There was one thing he hadn't said: Emperor Algor didn't care whether the rank-and-file warriors lived or died.
Even when their numbers had been greater, they could have found some abandoned planet and held the event there.
As for meat, the universe had plenty of planets and wild beasts. They could eat like this three meals a day without exhausting the resources of half a galaxy, let alone the entire universe.
In the end, Emperor Algor simply didn't care. As far as he was concerned, they could drink nutrient solution and stop being so picky.
Thragg drank his wine, his gaze sweeping over the warriors laughing and talking around him.
Handing all his authority to Sparta really had been the best decision of his life.
The population was steadily rising. The Empire hadn't been this lively in a long time.
Amid the roar of voices, Sparta swirled a glass of wine he had barely touched. His gaze passed over the crowd and settled on two warriors arm-wrestling in the distance.
The two warriors gritted their teeth and locked hands, veins bulging along their arms. People crowded around them, cheering at the top of their lungs.
Craig sat diagonally across from him. He had clearly drunk quite a bit, his cheeks faintly flushed as he clinked glasses with Duken beside him.
"Marshal."
He suddenly turned his head, bringing a strong waft of alcohol with him.
"Let me drink a toast to you, sir."
Sparta raised his glass toward him but didn't drink. He merely smiled.
"You should go drink with your thirty-odd Jingjings."
Craig choked on his words, and several people nearby stifled their laughter.
Despite what he'd said, Sparta still finished the wine in his glass.
He filled it again and raised it high above his head.
"To the Viltrumite