".Perhaps one of them will succeed, and Jura will ascend before the six hundred years are up." Robin's words drifted into silence, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he released a long sigh, one that carried both weariness and resolve. In his heart, he knew it was little more than a distant, almost unreachable dream. Yet. why should dreams be abandoned simply because they seemed far away? Why not leave a spark of hope burning, no matter how faint? Jura was not just a planet - it was the very heart of his empire, the pulsing core of the First Army. Its soil had given birth to the mightiest generals, its skies had seen the rise of countless heroes. Nearly every symbol of power that the Empire of True Beginning could boast of had some tie to Jura. He himself had been forged here. The Burton bloodline, his children. There is a reasonable possibility that this dream could come true. be it Caesar, Malik, and especially Richard or Raiden - succeeded in breaking through, the reward would not fall upon one man alone. The planet itself, together with every soul residing on it, would be thrust into the Mid-Belt. But was such a transition dangerous? Absolutely. Terrifyingly so. The chasm separating the Young Sector from the Mid-Belt was immense, like two different universes brushing against each other. Dozens of planets ascended every year, yet none ever arrived in the exact same spot. Instead, they were scattered randomly, flung like dice into the void, landing amidst starfields controlled by unknown powers. For the ancient empires of the Mid-Belt, such appearances were nothing short of banquets - fresh prey delivered to their doorsteps, ripe for plunder. Bloodbaths erupted each time a new planet appeared, massacres that sometimes stretched on for decades until the strongest finally claimed the prize. And what a prize Jura would be. Unlike the ordinary ascendants, Jura was overflowing with technology, glittering palaces, sprawling fortresses, and mountains of Pearls and treasures stripped from a hundred other worlds. Its wealth was unmatched. Its beauty was undeniable. To the hungry eyes of the Mid-Belt empires, it would be a feast beyond compare. Yet Robin had accounted for this. He always did. Waiting on the other side were not mere allies, but the Imperial Guard and the Grave Empire itself - empires whose names alone could halt entire fleets. With prepared planetary displacement devices of the highest grade, Jura could be instantly relocated into the starfield of the Grave Empire, shielded behind their vast dominion. In such a position, Jura would be secure. For all its wealth and brilliance, Jura was still but a single, relatively small planet. No sane Mid-Belt empire would dare risk war with the Grave Empire and its dreaded Black Wasps for such a minor gain. And if some fools did dare. then let them try. Let them learn what it meant to challenge a power of that magnitude. The preparations had been thorough, meticulous, and complete. There was nothing more Robin could do now but wait. Wait and watch. Watch as his sons, daughters, and followers sought to pierce through the heavens, clawing toward the terrifying threshold of World Cataclysm. Watch, unable to intervene, as they risked everything for glory, while he remained bound by patience and strategy. Because if he broke through prematurely - if he allowed himself to ascend before the six hundred years had passed - then it would not be Jura alone that rose. Nihari, the planet he had personally refined, would rise with it. And that would be catastrophic. The long-prophesied cosmic war would begin too early, long before the empire was ready. And so Robin held himself back. Even though he possessed the power, even though he carried methods that could propel him into World Cataclysm at will, he restrained his hand. He was not desperate for level fifty. To him, six hundred years was but six hundred years - time he could afford. As for his followers? That was another matter. He had already given them everything that could be given. He had filled their hands with treasures, built them an environment overflowing with opportunities, supplied them with techniques from every corner of the empire. And yet, he held no grand expectations. For them, breaking through under the suppression was akin to replicating the impossible feat of Sivar - the only being across two entire worlds who had done it. Was such a miracle likely? No. Almost certainly not. But there was no harm in trying. And even if they failed, the attempt itself would not be wasted. They would still grow stronger, still learn the intricacies of fifth-grade techniques, still temper their spirits in the fires of struggle. Their failures would sharpen them into blades.
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