On the East Coast, within the El-Calvinia Continent, stood Lunovira Center City and Aurelian Palace—the seat of the Federal Executive Administration.
Today, the Executive Administration was hosting its routine year-end reception banquet, drawing numerous political and business dignitaries alongside invited foreign delegations.
Since taking office, the new Consul had upheld the Federation's military traditions while directing a substantial share of his energy toward foreign diplomacy. Over the past year, the list of invited visitors extended far beyond the Republic of Great Shun to encompass corporate consortia, regional powers, and continental alliances, sparking a continuous series of negotiations.
Discussions revolved around world defense, security, and crisis management. This was an old topic, but reviving it did not mean the Federation had abandoned the struggle for its own interests. Rather, its strategic trajectory had shifted from regional expansion toward restructuring the global order.
Although no official statement had been issued, analyses from several nations widely suggested that this major strategic shift was anchored to breakthroughs in certain key technologies. Among them was the long-speculated prospect that research into next-generation high-energy algae had finally succeeded.
In truth, Great Shun drew just as much scrutiny during these diplomatic exchanges. While the Federation pursued technological breakthroughs, Great Shun was overhauling its own domestic structure. The steady progress of its Skyline Project had captured global attention. Just last month, another Center City had joined the initiative, and this rate of integration was expected to accelerate over time.
By the most optimistic estimates, most of Great Shun's Center Cities could be bound into a single informational whole within two years. Once completed, such integration would drastically enhance Great Shun's administrative efficiency and capacity for resource allocation.
Both world powers had achieved major strides along their respective paths. Though neither had reached the finish line, and it remained impossible to tell who held the lead, their progress placed immense pressure on every other nation and territory.
Many countries were frantically trying to carve out their places in this race of technology and strategy, terrified of being marginalized and weakened in the emerging international order.
Yet the representatives spent very little of their actual time on negotiations. Most of their days were filled with feasting and sightseeing, precisely because the world powers had yet to arrive at definitive conclusions in these diplomatic summits; for now, they were merely watching and waiting.
In the west wing of Aurelian Palace, inside the Valorum Reception Parlor, the floor was laid with intricate, stately geometric patterns of inlaid obsidian and gold marble. The room was bathed in soft, bright light, and the massive federal banner hanging from the wall gleamed with quiet brilliance.
Three figures sat near the center of the hall.
Xiang Boqing, Chief Security Consultant for Origin Corporation, sat on the western side. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he leaned back against a cushioned armchair with his legs crossed in an easy, relaxed posture.
One arm rested on the armrest while his other hand held a book. Every so often, a page would turn on its own—and anyone paying close attention would notice that each turn occurred every three seconds on the dot.
Across from him sat the other two men.
One had a rather narrow face and towered nearly four meters tall even while seated. Roughly fifty years of age, he wore a curling, golden beard that reached his chest, and his neatly groomed hair fell past his shoulders.
He was dressed in an old-fashioned black formal coat, exuding the air of a benevolent patriarch. Beside his leather shoes lay a docile sheepdog that looked like a tiny toy next to his massive frame.
This was Sivert Drakeholm, Chief Security Officer of Deep Sea Spiral Company. Headquartered in Norland, it was a global megacorporation on par with Origin Corporation.
The other man was Igor Karnelov from Tower Whale Company of the Church State of Noros. Because it was a state enterprise, he also held the title of Commander of the Faith Guard.
Igor bore none of the rough, boisterous traits traditionally associated with Norosians. In fact, he was the smallest of the three.
He possessed delicate features, slender limbs, stark white hair, and pale green eyes. At that moment, he propped his chin in one hand and kept his eyes half-closed, his posture languid and relaxed—like an ice wolf dozing in the tundra.
Every man seated in this parlor was a martial artist standing at the pinnacle of the world. Assessing combat capability between martial artists was a murky task, as no authoritative body existed with the power to objectively quantify all of the world's fighters, nor would these figures ever divulge their physical data and bodily parameters to outsiders.
Thus, the most intuitive measure of a martial artist was their influence—a metric calculated and assessed through active conscious entities across the Consortium and the world's leading powers, one that had gradually gained acceptance across nations and territories.
After all, for a martial artist to be recognized by a megacorporation or a major state, they had to have emerged victorious from internal competition; otherwise, they could never have attained their position. Furthermore, only world powers and corporate giants could supply the resources they required, lending the ranking system its inherent validity.
Naturally, influence was not a direct substitute for raw combat power, yet it served as a vital benchmark, playing a critical role in anchoring national confidence and market stability.
Igor suddenly spoke, addressing Xiang Boqing. "I've been watching you for a while. That's Fourier's cipher book, isn't it?"
He gestured toward the volume in the man's hands, then tapped his own temple.
"An ancient trick. Stuffing data into your brain through reading to strengthen your resistance against external contamination."
He spread his hands. "Doesn't work, if you ask me."
