First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess-Chapter 368: Progress and Training

Angel tapped his shoulder lightly. "Anyway, your shipments are landing one after another. The workers have already started unpacking the propulsion units. The modular legs came early. The shield coils arrived ten minutes ago."

"Good," Xavier said.

"The engine tuners should be here by tonight. The grav-root stabilizers might take another day."

"Okay."

"And the expensive ones — the rare ones — those are coming through shady channels. I won’t tell you which ones. You sleep better that way."

Xavier exhaled through his nose, amused. "I transferred the hundred billion."

"Mhm, I saw," Angel said, satisfied. "Good boy."

He elbowed her lightly. "Don’t call me that."

Angel laughed and tightened her hold around him.

He muttered under his breath, "Only a few hundred billion left now. Maybe I should hit a casino and refill."

"You’d break their economy in ten minutes," Angel said. "Please don’t."

"Maybe five," he said.

"Exactly."

They reached the club. She slid off the bike, stretched, then leaned in close to him. "Don’t fly anything without me watching. You crash once, and I’m beating you back to life."

"Fine," he said, kicking the bike into gear.

She smirked, waved, and walked into the club.

Xavier revved the engine once and sped toward the academy.

The academy gates recognized his ID before he even arrived — the shield barriers opened automatically. Everything looked fresh, calm, untouched compared to the circus that had taken place earlier at Lilia’s university.

Students stared as he passed. Some whispered. Some smiled shyly. Some waved.

Xavier didn’t stop for anyone. They were the same people who laughed, mocked, and watched when he was getting bullied. It was free entertainment for them.

He headed straight to the space-training center — a towering silver structure shaped like a vertical dome, lined with giant simulators, zero-G chambers, and atmospheric pressure tubes.

He parked, stepped inside, and the cool artificial air greeted him with the sterile scent of equipment and calibration chemicals.

The instructor — an old veteran with cybernetic eyes — spotted him immediately.

"You again," the man said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn’t you train all day yesterday?"

"I’m fast," Xavier said. "Teach me more."

The instructor sighed. "You’re going to get yourself killed in a real ship if you push too fast."

"Then train me faster."

The man stared at him for a moment — then cracked a tired smile. "Fine. Let’s see how good you really are."

He led Xavier into the piloting chamber — a massive rotating sphere with suspended harnesses, holographic panels forming the cockpit around the user.

Xavier strapped in, hands gripping the two hovering control rings attached to the gyroscopic rails.

"Today," the instructor said, tapping a panel, "we’re doing manual gravity jumps and controlled mid-drift rotations. No autopilot. No stabilization."

Xavier nodded.

The chamber spun alive.

Gravity tilted sideways. The simulation launched forward. Stars blurred past the cockpit glass. Training drones appeared ahead, weaving like predators in a hunt.

"Navigate the asteroid belt," the instructor said. "No shields. One mistake and you’re dust."

Xavier smiled. "Good," he said. "I like this."

Then he pushed the throttle.

The ship lurched. Lights streaked. Warnings flashed. G-forces slammed into his body. The simulation screamed at him to slow down.

He didn’t.

He dove straight into the asteroid belt, weaving between massive stone giants like he’d been doing this all his life. He hung onto instinct, letting his body decide faster than his thoughts could.

The instructor stared, speechless.

Xavier drift-locked around a cluster of spinning debris, rolled the craft sideways, skimmed a metallic surface close enough to shave paint, then shot upward through a narrow gap no sane pilot would try.

In the outside room, assistants froze mid-step.

"Is that... a beginner?"

"He’s going to break the simulator—"

"He’s ignoring all the warnings—!"

The instructor whispered, "That’s not normal. That’s talent."

The rest of the day went as usual.

The rest of the day passed without anything unusual. Xavier finished his training, sharpened a few maneuvers the instructor said were "advanced," then decided he didn’t feel like going home or to the club.

Instead he took the long route toward the city center, parking near the towering plaza where every released criminal stepped onto the open pavement pretending they’d learned something. The place always felt strange to him — spotless tiles, polished pillars, bright banners about "rehabilitation programs," yet underneath it all, every person who walked out of the transport bay carried the same scent of guilt the system pretended not to notice.

While Xavier waited below, Arin Velmore was sitting in one of the Celestial Penitentiary’s interrogation rooms. Everyone knew what the Penitentiary was; no criminal ever forgot it. The place didn’t need an introduction. Everyone in the city grew up knowing that if you messed up, this was where your name went to die.

Althea Ravel stood in front of him, arms crossed. She had the kind of stare that made men like Arin fold without needing a threat.

"You’ve denied everything," she said, tapping the console. "But the evidence speaks for itself. We’re done pretending."

Arin looked exhausted, shaking. "Those recordings—someone fabricated them. It wasn’t—"

"Do you want me to play them again?" she asked.

Arin’s jaw trembled. He didn’t answer.

Althea listed each charge, one after another. When she finally said he’d be serving a minimum of two years, his composure snapped.

"Two years?" he choked. "You can’t be serious. I—I have a career. I have a reputation. I can’t—"

"You should’ve thought about that when you followed your students at night," she said.

Arin stopped struggling, lowered his head, and whispered, "I want indulgence."

Althea clenched her teeth. "Of course you do."

The system processed the request. She didn’t want to look at the number, but protocol demanded she confirm it.

When she saw it — one million — her eyes twitched with anger. She wanted to throw the terminal against the wall. She wanted to punch him. She wanted the law to let her lock him in a cell and throw away the key.

But she couldn’t.

Arin couldn’t hold his smirk. He had assumed he would have to pay more, but one million was just a mere change for him. He could make that money by leaking one exam paper.

"So... where do I pay?" he chuckled.