The Milf's Dragon-Chapter 155. The Will (2)

"I am not going to attack you."

The figure’s voice was calm and Certain. It didn’t get carried by the win, instead it simply appeared in Owen’s mind, bypassing ears entirely.

Owen’s claws remained extended. His fire still smoldering in his chest, ready to attack at any given moment.

"You erased my entire race."

"I erased my experiment." A pause. "And protected myself."

The Will raised a hand: featureless, robed, but somehow gesturing. "If I wanted you dead, Dragon King, you would not be breathing. Your system would not be updating. Your world would already be harvested."

Owen’s scales rippled. "Harvested."

"Yes. Lesser world #2678. Ready for Harvest." The figure tilted its head, or seemed to. "That is my purpose. My function. I seed worlds. I cultivate life. Then I reap the ripened energy eventually. It is how I grow. How I survive."

"You’re a parasite."

"I am a gardener." The will stated inoffensively. "And you... are something I have never grown before."

The wind howled between them. Below, Nexus Prime glittered, oblivious.

---

"I am Gorvax, The Sower. One of many. We travel the void between galaxies, finding lesser worlds: young planets with soft reality, malleable mana. We plant seeds. We tend the soil. We wait for the fruit to ripen." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Owen’s jaw tightened. "And then you eat."

"When a world’s population reaches a critical mass, when the energy peaks over a certain threshold, I harvest. That energy fuels my ascension through the cosmic ranks. I have done this for eons. Across hundreds of worlds."

"And now my world?"

Gorvax was silent for a moment. "I arrived here depleted. A conflict with a rival gardener had cost me nearly ninety percent of my power. I needed a new approach. Something that would grow strong quickly. Something that would defend itself against other seeders."

He reached into his robe—or the space where his robe would be—and pulled out nothing. But the gesture felt significant.

"I had acquired a catalyst. Stolen, technically. A fragment of Progenitor blood

Owen’s expression was that of confusion.

"Ah, The Progenitors are one of the five Great Noble Races of the universe. Dragon-like beings if you must have a description of them, beings of pure cosmic law and power. They are Tier 2 beings who have transcended mortal comprehension. I took their essence and I... improvised."

"You made dragons."

"I made an imitation. A crude, desperate copy, seeded into the mana network of this lesser world. I hoped they would grow strong enough to serve me. To protect my investment while I recovered."

His voice shifted. Something almost like regret bled through.

"But they grew too strong. The imitations grasped something they should not have been able to touch. Cosmic law. Sovereignties , you call them. The very principles that govern reality." He looked at Owen. "You have them. Your brother had them. Your father had them. The dragons were becoming something I could not control."

"So you Erased them."

"I panicked." The admission was flatly admitted. "If the Progenitors discovered that a Tier 4 gardener had stolen their bloodline and created an imitation race in a lesser world, the punishment would have been... absolute. Not just my erasure. The erasure of this world. Every soul. Every memory. Every trace."

Owen’s fire died in his chest. Not because he believed Gorvax. But Because the weight of what he was hearing was too heavy to hold.

"So you killed them to save yourself."

"Yes."

---

"The universe is larger than you can imagine."

Gorvax’s voice softened. Not gentle but clinical. Like a professor explaining calculus to a child who had just learned arithmetic.

"Your world is a lesser world. Seeded worlds, young and malleable, where cosmic gardeners operate. Beyond them are basic worlds—the heart of universal civilization. Trillions of beings. Galactic empires. Interstellar trade routes. Wars that span light-years."

"And beyond those?"

"Superior worlds. The domains of the Great Noble Races. The Progenitors. The Eternals. The Architects. The Ordaineds. The Nullborns. Beings who have evolved past the need for mortal banter, past the need for worlds at all. They exist at Tier 2."

He raised his hand. A diagram appeared in the air—a pyramid of light.

"Cosmic rank is measured from Tier 5 to Tier 0. Tier 5 is the lowest. Mortals who have begun leaving their worlds. Celestials. Beings like you, currently."

Owen’s system flickered. The question mark under [Cosmic Rank] pulsed.

"You are Tier 5, One Star. The lowest rung of cosmic awareness. But you are no longer bound by your world’s system. Your update is preparing you for what comes next."

"The update."

"My energy interacting with your Dragon King System. It is... recalibrating. Adapting. You will lose your mortal level. It will be replaced by your cosmic rank."

Gorvax stepped closer. The space between them compressed.

"There is a hierarchy, Dragon King. A Tribunal that governs the five Noble Races. And above them, above everything, Pertamax. The One Above All. Tier 0. Never seen. Never spoken to directly. But always felt."

He stopped an arm’s length from Owen.

"Your existence is a crime. An imitation of a Noble Race, created by a Tier 4 gardener in violation of cosmic law. If the Tribunal discovers you, they will erase you. Your world. Your memories. Everyone you love."

Owen’s claws dug into the air itself. "Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because I have a proposition."

---

"Stop."

Owen’s voice cut through the explanation like a blade. His head was pounding. The sky seemed too bright, the world too small, the universe too large.

"Too much. You’re giving me too much."

Gorvax stopped. His featureless face somehow conveyed patience.

"Your cosmic awareness is expanding. It is uncomfortable. Painful, even. But you are strong enough to bear it."

"I said stop."

Gorvax did not move. But he did not continue.

Owen’s breathing was ragged. His scales felt too tight, his mind too full. Images of planets on vines, of scythes and seeds, of beings who existed beyond comprehension—all of it swirled behind his eyes.

"I know it’s a lot..." Gorvax said. "..But we don’t have time for you to process slowly. The Tribunal is already aware that something is wrong with this sector. They will investigate. When they do, they will find you."

He reached into the air and pulled.

A scythe materialized in his hand. Not the threatening one from the vision, smaller, simpler, but still gleaming with that light. The tip was sharp enough to cut the space around it.

Owen’s fire reignited. "What are you doing?"

"Completing your update." Gorvax stepped forward. "Your system is stuck because it cannot categorize what you are becoming. I am going to help it."

The scythe’s tip touched Owen’s forehead.

Not pain. Pressure. A sensation like his skull was expanding, like his thoughts were being poured into a larger container.

His system flared.

[System force Update – 100%]

[Update complete]

[Cosmic Rank: Tier 5, One Star]

The notification blazed gold. Owen’s status panel shifted—his level, his experience, everything that had measured his growth since the egg, all of it condensed into a single line.

His level was gone. Replaced by cosmic rank.

Gorvax withdrew the scythe and It dissolved into light.

"You are no longer bound by your world’s system. You are Tier 5, One Star. The lowest cosmic rank. But now, you are cosmic."

Owen touched his forehead. The skin was unbroken.

"Why?"

"Because the Tribunal is coming. And you need to be ready."

The wind picked up. Below, Nexus Prime continued its oblivious dance.

Owen looked at the figure who had deleted his race, who had seeded his world, who had just forced him to evolve beyond his own understanding.

"Finish your proposition."

Gorvax’s voice was quiet.

"I will protect your world. Mark it as exempt from harvest. No other gardener will touch it. The Tribunal will not find it. In exchange, you will come with me. Travel the cosmos. Help me achieve my goal."

"What goal?"

"To ascend beyond Tier 4. To become something the Noble Races cannot ignore."

Owen stared at him. "You want to use me."

"I want to partner with you." The figure’s voice was unreadable. "The last time I created something with Progenitor blood, I made a race I could not control. This time, I am offering partnership to the last of that race. Perhaps together, we will not repeat my mistakes."