War is terrible for infrastructure, bad for population growth, and utterly catastrophic for mental health. But there is one universal truth across every star system and dimension I’ve encountered so far: War is fantastic for the weapons and raw materials market.

  I stood in the center of the Sanctum, watching the System Market interface scrolling so fast it was a blur of neon numbers.

  [Transaction Complete.]

  [Item Sold: Void-Hog Tusk.]

  [Price: 15,000 Quintessence Shards.]

  “It’s absurd,” I muttered, watching our treasury balance climb vertically. “I just sold a bag of Tier 6 monster teeth for the price of a small starship. Not to mention the exuberant profits Leoric’s excess crafts have been getting.”

  “Supply and demand, Master,” Kasian’s spectral voice drifted from the library alcove. “The Greater Universe is currently heating up. Divinations from the Outer Rim speak of incoming Conflict. There are escalating tensions near the Trade Federation routes. The conflict between House Vorr and House Lyras is also creating a vacuum for high-grade armaments. Armies need armor-piercing ammunition. Void-materials bypass physical defense. Zareth’s… ‘livestock’… has become a strategic resource.”

  “So, we’re war profiteers,” Anna said, polishing the limb of her Mythic bow. She looked relaxed, dressed in casual traveler’s leathers rather than her combat gear, though the bow was strapped to her back.

  “We are providing a supply to a neutral marketplace,” I corrected, swiping the screen away to reveal the map of the known clusters. “What the buyers do with the sharp bits is their business. Besides, it funds the Academy. It funds the city’s restoration. And it funds this.”

  I gestured to the main room.

  Standing in the center of the summoning circle was an identical copy of myself.

  It wasn’t just a combat-echo. It was a masterpiece of Mana-Weaving. I spent three days constructing it.

  “Designation: Steward,” the Clone said, its voice identical to mine, though lacking the sarcastic edge. It rolled its shoulders, testing the fit of the backup armor I had forged for it. “Current Directive: Maintain the Domain Presence. Intimidate curious Warlords and nod vaguely during meetings.”

  “Perfect,” I noted, inspecting the mana-flow. “I’ve tethered a substantial portion of my Domain to you. To any sensor on the planet — even ANON’s precision scanners — you will register as the real Sovereign. You stay here, walk the walls and help Zareth by farming the Void beasts. And in case conflict arises during the cooldown period, you are the shield.”

  “Understood,” the Clone saluted. “I will scowl efficiently.”

  I turned back to Anna and Jeeves.

  “The contingencies are set. The treaties are signed. The Academy has Masha serving Void-Burgers that boost their learning significantly. We have two months until the Coronation Ceremony proper.”

  “Are we sure about this?” Anna asked, slinging her quiver. “Leaving right now? With the Kyorians killing each other and Korg sulking in his fort? It feels… irresponsible to leave the post unmanned.”

  “We aren’t leaving it unmanned,” I reasoned, pointing at the clone and golem constructs further improved by Leoric, integrating the Void cores into the MARK VII. “And we aren’t just going on vacation. We need perspective. We’ve been fighting in the mud for two years, reacting to crises. I want to see what a completed build looks like. I want to see what a civilization under the Prime System looks like when it isn’t fighting an apocalypse. And we will definitely be doing a lot of training which would only improve our future security.”

  I pulled up the coordinates Kasian had retrieved from the deepest, most expensive files of the Akashic Records.

  “Planet Designation: Asura-Prime,” Kasian intoned, projecting an image that made my jaw tight with appreciation. “Specifically, the Ethereal Cascade. It is a Tier 7 Civilization Hub under the direct protection of the Prime System. They have drafted a powerful binding protocol upon arrival. No wars allowed. No faction conflicts. Strict Anonymity Protocols are also enforced by the System. It is a Sanctuary World designated for high-tier cultivation recovery and training.”

  The image showed islands of white stone floating in a sky of lavender nebulae. Waterfalls cascaded off the floating islands, turning into mist that sparkled with rainbow mana before cycling back up.

  “It offers Mana-Hot Springs infused with Spirit-Liquid,” Kasian listed. “Gravity-training dojos managed by enlightened constructs. Ancient archives open to the public. And cuisine that refills Soul Strength. It is a place where Sovereigns go to remember what peace tastes like, while also reaping in many benefits and consolidating.”

