Master of the System

Luthor tapped his fingers against his desk, reading the report floating in the lens of his glasses. Before his term as president, his predecessor had heavily promoted exploration into the unknown regions of the universe. Rather than competing with the empire and the coalition for resources in the known universe, the previous president of the federation decided efforts would be better focused elsewhere. Of course, the moment Luthor took over and stepped into office, he abolished the scouting plan. Although scouting was important, military strength was much more important. It took seven nascent soul experts to man one scouting ship. At the same time, seven nascent soul experts could lead seven whole fleets or pilot seven BARs—short for big-ass robots. If the previous president hadn’t used up their nascent soul experts on the gamble known as exploration, would the federation be in such a passive position? The empire and coalition were nibbling away at the federation’s territory, and the worst part about it was the federation simply didn’t have enough military force to keep them away.

It was only at this moment, three hundred years into Luthor’s term, that he was thankfully for his predecessor’s actions. Of the seventeen scouting ships that had been sent out, one of them finally provided real results! Of course, there were reports of all kinds of planets, but the resources required to mine them outweighed the cost of what they’d receive in return. It was only now that a planet worth warping to was discovered. According to the packet of data sent by the beacon, the planet was one comprised of cultivators. Not only did they discover intelligent life, but the cultivators they found were also living in the past! It wouldn’t take much to convince them to join the federation.

The initial reports claimed there was one peak soul-seed expert and at least several dozen nascent-soul cultivators. What did that mean? It meant the shortage in high-level combatants would be filled! Not only would it be filled, but with the soul-seed expert, the federation could actually bite back at the empire and coalition. In the entire explored universe, only three false immortals existed—unless there were reclusive hermits who refused to show themselves. A peak soul-seed expert was basically an unparalleled combat force. If they piloted a BAR, nothing could stop them on the battlefield.

Luthor continued tapping his fingers on his desk, but his mind was already set. A delegation needed to be sent to the newly discovered planet. Peaceful measures had to be taken, but at the same time, a demonstration of strength was necessary. The only problem was the soul-seed expert seemed to be unusually aggressive. What kind of strength was necessary to deter her? A few BARs would do it, but if something went wrong, the strength of the federation would plummet. Perhaps it’d be best to show off their technological strength rather than individual strength. Luthor’s fingers stopped tapping against the desk, and he placed a finger on his glasses, activating a microphone. “I’ve made a decision.”

***

Azalea stopped swinging her sword and put it away. She glanced at Grandpa Vremya, who was sitting on the ground while tinkering with an armor set. There was a pulsating titan heart beside him, but it was covered in a layer of ice, preventing tentacles from forming around it. “Do you really think a war will break out?” Azalea asked and sat across from Grandpa Vremya.

“It’s better to be prepared than not,” Grandpa Vremya said without looking up. “If you prepare for war, and it doesn’t happen, then you’ll have spent money on unused vehicles that can be used in later wars. If you don’t prepare for war, and it happens, then you’ve already lost.” He painted over the armor set with titan blood. “That’s why, you should keep practicing.”

Azalea rolled her eyes. She had been training her skills for the past twenty hours without taking a break. Hadn’t she practiced enough for the day? “If a war does break out, will you be ready for it?”

Grandpa Vremya glanced at Azalea and pointed at the armor set lying on the ground. “Do you think I’m doing this for fun?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Azalea said. “You have this thing against killing, right? War is brutal. Deaths are inevitable. Can you really participate?”

Grandpa Vremya straightened his back, turning his attention away from the golem. “The road to the peak of power is built upon countless corpses. If you think you can become an immortal without generating an ounce of bad karma, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Question marks floated above Azalea’s head. The road to the peak of power is built upon countless corpses? Was this still the person who bragged about never killing an insect or even a blade of grass? “Weren’t you the one who was always telling me to carefully think about my actions before doing them lest they generate bad karma? Didn’t you say you can’t become an immortal if your karma is too bad?”

“That’s true too.”

Azalea tilted her head, even more confused than before. Weren’t those two statements incompatible? If killing people generated bad karma, and if bad karma prevented one from becoming an immortal, how was it possible the road to immortality was built upon killing people? “Can you elaborate?”

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard. “If you have a chat with a person, does that generate bad karma?”

“No…?”

“If that person is a doctor, does it make a difference?”

Azalea scratched her head. “It shouldn’t. I don’t think talking with doctors generate bad karma.”

“Let’s pretend there’s a dying patient who can be saved by the doctor nearby. If you talk to the doctor, and this chat results in the patient’s death because the doctor was distracted, does that generate bad karma?”

Azalea pursed her lips. “Rather than quizzing me, can you just tell me the answer?”

“These are things you have to think through yourself,” Grandpa Vremya said and shook his head. “The rules of karma are complex. Since I didn’t think you’d be able to remember and apply them all in the appropriate situations, I simplified it for you.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” Azalea said, her face darkening. This was Grandpa Vremya’s way of telling her she was stupid, wasn’t it? “Can you simplify the way to kill people without generating bad karma for me?”

“That’s easy,” Grandpa Vremya said. “Don’t kill them.”

“You’re just leading me around in circles!” Azalea stamped her foot and stood up. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Grandpa Vremya let out a sigh and shook his head. “You’re still too young. Do you know the most dominating way to defeat your opponent?”

“Isn’t that simple?” Azalea asked. “Killing them with a single flick of your finger.”

“That’s not it,” Grandpa Vremya said and slowly stood up. “The most dominating way to defeat your opponent is to not fight at all.” He waved his hand, and thousands upon thousands of golems appeared in the sky above him. The pressure created by the golems’ auras caused Azalea’s blood to run cold. “Do you dare to fight me?”

“Obviously not,” Azalea said, eyeballing the army in the sky. If all of them threw a pebble at her, she’d probably die from the sheer number of projectiles. It’d be suicidal to fight an army like that. “Wait, didn’t you say the path to power was built upon countless corpses. With your method, you don’t kill anyone at all!”

“I know,” Grandpa Vremya said and nodded. He put away his golems. “My previous words were advice for you. Since your golem-creation skills are terrible, there’s no way you can imitate my style: for you, killing is inevitable—just don’t do it too often or your tribulation will obliterate you.”

Azalea’s eye twitched. She wanted to verbally whip Grandpa Vremya but chose to forget it instead. If she had time to be annoyed at him, then she had time to train.