"...Professor Robin," the dark-skinned planetary emperor finally leaned back in his seat, his posture heavy with disbelief. His head tilted upward, eyes narrowing in wary astonishment as he exhaled through his nose. "Do you truly realize what you're saying right now?"

He raised a hand, as though to steady himself from the absurdity of what he had just heard. "A billion Pearls every thousand years? Do you mean to tell us that you can swear upon such a promise?"

Another emperor slammed his palm against the table. "You'll supply the Wings with The Note Fleets, entire squadrons of the blue-armored legions, for free? That's the kind of wealth that can sustain an empire for an age!"

"And we can join your Grave Empire fully—then withdraw again after ten thousand years, taking our fleets and territories with us? How can something like that even be enforced? All of this... just for those who agree to become Wings?!"

PAA!

Robin's palm struck the stone table so hard that the air trembled with the sound. The echo rolled across the marble walls like a wave of thunder.

"I, Robin Burton, when I speak, my words become Law! Each letter I utter binds the heavens above and the ground below! I take responsibility for every syllable — and I am ready to swear on whatever sacred oath, cosmic seal, or soul-contract you demand!"

"...?"

The tone in his voice, the ferocity in his eyes, the faint beads of sweat glistening down his temple — all of it gave him an aura of brutal sincerity. He looked like a man pushing himself to the very edge, offering treasures and authority that might shatter his own empire, all for the sake of preparing for the coming World Cataclysm.

But deep within, Robin felt nothing but calm amusement — the serenity of a man who already knew every move that would follow.

The second level of those techniques wasn't something he invented on a whim. He had conceived it long ago, the moment he handed the first version to his young students. Back in Nihari's cavern, when time flowed in silence and shadows, he refined and shaped it out of boredom, knowing this day — this negotiation — would arrive inevitably.

He wasn't sacrificing anything.

As for granting fleets and weapons?

That was standard for Wings. How else could they defend the Grave Empire's banner across the stars? Yet Robin had phrased it carefully, turning a formality into temptation — a poetic lure wrapped in practicality.

To them, it sounded like generosity. To him, it was merely an investment disguised as mercy.

And the clause allowing the Wings to keep those fleets and weapons after separation? That was no accident either.

Robin knew the nature of rulers. If he demanded those assets back in ten millennia, they'd start plotting against him the moment ink touched parchment — hiding ships, dismantling fleets, sabotaging factories.

So instead, he turned inevitability into gift. A gift that made them feel safe, loyal — and less likely to rebel before he needed them.

The clause promising a hundred million energy Pearls every century? That was the simplest bait of all.

He rented a single Nexus State from the Syndicate for three hundred million every century, and each of these emperors commanded several.

If they became his Wings, the funds would circulate within his own empire instead of flowing outward. What they saw as lavish generosity was, in truth, a clever act of consolidation.

Then came the ten-thousand-year clause — the one that made Robin's inner smile grow.

After ten millennia, only two fates could remain: either he would rise to supremacy as the undisputed Monarch of Sector 99, or he would fall, dragged into oblivion by the All-Seeing god.

In either case, the Wings' fate would no longer concern him. If he triumphed, they would serve. If he fell, nothing of them would matter.

That is, of course, assuming any of them still existed by then.

"The clause… that five hundred years of peace following withdrawal," the stag-horned emperor finally broke the silence, his deep voice carrying an edge of suspicion. "Peace from whom, exactly?"

Every head in the chamber turned back toward Robin.

They had all noticed it — that deceptively kind promise buried among the dazzling rewards.

They knew precisely what it implied.

He was referring to protection from the Grave Empire itself. In essence, it meant he would not attack them for five centuries... and then, perhaps, he would.

A threat wrapped in silk, veiled beneath a benevolent smile.

"Heh~"

Robin chuckled quietly, his voice as smooth as dark water.

"After the separation, you will all stand as empires of your own — greater, richer, mightier than you ever were. But you will also be strangers to us. Rulers who've forgotten how to rely on themselves after ten thousand years of shared defense and wealth."

His gaze swept across them one by one, his tone slow and deliberate.

"So this promise of peace — it's not merely to protect you from me, but from everyone. A total shield for five full centuries, giving you time to rebuild your foundations and reclaim your strength."

Then, lowering his voice, he added with a faint grin, "I could have chosen not to mention this clause at all. You could've reached the day of your independence only to find the entire swarm of the Grave Empire hovering above your skies that very moment. Tell me — am I truly at fault for granting you five centuries of guaranteed peace instead?"

"....."

