Don't Want to Die, Flee Immediately

In an instant, a holographic image sprang from the wristwatch and hovered before them. An elderly Saiyan with frost-white hair and beard led several scholars in silver-gray research uniforms. With utmost respect, they bowed deeply before speaking. "Lady Xuesaiya, Lord Barros, the interstellar ark you ordered has been fully prepared. Do you have any further instructions?"

Xuesaiya gently shook her head—the supplies that needed stocking, the parameters that needed calibration, the systems that needed testing had all been checked and rechecked by veteran cosmic engineers and experienced Saiyan technicians. There was no need for her to worry further.

At that moment, Barros lowered his brows, his voice deep. "Kamosi, what about the gravity chambers? Have the ones I ordered been installed?"

The leading Saiyan in the projection immediately straightened his back and nodded solemnly. "Rest assured, Lord Barros! The ship is equipped with two hundred standard recovery pods; two hundred enhanced gravity training rooms capable of withstanding up to three hundred times gravity; and two top-tier gravity core chambers, with a maximum pressure of five hundred times gravity!"

A trace of satisfaction flashed through Barros's eyes. He nodded. "Good.

Notify everyone. Board the ship."

With Planet Vegeta's top-tier interstellar industrial system, along with dozens of S-rank Saiyan warriors personally overseeing the work and transport, the complex modification plan Barros had proposed was completed in just two days.

He could not help but sigh inwardly. So-called massive projects were no more than the blink of an eye before a civilization that truly possessed resources and execution.

If the standards had been loosened even slightly, the work could have been finished within a single day.

In truth, he had underestimated the time required and overestimated Planet Vegeta's current limits—if this had not been a matter of survival, if he had not been the planet's only pillar and sole savior, and if they had not drawn upon over eighty percent of the entire planet's scientific manpower and strategic reserves, then two days? They might not even have finished the blueprints.

After hearing this, Kamosi on the other end of the projection excitedly bowed three times in succession. Only after repeatedly expressing his gratitude did he cautiously cut off the communication.

Frieza was dead. King Cold would surely come to Planet Vegeta—to avenge his son and eliminate all future trouble. That logic was carved into his bones.

If Barros were in his place, he would have done the same.

Fortunately, King Cold's forces occupied the far end of the North Galaxy, spanning half a star region. It would still take time for him to arrive.

Otherwise, Barros could only have fled in haste with Xuesaiya, Xuesaili, and Palanti, without even a moment to catch their breath.

King Cold!

A cold glint flashed in Barros's eyes as battle intent surged within him. He wished he could tear open space and fight him face-to-face at once.

But reason crashed down like an iron gate—if they truly met on a narrow path, then even if his body were comparable to a stellar core, he would not survive a single blow from King Cold.

The instant the thought arose, he violently shook his head, scattering every wild notion.

Just then, Xuesaiya's wristwatch rang out again with a crisp "beep—beep—beep—."

With a tap of her finger, another projection appeared. It was still that weathered old Saiyan, who said respectfully, "Lady Xuesaiya, Lord Barros's planetwide broadcast system for Planet Vegeta has been calibrated across all frequencies. It can be activated at any time!"

"Understood." Xuesaiya answered and swiftly shut down the terminal.

Then she looked toward Barros, her eyes bright and clear. "Barros, from here on—it's up to you."

Whether more Saiyans could survive this catastrophic disaster, did not depend on how hard their fists were or how fierce their spirit was, but on whether they were willing to believe him and dared to follow him.

It was an unsolvable question of life and death.

Barros could not defeat King Cold. That was a fact.

If the Saiyans stubbornly insisted on staying and refused to board the ship, then only annihilation awaited them.

He would not die with them, nor did he intend to—this was something not only he, but also Baroque and every clear-headed Saiyan veteran understood perfectly well.

If the enemy had only been somewhat stronger, then with the Saiyans' fiery blood, they would rather fight until their last drop of blood than abandon their planet and flee.

