CHAPTER 870: THE EMBODIMENT OF CIVILIZATION

Cezar sighed as he looked toward the city in the distance. What he saw was both awe-inspiring and troubling. The surroundings of the cities were being transformed into a thriving hub of industry.

Massive factories rose like titanic beasts of steel and crystal, their furnaces burning with power, their spires belching steam and light. All around them, the raw resources of Exilion were refined and shaped into the instruments of war—armors gleaming with runes, weapons capable of splitting mountains, alchemical drugs to enhance warriors, and an endless variety of equipment for battles yet to come.

His gaze, sharpened by cultivation, pierced the distance clearly enough to see not only the towering structures but the endless streams of people entering them. Men, women, and even children marched into the factories by the thousands.

At first glance, it might have appeared a dystopian sight—an entire society bound to industry, toiling under a single banner. Yet Cezar knew better. He saw the smiles on their faces, the eagerness in their steps, and the laughter of children. These were not slaves being forced into labor. These were citizens choosing to contribute, their efforts celebrated and rewarded.

The factories were not the oppressive machines of Zani’s tyranny. They were automated marvels of engineering, built with Xaos technology. Heavy and dangerous work was handled by tireless machines of steel and rune, leaving humans with roles that developed their skills and talents.

Those who entered did so willingly, not out of desperation, but out of choice. Their jobs gave them the opportunity to grow in directions far beyond the battlefield: engineers mastering the sciences of design, crafters shaping wondrous artifacts, alchemists brewing new elixirs, runic masters inscribing power into metal and stone, and even genetic coders reshaping the essence of life itself.

These professions were not only fulfilling but essential. Each role accelerated one’s Leveling, intertwining practical labor with cultivation itself. And the rewards were immense. Workers were paid not in scraps, but in true wealth—enough to buy the finest meals, acquire treasures for cultivation, or purchase machines for entertainment and convenience. The better their work, the more their skills grew, the higher their rank, and the greater their pay.

Even so, rules and regulations were firmly in place. Adults could not be made to work more than eight hours a day, and children were limited to no more than two hours after school. Education came first, and labor for the young was treated not as toil but as training—a chance to gain experience without losing their childhood.

Cezar understood all of this. He could see that the system worked, that it gave people purpose, dignity, and freedom from the chains of poverty and fear. For the first time in generations, Exilion’s people could pursue lives beyond endless war. And yet, unease lingered within him.

Because towering above every city, at its very heart, stood a monument: a colossal statue of fire made solid, a sphere of eternal flame with the figure of a young man at its core. The visage was unmistakable—it was the Xaos God.

Over the year since the end of the war, the Xaos Faith had spread across Exilion like wildfire. But it had not been forced upon the people. Overlord was too cunning for that. He knew very well how Vlad felt about religion, and so while the Faith was encouraged, it was never mandated.

Instead, the truth was emphasized again and again: that the rebirth of Exilion, its prosperity, its peace, its freedom—all of it was only possible because of Xaos. The people needed no sermons. Their lives themselves testified to this truth. Families reunited, children protected, prosperity abundant—how could they not give thanks? Naturally, many began to pray to the Xaos God.

Yet for those who did not, protections were in place. Freedom of belief was permitted—though only to an extent. Citizens were free to abstain from worship if they wished. But they could not, under any circumstance, raise temples or offer prayers to any other god. The Xaos Kingdom knew well that new gods bred division, and division bred war.

As Cezar pondered these things, a voice cut through his thoughts.

"Is there a problem, World Lord?"

Cezar turned his head slightly, and there he was—Overlord, appearing without sound or warning. The title brought a faint smile to Cezar’s lips.

World Lord.

Technically, it was true. He was the leader of Exilion now, the one whose authority stretched across all duchies, whose words could dictate laws across every continent.

And yet, as he thought of his so-called power, another sigh escaped him.

"I fought for so long to liberate my people," Cezar said quietly. "I dreamed of the day I would take back my world. And now I have it... but under the rule of someone else."

The truth weighed heavily on him. No matter how bright the present appeared, no matter how prosperous the people had become, the fact remained: they were still subjects of a foreign power. An alien kingdom ruled them, guided them, shaped them. Even in freedom, there was a chain.

Overlord regarded him with a gaze as sharp as steel. His voice, when it came, was devoid of comfort.

"You are weak. Your people are weak. Even if we gave this world back to you, it would fall into another’s hands within a decade. You would be enslaved again, perhaps worse than before."

There was no menace in his tone, no need for threat. These were simply facts, spoken by the A.I. Chip Clone that knew all too well the cost of weakness. Overlord had witnessed the rebellion’s sacrifices—how Cezar had even sent his own people to their deaths to protect its secrecy. He knew the man before him would understand the blunt truth.

Cezar’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue. He knew Overlord was right. Slowly, he nodded.

"The Xaos Kingdom will allow you and your kind the chance to grow," Overlord continued, his voice calm and detached. "We will take the resources of this world, yes—but we will do so in a way that does not poison your skies or bleed your soil dry. Your people will work, but they will work of their own free will. And those who fight in our armies will do so by choice, not compulsion."

His eyes glowed faintly as he went on, his words carrying the weight of something greater than a single world.

"We are the embodiment of civilization. Of growth. Of meritocracy. Our light will extend to every world, one by one. You should be grateful, Cezar. For you and your people are fortunate. Fortunate to be touched by us."