  “It’s also incredibly secure,” Jeeves added. “The Century Veiling protects Earth from incoming high-tier threats, but the Spire Network allows outward travel to specific Sanctuary nodes. As long as you don’t declare war on a local deity, you should be safer there than you are here.”

  I patted my dimensional pocket, heavy with the profits of the Void-meat industry.

  “And the entry fee would bankrupt a medium-sized nation,” I grinned. “Lucky for us, the void business is booming.”

  I turned to Anna. “Ready to level up by sitting in a hot tub and studying mana-theory in a library that floats?”

  Anna’s eyes lit up. “Exploration, training, and no zombies? I’m in. But I’m also planning on training. Just in case peace is boring.”

  “It’s never boring,” I promised. “System link set, Jeeves. We’ll be able to come back through the Spire in forty-eight hours, based on our predicted cooldown. Make sure to hold it down and use the Clone if things get rough.”

  “Enjoy your trip, Master,” Jeeves bowed. “I shall manage.”

  The violet light of the Spire swallowed us.

  The transition wasn’t the usual nauseating yank of teleportation I associated with tactical Void-Walking. It felt… smooth. Expensive. It was like riding a silk elevator through the cosmos. The turbulence of the blind eternity was dampened by high-tier navigational anchors.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  When we materialized, the air pressure shifted instantly.

  We weren’t standing on dirt or stone.

  We were standing on a circular platform of polished white jade, suspended three thousand feet in the air.

  “Okay,” Anna breathed, shielding her eyes against a sun that radiated a gentle, golden warmth. “You undersold it.”

  The world of Asura-Prime was a masterpiece of biological and magical engineering. It hit my [Void Perception] like a symphony.

  Above us, three pale, massive rings dominated the sky — not made of rock, but of crystalline ice that refracted the light of a twin-star system into permanent auroras that danced even in daylight. The air wasn’t just oxygen; it was a cocktail. Breathing it felt like drinking energy drinks; every inhale saturated my blood with pure, filtered mana that instantly began refilling my cores without me even cycling it.

  Below us, an archipelago of floating continents drifted on unseen magnetic currents. Bridges made of solid, hard-light constructs connected the islands, humming with a gentle resonance. Vegetation that looked like weeping willows made of gold wire draped over the edges, trailing roots into the cloudy abyss below.

  And the waterfalls.

  They poured from the sides of the islands, millions of gallons of crystal-clear water falling into the void. But instead of being lost, the water turned into glittering clouds of steam miles down, caught by updrafts of wind mana, and rose again to replenish the lakes.

  “Look at that flow,” I whispered, maximizing my [Void Perception] to see the skeleton of the world.

  To the naked eye, it was nature. To me, it was engineering.

  Deep inside the floating islands, I could see massive geometric arrays — ancient, pulsating artifacts the size of city blocks. They acted as hearts, pumping the mana through ley-lines carved into the tectonic plates.

  “It’s a Grid,” I analyzed, my mind racing. “Anna, look. The mana isn’t just existing here; it’s being processed. On Earth, the mana is wild. Chaotic. It causes storms, rifts and monsters like elementals to spawn. Here? Those artifacts catch the raw mana emanating from the world, filter out the aggression, and pump it into the water and air.”

  “So it’s… domesticated magic?” Anna asked, leaning over the jade railing to watch a school of flying whales swimming through the air currents below.

  “It’s optimized,” I corrected, snapping mental pictures of the ley-line structures to show Leoric later. “This is the blueprint. If we win the Coronation, if we control the global network… Maybe we could build this. We could stabilize Earth’s core to do exactly what these islands are doing. Passive regeneration and growth.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Anna said, her grip on the railing relaxing. “I can feel my fatigue melting just standing here. It feels… safe.”

  “That’s the service,” I agreed, keeping my [Nullifying Veil] tight but passive. “The whole planet is a Sanctuary. But don’t let the pretty flowers fool you. See that gardener over there?”

  I pointed to a figure tending to a patch of singing orchids about fifty yards away on a lower terrace.

  “That gardener could probably solo the entirety of Korg’s army,” I whispered.

  Anna stiffened. “A Tier 6? Gardening?”

  “Exactly. This place attracts the apex predators of the galaxy who want a nap. The anonymity protocol is strict. As long as we follow the rules, no one cares who we are. But everyone here is a dragon in human skin.”

  We walked down the jade platform toward the main entrance. It wasn’t a gate; it was a massive Torii arch made of red living-coral, standing fifty feet high. Beyond it lay the resort city — The Zenith of Drifting Tides.

