Kallus stood within the vast, magnificent throne room—majestic, beautiful, and incomprehensibly grand. The chamber was filled with intricate designs, or perhaps runes—if they could even be called that—etched into every surface in patterns beyond mortal understanding. He couldn’t decipher them, not yet. And there, atop a paradoxical throne that seemed to embody eternity itself, reclined the Supreme Being.

The figure lounged lazily, yet its white eyes—if they were truly eyes—remained fixed on Kallus. He couldn’t perceive the true form of the entity, much less the details of its gaze. For Kallus was still weak, a mere speck before a cosmic force.

But back to the point—the gaze of the Supreme Being did not burn with rage, nor did it offer warmth or affection. No, it held something far more dangerous: curiosity.

It was that very curiosity which had brought the Being to Kallus. It was the reason behind his reincarnation, the strange gifts he’d received, and the journey he now walked.

“You’ve grown, Kallus, in these mere four months,” the Supreme Being said, its voice weaving through infinite echoes. Though seated directly before him, the voice came from all directions, resonating across dimensions, stirring something deep in Kallus’s soul.

Kallus tried to anchor his thoughts, to silence the torrent rising in his mind. He fixed his focus on the Being, who seemed to peer directly into his inner world.

“Stronger. And sharper too,” the Being said, its tone unreadable. Then it added, as if pleased, “You’ve begun shaping the world around you in your image. Good.”

The Being hadn’t spoken in an obvious or boastful tone, but there was no joke hidden in his praise. In truth, he was genuinely pleased with Kallus’s growth and increasing sharpness. And why wouldn’t he be? What many would fail to realize—what even you, the observer, might not grasp—was just how surprising Kallus’s development had been… even to the Supreme Being himself.

You see, it wasn’t that Kallus saw something before the Being moved. No—he felt it.

And that alone was astonishing.

The Being hadn’t been particularly stealthy in that moment, but he also hadn’t tried to conceal his intent. He didn’t need to. His overwhelming power usually rendered such things unnecessary. His presence was vast, cosmic—too large to be noticed in subtle shifts. When he moved, reality shifted with him, yet no one ever noticed. That was simply how things were.

Yet… Kallus had felt it. Not clearly. Not precisely. But enough to know something was about to happen.

That detail—so small, yet so profound—made the Being pause.

He had considered the possibility that it was due to Kallus’s soul. After all, their souls were alike in color—an echo, a rare similarity. Perhaps that connection allowed some faint resonance, some shared instinct. But that idea alone was absurd, even to the Being. How could Kallus—weak, barely awakened, and just beginning his journey—sense something from a being who was born supreme, who had existed before existence itself?

The gap between them was immeasurable.

And yet, it had happened.

For all his infinite knowledge and eternal awareness, this was new—even to him.

That was why the Being was not merely curious.

He was invested.

His gaze focused once again on Kallus. The curiosity hadn’t faded—in fact, it had only deepened.

Meanwhile, Kallus remained silent, though his mind raced with thoughts and questions. He had never been summoned like this before.

Well—technically, the Supreme Being had only summoned him once before. But that had been different. That was their first face-to-face meeting. Before that, they had only spoken once, during a moment when Kallus had been deeply confused about his crew, his purpose, and the strange new world he’d been thrust into.

The second time had been darker—when he was spiraling into despair, consumed by a void of his own creation. The Being had intervened then too. But neither of those moments had been like this.

This was sudden. Abrupt. Forceful.

And Kallus knew—this wasn’t routine.

Since his reincarnation, he’d known that the Supreme Being was always watching. He had accepted that fact ever since the Empress, the flagship, the crew, and even an entire universal plane had been granted to him. A divine gift—or perhaps an investment. Either way, the Being’s presence was a constant shadow, always looming, always distant.

But this wasn’t the usual distant gaze.

This wasn’t an observation.

This was an intervention.

And Kallus could feel it in his bones: this meeting wasn’t ordinary. Not for him—and perhaps, not even for the Being.

And just to prove that Kallus’s assumptions weren’t entirely wrong—in fact, they were partially correct—the Being leaned forward on his throne.

