Chapter 165: This is Too Hasty
"The so-called Grand Regent is actually saying the word 'truce'?"
"If you don't give me a reasonable explanation, I'm really going to feel very uncomfortable."
"When I'm uncomfortable, I feel like destroying something."
He paused, his eyes burning with golden-red flames staring straight at Thragg.
"Tell me, what would happen if I bored a hole right through this planet?"
Mark said, his gaze fierce and predatory.
He had just secretly learned a new move and hadn't even shown it off yet; what did it mean for you to suddenly come out with the word "truce"?
Crucially, when you said "truce," I actually stopped, and you didn't even attack me again.
Facing someone as powerful as me, you didn't even try a sneak attack!
Do you still have any basic respect for your opponent?!
I've been thinking about sneak attacking you this whole time!
By suddenly being so righteous and honorable, doesn't that make me look like a villain?
How can you be so selfish?!
"Do not do things that will make both you and I regret."
Thragg's voice was as calm as water.
He lowered the hand he had held in front of him and stood with his hands behind his back.
His 2.1-meter frame looked like a sculpture in the sunlight.
"I have an absolutely legitimate reason for saying this."
He looked at Mark, his gaze filled only with openness and integrity.
There wasn't a trace of anger from being threatened by a junior, nor the embarrassment of an old-timer about to be left behind by the era.
Only composure!
Mark didn't pull back his fist, but he didn't advance another inch either.
He simply watched Thragg, waiting for his explanation.
"This battle should not be decided here."
Thragg's voice softened, like a parent explaining to a child why they had to wait for the cake to cool before cutting it.
"That would be too hasty."
He looked up, his gaze passing over the Earth they had battered beyond recognition, toward the grayish-white city in the distance.
"At the very least, all Viltrumites must witness it."
His voice became solemn, as if reading a sacred decree.
"Craig!"
He suddenly turned his head toward the general who was holding his cape.
"Summon all Viltrumites!"
The voice was like thunder, like a horn, like a war drum.
"Whether pureblood or hybrid—"
His gaze swept over everyone present, finally landing on Mark.
"I want all those of Viltrumite blood to witness this battle."
"To witness to whom the throne of the true King belongs!"
General Craig was stunned.
"Great Grand Regent..."
He hesitated for a moment, asking cautiously.
"Even the hybrids?"
General Craig was somewhat shocked.
He could understand summoning the current forty-eight pureblood Viltrumites.
After all, they represented the entirety of Viltrum's current combat power.
But why summon those hybrids they had bred so haphazardly?
Since the Grand Regent issued the order for them to find races compatible with Viltrumite blood, the Viltrumites had made many attempts, but all were unsatisfactory.
Those hybrids were always born with traits from the other race.
Some had green skin, some had antennae, some had an extra pair of eyes, and some were missing an arm.
Pureblood Viltrumites could master the full range of Smart Atoms abilities from birth.
However, the time it took for a hybrid Viltrumite to awaken was heavily dependent on their non-Viltrumite parentage.
For example, offspring born from a union with an Earthlingwould awaken their superpowers at eighteen.
Offspring born from a short-lived species like the Mantis People would awaken their superpowers at just over a year old.
The key point was—once they awakened, although these new races were stronger than their original species, their strength was still quite limited when facing a true Viltrumite.
Compared to these other hybrid races, the descendants bred with the Mantis People were among the most excellent batches.
Growing fast meant the Viltrumite genes took over faster, superpowers awakened faster, and strength increased faster.
Some races awakened their superpowers slowly and weren't even compatible with Viltrumite genes; they could be called defective among the defective.
Furthermore, under Thragg's leadership, Viltrumites extremely loathed hybrids, so those newly born hybrids were generally left to fend for themselves on their mother planets.
Accumulated over many years of defense work, there should be several thousand of them by now.
"Do I need to repeat myself, Craig?"
Thragg's voice was as calm as water, but his eyes held an unquestionable authority.
"I have already said—everyone."
He paused, and his majestic gaze softened slightly.
"The coming era belongs to the hybrids."
"As long as they are hybrids, we should view them with an inclusive mindset."
The Grand Regent looked at Craig, his expression actually appearing somewhat gentle.
That gentleness was extremely rare on Thragg's face.
It was as rare as waking up from a nap with a 'clear-headed' buff.
"Viltrum's future was determined just a moment ago."
His gaze passed over Craig, passed over everyone, and landed on the distant horizon.
There, the star of Viltrum was slowly sinking in the west, dyeing the entire sky a warm orange-red.
"A road of glory is already waiting for us."
"We will return to our peak, and even go a step further."
He withdrew his gaze and looked at Mark.
"And what must be done is to embrace the hybrids."
"Since it must be done, then do it to the fullest—accept all hybrids."
His voice became even firmer.
"But with the Earthling hybrids as the leaders!"
Craig was stunned.
He felt the aura the Grand Regent was displaying at this moment; it was a majesty that came from the heart, making one want to bow down.
He was actually willing to accept the offspring born from those weak races?
For the future of Viltrum, the Grand Regent could actually suppress his disgust to such an extent!
Yes—Craig knew very well that the Grand Regent was among the Viltrumites who hated hybrids the most!
When those hybrids were first being created, it was the Grand Regent who first ordered them sent to their home planets to fend for themselves.
When those hybrids showed talent inferior to purebloods, it was the Grand Regent who first announced the cessation of the large-scale breeding program.
But compared to the bright future of Viltrum, hybrids were simply irrelevant!
In any case, they wouldn't continue breeding with those races, so supporting them for a few hundred years didn't matter.
Showing their inclusivity to Earth and strengthening racial integration was what was most important!
"What do you say, warrior who wishes to contend for my throne?"
Thragg's voice pulled Mark back from his thoughts.
He looked at Mark; the battle intent in his eyes had receded, replaced by a mild, elder-like kindness.
"All Viltrumite bloodlines will witness this succession ceremony."
The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, his expression even becoming pleasant.
"Are you willing to give this battle a few more days of preparation time?"
Mark looked at Thragg, looking at this man who just a moment ago was trading bone-crunching blows with him, wishing to bury him into the planet's core.
That neatly trimmed mustache twitched slightly, and that face, which looked remarkably like Lu Xun, carried a gentleness that was hard to refuse.
"Ah, that reason is acceptable."
Mark withdrew his fist and rolled his shoulders.
"Then I'll endure it for a little while."
"After all, the best food is always saved for last."
Faced with Mark's provocation, the Grand Regent only laughed heartily.
The laughter echoed across the vast land, making the air tremble and the gravel dance.
The more he looked at this junior, the more satisfied he became!
Chapter 166: Mixed-Blood Descendants of Viltrum
At this moment, several mixed-blood Viltrumite descendants were recalled.
The news spread to every corner of the Milky Way Galaxythrough the Viltrumite Empire's remaining communication network.
Those mixed-bloods who had been abandoned on their home planets to fend for themselves.
Those Sub-Viltrumites who had never seen what the Viltrumite homeworld looked like, alien creatures with thin Viltrumite blood flowing through their veins.
They received the summons and came from all directions.
Anissa was in charge of the reception.
She hovered above Viltrum's central plaza, her short hair fluttering gently in the wind.
