MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 745: I’m Already Here

Chapter 745: I’m Already Here

"What of his abuse of power?" the Second Supre Monarch asked again, as though unwilling to let the matter drop, his tone carrying that sa quiet persistence.

His words caught so of the other Monarchs off guard, their expressions shifting minutely as curiosity flickered in their eyes. Abuse of power? The phrase lingered in the air like a lingering echo, drawing subtle tension.

"What do you an, Second Supre?" the First Supre Monarch inquired, his tone level, neither accusatory nor defensive, simply seeking clarity.

"He elevated his teammates from the rank of Lieutenants to the rank of Captains," the Second Supre Monarch stated calmly. "Not only that, he elevated three Private-ranked soldiers directly to the rank of Captains without appropriate military achievents to justify such leaps. That, by all accounts, is a direct abuse of authority."

The First Supre Monarch parted his lips to respond, but before he could speak, the Seventh Supre Monarch spoke first. Her voice was calm and elegantly controlled, as though she were rely reciting established facts rather than engaging in debate.

"I am certain you know very well that we approved this team becoming Captain-ranked soldiers the first ti he stepped foot here," she said, her tone almost gentle, "as compensation for the Severed Crown of Echoes. Furthermore, we approved the elevation of those three Private-ranked soldiers to Captains after you, Second Supre Monarch, attacked the children of the Eighth and Ninth Supre Monarchs, after failing your own bet."

Her words fell like polished steel, smooth, unhurried, yet impossible to refute. She smiled then, soft, almost sweet.

"Besides," she continued with a tone as light as mist, "would you like

to begin listing the many occasions on which you, yourself, have abused the authority granted to you?"

The atmosphere shifted.

Eyes turned to her, so filled with subtle surprise. Many had expected her to align with the Second Supre Monarch, opposing the idea of granting Anthony the title of Supre Monarch. After all, politics among the Supre Monarchs had always revolved around interests, alliances, and silent debts. The fact that she had spoken in the child’s favor, despite having every reason to remain neutral, gave rise to countless calculations circulating through the minds of the cosmic beings seated upon their thrones.

Until now, most of them had not cared for the Third Supre Monarch’s argunt. He was known as one who did not care for politics or scheming, and so his words were often regarded as blunt truths rather than strategic leverage.

But then, as thoughts aligned like gears falling into place, a single realization surfaced among them all.

Talent.

If a nineteen-year-old child could climb to the Planetary Level realm at such an early age, then what realm would he stand upon after a century? No, perhaps even a single decade would be more than enough. They did not dare to envision it fully. The sheer magnitude of power such a being would wield was beyond ordinary imagination.

Would he not simply erase everyone who once stood against him? After all, the military’s rules could not bind a being like him forever. There was no mana contract on him, no divine oath, nothing to hold him back should he decide that the military had outlived its purpose.

They might be superior to him now, in this brief mont in ti. But would that remain true forever? That answer ca to all of them in silent unison.

No.

Their gazes shifted almost involuntarily to the Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supre Monarchs, as though seeking confirmation. Was this why they had remained silent? Because they trusted, without doubt, that their son would eclipse all of them one day? That once he grew, none here would be able to stand in his way unless he willed it?

And besides, could they even attempt to suppress him now? With the Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supre Monarchs at his side, beings who were not easy to deal with even in normal circumstances... adding their wrath to his potential made any thought of destroying the seed of talent not just foolish, but suicidal.

Of course, there were always underhanded thods. Assassinations, curses, sches in the shadows. But even those possibilities led to visions of destruction, of the Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supre Monarchs tearing through entire star systems in retaliation. And unlike others, those three would not show restraint.

Their eyes slowly turned to the Seventh Supre Monarch once more, and in that instant, they understood. She wished to create goodwill, to build bridges towards the future rather than walls. For when the son to be Tenth Supre Monarch rose even higher, when resources began to flow towards him like rivers drawn to the ocean, she and those associated with him would be among the first to benefit, directly and without resistance.

"How about we take a vote on whether he should ascend to our rank?" the Fourth Supre Monarch finally spoke, breaking the tension.

"I agree," the Second Supre Monarch replied imdiately, seizing onto the suggestion like a man grasping at the last rope. To him, others might still be undecided, weighing their choices carefully. A vote would give him a chance to rally silent opposition to his side.

But then, the Eighth Supre Monarch, who had remained utterly silent until now, finally spoke.

"Why should we vote?"

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Yet the weight behind it was suffocating.

The idea of voting evaporated in that instant, as though his words had never allowed the thought to exist.

"Why should we vote?" he asked again, his gaze drifting lazily across the others, though his presence felt like the edge of a sword brushing against their throats.

"Did any of you sitting here beco Supre Monarch through voting?" he asked, his tone unchanging.

No one responded.

"Or..." his voice lowered slightly, "has the title of the Sword Saint beco a joke to so of you?"

His calmness was terrifying. Every Supre Monarch within the Separate Dinsion could feel it, the Eighth Supre Monarch was on the verge of beginning a rampage should anyone dare to speak wrongly.

"The Eighth Supre Monarch presents a valid question," the First Supre Monarch said imdiately, diffusing the rising aggression like water quenching a spark. "None of us attained our position through voting or any other form of deliberation. We were mbers of the military who reached the Planetary Level and claid our seats through power, not through majority approval."

"However," he added after a pause, "we may need to establish laws for future cases such as this, so our council does not beco divided again."

"There is no need for any laws," the Ninth Supre Monarch, Mitchelle, finally said. A small, serene smile touched her lips.

"Why is that?" the Third Supre Monarch asked.

"Because," she replied with absolute calmness, "there is no one as talented as my son."

Her words were simple. Yet no one laughed. No one even shifted uncomfortably. Because sowhere deep within them, they all knew, it was not arrogance.

It was truth.

"Call your son, Eighth and Ninth Supre Monarchs," the First Supre Monarch said then, his voice carrying the solemnity of final judgnt.

In matters of ascension to the rank of Supre Monarch, there was no need for ceremony. No grand ritual. No divine proclamation. Power itself was the ceremony.

Michael and Mitchelle rose slightly from their cosmic seats, ready to summon him into the hidden realm.

But before they could move,

A voice, familiar and calm, echoed across the realm like a breeze passing through ancient stars.

"No need. I’m already here."