Mental and physical energies are interchangeable. This explains why robust health boosts mental vitality, creating a vibrant aura. It also clarifies the ancient Earth concept of "qi deviation" during martial arts or cultivation. Earth's martial artists and cultivators neglected mental energy training. Cultivators fared slightly better, but martial artists ignored it entirely. While physical training converts some energy to mental, it's insufficient for breakthroughs, leading to unstable minds and chaotic thoughts, disrupting qi flow and causing deviation.
On Flying Dragon Star, no one's suffered qi deviation. I suspect their naturally high mental energy, which drives their magical affinity, is why. At lower cultivation tiers, mental energy demands are minimal, but past Tier 4 or fourth-stage transformation, it's critical. Higher tiers demand greater mental energy and brain development.
I'll issue a decree: all martial and magical cultivators must train both. Martial artists, beyond willpower honed through practice (a mental energy byproduct), must meditate to boost mental energy. Magic cultivators must train martially. Life-extending elixirs help, but weak bodies negate gains. Before we arrived, no grand mage lived past 200—150 was rare.
Helping Xue'er reforge her meridians benefited me and uncovered this vital clue. It'll spare the empire's citizens costly mistakes, bolstering our strength. I don't want a sudden outbreak of deranged cultivators.
"Xue'er, announce today: all martial and magical cultivators must train both. For those nearing breakthroughs, a guardian must supervise," I said. Seeing her confusion, I shared my findings and our ordeal. She gasped, realizing her mental energy would've failed without me absorbing 99% of her pain. It barely fazed me, but my body nearly collapsed.
"Got it. I'll relay it," Xue'er said.
"Any alien sightings?" I asked. This was priority one—no slacking. "Not yet," she replied.
After breakfast, I entered the palace's communication hall, linking video feeds with Yanhuang Star's space monitoring station, legion commanders, and district generals.
"Cohen, should we deploy a warship to set up radio-free communicators?" I asked. Cohen oversaw monitoring for this operation. Radio-free communicators, bio-tech hybrids, avoided detectable radio waves, preventing enemy interception or decryption. They self-moved, embedded in five-kilogram void stones, blending seamlessly into space's clutter.
"Majesty, rest assured. At dawn, we dispatched a warship to deploy a million communicators within a billion light-years. No activity yet, but they can't hide long," Cohen said.
"All legions, execute Plans Two and Three. Generals, temper your troops' battle lust and provide psychological support," I ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
Damn, what are those aliens plotting? They didn't vanish—they're lurking nearby, just undetected. Fine. Time to check the military factories. Emperor, and I barely know my own assets—pathetic.
"Report production progress," I told the military production chief.
"Yes, Majesty. We have ten factories: six on Flying Dragon Star, four on Yanhuang Star. With ample materials, we produce twenty large Dragon-class warships, sixty medium, and one hundred small daily."
"Materials aren't an issue, right?" Our region, rich in void stone belts and dead stars, teemed with needed metals.
"Currently, we're sufficient, but certain rare metals are scarce. Substitutes lower performance, risking heavy losses in combat," the chief said, concerned.
"With war looming, we can't fix this now. Find solutions. Scout nearby systems for resources. The universe is vast—metals exist. Is smelting keeping pace with production?" I asked.
"Barely. We're building two large smelters and a factory on a dead star in the void belt. Construction started last year; testing's underway. If successful, production begins in days," he reported.
"Excellent news," I said. "Production stops only for material shortages, not outdated equipment."
"For resource scarcity, the design department should collaborate. Create large mobile smelter-transport warships capable of repairing large ships and assembling small ones. Prioritize strong defenses. Feasible?" I asked the design team accompanying me, urging practical solutions.
"Yes, Majesty. No issues," they confirmed, assessing with expertise.
"Perfect. That boosts production and solves shortages," the production chief said, elated.
"War hinges on people. Top equipment needs skilled operators. How's training?" I asked the training director. Since the trials, I'd separated Yanhuang Star's recruit training and Flying Dragon Star's reserves into a dedicated training department. Legions focused on combat drills, while trained reserves filled gaps or formed new units instantly with equipment. This streamlined combat readiness, ensuring full-strength legions without new-recruit drag—a foundation for future wars.
"Majesty, 300,000 troops are ready. Once equipped, they can form armies," the director said confidently, proud of his work.
"Well done. Assign some to scout with the smelter-transports once built. It ensures production and maintains strength," I said.
"Yes, sir."
"Your work is vital. Without you, our frontlines lack support," I said, generous with praise.
"Majesty, the monitoring center reports enemy warships. Dean Cohen requests your immediate return," a messenger burst in. Finally, a weight off my chest.
"That's all for today. Execute my orders," I said, rushing back to the palace with my team.
"Majesty!" Cohen's face greeted me on the screen.
"Show me the footage," I said. The radio-free communicator's clear images loaded. "No movement?"
"Not yet. They seem to be waiting," Cohen said.
"Good. Broadcast the footage to all warships—let everyone see. Keeps them from going stir-crazy. Pin that communicator's position; don't lose them. They're likely awaiting their main fleet," I ordered.