Her white Imperial combat suit clung to her slender body, shimmering with a cold luster under the starlight.
Her expression was cold, as if carved with a knife, so cold that the mixed-bloods stepping out of the spaceships didn't dare look up at her.
As a pure-blooded Viltrumite, Anissa placed extreme importance on bloodline.
Therefore, she had never mated with any outside race.
She could not bear the thought of the weak touching her body!
Those alien creatures with soft skin, flabby muscles, brittle bones, and ragged breathing made her feel uncomfortable just by being near her.
In their eyes, there was fawning, fear, and a humility that made her sick.
That was not the gaze a warrior should have, nor the gaze of a creature that could stand beside a Viltrumite.
At the same time, among the existing pure-blooded Viltrumites, Anissa belonged to the youngest generation.
She had seen Viltrum before the Great Purge—that empire of tens of billions, with ten thousand ships launching at once, dominating the galaxy.
She had seen the invincible figures of her fathers on the battlefield.
She had seen the casual, composed grace of her mothers in the cities, and the countless sparring matches between peers competing for the title of'Strongest'.
Now, most of those peers were dead.
Dead from the scourge virus, dead under the blades of the Great Purge, dead in some corner of the Universe without even leaving a corpse behind.
Without mandatory orders, these pure-blooded Viltrumites had suppressed their physiological needs to the point of non-existence.
They had no partners, no descendants, no families—only combat and waiting.
Waiting for the day of the Empire's restoration, waiting for the sparks of their race to be reignited.
Anissa frowned as she watched the mixed-bloods filing out of the spaceships.
She couldn't imagine that the Grand Regent would actually agree to let so many mixed-bloods return to Viltrum.
Hundreds, thousands—no, tens of thousands—
The ships landed one after another, each carrying dozens of families.
Old people, women, children, men...
Their skin was green, blue, purple, orange.
They had compound eyes, single eyes, no eyes; their limbs were tentacles, arthropod legs, wings, or they had no limbs at all.
When these mixed-bloods returned, they brought their entire families with them.
Most of them had married wives from their maternal races and produced offspring.
Possessing Viltrumite blood, they were already transcendently powerful within their original races.
Having more partners and more descendants was perfectly normal.
The wives looked at this gray-white city with awe-filled eyes.
They looked at the pure-blooded Viltrumites hovering in the air and at this land they had only heard of in legends.
The children hid behind their parents, peeking out with curious eyes to observe this strange world.
Anissa's gaze swept across face after face, her internal disgust surging like an undercurrent.
But she held it back.
Because of the Grand Regent's command, and because—she thought of Mark.
That mixed-blood.
That Earth hybrid.
If the Grand Regent was right, if mixed-bloods really were the future of Viltrum.
Then these mixed-bloods before her, with their varied appearances, uneven abilities, and thin bloodlines, were the foundation of the future Empire.
And she had to learn to accept them.
Genes would weaken with each generation.
The descendants of those mixed-bloods clearly showed more maternal traits.
Some had green skin, some had compound eyes, some had antennae, and some had arthropod limbs.
Their heights were inconsistent; some were barely over a meter tall, while others exceeded three meters.
Their intelligence also varied wildly; some could communicate fluently in Viltrumite, while others could only make unintelligible sounds.
Viltrumites were almost like the dragons of myth and legend.
Whether Western or Eastern dragons, they all shared a common ability—they could produce offspring with any race.
The resulting offspring were dragon-kin, inheriting a portion of the dragon's power, also known as Sub-dragon species.
True dragons looked down upon these sub-dragons.
Because while these sub-dragons were stronger than their maternal race, they were absolutely not as strong as a true dragon.
Their scales weren't hard enough, their dragon fire wasn't hot enough, their wings weren't large enough, and their dragon souls weren't pure enough.
They were merely shadows of the dragon race, diluted versions of dragon power, the leftovers of the dragon bloodline.
It was the same logic behind pure-blooded Viltrumites discriminating against mixed-bloods.
Because these mixed-blood descendants, as they continued to interbreed through the generations, would only get weaker and weaker.
A first-generation hybrid might inherit seventy to eighty percent of a Viltrumite's power; the second generation only fifty to sixty percent; the third generation thirty to forty percent; and by the tenth generation...
They might not even be able to fly, left with only a physique slightly stronger than their maternal race and a slightly longer lifespan.
Watching the various mixed-blood descendants leading their families to the central stage of planet Viltrum, the Grand Regent hovered in the distance.
The red cape on his back fluttered gently in the wind as he stood with his arms crossed, watching with a cold eye.
It wasn't that he particularly wanted to kill this group of mixed-blood descendants now.
After all, from the moment he decided to accept mixed-bloods, he had already viewed them as members of the Viltrumite Empire.
The phrase 'killing one's own' did not exist in his dictionary—
At least not without a justifiable reason.
The reason for his cold gaze was, first, to maintain the majesty of the Grand Regent.
He was the ruler of the Empire, the strongest among the existing Viltrumites, the man who had led this race to rise from the ruins.
He couldn't show a gentle expression; he couldn't let these mixed-bloods think that the ruler of Viltrum was a pushover.
Second, it was because—this group of descendants really didn't blend well with the Viltrumite bloodline.
Thragg's gaze swept across face after face, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.
The one with octopus tentacles, the one covered in scales, the one with transparent skin, the one with three legs...
"Sigh..."
Thragg let out a heavy sigh.
He had lived for so many years; what kind of creature hadn't he seen?
But gathering so many bizarrely shaped mixed-bloods together still made his eyes ache.
Where on Earth did his subordinates find all these 'Pokémon' for him?
At this moment, Mark was also flying beside the Grand Regent, similarly frowning and watching the group of mixed-blood descendants with a cold eye.
Their appearances were indeed quite... diverse.
Chapter 167: What Kind of Ghost Place is Earth?
The Hybrids who had just stepped out of the spaceship had fluorescent green skin that shimmered in the sunlight like a walking neon light.
Two antennae grew from his head, with small spheres at the tips where something seemed to be flowing inside.
Another Hybrids was even more preposterous; his body was semi-transparent, allowing one to vaguely see the bones and internal organs within.
His eyes had no pupils, just a uniform milky white, but he clearly could see.
This was evident in how agilely he moved while avoiding other pedestrians.
There was also a Hybrids at least three meters tall with deep blue skin covered in dark red patterns.
His limbs were extremely thick, like four pillars, and the ground trembled slightly with every step he took.
However, his head was very small, completely disproportionate to his body, like a basketball placed on a large bucket.
No wonder the people of Viltrum couldn't accept it.
After all, for Earthlings, especially when white or Asian people give birth to a black-skinned boy, it can be enough to cause a heart attack from rage.
Not to mention Viltrumites seeing their children born with tentacles, horns, or skin colors as unpredictable as opening a blind box.
Red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and purple—there was always a variety you could never imagine.
Mark thought of the fantasy movies he had seen as a child.
Elves, dwarves, orcs, dragons—those races that only existed in imagination were now appearing vividly before him.
Except, a trace of Viltrum blood flowed through all their veins.
"You're saying you didn't awaken your superpowers—your Viltrumite lineage—until you were eighteen, right?"