Though he spoke the Federal tongue, his words carried the thick, rolling cadence of the Church State of Noros.
Without raising his eyes, Xiang Boqing replied, "There's no harm in trying."
"Nothing to try. I told you, it's useless."
Igor leaned his torso forward, resting both hands on his knees as his gaze locked onto Xiang Boqing. In a deliberately provocative tone, he said, "We're bored anyway. Why don't we test it out? Trust me, it'll do you far more good than reading that book."
Xiang Boqing glanced up at him. "Not interested."
Even as he spoke, the rhythm of his self-turning pages faltered ever so slightly. Though the hitch was faint enough to be nearly imperceptible, the two men across from him seemed to register it, and Igor's eyes flashed with genuine intrigue.
Xiang Boqing had just felt a divided portion of his power vanish.
At this very moment, half of his arm consisted merely of an outer layer of skin; the flesh and bone inside were completely hollow. Even so, it moved and functioned no differently from an ordinary limb.
With that separated mass of flesh and blood extinguished, the bone and muscle inside his skin immediately began to regenerate, filling out once more until the arm was whole again. Xiang Boqing merely narrowed his eyes for a passing instant.
***
Meanwhile, in Hahefu Hall in the east wing, Tu Haisheng, deputy head of the First Great Shun Delegation, was in discussion with several officials from the Executive Secretariat. Among them was Olin, a senior civil official who had recently returned from Great Shun.
Tu Haisheng said, "Gentlemen, you know as well as I do that the West Coast is crawling with sectarians. Traveling through that region, we had no choice but to exercise our right to self-defense to ensure our own safety. The Federation gave us assurances on this matter beforehand."
"Indeed." Olin spread his hands. "The West Coast is a dumping ground for madmen, zealots, and charlatans. Nothing they do would surprise me."
Tu Haisheng pressed firmly, "Therefore, this incident was not our fault, nor did we violate federal law. Our delegation member was merely sightseeing on federal soil when he was subjected to unjustified hostility. That is not how an invited guest should be treated. We are entitled to respect."
"Quite right. Those West Coast Faction members were utterly lacking in manners."
Olin appeared to agree wholeheartedly.
"I have met Mr. Chen in person. He is a martial artist of great poise and courtesy, someone who leaves a very favorable impression. I have no doubt that his actions were not born of impulse, but were forced upon him by circumstance.
"However, Mr. Tu, the Executive Administration views this matter with grave concern. Regardless of what those people did, they were still assets belonging to our Federation.
"Moreover, several independent media outlets affiliated with martial arts organizations broke the news early. The Consul cares deeply about the lives of every federal citizen; he must give the public and the press an answer—a dignified answer."
Tu Haisheng responded, "I respect and understand your position, but I believe we can find a proper resolution to this matter so as not to jeopardize our ongoing cooperation."
"Yes, of course."
Tu Haisheng added, "We will provide reasonable compensation to the families and close associates of the deceased."
Olin asked, "Only that?"
Tu Haisheng looked him in the eye. "Please convey to the Consul that we respect him and are willing to help him quell this incident. But we come as representatives of Great Shun. We ask that he extend the same respect to us."
Olin studied him for a second, then gave a light shrug. Checking his watch, he rose to his feet. "In ten minutes, I will meet with the Consul and present your views to him."
Tu Haisheng stood as well and extended a hand to shake his. "Then I leave it in your capable hands."
Just outside the doors of their conference room, two military attachés from Great Shun stood guard. The one on the left asked in a low voice, "Why is the East Coast Faction clinging so stubbornly to this? The West Coast Faction lost strength; shouldn't they be thrilled?"
The man opposite him replied, "They're still Federal citizens after all. When dealing with outsiders, they close ranks. Besides, I heard that a senior believer from the Primitive Sect was wiped out this time too." His tone dripped with unconcealed schadenfreude.
"Tsk, tsk."
The attaché on the left clearly understood what kind of outfit the Primitive Sect was. He pondered for a moment before saying, "If it were just the West Coast Faction, it'd be fine. But dragging that sect into it makes things messy.
"Still, that man has serious guts, not to mention terrifying skill. I heard he killed three Longevity View martial artists in a single breath. What a brilliant piece of wor—"
"Ahem."
The protocol assistant opposite them cleared his throat sharply, cutting them off to remind them that they were standing in another nation's capital and could not afford such careless chatter.
Just then, the two attachés spotted a tall, imposing figure approaching and immediately snapped to attention, saluting with grave respect.
Fan Zhentong walked up to the entrance. Pausing at the door, he took off his peaked cap and smoothed his hair before asking, "How are things going?"
The assistant stepped forward at once. "Deputy Head Tu is inside negotiating."
Fan Zhentong said, "Pass a message to Deputy Head Tu: there's no need to be too polite with them. We are Great Shun. Whatever they want to pull..." He settled his cap back onto his head. "...we'll see it through to the end."
Chapter 1094