You Need to Become Strong

The road from the arena back to the royal palace was a long one.

The Warrior Arena was a landmark of warrior culture. It stood at the end of Palace Avenue, at the center of the Guardian Domain.

Nearly every other building had been built around it.

The pure-white Palace Avenue was solemn and imposing. On either side stood enormous carved murals recording the Night Watchers' glorious achievements, from rising out of the fallen old night to dispelling that dark past step by step.

Doom rode on Norwick's shoulders as they walked along King's Corridor, the exclusive passage laid with a blue carpet and located at the center of several roads.

The Champion Swordsman carried the Ork's corpse on his back. Walking parallel to them, he proceeded along Warrior Avenue on the left.

King's Corridor. It belonged exclusively to the king and princes; even the queen could not walk upon it.

Beside the corridor stood statues of the successive Kings Norwick. Their expressions were solemn, their eyes looking straight ahead as they scrutinized their descendants walking along King's Corridor.

In the distance, the main body of the royal palace was pure white—or rather, the entire Guardian Domain was pure white.

The white stone used to build the city was common on Nul. Not only was it abundant, it also had an immaculate appearance, astonishing hardness, and enormous size.

Many buildings that appeared gigantic might have been carved from a single stone.

Since the artificial intelligence sealed off Planet Nul, the human survivors had built fortresses from stone, forged weapons from Nul Crystal, and armed themselves with the various resources found there.

With an indomitable spirit, humanity had tenaciously carried on the legacy of civilization.

The white buildings symbolized flawlessness, while the blue domes and enormous crystal vertical windows represented the pure souls of warriors.

Passed down for thousands of years, this unique architectural aesthetic integrated warrior culture beautifully.

Feeling the cold touch of his power armor between his thighs, Doom maintained a calm expression with effort, but his heart was churning.

King Norwick held Doom's legs with both hands as he carried him along King's Corridor, the road reserved for the king and his heir.

"Are you nervous, Doom?"

Feeling the slight stiffness in his legs, Norwick noticed that the little man on his shoulders had his back rigid with tension, his two arms unsure where to rest.

"Mm." A word squeezed from Doom's nose, trembling slightly. "I never thought you would acknowledge and accept me."

"Why?" Norwick raised a hand and gestured for Doom to place his hand in it.

The father's large hand held the son's small one. Even through the gauntlet, Doom felt the heavy warmth in the palm.

"Because you're different, and because of the ways you've shown yourself to be unlike ordinary people?"

"Yes." Doom's palm instinctively tightened around King Norwick's hand, afraid of losing that intimate warmth. "I visited the amniotic chamber. It's an artificial womb combining sorcery and technology. I'm an aberration that was created!"

The boy's voice trembled with a hint of sobbing as he gripped his father's hand tightly, afraid that everything in his grasp would slip away.

Norwick gripped his son's hand as well and did not let go.

He understood that no matter how quickly Doom grew or how extensively he studied, his heart remained filled with anxiety and insecurity.

He was afraid. The object of his fear was himself. He feared his own talent and his own extraordinariness.

"Do you know? I was created by someone, yet I know nothing about the person who created me. Were they good or evil? What was their purpose in creating me?"

Doom's hoarse voice carried the sound of breaking down. "If my creator comes before me one day and orders me to do something bad, can I disobey them?"

On Warrior Avenue, Harlan pricked up his ears and listened to the conversation between father and son. His head was lowered, and a smile hung at the corners of his mouth.

At that moment, he was certain he had chosen the right person to follow!

His oath-lord, no matter how extraordinary his actions might be, was fundamentally kind and gentle.

Crying was not weakness. He was worried about his own strength, worried that he might cause an irreversible tragedy in the future.

That profound, bone-deep kindness alone could support a harbor of shelter, making him worthy of a life-and-death commitment.

Suddenly, Norwick stopped. He supported Doom by the waist and placed him in front of himself.

Looking at the boy's reddened eyes, Norwick saw deep fear and unease hidden in those black-pearl-like pupils.

