Published at 22nd of March 2026 4:46 pm

Chapter 2070 Council of Thrones

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Mid Sector 250 - Headquarters of the Supreme Council of the Stellar Academies

"Hm, there are 43 new stellar academies requesting financial support."

One of the figures seated on the arched platform spoke while slowly reviewing a thick stack of papers in front of him, his movements heavy, his boredom obvious, his eyes moving lazily between the lines as if the numbers themselves were exhausting him.

"I honestly do not know what to say. Do those clowns feel no shame asking for money? The thickness of their skins is unbelievable. They keep demanding support as if it were their natural right."

"How many are there now?" On the other side of the platform, another person spoke while resting his head on his fist, his voice calm but weighted with fatigue. "Seven hundred to eight hundred academies requesting financial support? Out of three thousand academies in total? That is a massive number by any standard."

"Heh, and most of those requesting financial aid have already stopped fighting the plague, according to the reports." The voice carried clear irritation, mixed with restrained contempt.

"Hm," another nodded slowly. "And there are nearly six hundred requesting soul borrowings support, and around four hundred and fifty requesting Nexus State support because of the increase in mutated plague numbers." Then he let out a mocking, hollow laugh. "They truly believe we are some kind of chamber that grants dreams."

"So what should we do?" The first speaker gathered the papers, stacked them carefully, and leaned back in his seat, his posture showing both authority and exhaustion.

"Let the academies that want money coordinate with the academies that want soul borrowings and Nexus States," one of them said calmly, then waved his hand dismissively. "They can sort it out among themselves like they always do. That system has worked before."

"But taking Nexus States and soul borrowings from poor academies will weaken them even further." A different voice spoke, his tone colder, more analytical, as he glanced around the platform. "How many academies have already collapsed because of this strategy? The last one fell just two days ago, and the damage was irreversible."

"So what do you want us to do then?" another raised his voice sharply. "Open the vaults? Is that what you want?! Drain the reserves for them?!"

"...I did not say that." The elder hesitated for a moment, his expression tightening. "But surely there is something we can do. There must be another path." Then he turned slowly toward the figure seated at the center of the arched platform. "What do you think, Master Qarun?"

Everyone fell silent at the same moment, as if the air itself had frozen, and all eyes turned toward the center.

Among the thirteen people present, not a single one dared to speak after the words were directed at the man in the middle.

Not a breath was raised. Not a sound followed.

The Lord of the Stellar Academies of the universe.

The final authority in such meetings.

The one whose word alone could reshape policy, war, and fate itself.

Qarun.

This place was the seat of the Council of Thrones, and their leader, the Master of the Council, called himself the Master of the Thrones.

Why did they call themselves thrones?

This was not the case when the Supreme Council of the Stellar Academies was first founded. In the beginning, they were simply an administrative authority. It was a title Qarun later chose, deliberately and carefully, to fit their growing cosmic status and expanding dominance.

After all, the Supreme Council of the Stellar Academies was what protected the universe from the danger of the plague and what kept the Syndicate in check. It was the unseen wall standing between existence and collapse. How could its name be merely the Supreme Council of Stellar Academies? That made them sound closer to teachers and administrators than to guardians of life and existence itself.

Only the Council of Thrones was a title powerful enough for such a council. Only that title carried the weight, fear, and authority they represented.

Only that title granted them their rightful cosmic legitimacy.

Of course, some academy heads were displeased with this, openly resentful and quietly furious, but that was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Anyone who objected was fined, pressured, or had their taxes increased until resistance itself became too costly to maintain.

The work of the Council of Thrones and its importance was not something trivial that anyone could dare to underestimate, not politically, not

economically, and certainly not cosmically.

Of course, in ancient times, it was extremely rare for this council to convene. It would only gather for a great catastrophe, one capable of threatening the structure of existence itself, and the universe had lived in peace for tens of millions of years. But recently, no one had left this place, and the hall of power had remained continuously occupied.

""

The figure seated at the center, the Supreme Throne, leaned forward slightly, until the dim candlelight covered him and revealed his features more clearly, casting shadows that deepened the intensity of his presence.

He appeared to be a man in his early thirties, broad-shouldered, with dark hair covering his head, yet completely clean-shaven at the chin. Overall, he was strikingly handsome, but his sharp eyes alone were enough to make any woman lose her composure with a single glance, carrying an authority that went far beyond mere appearance.

He wore entirely black garments, yet they radiated extreme luxury and overwhelming value. How could they not, when they were woven from the eyebrow hair of draconic beasts that had reached Monarch-level power, after being soaked in special solutions for a million years, their fibers infused with ancient energy and enduring resilience.

A black cloak descended from his shoulders, lined with dark feathers around the neck like polished plumes, crafted from the crowns of black phoenixes. That lavish cloak was fastened across his chest with a thick chain made from the fangs of Law Dominant-level Kylin, fused together using the marrow of a nascent space beast, forming a binding both symbolic and terrifying in its

origin.

On one of his fingers, he wore a strange ring, a silver ring inlaid with exquisite golden engravings. The ring emitted its own aura, its own presence, its own gravity, its own silent authority, as if it were a living being in itself, an independent existence bound to his will.

Unusually, Qarun did not display his customary confident smile. Instead, his brows were slightly furrowed, and unfamiliar expressions rested upon his handsome face, a rare sign of uncertainty and tension.

"...Something has happened. Something major." The Supreme Throne finally spoke, his voice calm but heavy. "Something that is shaking the cosmic balance."

"What is it, Master?" one of the Thrones asked in surprise, his voice carrying

unease.

"Something that shakes the cosmic balance? Unlikely." Another Throne laughed, though the sound lacked true confidence. "The Hidden Hand would not do it, and we would not do anything that harms our interests. So who would?" "Intiras? Or perhaps Morpheus?" another narrowed hiseyes, his tone cautious

and analytical.

"Tsk tsk." One of the Thrones shook his head. "Neither of them can do anything capable of shaking the cosmic balance." Then he waved dismissively. "What is the worst they could do? Invade sectors? Shut down space portals or the Soul

Society? Child's play."

"Then what is it?" One of the Thrones closest to the center asked, looking directly at Qarun. "Do you have an idea, Master?"

"I do not know." Qarun tapped the platform before him slowly, rhythmically.

"But I believe we will find out soon." Then he turned his gaze toward the door,

his expression unreadable.

Bang

The door burst open violently, the impact echoing through the vast hall, and a mature woman who appeared to be in her forties rushed in, her face pale, her

breathing rushed.

"Disaster!!"

"What happened?" the twelve Thrones asked in unison, some of them already beginning to sweat, their composure cracking.

"The Cosmic Elder!" the woman shouted, her voice shaking. "The Cosmic Elder

has broadcast a recording across all cosmic channels, withdrawing trust from

the Council of Thrones!!"

"........?!!!!!"

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