Published at 15th of January 2026 7:49 am

Chapter 1913 Slaves of Peace

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Is it even conceivable that the Syndicate of the Hidden Hand is raising demons?

Could they truly be controlling them, shaping their power and actions, or are they simply empowering them and letting them act according to their own will, unrestricted and chaotic?

And in either case-why? What could possibly motivate such a decision, such a reckless and unprecedented act?

"There is unquestionably an external factor accelerating the development of the Red Plague in particular," Althera said, her tone firm and deliberate, filled with concern. "We do not know its source with absolute certainty, but our strongest hypothesis is that it may be the fugitives of the Abyss of Doom." "The fugitives of the Abyss of Doom?" Robin lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity and caution.

"Yes," Althera continued, her large eyes gleaming with intensity. "It was the organization that once commanded the Plague across the entire universe. A powerful and sprawling group, composed of Crimson, Black, and Blue Plague entities, all within the Domination Realm. At their peak, there were hundreds of them leading that single organization." She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "The Cosmic Elder struck them down like a meteor on that fateful day. Their headquarters were destroyed, half of them were killed instantly, but a significant number managed to escape, scattering across the cosmos, vanishing into hiding."

"...Some claim they perished from their injuries," then she added, "but the prevailing view seems to be that they survived, went into hiding, and began rebuilding their forces secretly. Or perhaps, they are sustaining Plague hotspots that emerge spontaneously, deliberately hindering our growth and preventing us from gaining too much power. They're giving themselves a chance to reappear and strike again in the future, as it were."

"Does the Plague truly have the capability for such complex, strategic calculations?" Robin asked, frowning, immediately thinking of Sakaar. That being ranked among the most intelligent and cunning creatures he had ever encountered. Even if all of its intellect was singularly focused on survival and the accumulation of strength, the complexity of its thought process was evident in every decision it made, every strategy it employed.

"Yes. They are the most dangerous class of anti-life," Althera nodded firmly. "The mutants. During the so-called golden age of the Plague, it is said they communicated with audible voices instead of exchanging scents. They possessed a civilization-bloodthirsty, filthy, and ruthless, yet organized and structured. Cities thrived under strict hierarchies, systems of law, and an unyielding chain of command."

Robin's mind immediately flashed to the demon cities under his own control, particularly the massive underground settlement in Verillion, the one that Sakaar so proudly displayed every now and then.

"But," Althera added, a trace of doubt shadowing her expression, "there is also a counter-argument suggesting that the idea of intervention by the fugitives from the Abyss of Doom is impossible. For them to operate for decades right under our noses, nurturing the emergence of new Plague hotspots for so long, would be nearly impossible without being detected." She let out a slow, controlled sigh. "Ultimately, these are only conjectures. But the outcomes speak for themselves-the hotspots continue to inflict roughly the same numbers of casualties each year, without fail.

"...?!" Robin's brow furrowed sharply. Could it truly be that this was the very purpose behind empowering them, giving them strength? To maintain this cycle of destruction, to restrain the growth of other forces, including their own adversaries?

Finally, after several tense seconds of contemplation, Robin gave a slow, deliberate nod. "All I can say is that you are absolutely right to demand this level of support. Alone, you are bearing the brunt of seven hundred million soldiers' worth of losses in lives, armor, and vehicles per century. If we take into account the withdrawal of the Vanguard Radiance Stellar Academy and the Deep Mist Stellar Academy from active duty, that means further investment in all resources, and losses approaching twenty million soldiers, along with all their equipment and assets, per century."

Robin's frown deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he weighed the numbers. "In truth, if we calculate losses at twenty million soldiers per sector per century, and you assert the budget is one trillion Pearls, the math comes out to a mere five hundred pearls per dead soldier. And that's assuming perfect efficiency. Does that figure even include the cost of training each soldier, supplying their equipment, or the maintenance of their space crafts? And that doesn't even cover the logistical nightmare of transporting them across multiple star systems and searching for new danger. It's barely enough to sustain them, let alone engage in meaningful campaigns. It's a staggering amount of responsibility to bear, and yet... you do it all alone"

"Good, you understand. So then..." Althera's large, piercing eyes locked onto Robin's, unwavering and sharp, radiating authority. "When will you pay?"

