The thunderous blaring of trumpets shattered the air, heralding the arrival of reinforcements surging in from the northern expanse. Ten mighty generals, each a master of strategy and war, led over one hundred twenty thousand soldiers into the fray, their banners fluttering like a storm-tossed sea under the crimson-tinted sky. The Great Serpent Empire's forces were a sight to behold-a living tide of discipline and power as they split into battalions, each spearheaded by one of these seasoned commanders. However, the absence of a unified leader-a marshal to orchestrate their movements-left a vacuum of central authority. Coordination between the generals was disjointed, a patchwork of individual decisions. Yet this seeming disarray gave rise to an unpredictable and highly adaptable defense. Each general operated autonomously, their actions dictated by the immediate threats before them. The moment a breach appeared in their ranks-a weak point exposed by the relentless, savage onslaught of the demonic hordes-the general in charge of that sector acted without hesitation, plugging the gap with reinforcements and countermeasures. Meanwhile, their counterparts elsewhere focused solely on holding their own sections, their strategies unfolding like isolated yet harmonious movements in a symphony of war. The battlefield itself was a hellscape of chaos and fury. Already, over forty thousand demons jumped onto the already blood-soaked ground, their grotesque forms twisted by malice and rage. Yet the torrent showed no sign of abating. From four massive instant space portals, they continued to flood the field, an unending tide of horror pouring forth as if from the depths of an inexhaustible, infernal wellspring. The air reeked of sulfur and the coppery tang of spilled blood, while the cacophony of clashing steel, guttural roars, and the cries of the wounded created a deafening symphony of destruction. Back and away from this nightmare, Amon hovered in midair, his imposing form wreathed in a faint, shimmering aura of energy. His vigilant eyes scanned the scene below, locking on the four portals that served as the demons' gateway to the battlefield. He circled them like a vulture over carrion, his presence a sentinel's deterrent against any attempt to disrupt these critical nexus points. From his vantage point, the battlefield stretched out like a vast chessboard, with each general a piece in a deadly game of strategy and survival. Yet this grand view provided little comfort to Amon. The scale of the conflict was utterly skewed, the demons' relentless advance threatening to overwhelm even the formidable defenses of the empire's army. There is nothing he can do now but follow the orders he had received from Supreme General Sakaar, leaving him a passive observer of the chaos. Robin shouted loudly, "This is impossible-absolutely impossible!" What he was hearing seemed like pure fantasy. It wasn't as though the idea hadn't crossed his mind before; in fact, every sage on every planet must have considered it at some point. Who wouldn't want an unrestricted energy center free of patterns and constraints, containing solid energy that could be used in any manner desired? But all had eventually concluded it was an unattainable dream. As Robin had discovered- likely as every wise person before him had-The Internal Cultivation System is inflexible. The energy center was designed to function in a specific way, evolving alongside the planet's inhabitants. The energy center was an organ like the lungs or eyes, with a predetermined role and manner of operation. If laws were required to solidify energy within the center, then one had to abide by those laws, just as organs must be treated according to their purpose. Trying to use the energy center in any other way would be akin to attempting to breathe through one's ears.
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