Inside an octagonal chamber, dim blue lights from the control panels shimmered against metallic walls lined with liquid silver. The polished floor gleamed beneath warm ceiling lamps, casting highlights over the black-uniformed figures quietly preparing for deployment. The tension in the air was palpable.
Each of them wore adaptive armor layered with cutting-edge tech. Plasma-sealed helmets hung beside them—ready to snap on at a moment's notice. At a glance, they looked like elite enforcers—not your average soldiers, but secret executioners in service of a powerful force.
The sounds of gear adjustments, weapon locks clicking into place, and the soft hiss of armor cooling systems filled the air. Holographic projections hovered mid-air, displaying vital intel—target profiles, tactical maps, evacuation points, and strike routes.
A slender woman lounged casually on top of a metal table, cleaning the barrel of a long-range rifle with obsessive precision. It was as if the mission's gravity didn't touch her.
"Captain," she asked without turning, voice calm yet laced with anticipation. "What's the target this time? Another human?"
There was something in her tone—not hatred, but amusement. Maybe even excitement.
The captain, a silver-haired middle-aged man with cold grey eyes, stood in front of a rack of specialized gear and artifacts. His hands moved swiftly between tools, scanning the glowing glyphs etched across their surfaces.
"Yes," he replied curtly. "They're being guarded by a Mid-Tier King."
"Oh?" The woman's lips curled into a sly grin. She blew softly into the now-polished barrel before expertly reassembling her weapon.
On the far side of the room, a hulking man clad in armor thick as fortress plating let out a low chuckle. A crystal canister filled with glowing red liquid pulsed gently on his back—like an artificial heart strapped to his shoulders.
"About time we had a real mission," he muttered. "I was getting bored."
"Let's hope their blood tastes sweet," the woman said, eyes narrowing with dark delight. "Humans who try to become gods... usually scream the prettiest."
A small-framed technician stepped forward, projecting a 3D hologram into the center of the room. It displayed Lein and two companions seated in a quaint café. Behind them stood an old waiter, cloaked in an aura of golden-red—Dragnar, the Mid-Tier King.
"Secondary target has high spiritual resistance," the technician reported crisply. "Can withstand a direct hit for 0.7 seconds before internal collapse. But if attacked from two vectors simultaneously... he'll fall."
"Then we take out the space manipulator first," said one of the operatives, dragging the tip of an energy blade across the floor. Purple sparks danced along its edge, momentarily scorching the air. "Disrupt his spatial laws... then carve out his core."
The captain finally closed the artifact rack and turned to face his team. His gaze was calm—but razor sharp, like a blade honed over centuries.
"Full prep. Void Lock activates in three minutes."
He didn't need to repeat himself. His voice alone froze the entire chamber.
No questions. No hesitation.
Not far from the Birthstar Chamber of Commerce, on the seventh floor of a five-star restaurant, Lein sat at a silver-trimmed round table with his companions. The black tablecloth shimmered faintly beneath ambient lighting. Transparent crystal panels surrounded the room, offering a breathtaking view of the floating cosmic city—where lights danced through the air and the dimensional sky shimmered with rainbow-hued auroras.
On the table, the warm aroma of roasted meat coated in rare white spice filled the air, blending with the floral scent of violet blossom bread and crystal-infused tea—delicacies seldom found even in intergalactic trade hubs.
Lein inhaled slowly, letting the fragrant atmosphere sink into his lungs. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, where radiant dimensional light pulsed like silent starlight.
"The higher a civilization climbs," he murmured, lips curling into a faint smile, "the closer they reach the heavens."
Efan, who had just sliced into something on his plate, looked up with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean, Brother Lein?"
Laras nodded slightly, her gaze sweeping over the elegant interior. "I think I get it. The more they evolve, the stronger their desire to transcend—to become more than they are."
She chuckled softly. "But in the end, we're all the same... just beings trying to survive. Even back on Mars, we still dreamed of the stars."
Efan didn't want to look like he didn't understand, so he simply smiled and returned to his plate. But his eyes betrayed a quiet struggle to make sense of the philosophical undertones.
They continued their meal in peace. The conversation shifted to lighter topics—mostly thanks to Efan, who had already ordered more than five main dishes. Gentle laughter, clinking silverware, and the occasional clatter of plates created a tranquil, intimate ambiance.
Dragnar, as usual, ate quickly and in silence. He touched only the roasted meat—reaching for seconds, but little else.
Once their meal ended, Lein leaned back in his chair and lifted a crystal teacup. Warm steam curled into the air, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
A pale blue glow flickered in his right palm as a holographic blueprint emerged—the design for the Law Sword he had won at the auction. The projection rotated slowly, revealing intricate inner mechanisms embedded with cosmic runes.
"If even a divine blacksmith had to die to craft this design... then who among us is worthy to forge it?" he muttered.
Despite his ability to replicate nearly anything in the cosmos, this blueprint was more than just a design. It held a will—a living imprint of its creator, not merely technical knowledge.
Lein's thoughts turned to Bagus, a teammate who had devoted his life to the art of forging. But as far as Lein remembered, Bagus hadn't yet reached the Grandmaster level. And to forge this weapon... talent alone wouldn't be enough. One needed understanding—of the Law itself.
"You look troubled, Brother Lein," Laras said gently, watching him from across the table. "Is the blueprint... that difficult to forge?"
Lein met her gaze, then nodded slowly. The glowing projection still hovered above his hand.
"Not just difficult," he replied quietly. "It's almost impossible... without sacrifice."
He looked at the blueprint once more—as if hoping the answer would emerge from the ethereal lines of blue light.