But when an opponent was so strong that they were stripped even of the right to throw a punch, so strong that even if they gave everything they had, they would be no more than a speck of dust splashing in the enemy's palm—

then staying was no longer bravery, but foolishness; refusing to leave was no longer loyalty, but suicide.

Barros could delay their departure and buy these Saiyans a chance to catch their breath, but he would never gamble his own life and the lives of those peak combatants on the blind luck of a group that did not know their own limits.

At that moment, three short, piercing "beep—beep—beep—" alerts suddenly rang out again in the top-tier combat hall, which had long since been cleared out and now held only Barros and the others.

Barros, Xuesaiya, and Palanti all fixed their eyes on Xuesaili at once!

Xuesaili gave a bitter smile, swiped her fingertip, and opened the confidential message that had popped up on the intelligent computer around her wrist.

This time, there was no holographic projection—only an extremely simple encrypted message, like a text notification appearing on an old-fashioned terminal.

She lowered her eyes and scanned it for several seconds. Then she suddenly looked up, one brow lifting slightly. "The matter Barros assigned has been handled—Lia and the others are all in position!"

Before her words had even faded, her expression abruptly froze. Her gaze stabbed straight at Barros, and an indescribable astonishment surfaced in her eyes.

As time passed, large numbers of Saiyans streamed into the various assembly halls, waiting quietly for Barros to speak.

It was he who had forcibly dragged every Saiyan on Planet Vegeta back from the brink of extermination.

Therefore, everyone already had a good idea of what he intended to say.

King Vegeta had fallen. The throne stood empty, and power had no master.

And Barros—his bloodline surpassed that of every royal clan, his combat power crushed all previous kings, and even Frieza had fallen at his hands.

Many Saiyans had long secretly concluded that this speech would be an announcement before his coronation.

It was only natural. There were very few dissenters.

Aside from a handful of old-school warriors who stubbornly clung to the teachings of their former king, everyone else had already been won over by Barros's life-saving grace and utterly awed by his overwhelming might.

Yet no one had expected that when Barros stepped onto the broadcast channel normally used only to announce interstellar wanted notices and bounties on high-risk planets, the entire audience would fall silent in shock.

The Barros they had revered as their new king, as a god, was actually going to abandon Planet Vegeta—

And he was leaving in haste, forced to do so!

"Why? Does Lord Barros really have to leave?"

"What happened? Who would dare force him to back down?"

"Frieza is dead. Who else could make him bow his head?"

The moment those words fell, the crowd erupted, buzzing like a tidal wave.

At that moment, Barros was more than just their savior, benefactor, and god of war. He was the unshakable totem in their hearts.

Yet when that totem spoke, his tone carried an unquestionable resolve—he had to leave.

This...

Just as everyone wavered in shock and uncertainty, Barros gave them a choice: those willing to follow him on an expedition could stay; those willing to defend their homeland could do as they pleased.

Before he had even finished speaking, four massive warships silently hovered above Planet Vegeta's skies, their hulls gleaming with a cold silver light.

Barros put it bluntly: when the sun set in the west and dusk approached, board the ships and leave.

He gave no explanation, listed no pros and cons. He asked only one question—were they coming or not?

But no one found it an easy choice.

Even Barros had no choice but to retreat. If they stayed behind, were they waiting to die, or waiting to be slaughtered?

There was no questioning his strength. Even he had to avoid the enemy's edge. If others stubbornly held on, they would only be throwing their lives into the abyss for nothing.

This was not a multiple-choice question. On the line between life and death, there was only one answer.

The road ahead was pitch-black, and the only thing they could clutch was this single rope.

These Saiyans, who in the eyes of ordinary people could summon clouds with a wave of the hand and overturn rain with another, could now only follow their instincts—because they had no choice at all!

This day became Planet Vegeta's final countdown.

