity was deliberate, a signal of strategy rather than chaos.

Unlike other Dragons, Anthony noticed, the First Supreme Monarch displayed no arrogance in his eyes. He fought simply to demonstrate skill, executing techniques with precision rather than pride.

Anthony's focus shifted to Michael, who was engaged in battle with a member of the Cryonid race, another of the top ten. Michael's sword danced through the air in a blur of destructive intent, a wide grin marking his expression. Notably, Michael relied on neither elemental augmentation nor external elemental boosts such as fire, lightning, or water.

He moved with pure skill, his aura, mana, and intent guiding every strike. His mastery of the sword was absolute, and he trained in no other discipline; anything else, he believed, would taint his artistry.

Meanwhile, Mitchelle and Collins observed with serene composure, though their presence was unmistakably potent. The Third Supreme Monarch, a Titan, bristled with anticipation.

His race relished battle, and witnessing such intensity ignited a literal fire in his mind and heart. Yet even he exercised patience. This was a grand stage, his first time here, and the eyes of countless observers demanded discretion. He could not engage recklessly, nor risk defeat publicly.

After a prolonged observation, Anthony withdrew his gaze from the building. He shifted focus to the Second Supreme Monarch, who was enduring the abyss with great effort. Within moments, he ceased watching.

'I think this will be the first time in a while I'm sleeping without Vega by my side,' he thought as his mind drifted, finally easing into the embrace of the sleep realm.

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