The Grand Regent's brow furrowed in annoyance as he decisively changed the subject.
His gaze moved away from those Hybridss and landed on Mark's face, as if looking for a place to rest his eyes.
"That's right."
Mark nodded, also withdrawing his gaze from the Hybridss.
"I only awakened my abilities a little over a year ago.
Before that, my physical body was quite fragile, only considered a mid-tier race in terms of combat power in the galaxy."
He spoke casually, as if discussing something that had nothing to do with him.
But Thragg listened very intently.
"I learned from talking to Nolan last night that Superhumans are born on Earth. Is that also true?"
Thragg's voice became somewhat strange.
"From a group of mid-tier races, all sorts of people with various bizarre abilities are born?
Through technology, biological mutation, alien tech, divine blessings, cultural inheritance, and all sorts of reasons?"
The further the Grand Regent spoke, the stranger his expression became.
Viltrumites had reproduced for tens of thousands of years without birthing more than a few with special abilities.
At most, they were born with a bit more strength or faster recovery.
This wide variety of superpowers caught the old-school Viltrumites a bit off guard.
"Uh..."
Hearing the Grand Regent's serious analysis, Mark was also helpless.
He couldn't refute it at all; after all, the superpowered individuals on Earth really were diverse to the extreme.
That's just how the world of Superheroes is; some rich playboy can put on a high-tech suit, drive a car, and go fight crime.
When he gets excited, he can even trade a few blows with Superman, who is even stronger than a Viltrumite.
And after all that, he still calls himself an ordinary person.
What kind of ordinary person can hold their breath underwater for ten minutes and basically eliminate the need for basic sleep?
After experiencing a broken back, fractures, gas in the face, skin damage, muscle strains, punctured lungs, a shattered heart, and other severe disabilities...
He can still jump around and continue fighting crime?
Even at fifty, without any Superhuman enhancement, you, Master Wayne, can flip a gang over with your bare hands!
While saying he's old and useless, he puts on his armor, grabs a steel cable, and cosplays as the Gotham version of Spider-Man.
Spider-Man's motto is 'with great power comes great responsibility.'
You, Master Wayne, directly mistook 'power' for 'wealth.'
With a slap to the head, he realizes: 'Wait, the whole of Gotham is my responsibility!'
He's practically more like a Superman than I am.
One can only say that on Earth...
The gap between one ordinary person and another might be even larger than the gap between an ordinary person and a Viltrumite.
"Perhaps this is the charm of my mother's racial bloodline."
Mark weighed his words, trying to make his explanation sound reasonable.
"Among the powerhouses born of Earthlings, some can even threaten Viltrumites.
Their abilities are even more varied... some can travel through parallel worlds, and others can control atomic power to bring people back from the dead.
There are even those who are Immortal; even if you crush their head, they can heal themselves back..."
He paused, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
"A saying has spread over on our side: 'What will you still have five hundred years from now?'
'Five hundred years later, you'll still have the Immortal.'"
When not fighting, Mark was still extremely humorous.
After all, this was the key to keeping life interesting.
Unfortunately, the Grand Regent had been serious for too long to understand these shocking words.
What did he mean by traveling through parallel worlds?
And controlling atoms?
If this developed further, would Earthlings soon be able to pause time, reverse time, delete time, or even accelerate time to restart the Universe?
"Earth... is truly a magical place..."
Thragg murmured to himself.
His voice carried an indescribable emotion, like lamentation, confusion, and also—expectation.
"Then it seems that your overcoming the solar particlesand obtaining such an astonishing speed of growth must also be due to some kind of mutation."
He reorganized his thoughts, trying to use Viltrumite logic to explain Mark's existence.
"After all, there are so many diverse ways for special abilities to be born on your side; yours should belong to a natural mutation type."
Analyzing it now, the Grand Regent attributed Mark's displayed transcendent strength to this.
He believed that on the foundation of being a Viltrumite, Mark had mutated a super top-tier ability.
At this thought, the Grand Regent wanted to speed up the fusion of Viltrumite and Earth genes even more.
Who could refuse this kind of blind box?
Maybe an SSR would be pulled in the next second!
If a Viltrumite descendant obtained a superpower that strengthened their own power a hundredfold...
Then the Grand Regent believed that descendant would definitely be a Viltrumite among Viltrumites!
Just like Mark's future.
Able to become stronger than him in just over a year!
What would happen if he were given a few more years?
Perhaps in another ten thousand years, Mark's position would be standing at the end of the long river of time, his back to all living beings, the words from his mouth like the laws of the world:
"An enemy defeated by my hand is never again regarded as a rival. I shall give you time to catch up, until I am beyond even your sight."
"I am looking forward to the blending of the two races more and more."
Thragg's voice carried a hint of eagerness.
"However, a situation like yours is still very likely to be an extremely rare exception.
After all, our racial genes are very aggressive and highly stable, which greatly eliminates the probability of mutation."
He paused, as if thinking about something.
"Mid-tier races have their own advantages—their genes are unstable and easier to change."
The Grand Regent sighed.
Mark agreed with the Grand Regent's words.
It was very difficult to become even stronger on the basis of an already strong race.
Viltrumite genes were already nearing perfection; trying to upgrade this perfect blueprint was like adding a stroke to a painting that was already full.
The slightest mistake could ruin the entire painting.
Chapter 168: The Golden Giant
But Earthling genes are different.
They may not be perfect, nor strong enough.
They cannot traverse the stars with their physical bodies, let alone ponder the meaning of life beside a black hole.
But they are full of variables and possibilities.
When the first ape looked up at the starry sky, the entire expanse of space had already become the future battlefield for humanity.
It is like a blank sheet of paper; one can draw any pattern, paint any color, and create any miracle upon it.
Let's first breed a portion of Earthling-Viltrum hybrids to expand the population to one hundred thousand, then bring those descendants back to Viltrum to continue pure-blood reproduction.
If a race wants to avoid population collapse due to inbreeding, the population must be maintained at a minimum of ten thousand.
But considering that there are only about fifty Viltrumites left, the genetic coverage will be even higher.
Therefore, Mark decided to increase the proportion of the upcoming Viltrumite hybrids.
But Earthling genes must certainly be preserved as well.
Humanity is a race forever full of infinite possibilities.
Perhaps in forty thousand years, human technology will be able to expand to conquer the entire galaxy.
Perhaps within the human race, a golden giant over four meters tall will be born.
Creating a group of super badass hunks with two hearts and three lungs!
Then, leading his 21 sons, he could embark on a mighty galactic crusade that would rival the Viltrumite conquest.
Indulging in daddy issues throughout the galaxy.
Mark suddenly froze.
Thinking about it this way, human aggression and racial obsession seem even more extreme than the Viltrumites.
Forget about crossbreeding with aliens; even if you crossbred with anything, I'd still call it a piece of shit!
Beating them all into a pulp would be getting off easy!
The future of the human race is always so unpredictable, yet so full of anticipation.
Mark's gaze drifted past the hybrids gathering in the plaza and looked toward the gray-white city in the distance.
The capital of Viltrum, once a bustling hub of ten billion people, was now left with only empty silence.