Yet even in that small motion, his body language radiated an unmistakable laziness, a divine boredom, as though the weight of eternity had dulled his sense of urgency.

“So,” the Supreme Being began, his voice a cosmic ripple, “in these three… perhaps four months, you’ve achieved much.”

His gaze—piercing and impossibly vast—never wavered.

“You’ve powered up. You’ve created a fleet strong enough to serve as a deterrent, to demand respect. A force that could shake lesser factions into hesitation. Impressive.”

A pause.

“But just as I said moments ago—despite all these developments… you seem to be growing rather comfortable, Kallus.”

He let the word linger like a warning.

“Not that comfort is a sin. You’ve earned some measure of it. I accept, and even praise, your ingenuity in utilizing the Universal Plane and its time-dilation feature. You’ve trained your overwhelmingly talented crew into monsters—exactly what I expected of you. And you did it… with flying colors.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with layered meaning.

“But still… you’ve grown too comfortable.”

The Being’s voice grew colder, yet never loud. It didn’t need to be.

“Everything is falling into your hands, isn’t it? A near-limitless playground like the Universal Plane. A fleet equipped with unmatched technological advantage. Infinite resources. Enemies so weak they hardly qualify as obstacles—ants and bugs, at best. And even they offer more resistance through numbers than your current foes.”

The air around them pulsed with tension. The message was clear:

This was not praise.

This was a reminder.

Kallus’s jaw tightened as he heard the supreme being speak.He said nothing—not a word of protest, not even a denial of the claims made. And really, what was there to refute?

The being had spoken the truth.

Even though the Being’s words had pierced deeper than any blade or psychic assault Kallus had ever endured, they weren’t cruel. They were simply—true.

The Supreme Being’s words echoed again in his mind—not laced with malice or cruelty, for such emotions weren’t even present, but with something far more damning:

Truth.

He knew the Supreme Being hadn’t lied, nor exaggerated. There was no need to. Every word had pierced not because of its harshness—but because it was simply what Kallus had refused to admit to himself.

And that’s why he didn’t argue—not because he couldn’t, but because there was nothing to argue against. What was there to say? What could he possibly refute? Huh?

For months now, he hadn’t faced anything that truly tested him. Sure, he’d fought during the cultivation trial—he remembered the primal bear, the twin phoenixes. But that was then. Even those battles weren’t the kind where he could die. None of them had ever truly tested him or pushed him to his breaking point.

And even in the Void Tower, where the souls of those legendary warriors lingered, while they pressured him, it never reached the point where he—or his life—was truly threatened.

And even now, just a little while before being pulled here, he was watching his fleet obliterate the Minotaur 7th Fleet like they were nothing. He didn’t even have to use Obliterator himself — instead, he watched through Obliterator’s command as his fleet crushed the Minotaur forces.

The Minotaurs clearly didn’t stand a chance at all, and he didn’t even lift a finger. It didn’t pose a tactical challenge—no risk and no cost whatsoever for him and his fleet.

And even the universal base itself had become his and his people’s personal haven—a realm as vast as the universe itself, rich with infinite, never-ending resources and various kinds of energy in their purest forms. This place was free of consequences and out of reach for anyone except him and those he chose to welcome.

For him and his crew, it was paradise. Predictable. Safe.

While challenges did exist here—the universal base housed life, including legendary beasts and strange phenomena—none of these were beyond his ability to handle.

Even though this place was supposed to be his training ground—something meant to contribute to his growth—the Universal Plane did exactly what the Supreme Being had made it for.

Well, supposedly.

Because if you asked the Being himself, he’d just roll his eyes and say,”Training ground? Purpose? Please. I made the Universal Plane because I was bored, alright?”

To which the author would probably jump in and say,”Hey! What are you saying in front of the readers? Just admit it—you did create it with a purpose. I even gave you those lines to justify it! At least pretend it wasn’t all to relieve your boredom!”

The Being would smirk and shrug,”Yeah, yeah. Purpose, growth, destiny—blah blah. Believe what you want.”

A/N: I don’t know why I added these lines here. Maybe I’ve gone a little mad or something… but definitely not to pad the word count. Nope. Not at all.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep