"Father, stop hitting me! Stop! I know I was wrong."
Setting down the Phoenician leather belt he'd snatched from Hogg, the Emperor wished he could beat this unfilial brat for three days and nights. If there hadn't been a patient nearby, he would have. How could anyone dare question his identity? What kind of brain-dead idiot would impersonate him? They must have a death wish.
Perhaps it was because the belt felt so comfortable in his hand, its material indescribably soft, and because it gave him a sense of blood-deep kinship, but the Emperor really wanted it. Still, since he was competing with Malice for Hogg's affection, he glanced at Hogg with an unusually human expression.
"Don't! This belt is mine. I've already prepared new belts for all of you as gifts. Ful—no, that hide is big enough for one belt apiece, though it'll be a bit of a pain to work with."
After speaking, Hogg really did pull the belts he'd prepared out of his pocket dimension. Even Goda, standing nearby, got one.
Running his fingers over the unusual, snakeskin-like pattern, the Emperor was quite pleased. He grabbed Magnus, who was pretending to be dead beside him, and returned to the operating table with its three wooden sticks, picking up where he'd left off:
"Where was I? Oh, right. A thousand years ago, I was already completely spent. I had no choice but to divide my soul and spread the burden. That was the main reason Malice, Sigma, and the others had physical forms.
"Don't look at me like that. It was a risky plan, but it worked. The Grand Plan succeeded, after all, and the Imperium grew larger. That meant more humans—at least a third more than we'd initially expected. Lasting nine thousand years makes me the strongest