At the Primordial Bridge headquarters, Commander Kanikuli had been sitting by the table for the past month or so. The Primordial Rising Star, Yornolar, had sat by the other side as they watched the Maiden's actions.

Their conversations had been superficial and brief, with significant silence gaps in between. The chubby gnome leader always tried to direct the discussions in a direction that would benefit his men by showing glimpses of the Primordials' attitude. The over ten million troops were almost like statues for all the emotion they showed, but Kanikuli had still noticed how they had been displeased with what they saw as arrogance in Yornolar's words.

Nevertheless, the more time passed, the more the members of the Primordial Bridge understood that a Primordial didn't just think they were superior; they were.

What they saw and felt made it very evident to them.

Spacetime around Yornolar was compressed and contorted around him. His armor Deephase Nanocrystal armor suit reflected the stars beyond the bridge, and in the middle of the distortion, it made him a dark, formless existence.

The spacetime distortion affected the Primordial, his chair, half the table, and part of the ground below him. At that moment, only S-ranks could affect anything within. Yet, as soon as the phenomenon disappeared, all objects that were currently nigh-indestructible would simply cease to be. There would be not even any atom left.

That wasn't happening because of anything the Primordial Rising Star had done. Instead, that was the mere consequence of his existence. Reality couldn't bear a Primordial's presence in the same place for too long, so it created that sort of cocoon to protect itself.

That alone was proof that they existed beyond most people's comprehension.

Speaking of comprehension, most of the Primordial Bridge's regulars, and even some officers, were benefitting from witnessing such a wonder. Their understanding of spacetime was increasing just by being there. In that past Earthen month, none of the millions of Guardians standing attention in rank and file at the bridge had moved even a millimeter, except maybe their sensory organs to better observe the distortion.

Kanikuli had been pretty happy with such arrangements—until the Maiden approached the human cultivator for a second time.

Now, he was frowning heavily as he looked at the Primordial Maiden's actions on Earth. She had begged a human to do something. BEGGED. Even if it had been an attempt at a ruse, the Bridge had paid for it.

Their entire headquarters were filled with cracks caused by Yornolar's slight displeasure. It had taken the power of all generals and officers to protect the regulars from dying.

The episode had served to demonstrate to the men the Primordials' complete disregard for every other living being in existence. The Primordial Rising Star was easier to deal with than any other Primordial that Kanikuli had ever met, but that didn't mean Yornolar wasn't proud of his race. He hadn't liked seeing the Primordials' pride tossed aside when the Maiden begged.

The gnome was glad the bridge had survived Yornolar's expression of displeasure at all. Earth, however, would be gone soon. The fabric of Reality was bending around Earth as the Maiden prepared to break the bindings the system had placed on her—not that they had done anything to stop her Whisper when she healed that female human.

Kanikuli would be willing to bet the planet wouldn't exist for much longer.

Not unless he interfered.

The Commander of the Primordial Bridge stood up. He marched determinedly toward the Primordial Rising Star, whose eyes were still fixed on the far-distant Earth.

Kanikuli stopped in front of the Primordial, kneeled, then prostrated himself on the Primordial's feet.

"This lowly one begs the supreme being to exchange this lowly one's life for that lowly planet's continued existence," the gnome pleaded.

Usually, Kanikuli's life would be worth much more than the entire human race. He was one of the few S-ranks in the Alliance. He could protect many more lives than the mere few billions on Earth by staying alive and fighting the Void.

However, circumstances begged to differ. The life of the Primordial Bridge's Commander was always tied to either the Primordial Maiden or the Primordial Rising Star, whichever was the strongest at the time of the Anointment. Kanikuli couldn't leave the bridge while the Primordial Rising Star was there, and after the Primordial left, both Kanikuli and Yornolar would die within days. That wasn't enough time to do anything meaningful except perhaps die for Earth.

The gnome envied the first few Bridge Commanders in history. Back then, when it was time for a Primordial Rising Star to Rise or for a Maiden to Debut, Commanders went to fight in the front lines and died in a glorious blaze, taking countless Void Spawn with them.

However, the Void had learned to tell when that was about to happen. The Void Spawn all but disappeared from the front lines for the last hundred standard years or so. That had many geopolitical and social implications, but for Kanikuli, it only meant his chance at a final, triumphant moment was taken from him.

He had absolutely nothing meaningful left to do. His enemies were long dead, his descendants' futures were protected, his subordinates knew what to do, and all the charity he had been willing to do by teaching others had already been done in his very long life.

Kanikuli had briefly entertained the idea of fighting for Earth, but whenever a Primordial was defeated or died, more Primordials came for a reckoning. The circumstances didn't matter. They were tyrants who bore no challenge to their power. If Kanikuli won, Earth would be destroyed anyway to teach the Alliance a lesson.

So, only submissive self-sacrifice was left to him. Dying for mere billions of sapients wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but it was better than waiting for an uneventful and worthless death sitting on his ass.

He only hoped he succeeded; whether the Primordial Rising Star would even look his way to consider his request remained to be seen.

Shen was thinking about how to gain time to fabricate some believable history about his past when he got two system notifications.

| Achr Vanuugandr: Our common friend says you should not lie to the being in front of you. Tell her everything.

| SYSTEM WARNING: You've received unauthorized communication during Earth's isolation period. You will be investigated.

