Chapter 32: The Emperor's Legacy
Philip sat cross-legged, the afterimage of the Emperor's projection still seared into his mind. His fingers trembled slightly as he activated the gem again—not to summon the vision, but to review what it had recorded. A glowing memory crystal spun before him, projecting the Emperor's voice, calm and absolute:
"Power is layered, and each layer is a new world."
The recording detailed the Seven Stages of Imperial Growth, but Philip was still in Stage One—barely touching the surface. The Emperor admitted he no longer understood how modern civilizations defined power, but he recalled how it had worked in his time:
Adept
Commander
Master
Grandmaster
Sage
Overlord
Legendary Rank
Mystical Rank
Demigod
God
Lower Gods
Middle Gods
Higher Gods
Chief Gods
Primordial Gods
Philip could hardly breathe just listening to it. These were not just names—they were tiers of existence, levels where laws bent and empires fell or rose on a whim.
Then the crystal flickered again, revealing a vast library—rows of glowing shelves filled with:
Martial arts manuals the Emperor had trained in during his youth,
Manuscripts from conquered worlds,
Technological blueprints
,Artifacts of impossible design,
Conceptual wonders whose functions Philip couldn't yet imagine
One passage caught his attention:
The Emperor, even in Stage Six, when he wielded Primordial God-level power, had returned to study a humble, ancient Stage 1–2 fist technique—a style called Thunder-Lightning Fist.
It was simple. Brutal. Elegant.
The Emperor had once spent a hundred years mastering it, letting muscle memory guide him back through the basics. And Philip smiled. Because he too had been bathed in lightning—divine lightning—during the Trial of the spirit. It had nearly killed him, but his body had survived... and absorbed it.
He picked up the scroll.
The Thunder-Lightning Fist required control over lightning—a resonance of the heavens. Philip stood slowly, braced himself, and struck. Once. Twice. Ten times. His fists cracked with sparks.
He moved like a storm, his body adapting quickly thanks to the lingering memory of divine thunder running through his veins.
He wasn't close to mastery, but the form felt right. Like breathing. Like dancing with a storm.
He felt something enlightment the martial he had mastered he finally broke through and the lighting fist felt right. It felt mor eaiser and mana flowed with his movement.
Satisfied, he exhaled.
He was hungry.
The treasure room was filled with materials—glittering mana stones, sealed artifacts, alien ores. Most of it meant nothing to him yet.
The suit had been destroyed so he took a technological attire out from the vault he form one that fit him well. According to the information it gave him after he fed it mana he knew it could change appearance and could grow stronger with him. The defense it could withstand an all out strike from a mystic. He pocketed a few bracelets that glowed with active enchantments—one shimmered with protection, another hummed with spatial resistance. He looked for a while and found a spatial ring which he used to store more ore, clothes and even some weapons he didn't know how to wield them but how hard could it be.
They'd have to do.
Then he turned to the Axis.