Published at 7th of July 2026 7:04 am

Chapter 2255: Sleeping in honey

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

Mid Sector 99 — Capital of the Millennial Empire of Continuous Chaos

The throne hall was dimly lit as usual, majestic as usual, filled with towering pillars and ancient decorations that had witnessed countless generations of rulers...

Yet it felt gloomy, burdened by an unusually heavy atmosphere that seemed to linger between the walls themselves and press silently upon anyone present.

"...."

The two Guardians, Omis and Omira, sat in silence, watching something with unusual concentration.

A three-dimensional projection moved through the enormous throne hall, depicting a vast number of warships spread across a simulated battlefield. Massive vessels occupied the center of the formation while being surrounded by smaller, more numerous craft that moved continuously around them in organized patterns.

The ships were not of a single type. The Destruction Note family occupied the center of the formation, but it was far from alone. Around it were other clusters, each consisting of dozens of fleets sharing the same model and color scheme, arranged in a manner that made it obvious they belonged to different military traditions and different origins.

Ordinarily, such a gathering would result in confusion, accidents, conflicting command structures, and poor coordination. Yet the scene before them demonstrated the exact opposite. A Note squadron advanced proudly through the center while everyone else followed in obedient formation, moving with an order that seemed almost unnatural considering the backgrounds of the forces involved.

During the recorded exercises, whenever a simulated target appeared that required engagement, a fleet would separate from the Note formation, move toward one of the nearby squadrons, and insert itself directly into its center with remarkable precision. Supremacy Note-4 remained at the core while the ten Destruction Note-4 vessels spread themselves throughout the formation with extraordinary precision, forming what resembled joints within a living body and connecting otherwise independent sections into a unified whole.

Meanwhile, the Flood Notes dispersed throughout the entire structure, creating something akin to blood vessels and muscles, weaving themselves between the other fleets in such a way that the entire formation gradually began to resemble a living organism rather than a collection of ships.

The only fleet belonging to the Note family would enter another formation like a soul entering a body and restoring it to life. It was a strange deployment pattern and an even stranger tactical doctrine, yet once the recorded combat exercises began, something even more unusual occurred. The efficiency of that formation would rise to abnormal levels. Maneuvers became smoother, reactions faster, and coordination noticeably sharper.

When two, three, or even four formations fought using the same structure, their cooperation became exceptionally high, while problems involving rivalry, selfish interests, personal grudges, political competition, and all the usual weaknesses of military alliances simply disappeared as though they had never existed.

Those were the very same problems that had destroyed the Alliance of the Six Great Powers in neighboring Mid Sector 101 after they had gathered eleven thousand fleets together in a single front.

The same problems that had turned them into scattered foam upon the tide, stripped away their advantages one after another, and caused them to fall apart at the first major setback despite their overwhelming numbers.

Yet those problems did not exist in what they were seeing now.

"Each of those formations..." Omis frowned while studying the projection carefully. "Contains dozens of admirals and countless officers and soldiers. Every formation belongs to a Wing that was once an independent empire and possessed long-standing hostility toward many of the others participating in that demonstration. Some of those grudges should be older than entire civilizations."

Omira added, "...How did they manage to fuse them into a single system like this? Especially considering that every Wing retains its own admirals, marshals, officers, and soldiers. They didn’t merely take the ships and redistribute them... Did Lord Robin invent something to control the human nature itself?"

"His Majesty truly did something," a voice came from the side at that moment. "I’ve experienced it personally before."

"Oh?" The two brothers looked in a certain direction. "So there really is a secret?" One of them continued, leaning forward slightly. "What is it? What makes those Wings submit in such a manner? What makes so many people willingly abandon instincts that have existed for countless years?"

"It’s a trap."

In that corner sat a figure upon a small chair in the darkness as though he were being punished and deliberately isolated from the rest of the hall. His voice was harsh, as though he had spent his entire life swallowing sand. Soft green scales resembling those of a serpent covered portions of his skin, while his yellow slit-pupiled eyes appeared both cold and unsettling even under the weak lighting.

"...It’s the honey trap that ensnares everyone who deals with His Majesty for the first time."

"What honey trap?" Omis raised an eyebrow slightly.

"As the name suggests." The figure in the shadows leaned forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, revealing Servon, the Seventh Prince of the Great Serpent Empire, wearing a smile that seemed both amused and helpless. "...His Majesty places an enormous jar of honey in front of you, overflowing with benefits, innovations, opportunities, wealth, advantages, and solutions to problems you may have struggled with for centuries. And like an obedient little fly, you’ll assume he’s a fool and jump into it willingly, convinced that you’ve discovered an opportunity too good to ignore. Only later do you realize it was a trap all along. A very cruel trap. And you come to understand that His Majesty was never foolish, nor excessively generous, nor unaware of what he was doing."

"What kind of trap? Does he hide something inside those techniques?" Omira straightened in his seat, his attention becoming noticeably sharper.

"Yes, he puts something incredibly insidious inside them." Servon lowered his gaze, the amusement on his face fading slightly as though he were remembering something that had happened to him personally. "If it happened and he started negotiating with you, he fills them with power you’ve never seen before, craftsmanship you’ve never heard of, and horizons you’ve never dreamed existed. Everything he gives you makes you stronger, wealthier, more capable, and more difficult to replace. It allows you to glimpse a world you never believed you would see with your own eyes, a level of possibility that seemed reserved for legends. And that plants something inside you. It plants an addiction to more. It plants dependence. It makes you grow accustomed to progress arriving faster than it should and opportunities appearing where none should exist."

"...It makes you ask yourself: If I’m merely a distant partner and he gave me all of this, then what is he keeping for himself? If simply joining him for a specific deal earned me this much, then what would I receive if I truly satisfied him? If he was able to make me this powerful, then what would happen if I angered him?!...And once those questions appear, they never truly leave your mind again. They linger there, growing larger every year."

Then he let out a weak laugh.

"I spent my time in the Young Belt searching for stories about His Majesty’s past and following his footsteps so I could learn from him. How could someone born into such a trivial family reach heights like these? How could someone begin from almost nothing and eventually stand at the center of so many events? And that trap was one of the things that astonished me the most because it kept appearing over and over again no matter which part of his history I examined."

"...Do you know how many times people laughed at His Majesty because of it? They said he had been scammed. They said he didn’t know how to negotiate. They said he failed to understand the value of what he possessed. They called him a fool and claimed he should keep such things for himself rather than handing them to others so freely. From his negotiations with the late Galan Bradley over some Sixth-Grade talismans all the way to his recent negotiations with Lord Ranther and the Wings, they always said the same thing. Every single time, he appeared to lose. Every single time, observers walked away convinced the other side had taken advantage of him."

"But nobody noticed..." Servon’s smile widened slightly. "That everyone who defeats him in those negotiations eventually becomes one of his greatest supporters and closest servants afterward, without even entertaining a moment of rebellion or seriously considering the possibility of walking away. Through the Honey Trap, through the trap of generosity, extravagance, apparent foolishness, and endless opportunities, Lord Robin built his unbound empires and tied people to him more effectively than chains ever could."

"...And you came here to get us to fall in this Honey Trap?" Omis frowned deeply, clearly unconvinced. "Do you really believe we need what your master possesses? Do you think we’ll become servants to him just like you?"

"And do you think you’re worthy of becoming servants to him like me?!" Servon raised his voice slightly, genuine indignation flashing across his face. "Secondly, yes. You need what His Majesty possesses. Everyone needs it. Every empire, every organization, every Behemoth, every ambitious genius in the universe eventually finds themselves wanting something that only he can provide. As for him... he needs no one."

"Haha, remarkable. It seems serving as a servant for years truly does damage the mind." Omira laughed before casually waving a hand. "Very well then. Repeat your offers and pour out more of this honey. Perhaps we’ll decide to taste some of it."

"No. The time for honey has passed. Now it’s time to chew salt." Servon chuckled maliciously, though there was a trace of nervousness hidden beneath the laughter. "Keeping me here was a poor move. I warned you repeatedly. Supreme General Haros was trying to suppress the matter because, from his perspective, he didn’t want to create major problems for His Majesty. But now that those maneuvers have begun, it means news of my detention has already reached him, and once information reaches him, things rarely remain simple."

"Oh... so news that a servant was detained has reached Hiiis Majesty?" Omis laughed, leaning back against his throne. "How terrifying."

"..."

Servon lowered his gaze once more, his expression fearful and noticeably more serious than before.

"You simply don’t know... you don’t know..."

Images returned to his mind of Robin standing before Helen during the coronation ceremony, the atmosphere that had surrounded him then, the pressure in the air, and the terrifying certainty with which he had acted.

Yes.

Terrifying.

Terrifying when someone attempted to trample on his dignity, disregard his authority, or force him to lower his head.

"...."

The twins frowned heavily.

For the first time since Servon had begun speaking, neither of them laughed immediately.

Knock. Knock.

"Your Majesties, Lord Glathion, ruler of the Vast Ice Wing, has arrived and requests an audience. He is accompanied by an attendant."

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