Through his necrodragon, the Silent King unleashed Yellow Springs Tremor, once more forcing Roya back.
Then, with another savage lash of the reins in his hand, fresh psychic energy surged along the chains, halting the retreat of the earlier wave that had been driven back by the Star-Gods' counterforce.
But in doing so, the Silent King was dragged into the very scenario he dreaded most—one he had never even considered possible: a direct psychic power struggle at the absolute limit.
In this state, his soul had no choice but to bind completely with his material form, stripping away his ability to retreat into the warp at will. His greatest advantage in maneuver was gone.
"Now!"
The three Star-Gods cried out in unison, urging Roya—this was the perfect moment to unleash a decisive strike.
Yet Roya did not follow their expectation. He did not seize the chance to land a killing blow.
Instead, he suddenly wheeled about, chasing after the triple-layered psychic shockwave the Star-Gods had unleashed in defiance of the Silent King.
It wasn't ignorance. Roya knew well this was a chance hard-won—rare, fleeting.
The three Star-Gods had been imprisoned in forged fragments of living metal for tens of millennia, their souls starving and frail.
Even working together, they could only barely resist the Silent King's furious onslaught. At most, ten seconds, and they would collapse, bound once more by his wrath and by the will of the Fearless Ones that fueled his power.
And then their resistance would end, their chains reforged, their rebellion crushed.
Still, Roya abandoned the strike. He turned instead to intercept the shockwave.
For if that wave reached the outer battlefield at the edge of the dead starfield, his army would be annihilated.
No one could withstand a force equal to ten stellar detonations layered as one.
Not even the strongest—Nuwa's team, or Whitebeard, or Kaido—could survive. Their spirits would be torn apart, leaving them husks, lifeless bodies with only empty eyes.
The Silent King could be killed another day. But the army that had followed him this far—he would not let them die for nothing.
In an instant, he caught up with the shockwave.
He cast his psychic power like water, weaving it into layer upon layer of netting, spreading it across the wave's edges, extending outward until the monstrous surge was caught in his snare.
Then he braced.
The shockwave slammed into his barrier.
Blow upon blow, hammer upon hammer, relentless, deafening, like countless smiths striking iron on the anvil of his skull. Roya's vision shuddered.
Each net shattered in turn, breaking apart to bleed off the force.
It went on for more than half a minute before the storm finally abated.
Roya exhaled sharply, steadying the spirit that had nearly been pulverized.
Though his psychic strength far outstripped any single Star-God, bearing the combined backlash of all three, even with the unique resilience of his spirit, was grueling in the extreme.
Even the Ancient Saint Mecha could not withstand the pressure. Buffeted backward, it tumbled into the very heart of the outer battlefield.
"My lord!"
Nuwa cried out in alarm. But her mecha was still in overload lockout; she and her squad could not sortie to aid him.
At that moment, the voices of the three Star-Gods reached him from the starfield's core, ragged with despair and rage.
"Roya, you fool! You don't deserve to win!"
Clearly, their fate was sealed.
Roya only snorted coldly. He swept his spirit across the battlefield, steadying his stunned soldiers, calming their hesitation.
Then, faster than before, he launched himself back toward the starfield's heart.
Seconds later, he stood once more before the Silent King.
The Star-Gods' souls were now veiled in foul green, half-formed, flickering at the threshold of warp and realspace, unable to move, wholly enslaved.
Their bodies in the material world crouched meekly beside the necrodragon, like hounds awaiting their master's command.
The Silent King looked down on Roya, disdainful.
"You've lost your chance to strike me. Even if it was only the barest chance to wound me, it was the only chance you had. And now it is gone."
Roya's voice was cold:
"So—just as you sacrificed your entire people to buy this accursed life, I was supposed to throw away hundreds of thousands of soldiers just to land one blow on you?"
"And because I chose otherwise, I'm a fool in your eyes—and theirs? Someone too blind to seize the chance to save himself?"
The Silent King stroked the signet ring on his finger, voice steeped in grim reflection:
"The universe is boundless. In this galaxy alone there are one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-seven civilizations. Across the cosmos, the sentient races are without number.
"Of course, among them are countless youths as dazzling as you.
"But now, all these civilizations, all these worlds—they are my resources. No matter how brilliant a youth may be, at best they are my servant. The rest? Fodder, to be harvested, again and again."
"And now… it is your turn."
His tone grew calm, almost weary, as though the brief excitement of being forced from slumber had already faded. The adversary who had stirred him—Roya—had squandered his one chance. The game was already decided.
"You wish to protect those pitiful things who cannot even protect themselves? Very well. I shall grant your wish.
"I will spare your soul. You will live to watch, as the two worlds you freed from my harvesters fall once more into endless cycles of reaping."
"Soul Absolution!"
The Silent King stamped down.
The necrodragon's jaws gaped wide. A tide of ochre mist spewed forth.
Unlike the gray-brown haze before, which spread slow and vast, this ochre mist was small in volume, but faster than lightning.
In the blink of an eye, it tore through the countless layers of psychic barriers Roya had woven around himself, and struck straight at his soul.
And in that instant, the dying screams of every harvested life across the galaxy roared through his spirit. Their despair buzzed in his mind, an endless swarm of cries and eyes that would never close.
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