  The architecture was a seamless blend of ancient pagoda aesthetics and high-fantasy crystal tech. Buildings floated independently, tethered by golden mana-chains. People moved between them using personal flight items — clouds, swords, carpets, disks of light.

  I saw a species I recognized from the records — a Drakenid (one of the many Dragon-Kin species) wearing silk robes, chatting with a celestial-looking humanoid who had three eyes and skin made of starry nebula-stuff. They radiated power, their auras restrained but incredibly dense.

  “Keep your aura tight,” I advised Anna. “We aren’t the big fish here. We’re customers. Act like you belong.”

  “Wealthy tourists,” she nodded, adjusting her tunic. “Got it.”

  We reached the end of the light-bridge. A reception plaza opened up, manicured with gardens where the flowers hummed harmonious notes as the wind brushed them. In the center, a fountain of liquid mana dispensed drinks to passersby.

  A figure approached us.

  He was humanoid, tall and slender, with skin the color of polished slate and eyes that glowed with a soft, blue internal light. He wore a simple uniform of white silk with the crest of a stylized eye embroidered in silver thread.

  He moved with a fluidity that screamed martial perfection. His footsteps made no sound on the jade. His breathing was synced to the rotation of the mana around him.

  I scanned him instinctively.

  I blinked, stopping in my tracks.

  A Peak Tier 5.

  On Earth, a Peak Tier 5 was one in a billion. I was barely Tier 5 when I started making global waves. Azrael’s Death Knight champion — the strongest subordinate of a galactic empire’s proxy — was Tier 5. Lucas, the wall of Bastion, was mid-Tier 5.

  And this guy was holding a guest list.

  “Welcome to the Zenith,” the Monk said, bowing low. His voice was melodic, resonant, and carried by focused sound-mana. “We felt the spatial displacement of a Private arrival. It is rare to see Guests utilizing a Network. I am your humble guide, Morin.”

  He didn’t flinch at us. He didn’t assess us for a fight. There was no arrogance, no fear. Just professional courtesy backed by the absolute confidence that if we tried to rob the fountain, he would immediately summon people who could fold us into pretzels before we blinked.

  “We seek entry to the Sanctum of Restoration,” I said, adopting the tone of bored aristocracy, letting a sliver of my pure Essence leak out — just enough to show ‘Quality’. “Two passes. Unrestricted access to the facilities and the archives.”

  “Of course, Young Master,” Morin smiled serenely. “Platinum tier access? Excellent choice. That will be ten thousand Quintessence Shards per person per cycle, payable in advance.”

  Ten thousand. It was equivalent to enough raw materials to equip an entire city with Tier 4 weaponry. It was extremely expensive, but thankfully, the Void business has been booming.

  [QS Balance: 8,656,545.]

  “A fair price,” I said, tapping into my inventory.

  I materialized the payment. A stream of Quintessence Shards — looking like glittering, condensed mana crystals — poured out, hovering in the air under my control before vanishing into the Monk’s receiving ring.

  Morin’s eyes widened a fraction. The dismissal of the price, combined with the mana control required to hover them so effortlessly, confirmed our status instantly.

  “Impeccable control,” he bowed lower, his aura shifting from polite to respectful. “Please, allow me to escort you. Your mana feels… dense. And delightfully sharp. I believe you will find the Grav-Falls particularly stimulating.”

  As we followed the Monk deeper into the paradise city, watching him politely part a crowd of Tier 6 beings like he was ushering commoners aside, I caught Anna’s eye.

  She looked stunned.

  “Eren,” she whispered through our private channel, ensuring no sound escaped. “Did you see his stats? The greeter is stronger than the S’skarr Chieftain. His combat power is probably as strong as Lucas.”

  “I know,” I grinned, looking up at the spires of the resort that scraped the nebulae.

  This place wasn’t just a spa. It was a mirror. It showed us what the greater universe considered ‘service staff’. It showed us how far we had to go.

  “If the bellboy is a Sovereign,” I whispered back, “then this place is going to make us very, very strong. We aren’t just here to relax, Anna. We’re here to also learn from their training routine.”

  “I bet the food is good too,” she noted, eyeing a floating restaurant.

  “I bet,” I laughed. “But I am definitely going to the hot springs first.”

  We stepped into the city of light, two Hybrids hiding in plain sight, ready to learn the secrets of the stars. The peace was refreshing, but the potential? The potential was intoxicating.