They had spent most of their lives drifting through the sea of stars, and the days they set foot on their home planet each year were few enough to count on one hand.

But when it truly came time to part forever, even Bardock, who spent every day moving between battlefields and ruins, silently clenched his fists, his Adam's apple shifting faintly.

The four massive warships were packed with people.

Low-class, mid-class, high-class, and elite Saiyans, along with cosmic engineers, star-chart scholars, genetic researchers, and others who volunteered to come along... Barros had taken away more than eighty percent of Planet Vegeta's elite.

As for those who remained, Barros did not persuade them, Xuesaiya did not try to keep them, and Xuesaili said nothing more.

Before departure, at the pleading of many people, the ships broadcast a message across the entire planet—just ninety-seven words, echoing through every street, every laboratory, and every launch tower.

Frieza's father, King Cold, has a power level of 130 million.

Frieza is dead. King Cold will personally come to Planet Vegeta to settle the score.

He is already on his way.

If you do not want to die, flee immediately.

Barros's voice was utterly flat, yet it pierced their eardrums like an ice pick.

That message was not a warning. It was a verdict.

Only then did those who had stayed behind truly understand why Barros had withdrawn.

Before King Cold's power level of 130 million, the Saiyans' prized bloodline and strength were no different from the civilians of those low-level planets they had once casually crushed.

Regret surged through their chests like a tide.

They grabbed their spherical spacecraft and shot into the sky, wanting only to catch up with the fleet and kneel to beg:

"I am willing to die in your service! I will never betray you!"

Unfortunately, they were too late.

Days earlier, when Barros had ordered the construction of the ships, he had already cut off all of Planet Vegeta's tracking beacons and communication frequencies.

The four ships could still contact one another, but every other signal—from the home planet or Frieza's remaining forces—vanished without a trace.

The next day, the scattered Saiyans and researchers on Planet Vegeta each fled aboard small vessels.

In less than twenty-four hours, Planet Vegeta had fallen completely silent.

The towering spires that had once stood everywhere were still there, but no voices, lights, or signs of life remained between the buildings—the entire planet seemed to have had its soul hollowed out, leaving only empty steel tombs standing silently in the dead stillness.

Five days later, a massive warship tore through the star lanes and silently came to a stop beyond Planet Vegeta's orbit.

Its silhouette, its lines, its cold metallic gleam were identical to Frieza's flagship, as though Death had descended once more wearing its old skin.

In just twenty-seven minutes, Planet Vegeta was erased from the star charts—there were no cries of grief, no struggle, only a burst of blazing white light, as though countless supernovas had erupted at once, staining the entire starfield a grim gold-red.

That light was too bright, too scorching, too brief, yet so beautiful it made hearts tremble, like a firework's final song burning through every last trace of its life. In the most magnificent way, it carved its last line upon the vast curtain of the universe: I was here.

The four silver-gray spacecraft cleaved through deep space, gliding steadily toward an unknown distance.

Barros stood before the bridge viewport, his fingertips resting lightly against the cold reinforced crystal glass. His gaze crossed the Milky Way, where stardust surged and flowed, toward the direction that had long since vanished beyond the horizon—the place where Planet Vegeta had been.

His brows drew together slightly. What surged in his eyes was not panic, but an almost frozen calm, as though he was not staring into the void, but at some fate rapidly collapsing in on itself.

Xuesaiya beside him noticed his aura falter for an instant and turned toward him. "Barros?"

He slowly shook his head, his voice low and steady. "It's nothing."

He recognized that fleeting, bone-deep chill—it was the instinctive warning of impending catastrophe felt by one who stood at the pinnacle of martial arts, like a beast catching the scent of ozone before a thunderstorm.

He cultivated the Dragon Elephant Prison-Suppressing Art, and his six senses were sharp enough to scrape across the eardrums like blades, far surpassing experts of the same rank.

That momentary lapse was no illusion. It was the first faint click made when the gears of fate meshed together.

