Afterward, with a look of utter despair, Clayton was held by both arms and led away from the Marshal's Estate by a group of elite female Viltrumite warriors.
He was dragged backward without a shred of struggle, instead gritting his teeth and locking his eyes with lethal intensity onto Sparta, who was growing further and further away.
If looks could kill, Sparta would have already been killed by Clayton's glare thousands upon tens of thousands of times over.
He should never have listened to Craig; the moment he arrived at the Marshal's Estate, his bowels had turned green with regret.
Sparta ignored Clayton's murderous gaze, flashed a friendly smile on his face, and waved at the soulless Clayton.
For the development and continuation of the Viltrumite Empire, Clayton just had to suffer a little; that was also part of the plan.
His smile remained plastered on his face until the very last moment when Clayton was dragged out of sight, and that smile was exceptionally gentle.
Only after the other man's figure completely vanished into the park within the Marshal's Estate did he slowly lower his arm, the smile on his face vanishing like receding tide water.
Five years of time passed in the blink of an eye.
Inside the office, Sparta sat behind the desk, holding the latest report concerning Clayton in his hand.
Over these five years, no earth-shattering major events had occurred either inside the Empire or abroad, and everything was unimaginably peaceful.
The destruction of the Anti-Viltrum Alliance had deterred countless petty individuals and ambitious schemers, and coupled with Craig's management, outward news that the Viltrumite Empire had fallen from its pedestal never surfaced.
They still believed that Viltrum's military might was at its peak, and not a single civilization dared to step forward as