A few hours passed as the starship continued its journey through the void, and eventually its velocity began to slow. The elongated streaks of starlight visible through the small viewport gradually settled back into their natural positions, each one resolving into a distinct point of light against the black expanse.
Adrian stood before the viewport, his gaze fixed outward as the destination finally revealed itself. Looming ahead was a colossal structure suspended within the void, a massive ring-shaped headquarters constructed primarily from void alloys. Towering spires rose from its surface at irregular intervals, each one layered with complex formations and energy conduits that pulsed faintly with a cold, violet glow.
The vessel approached steadily before aligning with one of the docking sectors embedded within the ring. Mechanical arms extended from the structure, clamping onto the ship's hull with precise, metallic clicks. The vibration rippled through the floor beneath Adrian's feet, and the hum of the engines faded into silence.
At that moment, the chamber door behind Adrian slid open once again, and an armored figure stepped inside, its posture rigid and expression unreadable beneath the featureless helmet.
"Follow." The voice was flat, devoid of emotion or variation.
Adrian did not question or resist the command. He turned and walked forward calmly. The figure pivoted without waiting and proceeded deeper through the vessel until they reached the exit.
Upon stepping outside, Adrian was met with a vast docking expanse filled with numerous starships of similar design, each resting in orderly formation.
The area was populated almost entirely by individuals clad in the same dark armor artifacts, their appearances indistinguishable from one another. They moved in silence, performing maintenance tasks, loading cargo, adjusting formations. Not a single word was exchanged between them.
Without pause, the armored figure continued forward, guiding Adrian into the interior of the headquarters. As he followed, the true scale of Morka's domain began to unfold before him. The corridors stretched endlessly in multiple directions, their walls constructed from the same void alloy, polished to a cold, reflective surface.
The corridors were filled with a constant flow of cultivators moving. Unlike the armored enforcers, many of these individuals wore no protective gear. They dressed in simple robes or utilitarian garments, their attire unmarked by sect insignia or personal decoration. They walked in straight lines, their steps measured, their pace identical. No one deviated from their path. No one glanced sideways.
It was at this moment that Adrian noticed something deeply unsettling.
Their eyes were hollow. Not physically in the biological sense, but hollow in a way that defied normal understanding. There was no awareness in their gaze, no trace of thought, curiosity, or individuality. Their eyes moved, tracked obstacles, adjusted to light, but there was nothing behind them. No spark of recognition. No flicker of emotion. They resembled living beings stripped down to function alone, as though whatever made them sentient had been erased.
A woman passed by carrying a tray of refined materials. Her movements were normal, but her face held no expression. Her eyes stared forward, empty.
A man stood at a workstation, inscribing runes onto a metal plate. His hand moved with expert control, each stroke flawless. But his gaze never shifted. He worked as though he were a robot given flesh.
"What happened to them…?"
The thought formed quietly in Adrian's mind, his eyes tracking another cultivator as they disappeared around a corner. He could sense their cultivation as Mid Rule Stage. Yet they walked these halls like automatons.
The slave artifacts he had read about should not produce such a result. They were designed to monitor intent and eliminate rebellion, not to erase emotion or identity entirely. This level of emptiness suggested something far deeper.
"Have they become like this after a million years of enslavement…?"
The explanation settled into place. A million years of control. A million years of suppressed will. A million years of existence without freedom or purpose beyond assigned function. Over such a span, something deeper must have eroded. Not their power or knowledge, but the very essence of what made them individuals.
Hope could only die so many times before it stopped growing back.
As they continued walking, Adrian's attention shifted further across the surroundings. Thousands of cultivators were engaged in forging materials, refining unknown substances, and constructing components that were likely used to sustain or expand this massive operation. Among them, Adrian could clearly sense even the presence of High Rule Stage cultivators.
High Rule Stage beings!
In the Andromeda Galaxy, such individuals would have been revered as elders, leaders, or figures of immense authority. Yet here, they stood in silence, performing repetitive, menial tasks without deviation, their movements as mechanical as the lowest-ranked laborers.
The soundscape of the environment only deepened the unease. There were no conversations, no exchanges of words, no signs of interaction between individuals. The only sounds that echoed through the corridors were the steady rhythm of footsteps and the continuous impact of tools against materials.
As Adrian observed this, a realization settled within him with increasing weight.
These cultivators were alive, but they were not living.
They existed without ambition, without pride, without hope. Every trace of individuality had been reduced to function, leaving behind nothing but empty vessels that moved according to predetermined roles. They breathed, cultivated, and obeyed. But they did not exist.
As they advanced deeper into the structure, the scale of this became even more overwhelming. Entire sectors were dedicated to production, refinement, construction, and maintenance, each operating with flawless coordination. Tens of thousands of cultivators moved in perfect synchronization, each fulfilling their designated task without error or delay. No one looked up. No one reacted to Adrian's presence. Even as a Peak Rule Stage cultivator walked among them, suppressing his aura but still radiating a faint pressure, there was not even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment.
It was as though the very concept of "self" had been erased from this place.
Adrian's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
His thoughts shifted, and with that shift came a profound change in his perspective. Everything he had built until now had been driven by a singular purpose: to ensure that his people would never become helpless again, to ensure that they would never be forced into submission, to ensure that they would never become tools in the hands of someone else. He had created systems, strength, and unity so that those under his protection would always retain their freedom.
These cultivators here were not his people, but even seeing a random stranger going through these things triggered something within him.
What stood before him now was something far beyond oppression or slavery. This was an annihilation of identity.
For a brief moment, Adrian's thoughts stilled, and then his resolve hardened completely.
Until now, he had approached this situation with caution. He had understood that Morka was connected to a Major Sect, that his actions could have far-reaching consequences, and that reckless decisions could draw attention from powers far beyond this galaxy. That awareness had made him hesitant, forcing him to consider his steps carefully.
But that hesitation no longer existed.
This was no longer about securing a safe haven for his people. This was no longer about strategic positioning or calculated expansion.
This was something that could not be allowed to exist.
He did not care if Morka was backed by a Major Sect. He did not care about the risks that might follow. Strength was something that could be gained, and if he did not have enough now, he would obtain it.
If he could not even stand against a Major Sect, then how could he ever aim to surpass a Great Sect?
"This starts with him…"
The thought formed clearly within his mind, absolute and unwavering.
At that moment, the armored figures leading him came to a halt. Before them stood a set of massive doors, towering structures that radiated an oppressive presence even without any visible aura.
As they approached, the doors began to open with a deep, resonant sound, revealing the space beyond.
A throne room.
Blindingly opulent, vast, and designed to assert dominance in every possible way.
Adrian stepped forward without hesitation, his gaze steady as he entered, ready to stand before the sovereign who ruled this galaxy.