<...You’re still far too young to be throwing your life away .> Robin’s smile faded instantly. He slowly turned his head toward her, his voice low but sharp. "Throwing my life away? What exactly do you mean by that?" The faerie’s wings flickered with unease, her voice measured. fifth stage of the Space Path. I’m telling you now—Don’t.> Robin scoffed, but there was tension behind it. "And what, just because people started calling me the future Great Chosen Truth, doesn’t make me able to do whatever I want? Is that what you’re implying?" The faerie’s voice turned grave. Robin’s eyes narrowed as he muttered through gritted teeth: "So he’s monopolizing the fifth through seventh stages? He really thinks the Space Path was carved out for his convenience? What kind of absurd tyranny is this?" His voice rose slightly at the end, but he caught himself, drawing a slow breath. He was starting to understand... why they called him Tyrant. Good,> the fairy continued. She paused, her voice quieter now. Robin fell into a grim silence. His hands had curled into fists at his side. The idea that entire stages of heavenly law were locked away, unreachable—not by nature, but by a man—it made his skin crawl. When he’d first heard about the portal taxes and the outrageous 20% tribute, he’d immediately begun thinking of ways to design his own portals. Weaker portals, perhaps, or ones that didn’t use as much spatial law—anything to stop outsiders from monitoring his empire’s movements through their fancy "tracking features." He had fifth-stage Space Law. Why shouldn’t he use it? But now... even that seemed impossible. Sighing through clenched teeth, Robin began flipping through the merchant’s pages again. "First-Stage Spatial Cutter... Five-meter Travel Pouch... Third-Stage Cloak of Concealment... Compact Vault with 200m³ capacity... Surveillance Mirror of Reflection... Spatial Memory Box..." His hand moved out of habit, almost angrily now—trying to distract himself, to push the frustration away. But something stopped him. A single name printed on every single product tag. "Sold by: Interas Galaxy." Robin’s eyes froze. He flipped the next page. Then the next. And the next. Same dominating presence. "...What the hell is this?" he growled. "All of these products are under Interas’s name? Even the ones below the fourth stage? What, is there no other Truth Chosen in the entire universe who has dared to touch this path?" "...Or am I just stuck in a corner of the shop that’s entirely owned by him?" The faerie hesitated before answering. Her voice was barely above a whisper now. show it. Not after what’s happened in the past.> Robin’s fists clenched tighter. He flipped the pages faster now—page after page of space-related tools and constructs, each more mundane than the last... yet each stamped with the same brand. He wasn’t just buying a product. He was buying from a system. One that claimed ownership over one of the most vital, widespread, and universally essential laws of the cosmos. Every portal. Every ship. Every ring. Every backpack. All of it—from one hand. "Hmm?" Robin narrowed his eyes, sensing something peculiar. He had finally scrolled down to the item that had triggered all the frustration and outrage in the first place. What appeared before him was an image of a colossal structure: a hollow triangular frame standing tall like a forgotten monument from a more advanced civilization. When compared to the buildings and tiny silhouettes of people at its base, the sheer monumentality of the structure became undeniable—it was easily the size of a small city, towering in silence as though it defied gravity itself. Beneath the image, a simple caption was displayed in sleek golden letters: "A hundred thousand Pearls for a single ticket?!" Robin’s voice rose involuntarily in disbelief, his hand shooting out to point at the description. "That’s... that’s outright extortion!" He was furious—and rightfully so. Intra-sector travel—moving between locations within a single sector—cost only one drah, the most basic expenditure imaginable. Even taking into account the extra energy and calculations needed to move between sectors, the actual cost couldn’t realistically exceed a few hundred pearls—a thousand at most for extreme distances. Everything beyond that? Just pure, calculated robbery by the Tyrant Galaxy. His mind spiraled—what about a family trying to visit their relatives in another sector? Or a traveling merchant and their convoy? What of a group of soldiers or researchers transferring for collaborative missions? The numbers were staggering. And the horror didn’t stop there—on the way back, they’d have to pay the same inflated amount again. Every round trip, every crossing, every person—bleeding pearls into the hands of a single entity. Even if just one traveler per day used the portal from each of the thousand sectors... the resulting income would be a financial flood, a river of endless currency pouring directly into the Tyrant’s treasury. No wonder people compared the Soul Society and the Tyrant Galaxy in terms of wealth and dominance. But there was a fundamental difference: People paid the Weave Society willingly—because they received something invaluable in return. Their commissions, even at 75% commission, were seen as the price befitting the services. But the Tyrant Galaxy? They weren’t offering—they were imposing. This was tribute to a celestial emperor who ruled not by honor, but by monopoly. Then a realization struck him like lightning through the brain. "Wait..." Robin’s breath caught in his throat. "Did you use these Grand Portals to deliver my planetary tools here?" He turned toward the faerie with wide, almost panicked eyes. The faerie tilted her head slightly, as if this question had been anticipated. Her voice was calm, even cheerful. Robin sighed in visible relief. "Good... very good." He leaned back slightly, then rubbed his chin in thought. "Still... that means roughly two hundred thousand pearls were spent just to rush those two items to me." "I suppose I’ll have to find some proper way to thank Lord Morval. The man really does have a nose for business." Then, half-mocking, he added with a chuckle: "Tell me, does everything else I bought get the same express, VIP shipping too?" The fairy blinked, didn’t understand the sarcasm. Robin raised both eyebrows, impressed by the simplicity of the system. He was about to ask another question, the beginnings of his next thought already forming— "Oh, that’s actually quite useful. What about—heh, excellent—" But his words were cut short. Suddenly, he felt it. A ripple, no, a stirring in his Soul Domain. A familiar presence had entered his range—silent, precise, lethal. A Shadow Sword had arrived.