Pressure
Helen froze instantly after her very first step into the hall, as if her feet had been suddenly nailed to the polished marble floor. Her heart thumped, but she forced herself to remain calm, taking in the space before her.
The hall itself seed ordinary, almost exactly as she might have expected: a long, stately chamber filled with the sharp scent of polished wood and the faint tallic tang of disciplined energy. Around a massive, dark table sat a large group of people in immaculate military uniforms, their brows slick with sweat, voices raised as they argued strategy, studied maps, and debated tactics. Clearly, a war plan was in progress.
This was unsurprising, given what Seraphina had told her earlier. But what Helen had not anticipated was what happened the instant she entered the room.
Every single head turned toward her. Instantly.
Their eyes, which re monts ago had been lively with tense excitent or concentrated focus, went cold, icy, and unyielding. The brief storm of nervous, excited energy in the room collapsed into a frozen chasm, leaving only hostility.
Expressions of fear, determination, and mild admiration were replaced by sothing far darker: raw, palpable, almost tangible hatred. No warning, no buildup-just pure, intense animosity.
This was the sa type of look she had occasionally received since stepping through the space portal-glances of suspicion, casual distrust-but those could be dismissed as the normal wariness strangers invoke. Not this. This was personal, deliberate, and overwhelming.
Approximately forty people filled the hall, all high-ranking generals and senior strategists, each trained in command and leadership. And yet, without exception, every single one of them stared at her as if she had personally committed an unforgivable cri-sothing so heinous it could not be ignored.
The strangest part? Their faces seed... vaguely familiar.
A subtle, almost dreamlike recognition. A trace of mory she could not place: perhaps a market she had glimpsed in passing, a dream, or a fleeting image in her mind from so distant past. It was maddening. She could not recall
exactly where she had seen them, if at all. Likely, she never would.
After all, no one rembers every insignificant face they have ever encountered.
"Hmm? Why has the atmosphere shifted so drastically? Is there a problem, everyone?" Seraphina murmured, raising an eyebrow slightly, puzzled. She had attended hundreds of etings in Orginus, had navigated countless imperial halls like this one, but she had never seen such a reaction, such collective disdain. "Did we arrive at a particularly inconvenient ti?"
"No," ca the calm, commanding voice of one standing at the head of the table, the one whose back faced the entrance. "The timing is... entirely appropriate."
He rose from his bent position over the table, his movents smooth, deliberate, and commanding. He gestured with a slight, practiced wave. "Dismiss yourselves for now. We will reconvene in one hour."
"...Understood." The group hesitated briefly, then gave a slack military salute before filing out. Each one, without exception, spared Helen a final glance-a look that was sharp, assessing, and filled with veiled judgnt, as if weighing every fiber of her being before stepping away.
Krrrr
Only after the last of them exited the hall and the heavy doors slamd shut behind them did Helen allow herself to speak. She directed her words at the man still facing away from her, imposing, calm, and seemingly untouched by the collective intensity of his subordinates, "And you... are?"
"Lady, this is Marshal Caesar. Outwardly, he is the commander of the ground forces," Seraphina announced, gesturing toward the young man whose back faced them, trying to shield her mistress from any unintended offense. "But from what I have seen myself... he is the one who truly controls the Centennial Cradle Empire in its entirety."
"Oh," Helen nodded slowly, a few tis, her movents asured, deliberate. "The one who controls the Centennial Cradle Empire completely. Majesty of the Controller... is this how you welco your friends? I who conquered so many worlds for you and killed so many of your enemies, but these gazes weren't exactly showing gratitude."
Her chest burned with barely restrained fury. Though she despised the glances of awe and desire that followed her wherever she went, she had never experienced such outright, unambiguous hatred before. For a fleeting mont, she found herself almost wishing for the flattering, admiring looks she had grown accustod to, rather than these searing, judging stares.
"You conquered worlds and slaughtered enemies for millions of Pearls, not as service to a cause," Caesar said calmly. He leaned again over the table, pushing a small wooden model of a spaceship toward a strategic point on the map, indicating movents and targets with the precision of a master tactician. "And I do not believe we have delayed your paynt in any way."
"....!!" Helen's eyes flickered beneath her mask, a halo of high-level Nexus State energy for the Destruction Path radiating from her. Shock and a rush of indignation surged through her. "Is this why you believe you may speak to with such rudeness? Because I am compensated for my services? If you had soone strong enough to do what I do, there would be no need for , no reason to offer such vast sums of money. This is not generosity on your part!" "Lady..." Seraphina almost bit her fingers nervously, glancing between her mistress and Caesar.
"And who said it was generosity?" Caesar responded quietly, his voice level, unyielding. "All I am saying is that none of us owes the other anything-no services, no special treatnt. I believe we are agreed on that much." He straightened his shoulders, returning his attention to the map and the miniature models. "As for the atmosphere in the room... pay it no mind. They are simply tense, preparing for the coming war."
Helen raised one eyebrow, unconvinced, her mind analyzing the young man before her. The user of the fourth stage law, standing with unnerving calm. He remained entirely unaffected by the intensity of her presence, her overwhelming aura, her High level Nexus State aura. In fact, he seed to grow even more composed, his tone colder, his deanor impenetrable.
His aura-so familiar yet strange-radiated suffocating, almost morbid coldness. If it had not shown a sign of life, she might have thought him dead. Yet even amidst this lifeless aura, she could understand his composure... Multiple interwoven auras filled the hall, all of them Nexus States, four in total, their power focused entirely on him in an unmistakable display of authority. She had never witnessed such a concentrated demonstration of dominance
before.
That aura... the shape of his head from behind... the black fla stitched into the back of his cloak....
Sothing about it tugged at her mory, whispering that she had seen him before, sowhere, sohow. But as with the others, it was impossible to
recall with certainty.
"Tense because of the upcoming war?" Helen murmured, lifting her head slightly, her tone calm but edged with iron. "Very well. Let us pretend this is the truth. I seek a service-one that is paid, since that is what you admit it to be." "Oh? And what service would that be?" Caesar rested his chin on his hand, scrutinizing the map in front of him, his calm precision unshaken.
"I wish to request public protection for my empire for one century," Helen declared, her voice steady, carrying the weight of her authority and unyielding will. "I will place it under your protection during this period, safeguarding it from my enemies. In exchange, I will personally lead your next expedition to the Mid-Sector 101 to participate in the cosmic war. I will defend and assist your forces there, striving to bring back as many of them alive as possible. I believe this is a fair exchange."
"Rejected." Caesar waved his hand lazily, as if shooing away an overenthusiastic chicken that had wandered too close. "You may leave now. As you can see, I am occupied. I will send you the details through the Soul Society if we need you
again."
".......?!"
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