My move cheered the troops. Sitting idle in warships was maddening. The footage sparked debates on enemy ship strengths, refining battle plans.
To catch them off guard, I assigned new warships to the Rapid Response Legion, ordering them to flank the aliens, coordinating with forward legions for a pincer annihilation. The enemy was already on the back foot. My only worry: their fleet size. Sci-fi novels tossed around tens of thousands of ships. If they bring multiple fleets, I'm screwed. But war's about people, tech, and strategy. I'd find a way to win.
That lone ship gave me a headache. If only I could tap their comms. I ordered continued surveillance. Their full force wouldn't arrive soon—small fleets would've shown already.
"Damn, how long we waiting? Let's blast that ship. Their main force'll come for revenge, saving us the wait. Good plan, right?" Ahu griped in his warship.
"Tiger, shut it. That plan stinks—I'm sparing your feelings," Alang shot back via video.
"I scorn your brainless ass," Ahu retorted, flashing a universal gesture. Their bickering escalated, dredging up childhood escapades—like spying on island girls. Along and Abao, complicit in those antics, squirmed. Soldiers listening gaped—our commanders were that wild? Exhausted, the duo stopped, too late to regret their overshare. The fallout? Their home vineyards collapsed, and Flying Dragon Star, thinking they'd overworked, showered them with praise.
Pompoko kneaded the bare chest of the woman beside him, satisfied, before rising, dressing, and entering his office. Sako had prepared his meal.
"How long till we arrive?" Pompoko asked, eating. As the empire's first expedition, excitement made time crawl. He yearned to plant imperial flags across that lush planet. Despite inner fervor, he kept a calm facade.
"Two days to the target. I've reported our movements to the Emperor," Sako said.
Pompoko frowned, irked by Sako's initiative. He loathed presumption, especially in his presence. He wanted to discipline Sako, but the aide was the Prime Minister's nephew—officially a gilded deputy, but clearly a spy. Everyone knew Pompoko's feud with the Prime Minister.
"Know what's allowed and what's not. I dislike self-righteous types. Want to serve under me? Remember that," Pompoko said coldly, wiping his mouth and retreating to his quarters.
Sako glared at Pompoko's back. "Old lech," he muttered, seething at the thought of his lover under the general. One day, I'll crush him and vent this rage. Soon, moans resumed from Pompoko's room.
Sako cleared the dishes, stomping out.
Demon Realm Palace
"Majesty, Princess Meilina reports: humans plan to attack the demon realm. She urges caution and severs father-daughter ties," a demon relayed cautiously.
"Hah, absurd! A puny human beating Trank thinks he's invincible? Invade my realm? Send Lang Wuyu to guard the boundary. Let's see him try, the fool. Good riddance to that jinx," the Demon King scoffed, though a flicker of sorrow crossed his face. Meilina, his daughter with his beloved consort, bore her mother's shadow.
"Go. Inform Lang Wuyu," he said, weary after his outburst.
"Yes, sir." The demon retreated, relieved.
Flying Dragon Star Palace
"Feitian, Earth's company reports: the government wants to collaborate on new energy development. Your thoughts?" Xue'er asked, gently rubbing my back. Since discovering high-energy crystal mining, energy wasn't a concern. Our reserves could last centuries, with war stocks sufficient for any conflict. History showed energy as the root of strife. Beyond storage, we hid mined crystals and sought alternatives. High-energy crystals, abundant here, were finite. Their compact, potent nature made them irreplaceable for critical uses, so substitutes for lesser needs were essential.
After mastering crystal tech, we fitted cars with crystal engines—twice as fast as standard vehicles, with twenty-year power. Reserved for executives and VIPs, they were silent, smokeless, and comfy. Clients loved them, asking where to buy. Learning they were company-exclusive, some offered $20 million per car. We produced a luxury batch—$40 million each (USD). To prevent leaks, crystals and converters were fused; tampering triggered self-destruct. Nations testing this lost money and gained nothing. Our cars, carved from void stone and heat-treated, were near-indestructible.
I thought the price would deter buyers, producing only 120. But leaks sparked a flood of orders. We made thirty more, barely meeting 1% of demand. To curry favor, we gifted two stretch models to our government and sold three to the U.S., UK, and Germany—$80 million each, a world record. Worth it: a standard model could run 24/7 for a year, rinse off dust, and shine anew. Crucially, they withstood rocket launchers without a scratch. Dubbed "Dragons," owning one signaled wealth and safety.
Incidents boosted Dragon demand—drivers strutted with pride. Some eyed our company cars for resale. Though not void stone, they performed identically, drawing attention. I suspected the government's true aim: our energy converters. Sharp eyes saw the real prize.
"Tell them we'll negotiate via video," I said. For Earth operations, we installed interstellar video systems for instant issue resolution.
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, aliens loom, demons brace, and Feitian's playing Earth's energy game! Will his crystal tech outfox global powers, or is Meilina's demon warning a trap? What's Pompoko's next move? Drop your galactic theories in the comments—let's decode this cosmic chessboard!