There was no one on the streets, no sound in the plazas, only the wind passing through the buildings, making a wailing sound.
He could only imagine the city's peak period from Nolan's descriptions.
Imagining those Viltrumites in white uniforms flying in from all directions.
Imagining those warships lining up in the starry sky, imagining those conquerors planting the Empire's flag on countless planets.
Today, this city has fewer than fifty pure-blood inhabitants left.
Including these hybrids, there are only a few thousand.
There is still a long way to go before "revival"...
"I need to take good care of my body from now on."
The Grand Regent's voice came from the side, low and calm.
He hovered there, arms crossed, his red cape fluttering gently in the wind.
He withdrew his gaze from the hybrids and looked toward the distant skyline.
Mark turned his head and looked at him.
His face, which bore a striking resemblance to Lu Xun, was devoid of any expression at this moment.
But Mark could feel that something was settling in those deep eyes.
It wasn't exhaustion, nor relief, but a kind of—he couldn't find the right word to describe it.
It was the end of one era and the beginning of another.
Thragg could sense that Mark's strength was above his own.
In other words, this highly anticipated battle was the ceremony he had prepared for Mark to succeed to the throne of the Grand Regent!
Letting Mark, under the witness of all Viltrumite bloodlines, defeat him, a relic of the old era, and lead Viltrum to a brand-new peak!
As for him, he was once the strongest combatant, after all, and his own genes were absolutely top-tier; he would certainly have to contribute heavily to the upcoming expansion of Viltrum.
But being several thousand years old, the Grand Regentdecided that before contributing heavily, he must take care of his body.
Mark looked at Thragg and suddenly smiled.
This old guy, talking about taking care of his body, had actually conceded in his heart long ago.
The reason he wanted to gather all the Viltrumites, the reason he wanted to hold this grand ceremony, and the reason he wanted everyone to witness it...
…was not to show off his own power, but to personally hand the throne to Mark.
Thragg was the Grand Regent of Viltrum, the strongest warrior among the surviving Viltrumites, and the backbone of this race.
And at this moment, this backbone was slowly bending down, passing the weight it had carried for thousands of years onto his shoulders.
"Rest assured."
Mark's voice was soft, but every word was clear.
"I will not let you down."
Thragg turned his head and looked at Mark.
A glimmer of light flashed in those deep eyes.
"I know," Thragg said.
Then he turned his head and continued to look into the distance.
The sunset had already sunk below the horizon, leaving only a streak of dark red afterglow on the horizon.
Stars began to appear, one by one, more and more, finally filling the entire sky.
That was the starry sky of Viltrum.
That was the direction watched by ten billion souls.
Night fell.
Viltrum had no moon, but the starlight was bright enough.
Those rays of light traveled across light-years of distance, falling onto the gray-white city, gilding every building with a layer of silver halo.
The hybrids had already been arranged in temporary housing on the outskirts of the city.
Those dwellings were built by Viltrumites using Smart Atoms within a few hours.
Gray-white, simple, square buildings without any decorations.
Arranged in rows around the plaza, like rows of soldiers waiting for inspection.
Anissa stood at the edge of the plaza, watching those buildings.
Her expression remained cold, but there was a subtle, imperceptible change in those silver eyes.
Those hybrids, those Viltrumites she had once disdained, were now settling down in those buildings.
Children were running in the corridors, their laughter echoing in the night sky.
Women were chatting at the doorways, communicating in various forms of language.
Men were gathering together, discussing arrangements for tomorrow.
They looked—like a family.
Not an empire, not an army, not conquerors.
But a family.
Anissa recalled her own childhood.
Back then, Viltrum still had a population of ten billion; there were people everywhere in the city, and the streets were filled with sound.
Although everyone was bloodthirsty, at least there were people.
Now, all of that was gone.
But at this moment, listening to the laughter of those hybrid children, Anissa suddenly felt a bit lost.
Chapter 169: Are You Lost, Young Girl?
Anissa hovered in the shadows at the edge of the plaza, her short silver-white hair fluttering gently in the night breeze.
Her gaze fell upon the Hybrids who were settling into their temporary shelters.
Those children, those women—those Viltrumites she had once looked down upon.
Right now, they were laughing and playing, living in a way she had almost forgotten.
Living.
Not fighting, not conquering, not waiting for death.
Just living.
She suddenly felt a bit lost.
This wasn't the first time this confusion had appeared.
In the days after the Great Purge, it often felt like an invisible hand clutching her throat in the dead of night.
She told herself that Viltrumites didn't need confusion; they only needed to move forward.
Forward to battle, forward to conquest, forward toward death—or toward Eternity.
But now, watching those hybrid children running under the starlight and hearing their laughter echo in the night sky, she suddenly didn't know what "moving forward" was for.
For the revival of the Empire?
And after the revival?
To conquer another planet, to create more orphans, to turn others' homes into ruins?
And then?
And then what?
"Young girl, are you feeling lost about life~~"
"Can a Viltrumite warrior fall into confusion too?"
A voice descended from the air, carrying a hint of a smile, a teasing tone, and a flippancy that made one want to punch him.
Anissa didn't even need to turn her head to know who it was.
That pervert who stole her first kiss!
"Even for a Viltrumite, it's..."
Her lips were once again blocked by something warm.
Anissa's eyes widened instantly.
That face was right in front of her, close enough to see every eyelash, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
Those black eyes were looking at her with a smile, like a bear that had stolen honey, or a cat that had caught a butterfly.
Mark had already pulled her into his arms, claiming her greedily.
It wasn't a light touch or a mere taste, but a long-premeditated, determined, and violent assault, like a battering ram hitting a city gate.
Like a fierce and proud rural yellow dog, marking its territory by opening the floodgates at every house and under every car tire!
As if declaring sovereignty, as if marking territory.
Anissa pounded on Mark's back desperately.
One, two, three times—the force was enough to shatter rock, crack steel, and kill any ordinary creature on the spot.
But Mark didn't budge; he even held her tighter.
She tried to bite him, but her teeth sank into his tongue as if biting into a piece of tempered steel.
No wound, no blood, only a muffled chuckle from Mark's throat.
Finally, Mark let her go.
Anissa gasped for air, both furious and indignant.
Her lips were swollen, her tongue was numb, and her cheeks were hot enough to fry an egg.
Her eyes burned with rage; if she hadn't been unable to bite through his mouth, she would have ripped his tongue out!
But a Viltrumite warrior would never stoop to saying such cowardly words!
"Heh."
She wiped her mouth, looked up, and stared at Mark with the most contemptuous gaze.
"Besides getting spit all over my face, what else can you do?"
That tone, that expression, that slight upward curve of her lips—it was a provocation.
A blatant provocation.
Oh-ho!?
Mark raised an eyebrow.
He didn't expect Anissa would actually dare to provoke him.
As expected of a "Big Sister" figure; her ability to adapt was quite strong.
He originally wanted to pounce and kiss her again, but on second thought, that lacked technical finesse.
A true conqueror should crush his opponent with intelligence, not just brute force.
"Actually, I'm curious."
Mark's voice became low and gentle, with a magnetic quality that gave one goosebumps.
"I wonder if your body is as tough as your mouth."
He paused, his gaze moving from Anissa's eyes to her lips, from her lips to her neck, and from her neck to her collarbone.
"Miss Anissa, could you satisfy my curiosity?"
To comfort a woman with rich life experience, you can't just say nonsense like "Don't work too hard," "Don't be sad," or "Don't feel bad."
That's the kind of empty talk little boys use.
A real man should directly pin her to the bed and have a hearty battle!
Just as a mature woman comforts her husband, she usually takes the measure of tying up her loose hair.
If one battle doesn't dissipate the anger, then have another!
As a tsundere Viltrumite warrior, she would definitely provoke me next.
But after my successive sneak attacks, Miss Anissa's inner defenses must have heightened.
She wouldn't dare say "Come on" openly because she knew—once she provoked me openly, I really would do it.
So she would definitely say something trivial!
"Do you really want Big Sister to satisfy your curiosity that much?"
Anissa suddenly gave a charming smile.
That smile was exceptionally moving under the starlight, carrying the composure and confidence unique to a mature woman.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and the curve of her lips was just right, as if she were looking at an ignorant child.
Damn it.
Mark slapped himself in his mind.
Actually, I wanted to call you Mommy...
I am a high and mighty Viltrumite, the future Emperor, the Lord of Earth!
How could calling her "Mommy" once be enough?!
Mark Grayson, you've truly fallen!
Where is your grand plan?
Where is your dream?!
I have to call her that at least ten times!
Hmph.
Watching the flash of panic in Mark's eyes, Anissa began to feel smug.
He really is just an eighteen-year-old virgin. Even though I'm a virgin too, my two thousand years of experience aren't for show.
With just a few words, she had him in the palm of her hand.
She felt she could start manipulating Mark now.
"What, don't you dare?"
"Weren't you just..."
Before she could finish.
Mark suddenly leaned in.
A thick masculine scent filled Anissa's nose—a hot, sun-drenched scent, warm like freshly baked bread.
It wasn't perfume or cologne, but an aroma radiating from deep within the skin, belonging to an apex predator, the kind that makes the heart race.
"How could I be so bold?"
Mark's voice was right by her ear, his warm breath hitting her earlobe, making half her body go limp.
"I'll just do it myself~"
His voice carried a smile, a kind of shameless composure that was impossible to refuse.
He reached out, intending to rub Anissa's shoulders, loosen her thigh muscles, and massage other areas while he was at it.
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Flustered and exasperated, Anissa pushed Mark away, hugging her full chest, her whole body like a cat with its fur standing on end.
"I asked if you wanted to, not for you to just do it!"
"Oh?"
Mark's eyes were as clear as a freshman who had just started college.
Those black eyes held no trace of impurity or wicked thoughts, only a pure, heartfelt confusion.
"Do what?"
As for why the eyes of college students who have been there a long time aren't clear anymore?
Well, freshmen are the clearest; they don't even skip class.
What happens to college students by their second year?
Is a university where you don't skip class even a university?
Is a student who doesn't skip class even a college student?
Let's start with us: give the opportunity to learn to the students who need it!
Chapter 170: Of course it's to...
"What else could it be? Of course it's to..."
Anissa cut her words short halfway, and seeing Mark's wicked smile, she suddenly understood!
Damn it, she was almost led astray by him!
"Sorry, Sister, I'm not really sure~~"
Mark's voice even became a bit pitiful at this moment, like a child who had done something wrong, like a puppy that had been wronged.
"I just wanted to comfort you, Sister~~~"
A thick scent of 'green tea' wafted through the air; he even looked a bit innocent.
But as Anissa listened, she grew angrier and angrier!
Damn it, is there nothing else in this guy's head besides wanting to do me?
"You can do whoever you want, just don't do me!"
She simply gave a cold snort, looking at Mark with extreme defensiveness, arms crossed over her chest and legs tightly together, like a heavily guarded fortress.
"What kind of talk is that?!"
Mark suddenly let out a loud roar.
"Huh?"
At this moment, Anissa was as dazed and cute as an orange kitten trying to distinguish between a radish and a tissue.
Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape, the sudden roar catching her completely off guard.
"The so-called Viltrum Spirit is a spirit of constant progress and unyielding perseverance!"
Mark's voice echoed in the night sky like a declaration of war, like a manifesto.
"As the saying goes, if you want me to do it, I won't; if you don't want me to do it, I'll insist on doing it!"
He reached out his hand, pointing toward the sky, toward the stars.
"It is through this struggle against heaven and earth that one finds boundless joy!"
Are you just looking for trouble?
Anissa, a pure Viltrumite, was almost driven to a frustrated laugh by Mark's outrageous logic.
So basically, if I don't let you do me, you'll just find an excuse to do me anyway.
And if you really can't find an excuse—'How dare you not give me an excuse to do you?'
You're discriminating against Viltrumites!
Aaaaah! The red light for a left turn is the hardest to wait for!
Holy crap, what kind of meta-breaking answer is this?
"Alright, alright, just kidding."
Mark shrugged nonchalantly, becoming serious in an instant.
His expression shifted from flippant to earnest, from cynical to gentle, as fast as flipping a page in a book.
"Since I am the appointed next King, it's only normal to care about the mental health of my future subjects."
As he spoke, his gaze fell on Anissa's face. Those black eyes held no wicked thoughts or mockery now, only a clear, gentle concern like moonlight.
Of course, Mark wanted to check on Anissa's physical health even more.
But that was a secondary project to be carried out on the basis of 'caring for mental health'.
Seeing the young man suddenly turn serious, Anissa was stunned.
At least for this moment, she suddenly felt that what Marksaid made quite a bit of sense.
"Wait."
She looked at Mark with a suspicious face.
"Do you really not want to do me?"
"Hey, hey, how can you say that?!"
Mark pointed at her like a Husky; his expression and posture looked exactly like a wronged dog.
"When it comes to Viltrumites, can you really call it 'doing'?"
That's called 'for the propagation of the species'!
That's called 'Making Viltrum Great Again'!
So you still just want to do me, don't you?!
First playing the caring brother, then suddenly becoming a qualified successor—you really don't forget your original intentions!
Anissa actually admired Mark's persistence a little.
From their first meeting until now, this guy's goal had never changed.
It wasn't conquering planets, it wasn't defeating the Grand Regent, it was—doing her.
"Wait until you become the next King, then consider it."
She simply gave up.
She couldn't win a fight anyway, she couldn't out-curse him, and she couldn't out-argue him.
In that case, she would stall—stall until that day, stall until that moment, stall until...
Though her body was feeling a bit hot.
Anissa turned her head away, not wanting to look at Mark.
But she felt her cheeks burning—no way, am I blushing?
She was too embarrassed to touch them with her hand, because Mark would surely notice.
"The way you turn your head because you're blushing is also very cute~~"
A cheeky voice sounded beside her.
"You!"
Anissa gnashed her teeth in anger. If she weren't outmatched, she would definitely have thrown a hard punch at Mark's face.
"Did you notice?"
Mark's voice suddenly turned serious.
"The word I used was—cute."
Anissa froze.
"So-called cuteness is not born of pure carnal desire."
Mark stood under the moonlight and stars, with the empty city behind him, followed by the entire sky.
At this moment, it was as if he alone was an entire world!
Supporting the whole world with some kind of transcendent and philosophical thought!
"Rather, it is your behavior, your emotional expressions, and various other factors that make my soul feel a certain joy and appreciation."
His voice was low and gentle, as if reciting a poem.
"It's like seeing a fluffy kitten by the roadside; my first reaction is—it's cute."
This is pure psychological appreciation, a pure expression of the eyes, untainted by a single shred of carnal desire."
Mark was actually a biologist plus a philosopher.
Usually, he would be a biologist first, then a philosopher.
Many men actually have the potential to be biologists first and philosophers later.
Often in the dead of night, after a fierce battle with oneself.
One's thoughts go blank, lying in bed pondering the history of the Universe, finally sighing faintly:
What do you think people live for?
"You guy... what are you talking about..."
Anissa felt her heart thumping wildly, her cheeks getting hotter and hotter.
Her gaze was a bit blurred, not daring to look directly into Mark's serious eyes.
She could accept Mark's frivolous eyes, she could accept Mark's eyes full of possessiveness.
But she alone could not accept those eyes before her now, which were simple and serious to the extreme.
Because they clearly told her one thing—the boy in front of her loved her from the bottom of his heart.
For a Viltrumite, this was too intense.
Like a goblin living in a dark corner, suddenly dragged out of the shadows by a saintess from the Sun Cult and exposed to the blazing sun.
The first reaction is definitely not to marvel at the sun's warmth, but to find it blinding, uncomfortable, and to want to flee back into the darkness.
"Can you feel my seriousness right now?"
Mark pressed closer step by step, forcing Anissa to the edge of the cliff.
Even though she could fly, Anissa felt that the ten-thousand-foot abyss behind her was extremely dangerous.
She didn't dare move, only allowing Mark to get even closer to her.
"Wait... wait a bit more..."
Her voice was trembling.
"This is too fast..."
"I don't want it to be that fast yet... let's get to know each other more..."
Chapter 171: The Delusional Girl
Anissa was so disoriented at this point that she could only babble incoherently.
Her mind was a mess, her heart pounded as if it were about to jump out of her chest, and her breathing was as rapid as if she had just finished a ten-kilometer run.
Seeing the beauty before him turning as red as an apple, Mark smiled faintly.
He knew that pushing her further would only ruin the moment.
A mature woman like her was like a ripe apple; she had to be savored slowly, bite by bite.
One couldn't be impatient or restless, otherwise, she would only be scared away.
"Hahahahaha!"
He suddenly burst into laughter, his voice echoing in the night sky and startling a few unknown birds nesting in the ruins.
"I was just complimenting you on being cute. That's my business, not yours."
He spread his hands with an innocent face.
"Did you already pick out names for our future children just because of one compliment?"
He tilted his head, looking at Anissa with a punchable smirk on his face.
"You're really—a Delusional Girl!"
Zero-frame startup!
Mark Grayson activated the skill—Taunt!
Skill hit!
Skill check!
Skill effect: 100%!
The target's rage is currently mountain-high!
"You were clearly the one who flirted with me first!"
Anissa's face was red enough to bleed, but that red had shifted from bashfulness to fury.
"What's wrong with me thinking about it for a second?!"
"Huh?!"
"Let me ask you—if you hadn't flirted with me, how would I have thought so much?"
"If I hadn't thought so much, how could you have flirted with me?"
"It must be because you flirted with me first that I thought so much, and because I thought so much, you chose to flirt with me..."
Anissa stammered, her speech becoming more chaotic and faster, like an overheating machine letting out its final hum.
She wanted to curse at Mark, but she was incredibly embarrassed; it felt like a hundred butterflies were flying in her head, each screaming'so embarrassing, so embarrassing, so embarrassing'.
Looking at Mark's increasingly playful gaze, Anissa grew angrier the more she thought about it!
Her mouth had been kissed, and she had been toyed with by his hands!
She couldn't swallow this insult!
Hardening her heart!
Anissa grabbed Mark's collar, yanked him toward her, and then—
Activated skill: Gaping Bite!
Her lips slammed into Mark's, her teeth clashing against his lower lip with a muffled thud.
She gnawed recklessly, like a small, angry beast, like a child wanting to vent all her grievances.
But as the kiss continued, she became more invested, actually finding some enjoyment in it.
It was a sensation she had never experienced—the touch of lips, the entanglement of tongues, the blending of breaths.
It was as if a fire was burning in her chest, spreading from her heart to her limbs, and from her limbs to every inch of her skin.
Mark was very cooperative.
After all, why waste a free kiss?~~
He closed his eyes, letting Anissa have her way with his lips, even opening his mouth slightly to let her tongue in.
His arm circled her waist, not moving down or up, just holding her gently like a fragile treasure.
Feeling her body getting hotter and her thighs getting a bit itchy.
Her breathing grew more rapid, her heart beat faster, and her whole being was like a taut string that could snap at any moment.
But noticing Mark's hand moving further down—
She decisively pushed Mark away.
"Huff... huff..."
She gasped for air, her chest heaving violently.
Her lips were swollen, her hair was a mess, and she looked like she had just survived a major battle.
But she still couldn't break through the final bottom line.
"I... I still have unfinished work, I'm leaving!"
She turned around, her back to Mark, and took a deep breath.
Then she looked back, pointed her index finger at herself, and glared fiercely at Mark.
"Remember—the one who took your kiss was me, Anissa!"
That tone, that expression, that slightly upturned chin—it was as if she were declaring some form of sovereignty.
It was as if she were telling Mark 'you are mine', as if in a bloodless war, she believed she had finally turned the tables.
Then, she flew away dejectedly.
Her departing figure was panicked and wretched, like she was escaping from something terrifying.
She didn't look like a victor, but rather like a cat fleeing in panic.
Mark stood there, watching the silver-white figure disappear into the night, and could only sigh helplessly: What a fiery-tempered girl.
She was clearly that nervous, yet she still put on an 'I'm perfectly fine' act.
She was just like a wife in an adult anime, clearly trembling all over and with a high-pitched voice.
Yet when talking to her husband on the phone, she still tried her best to keep her tone and emotions steady.
But in reality, both the person on this end of the phone and the male on the other end understood exactly what was happening.
"Sigh."
Mark let out a sigh.
"I haven't even ascended the throne yet, and I've already become so depraved."
He looked up at the star-studded sky.
"It seems this throne is quite harmful!"
"It can even affect my state of mind!"
He spread his arms as if to embrace the entire Universe.
"For the happiness of the Universe, I can only sacrifice myself to suppress this demon!"
The Throne:..., run for your lives, brothers, I'm almost unable to suppress him anymore!
Golden Horned Beast Bloodline: I feel you, brother! I feel you!
The next day.
The star's sun once again shone upon the land of this planet.
The light was warm and bright, pouring down from the eastern horizon, dyeing the gray-white city in a gentle gold.
Viltrum welcomed a level of excitement it hadn't seen in two thousand years.
In the center of the city, there was a massive arena.
It had been constructed by Viltrumites in just a few hours using Smart Atoms.
The stands, built from gray-white boulders, circled round and round in layers, like an inverted bowl or a blooming flower.
