Before Vlad could finish his thoughts, the twins perford a deep bow toward the man with white hair.
"We humbly greet the Imperial Prince."
Those words confird the suspicions of the Sky Seed Depravitas.
The young man with white hair and golden eyes was, without a doubt, a descendant of Alexandros, the Emperor of Graecia.
Hadriana, unlike the twins, did not bow. Instead, she clasped her hands together in a formal gesture of respect. Whether she did so for political reasons or out of devotion to her faith, Vlad was unsure.
The Sky Seed Depravitas exchanged quick glances. A brief mont of consideration passed between them before they followed the twins’ lead and perford a deep bow.
Although they stood at the pinnacle of Terra, they were no longer in their ho but in a Doomsday World dominated by Graecia and the Chaovoratities Plane. Here, Imperial Blood demanded deference, and it was wise to show proper respect.
However, before anyone could linger in that position for long, the white-haired man raised his hand.
"Please, everyone, stand up. There is no need for such courtesies."
His voice was calm yet firm, a clear signal that he did not seek excessive formalities.
Once the group straightened, the Imperial Prince continued, his expression holding a trace of dry amusent.
"Besides," he added, "even though I bear the title of Imperial Prince, there are over fifty others who hold the sa title."
A rueful smile crossed his face as he uttered those words.
In a mortal empire, an Imperial Prince was revered, their status akin to divinity, standing above countless nobles and generals. However, in a highly advanced civilization like the Graecia Empire, things were different.
First, though it was difficult for powerful beings to conceive children, their lifespans were imnse, allowing them many opportunities to reproduce. As a result, Imperial offspring were not as rare as one might assu.
Second, in most empires, being an Imperial Prince ant one was in line for succession. However, Alexandros was a being of unparalleled might, a ruler so powerful that his own children would die of old age long before he did.
Of course, that was not to say the title lacked significance. Any attack on an Imperial Prince would still be seen as an offense against the empire itself, requiring the utmost respect.
The young man with white hair turned his golden gaze toward Aganon’s group, his eyes flickering with curiosity. It didn’t take long for him to fix his attention on the four figures clad in dark armor.
"Cousin," he spoke, his voice carrying a faint undertone of intrigue, "are these the mbers of the Depravita Race I’ve been hearing about?"
Aganon smiled, his expression one of familiarity and confidence.
"You’re right, Cousin Janus. These are my friends—Vlad, Jormungandr, Ouroburo, and Fafnir."
Janus gave a small nod of acknowledgnt, to which the Sky Seed Depravitas responded with the sa courtesy.
With formalities out of the way, the Imperial Prince glanced toward the cave entrance before speaking again.
"It seems it will take so ti for the other groups to arrive. We should use this opportunity to rest and get to know each other. Once we step into the secret plane, I doubt we’ll have the luxury of relaxing."
Both groups glanced at one another, considering his suggestion.
It was clear that Aganon and Janus shared a strong bond, aning they would be working together once inside the secret plane. While they did not need to be friends, it was undeniably beneficial to learn about each other’s strengths.
After a mont, everyone nodded in agreent.
Seeing that everyone was on board, Janus’ smile widened slightly.
With a casual wave of his hand, a cooking set suddenly materialized in the middle of the cave.
Before Aganon’s group could fully comprehend his intentions, Janus had already begun preparing food.
For Aganon’s team, watching an Imperial Prince cook a al was a strange sight. However, Janus’ own team seed completely unfazed, as though this was a common occurrence.
Noticing the curiosity in the eyes of many, Janus spoke in a carefree tone, his hands moving with practiced ease as he chopped ingredients and stirred a pot.
"I spend nearly every waking hour training or fighting. From ti to ti, I find it necessary to relax—to allow my mind and body to enjoy the small things."
There was a tranquil light in his golden eyes as he continued.
"Here, there is no danger. No deadlines. No impossibly high stakes. If I make a mistake, I can simply start over again. That kind of peace... is sothing people like us rarely experience."
Vlad couldn’t help but nod solemnly, a flicker of understanding passing through his expression.
Janus was young, but he was no fool. He understood the burdens of power, the constant pressure that weighed upon those who sought greatness.
For a while, silence reigned in the cave.
The only sound was the gentle bubbling of the stew, the clinking of utensils, and the faint crackle of a conjured fla.
When Janus finished cooking, he portioned the food accordingly, serving it based on each individual’s size.
As both groups sat in a circle and took their first bites, the expressions on Vlad, Jormungandr, Ouroburo, and Fafnir’s faces instantly changed.
Their eyes widened.
The food was incredible—far beyond anything they had ever tasted before.
The silence was broken by one of Janus’ teammates, a massive two-headed ogre who sat comfortably across from them.
"The Prince’s food is as delicious as ever."
The second head nodded enthusiastically, adding, "We could eat it all day and never get enough."
The ogre’s body was nearly ten ters tall, his muscular fra exuding a raw physical pressure that rivaled even Fafnir’s presence.
With that, the initial tension in the air dissolved.
The two groups slowly began to talk, exchanging small bits of information. So comnted on the food, others analyzed their surroundings, annoyed about the humidity.
The conversation was casual yet important—a necessary first step toward understanding one another.
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