"Pay what?" Robin waved his hand dismissively several times, almost brushing the question away. "Forget about that for the moment. I want to know your secret first-where do you get all these armies from, and how do you maintain them at such ridiculously low costs!?"

Robin had control over thousands of planets, each teeming with trillions of creatures under his authority. Even with all that, if his army were losing this many soldiers annually, he knew that no one would voluntarily step forward for combat. And even if he forced them, many would resist, rebel, or find ways to avoid deployment.

Secondly, the costs didn't make sense. Five hundred Pearls per soldier? That wouldn't even cover a single bootlace in a low-tier epic armor set. And what about vehicles, fuel, additional equipment, supplies, medical support, and the countless logistics involved? What about the soldiers' salaries, and the sustenance and security of their families?

"...That, is something that concerns the Stellar Academies," Althera said, glancing away briefly, her tone measured but sharp, her composure unbroken. "... Your Majesty," Robin's expression hardened, his gaze sharpening to a piercing focus, his voice carrying a more serious, insistent tone. "Where do you even get all these people, when you don't own a single planet yourself?" He paused briefly, considering his next words. "Don't take this the wrong way-it's not a personal attack. I'm only pointing out facts. This is how every academy functions, isn't it? Tell me. I also have an academy, and I might follow similar methods."

"...It's fine." Althera nodded calmly, her posture dignified. "We open volunteer recruitment daily on every commercial and prosperous planet we influence. Our recruitment centers and headquarters expand constantly. Even within the Centennial Dual Grave Empire, we have multiple points of volunteer intake. Every volunteer is immediately transferred to a training facility, where they undergo six months of rigorous training, are equipped with a medium-energy armor set, and are given 200 pearls as compensation equivalent to a year of

work."

"Medium energy armor against the Plague? Two hundred pearls for an entire year of combat?" Robin's brows knitted tightly, disbelief and incredulity etched across his face. "You're literally exploiting the desperate and impoverished to fight the Plague! No wonder your numbers fall every year, and no wonder the human cost is astronomical!"

"Do you have a solution?" Althera's voice remained calm and unwavering, almost as though she hadn't even heard his indignation. "No kingdom or Centennial Empire is willing to contribute even a fraction of their military forces or provide decent equipment. The most we've ever been able to extract from them is barely 20,000 to 50,000 pearls annually, and that only comes in the form of academy entrance fees. What are we supposed to do with that?" "Yes, theoretically, I could wait several years and attempt to build a proper, trained, and effective army," Robin said, rubbing his temples, deep in thought. "But what about the Plague hotspots during those years? Can you imagine the scale of devastation they would reach without intervention? Even after building a competent army, how many regions could we realistically deploy them to? How many soldiers would survive a single year of fighting in a sector dominated by the Plague, especially within a Nexus State or Dominion scenario? And even after deployment, how long would it take before the Plague wipes them out completely? Then we'd have to start from zero... and we've

been there before."

"..." Robin massaged his forehead, his frustration evident, his mind racing through logistics, probability, and strategy. "And yet, despite these predictable losses, the war continues each year with the same casualty rates and the same minimal budget. Don't these poor souls learn from those who came before

them?"

"..." Althera hesitated for a brief moment, her gaze contemplative, but then she spoke. "...When an academy cannot gather enough forces to cover its annual deficits, it resorts to unofficial hiring"

"Unofficial hiring from whom? Do the empires give you pearls with one hand

just for you to take it back with the other? That's insane-" Robin's words stopped abruptly. His eyes widened, fixed on Althera with sudden realization. "The Syndicate!! You're hiring slaves from the Syndicate?!"

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