The stands were packed with Viltrumite hybrids who had rushed from all over the planet.
They brought their families, their children, and those second and third-generation hybrids who had never seen what their home planet looked like.
They roared, cheered, and felt both shame and indignation.
They looked forward to the appearance of a new king.
They hoped the race from which their bloodline originated could once again return to new heights!
Anissa hovered above the stands, her short hair fluttering gently in the morning breeze.
Her gaze swept over the hybrids, finally landing in the center of the arena.
There, Mark and Thragg were waiting.
The Grand Regent wore his iconic white imperial uniform, his red cape snapping in the wind behind him.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his 2.1-meter frame like a mountain in the morning light, like a sculpture, like an insurmountable barrier.
Mark stood opposite him, wearing the black combat suit Nolan had prepared for him.
The combat suit clung to his body, outlining the contours of every muscle.
His black hair fluttered slightly in the wind, and his dark eyes shimmered with golden light in the morning sun.
Chapter 172: You Will Witness a New History
Two men stood ten meters apart, gazing at each other.
A suffocating sense of pressure permeated the air.
"Are you ready?"
Thragg's voice was low and calm.
"Anytime."
Mark's voice was equally calm.
Thragg nodded.
He turned around, facing the Hybrids in the stands, the Viltrumite-hybrids who had never seen him before, and the descendants whose veins flowed with thin Viltrum blood.
"People of Viltrum!"
His voice was like thunder, a clarion call, a war drum, echoing over the entire arena.
"Today—you will witness history!"
Deafening cheers erupted from the stands.
"My name is Thragg, the Grand Regent of Viltrum for thousands of years!"
That voice, like thunder and the chime of an ancient bell, spread from the center of the arena to the surroundings, crashing against the massive stones of the stands and stirring layers of echoes.
His 2.1-meter frame stood like a mountain under the light of the star, his red cape snapping behind him like a burning war flag.
"And the person opposite me is the king I have personally designated—Mark Grayson!"
Thragg raised his thick arm, pointing at the black-haired, black-eyed young man ten meters away.
His finger was straight as a sword, carrying an unquestionable majesty.
"He is also a hybrid! But he has inherited the abilities of Viltrum and gained transcendent power! At only eighteen years old, he already possesses strength comparable to mine!"
In the stands, the Hybrids' breathing became rapid.
They whispered among themselves, expressing the same shock in various languages—Eighteen? To be compared to the Grand Regent at eighteen? What kind of monster is this?
"In our Viltrumite culture, the strong have always been revered!"
Thragg's voice became even more high-pitched, as if reading a sacred oath.
"So here today, the true king will be determined! On the home planet of the Viltrumites, under the shine of the star, a new king will lead the Viltrumite race to a brand new peak!"
His voice echoed over the entire arena, hitting the grayish-white stone stands and stirring layers of echoes.
Those echoes layered together, forming a deafening wave of sound, like a thousand war drums beating at once.
Thragg raised his arms and shouted; at this moment, his expression could even be called—fanatical.
He was not a calm emperor or a majestic ruler, but a warrior who had waited for a thousand years and finally met an opponent worthy of his full effort.
"Come, Mark Grayson! Show me your full power!"
Thragg was laughing now.
That smile was not a polite one, nor the smugness of a victor, but a hearty, uninhibited laugh from the heart, like drinking a thousand-year-old fine wine.
Mark was even a bit stunned.
He hadn't expected Thragg's emotions to be roused to such an extent.
To be honest, Mark felt this excitement was already a bit strange.
The current Thragg was less in anticipation and more in a state of exhilaration.
Is he excited to be able to fight me?
Why would he be this excited?
Mark still hadn't figured it out.
In the stands, a pure-blooded Viltrumite had already used all his strength to strike the bronze bell to start the match.
Dong—!!!
The sound vibrated, rippling through the entire arena! The roar of the bronze bell was like the bellow of an ancient beast, spreading from the center of the stands, making the air tremble and the hearts of the Hybrids resonate.
And in an instant—
Thragg was already in front of Mark!
His thigh muscles bulged high, every fiber tightened to the limit; his calf muscles were knotted like steel cables with veins popping out; his foot stomped on the ground with a dull boom—then, that foot kicked Mark hard in the face!
!?
A sneak attack!?
Mark barely had that thought before he was kicked flying.
His body tumbled in the air, tracing an arc, dragging a long trench on the grayish-white ground.
His base stats were stronger than Thragg's, but the advantage was still limited! If Thragg played the sneak attack card, Mark would still be kicked flying.
He took a few steps back to steady himself.
Mark spat out a mouthful of blood and looked coldly at Thragg.
The blood was pale gold, shimmering with a faint luster in the sunlight, falling onto the grayish-white rock and blooming like a dark red flower.
But then, Mark held back again.
He looked at Thragg with some disbelief.
At this moment, a face-filled-with-excitement Thraggpounced on him again, about to smash a fist into Mark's face!
What is this guy doing?
When he fought me before, wasn't he above sneak attacks?
No, that's not right either.
That wasn't really a sneak attack just now; it could only be said that he used his full strength from the very start of the duel.
Viltrumite combat never cared for flashiness, only the purest, most direct, and most lethal attacks.
What made him so excited? What made him so agitated?
Facing Thragg's swinging fist again, Mark's eyes turned cold.
He raised his hand high—
Viltrumite Hand Chop!
That hand chop was fast as lightning, heavy as a landslide, carrying the sound of breaking wind and killing intent.
The edge of his palm glinted with a cold metallic luster in the sun, like an unsheathed sharp sword.
Crack—!
The crisp sound of bone snapping exploded in the air.
Mark's stats were indeed superior to Thragg's.
This hand chop forcibly snapped Thragg's right arm!
The thick arm bent at an unnatural angle, bone piercing through the flesh, the white bone fragments shocking to the eye in the sunlight.
But in the next second—
Thragg's other hand clenched into a fist and swung hard into Mark's face!
Bang!
That punch landed solidly, without any frills.
Mark's head snapped back, and nosebleed gushed from his nostrils.
What do you want to do, you guy?
Mark didn't have time to react.
Thragg swung his fists and legs, desperately attacking him.
If the left arm was broken, he used the right; if the right was broken, he used his legs; if his legs were injured, he used his head.
Every one of his attacks was with full force, every collision left no room for retreat, and every breath carried bloody froth.
Chapter 173: Everyone, Cheer!
Mark tightened his brow, fending off these attacks.
His reaction speed and strength were both superior to Thragg's; at the very least, he was capable of blocking the attacks.
He just didn't understand—they had been talking perfectly well moments ago, and the decision to entrust Viltrum's fate to him had already been made. Why did it have to come to this now?
Mark felt a bit uncomfortable at this moment.
You guy, are you really going to force me to kill you?
Or rather, do you really want me to cripple you in front of everyone?
Mark whipped out a roundhouse kick, slamming it hard into Thragg's side!
Boom—!
Thragg was struck so hard he spat out a mouthful of blood, the liquid tracing a dark red arc in the sunlight.
His body was like a kite with a broken string, sent flying by Mark's kick. He rolled a dozen times on the ground before finally stopping when he slammed into the base of the stands.
"If you're looking for death, I'll grant it to you!"
Mark's voice was as cold as ice.
"But I'm also unwilling to let you die so pointlessly.
Tell me honestly, what are you trying to do?"
He walked toward Thragg step by step, his footsteps echoing in the empty arena like the footsteps of the Grim Reaper.
"I don't believe the great Grand Regent would go back on his word!"
He bent down, grabbed Thragg by the throat with one hand, and slammed him violently onto the ground!
Boom!
The Earth trembled and cracked.
Then, he stomped his foot down hard toward Thragg's head!
That foot hovered just above Thragg's face, the sole almost touching the tip of his nose.
Thragg lay on the ground, face up, looking at that foot, looking at those eyes burning with golden-red flames, and looking at that young face.
"Hey, kid, don't be so angry..."
His voice was raspy and weak, yet it carried a hint of a smile.
"Not explaining it clearly to you was indeed my fault."
He took a labored breath.
"But after all, I'm an old man who has lived nearly ten thousand years. Just grant me this small request."
His eyes stared straight at Mark; there was no fear in that gaze, no resentment, only a clear, open, and profound peace like the starry sky.
"At least before I abdicate, I yearn for one hearty, unrestrained battle!"
Mark's foot hovered in mid-air, not descending.
He fell silent.
Thragg propped himself up with one hand and grabbed Mark's ankle with all his might.
That hand was fractured, the fingers bent and tendons displaced, but it held on firmly.
Then, in the moment Mark was dazed, he threw him with a forceful swing—
Mark was flung to the ground.
He fell, bounced back up, and rolled before standing once more.
His movements were as smooth as flowing water, without a hint of hesitation.
He looked up.
Thragg had already staggered to his feet.
His right hand was broken, his left hand was broken, his forehead was bleeding, the corners of his mouth were bleeding, and he was covered in wounds.
But his muscles remained taut, his head held high, and he seemed to be laughing—a hearty, unrestrained laugh!
"Even you can be caught by me."
His voice was trembling, but the smile did not fade.
"I thought you were so strong? Turns out your strength has its limits..."
He paused, those deep eyes staring straight at Mark.
"If you're ganged up on, you'll still be beaten down, Mark Grayson!"
Thragg laughed, his smile even a bit provocative.
Mark didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He was all too familiar with that smile.
It was clearly the same mocking smile he had been using on Thragg before.
The corners of the mouth slightly upturned, the eyebrows lightly raised, with a gaze containing three parts disdain, three parts smugness, and three parts 'asking for a beating'.
Do you think you're some kind of overbearing CEO?
Though you certainly are much more overbearing than any overbearing CEO on Earth...
"Do you really want to be beaten down by me in public that badly?"
Mark said helplessly.
His voice was low; in this match, he had originally wanted to preserve some dignity for this ancient king, Thragg.
He was the Grand Regent, after all, the symbol of Viltrum, and the end of an era.
He didn't want Thragg to lose too pathetically.
"Stop worrying about my pride, Mark Grayson!"
Thragg cursed in a low voice.
The voice wasn't loud, but every word seemed squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying an unquestionable resolve.
"I am a Viltrumite first, and only then some bullshit Grand Regent!"
He paused, his gaze softening.
"I'm about to abdicate anyway, so just satisfy this little whim of mine."
In that voice, there was a request, an expectation, and an indescribable sense of—relief.
"I really can't stand you old guys..."
Mark stood up helplessly and brushed the dust off his clothes.
He looked at Thragg, and in those black eyes, battle intent reignited.
"If you insist on seeing my full power, then watch closely!"
His voice became deep and firm.
"I will satisfy you properly!"
The next second—
The twelve talismans Marks lit up on Mark's chest!
Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, Pig—twelve ancient runes emerged from within his body, slowly rotating in front of his chest like twelve stars orbiting the sun.
They grew brighter and more intense, finally transforming into twelve beams of different colored light, weaving together to form a brilliant halo.
Behind him, the Eight Trigrams of the Zhou Heavenappeared!
Qian, Kun, Zhen, Xun, Kan, Li, Gen, Dui—eight even more ancient runes emerged from behind him, spreading out in the void like an unfolding fan, like an unrolling scroll.
Heaven and Earth, Thunder and Wind, Water and Fire, Mountain and Lake—eight types of power flowed around him, interdependent and mutually balancing.
Across his entire body, solar particles became active!
Those golden-red specks of light surged from within him, dancing on the surface of his skin like fireflies and flickering at the tips of his hair like sparks.
They became more numerous and dense, finally forming a layer of golden aura around him, like burning flames, like the robes of a deity.
A massive amount of Stellar Energy was drawn by him, pouring down from the sky and surging into his body!
His hair stood on end, moving without wind; his eyes were startlingly bright, with golden-red light piercing out from deep within his pupils; his body seemed to ignite with golden flames, making him look like a god stepping out from the sun!
In an instant, Mark Grayson's momentum reached its peak!
In the stands, the pure-blood Viltrumites were shocked.
General Craig's mouth hung open; that usually cold face was now filled with disbelief.
His eyes were wide and round, his pupils reflecting that figure bathed in golden light.
He wanted to say something, but his throat felt blocked by something, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.
Thula hovered beside him, her grey-white hair fluttering in the wind, those eyes that had seen countless battles now losing their focus.
Her lips were trembling slightly, as if she were murmuring something—perhaps a prayer, perhaps a curse, or perhaps some language she didn't even understand herself.
Lucan lay in a corner of the stands, the wound on his abdomen still seeping blood, but his eyes were fixed dead on the center of the arena.
His fists clenched and loosened, loosened and clenched, as if he wanted to rush down, yet also as if he knew that rushing down would only be throwing his life away.
The Hybrids were in even more of an uproar.
"What is this?! What kind of ability is this?!"
A hybrid with antennae shrieked, the antennae on its head swaying wildly like two branches tossed by the wind.
"Is he really a hybrid? Are we really the same kind of thing as him?"
A hybrid with translucent skin murmured to himself; inside his chest, his heart was beating frantically, the pulsations clearly visible through the transparent skin.
"Mom! That person is glowing!"
A child pointed at Mark, eyes sparkling.
"He's not glowing, he's burning."
The child's mother held him tight, her voice trembling.
"Burning what?"
"Burning... everything."
On the other side of the arena, Nolan hovered above the stands, arms crossed, his expression complex.
He looked at his son, at that figure bathed in golden light, at those eyes burning with golden-red flames, and at those twelve talismans and eight trigrams flowing around him.
He suddenly felt that his understanding of this son was still far too little.
Trump cards.
So many trump cards.
Every single one was enough to make an ordinary Viltrumite a legend, yet his son held them all in his hands like a deck of playing cards.
Just how far had the mutation gone?
Nolan didn't know.
But he knew one thing—he was proud.
Not a father's pride in a son, but a warrior's pride in a warrior.
It was the heartfelt, pure, and unadulterated admiration felt when seeing an existence stronger than oneself.
A terrifying aura buffeted Thragg's cheeks.
That aura was like a gale, like a tsunami, like the sky falling.
It surged from Mark's body, carrying the intense heat of a star, the absolute cold of the Universe, and the weight of a small world, crashing against him.