Xuesaiya did not press him further. She merely turned her gaze back toward the window, letting starlight flow over her lashes.

Just then, a Saiyan rushed in with hurried strides, still clad in armor and sweating at the temples. He slammed one knee heavily onto the alloy floor. "Lord Barros! An urgent report from Kamosi—every signal source on Planet Vegeta... has gone dark!"

"All of them?!" Xuesaiya and Xuesaili turned around almost at the same time, their voices taut.

Barros still did not turn around. He only stared into the boundless darkness beyond the window, his lips pulled into a cold, hard line. "Heh... King Cold moved far faster than I anticipated."

Before his words had faded, he spun around sharply, an eagle-like chill flashing deep within his pupils. "Send Kamosi the order—full speed ahead. Destination: Planet C9965. The sooner, the better!"

"Yes!" The Saiyan rose at once upon receiving the order, then turned and raced out through the cabin door, his footsteps making the corridor hum.

King Cold had come too early, too precisely, too quietly.

The string in Barros's heart had already been drawn to the brink of snapping.

Only by putting down roots as soon as possible could they catch their breath, establish defenses, and rebuild their backbone.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

During that time, nearly every Saiyan aboard the four ships threw themselves into the gravity chambers—some trained bare-chested, throwing punch after punch; some knelt on the ground vomiting blood; some had barely been carried out of the healing pods before staggering back onto the training grounds.

On the day they left the planet, Barros had publicly laid down an iron rule: "Whoever can walk normally under one hundred times gravity, breathe without disruption, and punch without delay will possess enough combat power to crush any Great Ape Saiyan that has yet to awaken!"

Everyone knew that becoming a Great Ape multiplied combat power tenfold.

Everyone also knew that top-tier Saiyans started at ten thousand.

But when Barros pointed at himself, then at Xuesaiya with her combat power of 140,500, Xuesaili with 121,000, and Palanti with an even 40,000, and declared word by word—"We all endured our way here through gravity chambers"—the entire fleet erupted.

Fire burned in the bones of every Saiyan.

Frieza's butcher's blade had only just been withdrawn, and the scorched earth of their homeland was still warm. Their thirst for strength had already overwhelmed even their instinct to survive.

Those with similar combat power paired off and fought viciously; higher-ranked warriors beat down mid-ranked ones; lower-class Saiyans gritted their teeth and endured eighty times gravity, refusing to call a stop even when their spines cracked.

Getting injured made them stronger? That secret had long been carved into the bloodline of every generation of Saiyans.

How else had Bardock, born of such humble blood, risen to the very pinnacle? Was it not through battle after battle on the brink of death, through revival after revival drenched in blood?

Now they had gravity chambers to squeeze out their potential, regeneration fluid to wash away their wounds, and medical devices to keep them hanging on by a thread—they did not dare beat one another to death, but they dared to pummel each other until ribs shifted out of place, eyes became bloodshot, and consciousness scattered.

Fortunately, the ships' storage holds were piled high with healing gel, nutritional paste, and fully automated recovery pods.

Otherwise, those warriors who had pounded themselves into pulp in the gravity rooms, left dangling by only a final breath, might have silently withered away by more than thirty percent during their journey through the sea of stars.

The ships tore through space, and star systems rushed backward beyond the portholes.

Two months later, the four silver vessels finally came to a steady halt above an unfamiliar starfield.

Planet C9965 had arrived.

It lay curled up along the eastern edge of the North Galaxy, pressed close to the border of the East Galaxy, so remote that even interstellar trade routes went out of their way to avoid it.

Frieza's forces occupied the western reaches, while King Cold's claws had not yet extended this far—this place was a forgotten fold on the map, a gap where fate had temporarily loosened its grip.

Only by hiding here could the Saiyans catch their breath, let their seeds take root, and rekindle the flames.

Barros understood clearly that confronting King Cold head-on now would be no different from digging graves for his people with his own hands.