The Saiyan King

His voice was not loud, but it carried with exceptional clarity through the night, like ice water dripping into a pan of hot oil, sending ripples bursting outward.

"The strongest Saiyan?"

He paused, the corner of his lips lifting slightly in a smile so faint it was nearly imperceptible.

"I am the King of the Saiyans."

He said it casually, as if he were merely mentioning the weather.

But the moment his words fell, every speck of dust, shard of stone, and trace of residual energy within a hundred meters of Chen Feng froze in place.

It was not as though some force had pinned them down. It was as if time itself had been emptied away, and everything in this area had abruptly come to a halt, sinking into absolute equilibrium.

The arrogance on Champa's face instantly stiffened.

His small eyes flew wide open, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

His bloated body recoiled half a step, and that slight movement caused faint sounds like shattering glass to ripple through the surrounding space.

The God of Destruction energy field he had spread out seemed to strike an invisible wall, beginning to collapse and contract as chaotic purple halos flickered across his body.

At the edge of the training grounds, Cabba and Caulifla were frozen as well.

Cabba nearly forgot to breathe.

He looked at his master. Chen Feng was clearly not especially tall, yet in that moment, he seemed to fill his entire field of vision.

Caulifla instinctively clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She did not even feel the pain—every one of her senses had been tightly seized by that silent pressure.

Thoughts raced wildly through Champa's mind.

By his original assessment, this Saiyan named Chen Feng was, at most, an outstanding member of the new generation. Perhaps he was a little stronger than Cabba, capable of lasting a few moves against Hit, maybe even lucky enough to survive the aftermath of Destruction energy.

That was all.

He understood the rules of the universe too well. He had seen far too many mortal limits.

But now, everything he knew had collapsed.

This Saiyan stood in the vacuum without an energy barrier or any protection, as casually as if he were strolling through his own backyard.

His aura—no, he had no aura at all.

When Champa swept him with his divine senses, all he found was blankness.

He was not concealing it, nor had he suppressed it. It was true nothingness.

Even Vados, the angel beside him, frowned slightly. Within the crystal ball atop her staff, the starlight began to swirl in faint disorder.

"You..."

Champa tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat.

He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped several tones. The imposing pressure was completely gone, replaced by a faint hoarseness. "Who exactly are you?"

The night wind swept over the training grounds, stirring up a little dust.

Chen Feng smiled.

The smile was faint, the curve of his lips just right, but there was not a trace of amusement in his eyes.

His golden pupils were cold and clear beneath the starlight, like an immensely compressed star.

He looked at Champa without hostility or provocation, without even the slightest scrutiny—as though a passerby had merely glanced at a doll in a shop window. Nothing more.

"I told you. I am the King of the Saiyans, master of Planet Sadala."

He took a step forward.

Just one step.

Yet the space beneath his foot rippled outward like the surface of water.

As the ripples swept through, the cracks in the ground caused by Champa's shattered energy field began to heal on their own. Broken stones flowed back to where they had been, as though time were reversing within this small area.

This was neither destruction nor creation. It was more like... an adjustment at the level of essence.

Chen Feng raised his head, his gaze passing over Champa and into the depths of the universe.

His eyes suddenly became frighteningly profound. Rotating nebulae, flowing rivers of stars, celestial bodies being born and destroyed were reflected in his pupils—this was not imagination. The truth of the universe was shining into his eyes wherever his gaze reached.

Even Champa could feel the power of destruction trembling slightly.

It was not being suppressed. Rather, upon encountering a higher-order existence, it instinctively recoiled, cowered, and sought to submit.

The purple light around his body flickered erratically like a candle flame in the wind.

"If someone truly insists on forcing me to act..."

Chen Feng did not finish.

Nor did he need to.

While his words still lingered in the air—

"Drip."

A crisp sound of a water droplet falling.

In the deathly silent training ground, the sound was magnified countless times over.

Champa blankly lowered his head and saw a drop of murky sweat slide down through the gaps of his clenched fist, striking the rubble and splashing into a tiny bloom.

He froze. Only then did he realize that his forehead, temples, and even the back of his neck were drenched in cold sweat.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to roar, to curse, to use the authority of a God of Destruction to make this mortal kneel.

But his throat seemed frozen shut.

His lips trembled slightly, yet no sound came out.

Even more terrifying was his body—the body of a God of Destruction, tempered by divine power for countless eons and capable of withstanding a supernova's explosion, was trembling faintly beyond his control.

It was not fear, nor was it anger. It was an alarm from his instincts as a living being.

His heartbeat accelerated, and blood thundered in his ears.

His divine power flowed backward into his body like a receding tide.

He sensed danger.

It was not a disparity in strength—he had experienced that kind of pressure before. Back when Beerus slept, the unconscious energy he released had suppressed Champa as well.

But this time felt completely different.

This was... a difference in level.

Like a character in a painting suddenly realizing that he was merely two-dimensional, while outside the frame, a pair of eyes was quietly watching the painting.

Those eyes could understand every rule within the painting and could even alter its lines, colors, and story at will.

No matter how powerful someone in the painting was, they were only paint.

Champa's breathing grew ragged.

He saw Chen Feng still standing there, unchanged. He released no energy and displayed no pressure.

Yet it was precisely that absolute "calm," that unfathomable "emptiness," that reminded him of the first time he had met Grand Zeno millions of years ago.

He had been the same then.

Standing in that towering palace, looking at the childlike little figure on the throne, unable to sense even the faintest trace of aura or power, with nothing left but an absolute sense of insignificance.

This was not suppression through power. It was the condescension of existence itself.

Now—

"I..."

Champa opened his mouth and finally forced out a single word.

His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against stone.

Within the training ground, the starlight seemed to dim further.

Chen Feng continued to look at him calmly, waiting for him to speak.

The night wind tousled the black hair over his forehead. In those golden eyes was reflected Champa's sweat-soaked figure.

Some distant star suddenly flickered, then silently went out, like a candle snuffed by someone's breath.

As Chen Feng's words fell, the universe sank into deathly silence.

This was not the ordinary quiet of a vacuum, but a heavy, deathly stillness in which even starlight seemed frozen.

Distant nebulae rotated slowly, stars burned soundlessly, shattered stellar remains hung like dust—everything seemed to hold its breath beneath some will.

Champa floated in the void. The purple divine power around him no longer raged, but instead contracted and condensed, turning into layers of halos that wrapped around him and illuminated his wrinkled face. For the first time, his eyes wavered.