MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

As the Spirit King arrived, he neither unleashed his aura nor uttered a single word.

He simply hovered in silence, his figure suspended in the air.

Yet, his mere presence was enough.

His gaze alone was enough.

In that moment, all who bore witness, whether Human, Goblin, Celestial, or Voidwalker, felt it.

It transcended race, power, and will.

A singular, crushing truth weighed upon them all.

FUTILITY.

Even to be called an ant before such a presence would have been a compliment.

The Spirit King's mere existence commanded absolute submission.

It mattered not how powerful they were, how ancient their souls, or how noble their lineage.

Before him, all fell to their knees.

Not by force, nor by will, but by the undeniable weight of his presence.

Their very souls trembled, urging them to bow, to praise, to revere.

A primal instinct, deeper than thought, demanded homage to the entity before them.

And yet, amidst the sea of kneeling figures…

Only one remained standing.

And for the first time, it was not Anthony.

It was Charles.

Charles Evander.

But before anything else… let us speak of who the Spirit King truly is.

He is the first spirit to have ever been born in this galaxy, one of its earliest life forms, a being of ancient existence.

He does not merely rule over the spirits; he is their absolute sovereign, the eternal pillar upon which all spirits, past and present, stand.

Yet, unlike ordinary spirits bound solely to Spiritual Energy, the Spirit King transcends such limitations.

He wields not only Spiritual Energy but also mana.

More than just a ruler, he is an embodiment of collective power.

He possesses the abilities of every spirit that has ever existed in this galaxy, whether alive or long perished, retaining them permanently as his own.

Ageless, unshaken, and unmoved by mortal concerns, he does not interfere in the affairs of the living or dead.

Even when matters involve spirits, he never acts directly.

Instead, he sends others in his place.

For his presence alone is far too great for mere trivialities.

It is impossible to discuss the top three most formidable beings in the galaxy without mentioning the Spirit King's name.

Amongst the myriad of races who knelt, some, who possessed ancient texts and forbidden knowledge, understood the true identity of the being before them, while others remained oblivious.

But in the end, it mattered not whether they knew or not.

Their awareness of his existence held no weight against the crushing force of his presence.

Which raises the inevitable question: How had the Spirit King arrived here?

Charles' summoning ability allowed him to draw forth random beings once every year, much like a gacha system, unpredictable and beyond his control.

He could not dictate whom or what he would summon, but there was one certainty his unique talent granted:

"No being summoned would ever be weaker than Charles himself"

Whatever creature or entity Charles called forth was immediately bound to his will, their loyalty unshakable, and the possibility of betrayal rendered nonexistent.

Then, on a fateful day, the day of summoning, Charles called forth the final boss himself… the Spirit King.

But unlike the other entities Charles had summoned, beings who were instantly bound to his will, the Spirit King was different.

Charles' talent, which always ensured loyalty and control, failed to bind the Spirit King.

Amused by the thought of being summoned and forced to be bound by such a trivial talent, the Spirit King did not grow angry.

Instead, he was intrigued.

Though Charles' unique ability wanted to control him and failed, the Spirit King saw potential in this curious talent.

Rather than dismiss the young summoner, he offered Charles something else:

A contract.

A spiritual contract.

This contract would allow Charles to summon the Spirit King at any time and in any place, but it came at a steep price: half of Charles' own lifespan.

Because Charles' talent had not bound the Spirit King, he could not wield the immense power or abilities of the Spirit King.

The Spirit King was not his servant.

He was merely a summoned ally, a force to be called upon, but at great personal cost.

The Spirit King's gaze shifted to Charles.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice breaking the silence for the first time since Charles had summoned him.

"What do you need me for?"

His voice reverberated across the entire galaxy.

It was calm, ancient, and peaceful, yet authoritative, a presence that commanded respect, and yet felt almost fatherly in its depth.

Of course, the Spirit King already knew the answer to his question.

He was merely asking... or, perhaps, playing.

