Lian’s blue void eyes scanned the crowd below through the narrow peephole with cold, unrelenting focus. From their hidden compartment above the main hall, he could see everything unfolding in sharp detail — the frantic bidding, the flushed faces, the shifting postures, the quiet desperation mixed with greed. He observed how everyone behaved under the weight of absolute power and money.

In the lower sections, poor cultivators and struggling merchants huddled together, their faces pale and strained as the bids soared far beyond anything they could ever dream of touching. They had scraped together what little credits they possessed, hoping for a chance at something that could change their lives, only to watch it slip away in seconds. Some clutched their data pads with trembling hands, eyes filled with bitter resignation. Others simply stared at the stage in defeated silence, knowing they had never stood a chance.

The middle sections were only slightly better — wealthier merchants and mid-tier enforcers bidding aggressively at first, only to fall silent when the numbers climbed into the billions. Their expressions twisted between anger and helplessness as the true elites casually tossed around sums that could buy entire mining colonies.

The upper VIP boxes, of course, remained calm and detached. The rich and powerful watched the chaos below like spectators at a game, occasionally raising a bid with bored indifference before letting the real heavyweights decide the outcome.

It was painful. It was sad.

Lian felt a familiar ache deep in his chest as memories flooded back unbidden. He remembered his life growing up on Khar-9 — the endless days in the dust-filled mines, his small hands raw and bleeding from swinging the pickaxe for hours just so he and his uncle Harlan could afford one meager meal, sometimes twice a day if they were lucky, often only once. He remembered the constant hunger that gnawed at his stomach like a living thing, the cold nights spent shivering in their tiny, leaking shack, and the way the Syndicate enforcers would laugh as they took whatever little they had managed to save.

He remembered the months after arriving on Nova Prime, before he forced his way into the Stellar Martial Academy as the “Scarred Ghost.” The constant struggle to survive in the undercity — stealing scraps of food from market stalls, sleeping in abandoned maintenance tunnels where rats and worse things roamed, hiding from patrols that would beat or kill street kids for sport. Every day had been a fight just to eat, just to sleep, just to wake up the next morning. He had stolen everything — food, clothes, even the small Qi crystals he used to slowly awaken his circuits — because no one gave anything to the weak.

The world was cruel.

It was the same thing playing out right now in front of him. The small bidders, the poor bidders, could do nothing in the face of absolute power and money. They were trampled without mercy, just as the strong had always trampled the weak. The rich crushed the poor under their heels without a second thought, and the powerful looked down on everyone else like insects.

As the sweet, intoxicating aroma from the Sirenari woman’s box continued to drift downward, the effect became even more pronounced. In the lower sections, many cultivators began panting heavily, faces flushed red, bodies shifting restlessly in their seats. Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes glazing over with unnatural heat, looking like dogs in heat — desperate, mindless, and humiliated. A few tried to resist, clenching their fists or biting their lips until they bled, but the scent was relentless. Others remained unaffected or only mildly bothered, watching the scene with cold curiosity or quiet disdain. Some simply looked toward the mysterious bidder’s box with open envy, dreaming of the day they could command such power and wealth themselves.

Lian’s mind turned darker as he watched it all.

This is the truth of the universe, he thought, the words rising from the deepest part of his soul like black smoke. The weak are not victims. They are fuel. The poor are not unfortunate — they are necessary. Without the weak, the strong would have nothing to climb upon. Without the poor, the rich would have no one to look down upon and feel superior. The world does not reward kindness or fairness. It rewards strength, ruthlessness, and the willingness to crush whatever stands in your way. Mercy is a luxury only the powerful can afford, and even then, they rarely choose it. The weak beg, the poor scrape, the small dream of fairness — and they all die the same way: forgotten, stepped on, used as stepping stones for those who refuse to stay small. Power is the only truth. Money is the only language the universe understands. Everything else is illusion. The strong take what they want because they can. The weak suffer because they must. That is the natural order. That is the only order that has ever existed. To pretend otherwise is to lie to yourself. To fight it without becoming strong is to invite your own destruction. I will not be weak. I will not be poor. I will not be trampled. I will become the one who tramples. I will become the one who decides who lives and who starves. The universe does not care about justice. It only respects power. And I will make it respect me, even if I have to burn everything and everyone to achieve it.

This settled deep in his bones, cold and absolute. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t despair. It was clarity — the same clarity that had kept him alive on Khar-9, that had driven him to steal, to train in secret, to survive the academy’s rejection, and to walk the forbidden path. The world was not kind. It never had been. Kindness was a weakness the strong exploited. Fairness was a lie told by those who could not seize what they wanted.

He remembered Harlan’s broken body, the Syndicate’s laughter, the cold nights stealing food just to stay alive. He remembered the way the rich bidders below casually tossed away sums that could have fed thousands of people like his younger self for years. He remembered how the strong always won, not because they were right, but because they were strong.

And he accepted it.

Not with sadness. Not with rage.

With resolve.

This was the way of the universe. The only way. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

If he wanted to change his place in it, he had to become stronger than everyone who stood above him. He had to become the one who decided the rules.

Elara remained quiet beside him, sensing the shift in his mood but saying nothing. She simply stood there, her presence steady, watching the same scene with her own calm, calculating eyes.

On the stage, the host continued the auction with renewed energy, the next item already being prepared. The Sirenari woman’s hundred billion credit bid still hung in the air like a declaration of dominance, her sweet aroma continuing to drift through the lower levels, turning some into panting, heated messes while others watched with envy or caution.

Lian kept observing, his void eyes taking in every detail, every reaction, every small cruelty playing out below.

The world was cruel.

And he would learn to be crueler.

The auction continued its relentless pace, each new item revealing more of the galaxy’s hidden wealth and the brutal hierarchy that governed it all. Lian stored every lesson deep in his heart, feeding the cold fire that had been burning inside him since the day his uncle was murdered.

He would not remain small.

He would not remain weak.

One day, the ones trampling others would look up and see him standing above them.

And on that day, there would be no mercy.

Power Scale / Cultivation Realms (Quick Reminder)

Foundation Realm (Layers 1–9): Body forging, no external Qi.

Circuit Awakening Realm (Early–Peak): First Qi loop, internal bursts.

Core Condensation Realm (Early–Peak): External Qi release, short flight.

Stellar Circuit Realm (1–9 Stars): True flight, Qi armor, energy projection.

Nebula Dominion Realm and higher: Domain control, galaxy-level power, etc

Power Scale Reminder

Lian Yu: Stellar Circuit Star 1. A new breakthrough.

Elara Voss: Core Condensation Early to Middle

Eternal Veil Syndicate: A powerful organization with higher-ups at Nebula Dominion and at least one Void Ancestor- level.

The Four Pillars: the most powerful organizations in the lower core universe — ancient, influential, and dangerous beyond measure.

Zephyr Kane: Lone wanderer

Keep it as reminders