Rare tenderness surfaced on King Norwick's imposing square face. He brushed a hand through Doom's thick black hair, pressing downward over his shoulders, from his ribs to his waist, then to his thighs and calves.

"You're no different from us. You have two legs, two arms, and two shoulders carrying a head."

"Son, think about it with your extraordinary wisdom." Norwick crouched in front of Doom and wrapped his large hand around the back of his neck. "Why were you created?"

Doom fell silent. He had considered this question countless times, but had never found an answer.

Why had he been created? Why had he drifted through the universe? What sort of mission had he been given?

He yearned for the comfort of reality and feared the unknown future.

His thoughts tore apart in one struggle after another. Fear kept him from thinking, because he was afraid the answer would reveal that his origins were far from righteous and that his future was a cold darkness.

"Look at yourself." The loving light in Norwick's eyes was like a candle flame in the darkness, guiding Doom forward.

"I don't know who created you, but how beautifully they created you!"

Norwick removed the cumbersome gauntlet. For the first time, he touched his son with his bare hand, feeling the young, fiery soul within him.

The large hand that had wielded a sword for years was covered in calluses. It rubbed across Doom's youthful yet heroic face, slowly tracing the lines that seemed carved into it—the work of a creator who had poured in all their effort.

Every inch of the creator's work possessed extraordinary meaning. Every muscle and bone was the result of painstaking creation.

The creator had hoped their creation would be as great as they were, as radiant as they were, as awe-inspiring as they were, and as capable of guiding others as they were.

"Our ancestors now exist only in history. Even the exalted image of the Gold Men's greatness could not compare to you."

"Your appearance embodies humanity's worship and matches everything people imagine in a great leader."

Doom listened quietly, carefully considering his father's guidance.

Norwick raised a profound question. "If you were born for slaughter and extermination, then why would your creator make you so radiant?"

"The galaxy is vast, and there are countless terrifying things within it. It is filled with all kinds of life-forms and inhabited by innumerable monsters."

"Why? Why did they choose humanity as the template?" Norwick continued to enlighten his son, clearing away the fog that shrouded his heart and guiding him to the root of the question that tormented him. "Answer me."

Doom abruptly raised his head and looked at his father. Misty joy filled his eyes, and he answered excitedly, "The creator was human!"

A lively spirit returned to the boy's face. The question that had tormented and torn him apart was actually that simple.

"Human!" Norwick nodded in satisfaction, then added to his son's answer, "A human—or a group of humans—full of ambition."

"They created you, and perhaps your siblings as well. They molded you into radiant and magnificent figures with the bearing of natural leaders, allowing humanity to unite around you and bringing extraordinary guidance to mankind."

King Norwick's meticulous deductions peeled away the layers, gradually reconstructing a truth close to reality.

Even the Emperor might never have imagined that, countless light-years away, a father would use extraordinary wisdom to glimpse a corner of his plan.

"You cannot choose how you are born, but you can choose how you live." With a rational and dignified voice, he led Doom out of the swamp of confusion.

"But what if, Father?" The confusion faded from Doom's eyes, only to be replaced by a new worry. He asked uneasily, "What if?"

"Then you must become stronger! Strong enough to resist everything. To any existence that goes against your will and tries to enslave you, look it in the eye and say: Get lost! Get as far away from me as possible!"

Doom smiled—a genuine smile from the bottom of his heart. His handsome face flushed red, and pure joy filled both his face and eyes.

"Mm!" Hearing King Norwick swear, Harlan nearly laughed aloud. He forcibly held it in, wheezing as he readjusted his breathing and circulation.

King Norwick also smiled freely. At that moment, he set aside his dignity and was simply a father offering his son some guidance. "Only by becoming strong will you have the power to choose your future!"

Finally, he patted his son on the shoulder and said, "Go on. Prepare your barbecue and mushroom soup. I have plenty of matters to deal with."

Then he stood, swept up his cape, and left for the throne hall. He was not only a father, but also a king.

Doom took his newly acquired Champion Swordsman and carried the Special Ops Boy's corpse down to cook the mushroom feast he had been longing for.