Clayton snorted with laughter, then winced as it pulled at his wounds.
"Yeah. I've spent almost my whole life on this one thing. I wanted to surpass you from the moment I came of age, and later I passed that obsession on to my sons. Pretty ridiculous, don't you think?"
"Mm."
"Sometimes I think I'm a real bastard."
"Not just sometimes," Sparta said.
Clayton froze for a moment, then broke into loud laughter.
"Fair enough. At least you're honest. Better than people offering fake comfort."
Sparta did not laugh. He simply watched him in silence.
The setting sun fell across Clayton's face, illuminating the fresh blood there—a mark of his centuries-long stubbornness.
Ever since Sparta had defeated him on Big Mouth Star during an Empire mission, Clayton had been unable to let it go. Centuries had passed, and he still had not won. Not even once.
"Do you know why I never admitted defeat?"
"Because admitting you're stronger than me would mean admitting my whole life was a waste. The same goes for Regent Thragg."
"I've never accepted that I'm weaker than either of you. I, Clayton, have never been weaker than anyone."
Sparta listened quietly, then repeated his words.
"Never weaker than anyone."
"You really are strong. You had the strength of an elite hundreds of years ago."
"Most people are over a hundred by the time they become elites. You've surpassed 99.9 percent of the Viltrumite Empire."
"Even Regent Thragg probably wasn't an elite at your age, and that old bastard is almost two thousand."
"And you, my friend, are still young."
In terms of individual strength, Clayton could rank among the top ten in the entire universe. He was more than qualified to take on the best.
True, he had acquired a nickname in the Empire: the