At a berth in the Seventh Cross-Realm Transfer Port, the residual heat from the engines of the Ten Thousand Miles of Sunshine had not yet dissipated. The deck still emitted faint shrinking sounds as it cooled, like a Giant Beast that had just caught its breath.
Allen and Hercules walked out of the bridge, one after the other.
"Sir, when will the Ministerial Conference roughly take place?" Allen asked.
"In three months." Hercules did not stop walking. "The exact time depends on when the Gate of Truth finishes the handover process. Why? Are you really interested?"
He said it casually, but Hercules was secretly weighing the matter in his mind.
How long had it been since the young man before him advanced to Morning Star? Five years? Ten years? In the Wizarding World, this little amount of time was not even enough for a single deep slumber. Yet, he was already unabashedly setting his sights on the ownership of an independent Plane.