Achr Vanuugandr was the giant wolf that had given Shen the Immortal Emperor's orders. Receiving a message like this told Shen many things. The yellow-colored warning told him even more. However, Shen left the analysis of what all of that might mean to another time; right now, he had a crazy woman to talk to.

His Battle Sense immediately detected an echo of surveillance around him. It was like feeling someone behind you while you checked something on the smartphone, but stronger.

Valentina seemed to detect it too. She frowned and looked in one direction through the walls, then another. A moment later, she harumphed and said, "Don't interfere in my business. I'll track the culprits myself."

Shen had previously entertained the possibility that Valentina might have been talking to some imaginary being. But the subsequent notification he got told him that at least the system was paying close attention to her words—and that she had a lot of sway in the Alliance because the system obeyed her.

| Warning removed. Investigation canceled.

The feeling of being watched disappeared just like that.

Everything pointed at Valentina not being someone Shen wanted to mess with: the strange power she had shown, the Immortal Emperor going back on his desire of secrecy to please her, the system obeying her will. For all of Martino's hubris, he had touched on a truth of Shen's track in the tutorial: Shen hadn't faced a situation where he couldn't do anything but submit.

That sat wrong with him. War accepted a tactical retreat, Combat understood stepping back to punch harder later, but this situation was different. This was complete acquiescence. There was no planned revenge, no comeback in the foreseeable future. Shen had to obey, and that was it.

At least, that's what they were telling him to do.

In all honesty, he shouldn't care about telling the truth. Putting his life at risk for no good reason was stupid. Still, he couldn't just lower his head like that.

"Tell me exactly what you want to know so I can name my price," Shen said.

Valentina turned her eyes back to him and frowned. Shen wasn't sure if her show of emotion instead of a blank face was better or worse for him.

"You'll use that knowledge to lie about what matters the most, won't you?" she asked.

"No," Shen replied sincerely. "I'll tell you exactly what you want to know."

She tilted her head slightly as she considered it. "Very well, I want to know who you talked to in the Pioneer Tutorial, what you talked about, and the general gist of things on Earth before you went to sleep. I'll ask questions to clarify some points as you talk."

Shen nodded and was about to name his price when he felt terror.

It was an overwhelming feeling that came from nowhere. Shen just knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he tried to exchange the information for something, he would die. That certainty had been pushed into his brain like a Skill, maybe even by the system itself. There was no doubt about the outcome of this conversation, no way around it, only the absolute truth of his end if he didn't submit.

Shen didn't want to submit. He hated it. He refused it with his entire being.

And yet, should he die for his pride?

His heart screamed, and his Path trembled as he bowed down—with a silver lining to keep his sanity.

"I'll not name a price," he said slowly, and the terror subsided a little. "I'll tell you what you want to know, and I'll let you decide what that information is worth to you."

Then, the fear peaked. Whatever or whoever was pushing it into him wanted him to tell everything to Valentina for free.

Screw them; Shen would not submit. Maybe it was needless prideful, but he would rather die free than live in fear.

Boundlessness was part of him for a reason.

Yornolar didn't look in Kanikuli's direction at all. He kept staring at the Maiden.

And suddenly, She was there.

The Primordial Maiden, back into her combat suit, materialized beside Yornolar, though her head was turned toward the gnome instead.

"Do you really believe your worthless life is worth anything, pathetic creature?" she said with a void full of scorn. He hadn't noticed she had been listening to their conversations at all. "If it were my desire to destroy that world or this bridge of yours, it would be my prerogative. Die knowing your sacrifice meant nothing. You can kill yourself now."

Kanikuli froze for half an instant before obeying at once. Any slower than that, and his subordinates would try to interfere. It was better for him to die a meaningless death just because the Maiden got angry than let the entire Primordial Bridge be eradicated to be made a point of.

He grasped his Realization and folded it on itself to obliterate it. That was the only way an S-rank could commit suicide without external aid. He held nothing back to succeed as fast as possible. The longer he stayed alive, the greater the chance one of his generals would try to interfere.

His Realization was destroyed, and death would follow swiftly.

Or rather, it should follow swiftly, but it was stopped with two words from Yornolar.

"Stay alive," the Primordial commanded.

Back on Earth, the Maiden had Whispered a heal. Now, Yornolar used his fully formed Voice instead of the much weaker power the Maiden had employed.

Before that very moment, it was a death sentence for any S-rank in the entire multiverse to lose their Realization. There was no way to survive it at all.

However, from that moment onward, the rules of existence changed. All existence bowed entirely to the Primordial's command. Reality was wholly rearranged to make his will true.

The multiverse froze as all Laws rearranged themselves to make Yornolar's will possible. That caused multiple loopholes to be introduced to the previously almost perfect interactions between Laws, which forced Reality to rearrange itself again. The chain reaction was an endless feedback loop that took an eternity to conclude. Fortunately, the Laws of Time were also frozen, and as such, time itself held no meaning.

Very few beings were powerful enough to sense what happened. Fewer still could do something about it. None dared.

When it was done, Kanikuli felt like someone had thrown a black hole through his soul. He should be dead, yet he was commanded to stay alive, so he did. Unfortunately, there was no command to live healthily.

Before fainting, the last thing he saw was the Primordials disappearing from the bridge and his generals rushing to help him.