Planet Jura – Grand Streets of the Imperial Capital
Boo booooooo!
The blaring of golden trumpets filled the air, echoing through the long avenue like a river of sound.
Their gleaming tallic bodies reflected the soft light of the suns above, while long crimson ribbons hung from their ends, fluttering gently until they brushed against the ground like tongues of fire. Dozens of trumpeters lined both sides of the street, each dressed in rich red uniforms adorned with oversized golden buttons and topped with neat little hats.
Their cheeks were swollen and red from constant blowing, sweat dripping down their temples, their arms trembling under the strain of holding the long instrunts upright for so long—but none dared stop. The imperial parade demanded perfection, even from those on the verge of collapse.
And then, from the very heart of the road, a colossal gray bull advanced.
Its hooves struck the ground with the rhythm of thunder. It had three legs, thick as towers, and a single glowing eye that burned like molten silver. Atop its massive head sat a small crimson cap, oddly elegant for such a monstrous creature. Its size wasn’t absurdly enormous— comparable to the towers flanking the road—but its presence was suffocating, its aura rolling outward like waves of invisible pressure that made even seasoned warriors feel their knees weaken.
There was no mistaking it. This was no ordinary beast.
It was a Beast King— one whose re breath carried the weight of ancient power.
"Hmm~ hmhm hmm~~"
Atop the bull’s broad back lounged a man with untad, thick hair cascading to his shoulders and a beard he was currently braiding with deep focus. His outfit looked mismatched and strange—half ceremonial, half wild wanderer—but the energy around him was unmistakable: calm, dominating, infinitely self-assured.
"Pri Minister, sir," ca a strained voice beside him. Floating slightly above the bull’s flank was another man, flapping his energy cloak weakly to stay aloft. "Should we authorize the transfer of Planet S-99 this round, or do you prefer we move S-1157 instead?"
The floating official wore the formal uniform of the imperial governnt, though it was creased and rumpled from long hours of work. In one hand he clutched a heavy stack of docunts; in the other, a pen whose tip still glowed faintly from use. His face was pale and drawn, eyes tired, as if sleep had long been a forgotten luxury. Despite his exhaustion, he kept flying beside the bull respectfully, afraid even to drift closer than a few paces.
His aura alone revealed him as a Martial Emperor, and the golden insignia on his chest showed his high rank within the court. Yet he moved with the quiet humility of a servant.
He did not dare set foot on the bull’s back—he knew well that the Beast King might crush him to paste without a second thought. And if the bull didn’t, the Pri Minister himself probably would; the man had a notorious temper and a habit of biting those who displeased him—a fate this official had narrowly escaped more than once before.
"S-99 and S-1157?" murmured Kristan, his fingers weaving lazily through his long beard. "S-99... that’s the one covered in Dim Moon Grass, isn’t it? The type often used in the inks of the Rune Masters. Remarkable stuff. And what about S-1157? I can’t recall its specialty."
"S-1157 possesses a unique sun, sir—its rays accelerate the growth rate of a wide variety of herbs!" the official said quickly, flipping through his papers. "Though Dim Moon Grass cannot grow there, it can nurture at least three potent alternatives. For that reason, the Research Council recomnds prioritizing S-1157’s relocation over S-99 this cycle."
In the empire’s grand system, the distribution of planets was never random. The Fourth-Grade Planetary Displacent Artifact that powered the empire’s galactic expansions could transport just over eleven hundred planets, assuming not a single transfer window was missed.
Yet the True Beginning Empire had already gathered one thousand two hundred and fifty S-Class worlds beneath its dominion—planets that pulsed with rare resources, strange atmospheres, and extraordinary biological life.
That left the Pri Minister with an ever-growing web of possibilities, each more tempting than the last. With every passing year, his choices multiplied. He always favored the larger, richer worlds—those bursting with value—while smaller ones like S-99 were postponed ti and again.
Still, whenever a new, promising candidate like S-1157 appeared on the registry, the lists were rewritten, priorities rebalanced, and endless debates ignited in the Imperial Senate. Thus began another comparison, another decision between two glittering worlds, each carrying the weight of empires and destinies untold.
"A unique sun, you say?" Kristan’s tone sharpened as he flicked his fingers dismissively, his golden rings glinting under the daylight. "Cross that planet off the list—permanently."