A heavy silence enveloped the hall.

The five emperors exchanged uneasy glances, their once-firm expressions softening with uncertainty.

Some frowned, others lowered their heads in deep contemplation — but a few, despite themselves, nodded slowly.

For the first time, the idea of alliance with the Grave Empire didn't sound like surrender.

It sounded like survival.

This particular clause was, in truth, the most genuine and revealing of them all — a clause that made it clear to every emperor in the hall that Professor Robin had not spoken out of impulse or arrogance. He had thought deeply, calculated every word, and crafted a vision that stretched into the far reaches of the future. Each syllable he uttered carried intention, weight, and confidence — and that made it all the more unsettling.

"…It seems you've truly given this offer much thought, Professor Robin. I must admit… it's quite tempting," said the planetary emperor with the antlered horns, his voice steady but his tone heavy. "But status cannot be purchased with money or riches, no matter how abundant they are."

Yet even as those words left his lips, his heart throbbed with contradiction and pain. Deep within, he was torn — for while his pride screamed that such an offer was beneath him, the reality of what he was being promised stirred a deep, gnawing desire.

He was no ordinary ruler. His reign had lasted twelve million years — twelve million years of conquests, politics, and endless survival across star systems. He commanded three hundred and forty planets, governed entire fleets, and yet… his treasury held no more than two billion Pearls of energy.

And now, this man — this unnervingly calm Robin — was telling him that within only ten thousand years, a mere heartbeat compared to his long, ancient rule, he would receive ten billion Pearls! Ten billion! Enough to rebuild entire galaxies, to rearm his fleets a hundred times over, to elevate his civilization beyond anything it had ever dreamed of.

That clause alone made the difference between their resources painfully clear. The financial gap between their worlds wasn't just wide — it was an abyss.

And what made it even more terrifying was when they all realized that Robin wasn't offering this deal to one empire, but to all of them. If every one of the five great rulers standing there accepted… then Robin was ready to distribute a total of fifty billion Pearls across ten millennia. Fifty billion!

The sheer amount was incomprehensible — like trying to grasp the mass of a star.

"Hmm~" Robin shrugged lightly, a casual motion that felt almost mocking given the weight of what he had just said. "I've laid out everything I had to offer. The ball is now in your court. There's no need for pretentious speeches or empty provocations — because, frankly, none of you will ever find a better offer than this one."

His tone was calm, his eyes unwavering, and the confidence in his words was absolute.

"..."

The gathered rulers turned to one another, their gazes lingering, calculating. The tension in the air grew thick, almost tangible.

Each of them seemed to be waiting for someone else to move first — to see who among them would choose apparent glory over pride, wealth over dignity, comfort over status. Who would take the first step toward paradise… knowing it meant ten thousand years of subordination?

At this moment, Professor Robin had presented them with four distinct paths.

They could turn their backs and erase all memory of what had transpired today — the demonstration, the power, the techniques.

Or they could purchase the technique outright, paying half of their total fortunes in exchange.

Or they could sign a public Mutual Defense Pact, binding themselves in an alliance with the Grave Empire.

Or finally — they could surrender their crowns temporarily, becoming Wings under Robin's empire for ten thousand years.

Four choices — each heavy, each dangerous, each holding a different kind of future.

The truth was, none of these paths were easy. Every road demanded something great in return — wealth, pride, loyalty, or freedom.

Yet among all of them, the Wing Pact glimmered the brightest with temptation. It promised stability, protection, and unimaginable resources. But even so, the Mutual Defense Pact still appeared as the more rational and politically dignified option — one that would allow them to retain their sovereignty while still standing beside the Grave Empire.

It did not matter whether a cosmic war truly loomed on the horizon or whether these were merely rumors whispered among galaxies — aligning with the Hundredth Grave Empire, even symbolically, would deter countless enemies and prevent a potential galactic catastrophe.

That alliance wouldn't only grant them permission to spread the technique freely; it would also tie their economies, their trade routes, and their influence to one of the strongest empires in the known universe. It was an opportunity — a chance to open new paths, new agreements, and perhaps even greater privileges in the future.

"….."

The antlered emperor nodded several times, his expression unreadable, then leaned back to whisper with his advisors. Their murmurs were low, filled with concern and calculation. After a few moments, he straightened, his gaze sharp, and opened his mouth — ready to declare his intention to join the Mutual Defense Pact, though with several conditions attached.

But before the words could leave his mouth—

"I accept the offer of subordination," a powerful voice echoed through the hall.

"My Empire shall become a Wing."

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