The silence in the King's chamber was thicker than the 100x gravity field that had nearly killed Astra. King Vegeta stood frozen, his hand still loosely gripping Astra's wrist, his eyes locked on the holographic image of the dead cosmic entity. The number 42,000 seemed to burn in the dim light, a numerical verdict on his entire reign.
The rage was still there, a banked fire in the King's eyes, but it was now tempered by a colder, more calculating emotion: a survival instinct so primal it overrode even his towering pride. He was a king, but he was a Saiyan first, and a Saiyan understood overwhelming power.
Slowly, deliberately, he released Astra's wrist.
"You speak of gods and hurricanes," the King's voice was a low, gravelly scrape, all pretense of grandeur gone. "You show me a corpse and tell me my empire is dust." He paced away, turning his back to Astra, his shoulders tense. "Why? Why reveal this? You could have continued your deception."
"Because the time for subtlety is over," Astra stated, his own voice flat and hard. "The resource cost for the next step is beyond what I can hide. I need a dedicated ship. I need unrestricted access to the Arcosian ore shipments. I need your silence. In return, you get a chance. Not a guarantee. A chance."
The King turned, his eyes narrowed. "A chance for what?"
"Survival. Evolution." Astra gestured to the hologram. "The power that killed that being is out there. The power within The Cradle is out there. The Saiyan race, as it is, is obsolete. Brute strength is a dead end. But the potential for more… that exists. I can forge a path. But I cannot do it as your prisoner, or your pet Technologist."
He was offering a new deal. Not master and servant, but partners in a desperate, cosmic gamble. He needed the King's resources, and the King needed his vision.
King Vegeta was silent for a long time, his gaze shifting from the hologram to Astra, weighing the infant who held the fate of his species in his hands. The humiliation was galling. To be dictated to by a child, a low-born mutant. But the alternative was extinction. He had seen the data. He felt the truth of it in his warrior's bones.
"Frieza..." the King began, a new fear entering his voice.
"Is a deadline, not the problem," Astra interrupted. "His arrival is the end of this chapter, not the end of the story. We work around him. We prepare for what comes after."
The King let out a short, harsh bark of laughter that held no humor. "So. This is my legacy. Not a universe conquered by my son, but a desperate pact with a ghost to save a handful of my people from a doom I cannot even comprehend."
He walked to his strategic display and entered a series of commands. A new file appeared, stamped with the royal seal and the highest level of encryption. "The ship is yours. The Ouroboros. A prototype long-range scout, fast and stealthy. Its logs will be wiped from the main network. It does not exist." He looked at Astra, his expression grim. "The ore shipments will have a 'processing loss' that is diverted to you. But know this, Analyst. If you betray me, if this is some elaborate trick, I will spend the last moments of my life ensuring you die with me."
"It is not a trick," Astra said. "It is the only move left on the board."
The King gave a curt, final nod. The pact was sealed. Forged not in trust, but in mutual recognition of a shared, terrifying reality.
Astra returned to his lab, the ruins now a monument to his new understanding with the King. The pretense was over. He was no longer hiding his growth. He let his power level radiate at its true value, a steady, formidable 2,150. The wary respect from the palace guards turned into something closer to fear.
He spent the next cycle preparing. He used his new, unrestricted access to strip the Ouroboros of all non-essential systems and reinforce its hull with the remaining Arcosian Bio-Steel. He installed a dedicated power core linked to the Gravity Forge. This would not be a ship for combat; it would be a mobile training facility and a transport to The Cradle.
As he worked, a new, unexpected alert came from the System. It was not for a mission. It was an analysis.
[Assessing New Political Paradigm...]
[User has transitioned from 'Covert Asset' to 'Power Broker'.]
[Alignment with Local Faction: Saiyan Empire. Status: Conditional Alliance.]
[New Quest Type Unlocked: Faction Mandate.]
[FACTION MANDATE: Saiyan Exodus - Phase 1]
· Objective: Establish a viable, hidden colony for a minimum of 500 Saiyans outside of Frieza's controlled space.
· Time Limit: 4 Years.
· Success Reward: Unlock Faction-specific Technologies. 5,000 Mandate Points. Designation as "Founder."
· Failure: Faction Reputation set to 'Hated'. Loss of all Faction-based System perks.
The System was adapting. It was no longer just about individual power growth; it was about leveraging his position to shape the fate of an entire people. The reward was immense—access to technologies and perks tied to the Saiyan race. The failure condition was a death sentence, cutting him off from the very society he was now inextricably linked to.
The King's pact and the System's mandate were now aligned. His personal quest for power and the salvation of the Saiyan race had formally merged into a single, monumental task.
He stood in the hangar bay, looking at the sleek, black form of the Ouroboros. It was no longer just a ship. It was the seed of a new beginning, a lifeboat for a doomed world. And he was its architect.
The path ahead was clearer than ever, and more daunting. He had traded the gilded cage for the burden of command. He had the King's resources, the System's mandate, and a pocket dimension to conquer. The weight was immense, but for the first time, he was standing upright beneath it, not hiding in its shadow. The pact of ash and iron was made. The real work was about to begin.