"W–Wait, what?! Why would we do that?" The young official nearly dropped the stack of papers he was carrying, wings of spiritual energy trembling behind him as he hurried to keep up beside the marching bull. "Planet S-1157 is far more profitable than S-99, and its surface area is almost double in size! Its resource yield would—"
"Didn’t you notice anything strange?" Kristan interrupted, his deep voice rolling like thunder. "Transferring planets isn’t as simple as rearranging them within the sa galactic orbit. When we relocate a planet into the Imperial artificial Galaxy, its original sun doesn’t co along. It must rely entirely on Nihari’s Stars to sustain its atmosphere, temperature, and growth cycles." He twisted another section of his thick beard into a perfect braid before continuing, "That’s how it was designed to be. If we start transporting stars as well, the entire formation collapses. The spacing between planets will beco chaotic, gravitational tension will spiral, and the carefully constructed Industrial Galaxy will cease to exist. It would just be another ordinary, unstable cluster of stars—not a creation of imperial order."
"Oh..." The young man hesitated, flipping through his papers again. His expression fell as he sighed, pulling out the page marked S-1157 and crumpling it between his fingers before tossing it into a golden waste bin by the road. "Then... what about S-885? It might be a safer bet?"
Boo—booooo!
As the colossal bull strode past with ground-shaking steps, the exhausted trumpet bearers sprinted ahead to reclaim their positions. Their faces flushed and drenched in sweat, they hoisted their long golden horns once again, the red ribbons fluttering and brushing against the pavent as they resud the sa ceremonial march.
They had already circled nearly a quarter of the capital today, repeating this endless ritual under the blazing sun. Not a single one of them understood why they had been chosen for such a tedious and ridiculous duty—but none dared to complain aloud.
Shoooosh...
A sudden sound tore through the sky above them.
"Hm?" Kristan frowned deeply and looked upward. High above the palace district, two dark figures were soaring—fast and far higher than any civilian was permitted to fly.
"YOU THERE, YOU ANIMALS FLYING OVER THERE!" Kristan bellowed, his voice echoing across the street. "You dare to fly above the permitted altitude in the Imperial Capital? Descend imdiately!"
He struck the bull’s back twice, signaling it to prepare for attack. The creature snorted a thick stream of vapor from its nostrils, three hooves grinding against the marble road in anticipation.
Whoooosh—!
The two figures halted midair, then began descending swiftly toward him.
"Hmph! Just as I expected," Kristan muttered with smug pride, crossing his arms as his crimson cloak billowed behind him. But as the pair grew closer, his self-satisfied grin slowly began to crumble. His confidence lted into disbelief.
"Hmm? Wh–What... wh–what is this...?"
WOOSH!
The two shadows landed directly before him, and in that instant, the color drained from Kristan’s face as though he had seen a ghost. He stumbled back several steps, eyes wide. "U–Uncle?!"
"Ah, my dear nephew," Robin greeted him with a calm smile, voice rich and commanding, "I was just on my way to find you." He glanced lazily toward the three-legged bull, his tone turning mildly irritated. "...Hey, make sure that thing doesn’t relieve itself in my capital."
"...Don’t worry, I’ve assigned an entire team to clean up behind it," Kristan replied stiffly, regaining a bit of his composure. His eyes shifted toward the young man standing just behind Robin—a tall figure with long, braided hair and a faint aura of soul energy swirling around him. "And who might that be?"
"This is my disciple, Jabba!" Robin announced proudly, clapping the young man’s back so hard that Jabba nearly lost balance. Then his tone darkened as he looked Kristan in the eye. "I’ll be departing for the Middle Belt in three days. Spread the word—anyone who needs to et has until then. Once I leave, it’ll be too late."
Reaching into his coat, Robin drew out a small tallic tablet and handed it to him. "Here. The complete Major Gravity Law up to the Fifth Stage. Deliver it to Holak, and tell him to form an additional Imperial Guard division. Our friend here doesn’t intend to wield this law anymore."
"Hmm?" Kristan blinked, then froze as Robin turned slightly to his left.
"Oh, Alfred Marley!" Robin called out, voice rising with amusent. "You’re still in governnt service? You look healthier now. Keep it up—your effort shows!"
WHOOSH!
Without waiting for an answer, Robin shot skyward in a flash of white-gold energy, vanishing toward the Imperial Palace.
"It was an honor eting you both," Jabba said politely, nodding before being swallowed by a sphere of glowing soul force. In the blink of an eye, he too was gone.
"Jabba has returned?!" Kristan whispered in disbelief, still staring at the fading trail of light across the sky.
"His Majesty rembered ?!" the exhausted official gasped, jaw hanging open.
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