As a being of his immense power and age, cursed with the endless void of boredom, the Spirit King had long since stopped intervening in the affairs of the living and dead.

Instead, he watched them from his eternal realm, observing their lives as one might watch a series of movies or plays.

His gaze had always been on Charles since their fateful encounter.

The Spirit King was, in a sense, somewhat omniscient within the confines of this galaxy.

He knew the paths of countless lives, the unfolding of countless fates, but, still, he lingered in his own silence, observing, and never making a move.

Charles gestured toward Anthony, explaining the situation in succinct words.

Anthony, like all others before him, knelt in reverence before such an overwhelming presence.

Yet, unlike the others, his soul did not tremble in the same way.

He did not feel the same compulsion to bow in worship.

The Spirit King's gaze turned toward Anthony, his piercing eyes sinking into the depths of the young man's soul.

For a brief moment, a flicker of surprise passed through the Spirit King's eyes, a fleeting emotion, unnoticed by any but himself.

Anthony's Perfect One skill had activated, nullifying any attempt by the Spirit King to extract information.

Where others might have tried to hide or manipulate their thoughts, Anthony did not bother with such feigned efforts.

Instead, he simply gave no information at all.

"Interesting…"

The Spirit King's ancient voice resonated once more, filled with intrigue and quiet amusement.

"Make your move, then. Mr. Protagonist"

The Spirit King's voice was not one of inquiry, but a command, delivered with absolute certainty.

He did not ask.

He did not seek permission.

He simply issued the directive.

Anthony's mind raced, his Authority of Information failing to provide any insight into this being, an entity that stood beyond even his comprehension.

Yet, the System did not leave him in the dark.

It had at least revealed the truth: this was indeed the Spirit King.

'It seems I'll need to pull something out after all'

Anthony thought.

Just as he began to reach for one of his hidden cards, a voice suddenly rang out, an unmistakable, familiar voice.

"NO NEED"

A brilliant glow enveloped Anthony's body, and with it, the suffocating weight of the Spirit King's presence faded away.

The oppressive aura, which had sought to command him, vanished as if it had never been.

With the pressure lifted, Anthony stood tall, a smile spreading across his face, as if the world itself had shifted in his favor.

Anthony's gaze turned to Charles, then he spoke in an extremely calm tone, as if him kneeling earlier didn't matter.

"Sorry to disappoint, but don't forget, this isn't YOUR story!"

Then it happened.

Across the boundless expanse of the galaxy, an unearthly tremor cascaded through the fabric of existence.

Celestial bodies convulsed in primordial terror, their orbits unraveling as if recoiling from an unseen divinity.

Planets quaked, oceans surged in violent upheaval, and supernovae ignited prematurely, unable to withstand the sheer magnitude of the presence descending upon the universe.

A ripple, no, a cataclysm, raced through the star-strewn abyss, distorting space time itself.

The galaxy trembled, its luminous arms coiling inward in reverence, as if bowing before an omnipotent sovereign.

Ancient voids, untouched by the passage of eternity, churned with newfound turbulence.

The great galactic dance of order and chaos faltered, subdued by an authority that transcended comprehension.

And then, in the heart of a blinding conflagration, it emerged.

A luminous burst, neither flame nor light but something far greater, sundered the heavens.

From its golden brilliance, a figure materialized, ethereal, resplendent, immutable.
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His hair, spun from the essence of celestial radiance, shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

Golden irises, suffused with an omniscience that unraveled the mysteries of creation, surveyed all with an unchallenged dominion.

Even his lashes, gilded with the luster of eternity, flickered like threads of divine decree.

The galaxy itself dared not stir.

Silence, absolute and reverent, descended upon all existence.

In his presence, all things, immortals, mortals, and entities beyond reckoning, yielded to a force greater than destiny itself.

And as the galaxy quivered beneath his unfathomable might, a name, both declaration and prophecy, resounded through the trembling stars.

Romulus has arrived.