"This wasn't my plan, but it wasn't what most people wanted, either." The emperor seemed to see through her thoughts and admitted it frankly. "It was the choice of the age, the impact of history's surging tide upon the empire. The silt will be washed away, and these mountains will stand all the taller! The champion of the Chosen whom I personally appointed is clearly a trial bestowed upon us by the spirit of the universe! He will test the resilience of imperial civilization, as well as the breadth and depth of the empire's leaders!"
Brunhild tilted her head slightly, her pretty face flushing.
She had heard "depth." But in that virtual timeline, they had actually tested every kind of depth there was.
How utterly improper.
King Suluka gave herself two slaps in her mind, trying to regain her focus.
Once again, she felt that the one speaking with her wasn't the emperor—or, rather, wasn't only him.
This time, it was no illusion. Brunhild clearly felt as though she were speaking with the will of the entire Galactic Empire.
She raised her head and gazed at the emperor's soul, made of energy. Her voice remained as blunt as ever, as though challenging an opponent. "Then what's the price?"
"The price?" The emperor repeated the words, and his formerly awkward laugh abruptly cut off, as though some invisible force had choked it short.
In an instant, the entire space froze at the subtle shift in his mood.
The illusory figure didn't grow any clearer, yet it seemed like a singularity, drawing all light, sound, and even thought inward, swallowing and compressing them.
Brunhild felt a sudden weight press down on her shoulders, as though a pair of hands bearing the weight of the stars had truly settled there.
His voice seemed