MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 1034: Resolve And Plans

Anthony, Vega, and Kingsley arrived on his private island, precisely where his structure stood within Military Base Alpha-9, a sector governed by the Supreme Monarch, Mitchelle.

Upon their arrival, Kingsley studied Anthony for a brief moment before breaking the silence. "I appreciate the journey and for including me in this eye-opening excursion," he remarked. His tone was perfectly composed, carrying a subtle, sincere weight that did not escape notice.

Anthony shifted his attention from Vega to Kingsley, offering a dismissive, warm smile. "No gratitude is necessary," he replied. "They required the three strongest, and that is precisely who we are—it is as simple as that," he stated with factual calm.

’The strongest three, truly?’ Kingsley mused internally. The words resonated within his psyche as he grappled with their significance, his focus lingering on the declaration far longer than he had anticipated.

"I shall afford you both some privacy," he noted, pivoting toward the exit. "I suspect you are eager to engage in your intimate affairs," he teased, his lips twitching into a slight, deliberate smirk.

Anthony and Vega simply shared a soft chuckle, shaking their heads without offering a verbal retort. Why should there be any shame in the act of love? For individuals of their immense experience and standing, it was merely a natural process, devoid of embarrassment or hesitation.

’It appears the others are absent,’ Kingsley reflected, his senses scouring the island. Dale the Vampire, Reynold the Phoenix, and Seraphim the Elf were nowhere to be found in the vicinity.

They had belonged to a military unit alongside him, Anthony, and Vega before the call to the Galactic meeting. Kingsley contemplated seeking them out—after all, he had shared years of combat, deep connection, and silent camaraderie with them—but he ultimately shook his head. He required solitude to process the recent events without any external interference.

He halted his approach to the door and slowly raised his right arm, clenching his fist. With a motion as effortless as a wave, he threw a light punch; the fabric of space before him fractured and imploded instantly. A jagged void yawned open, appearing like a light-devouring abyss.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode into the tear. He did not bother mending the rent, as space naturally heals itself in the absence of external influence, unlike portals sustained by Mana or Faith Energy, which operate on entirely different principles.

Elsewhere in the Military Base, space shivered and tore once more. Kingsley emerged, his expression masked in total indifference, shielding his inner thoughts from view.

His attire had shifted into his standard military uniform. Despite his power level now eclipsing that of the Supreme Monarchs, he remained committed to Military Law and the directive that all personnel must remain in uniform while on base—a regulation he had no desire to circumvent.

Passing soldiers cast glances toward him but kept their distance. Kingsley moved onward, the void behind him knitting itself back together as if the rift had never existed. Given his current caliber, he could shatter dimensions with a strike, traverse the void, and materialize in distant locations, rendering the concept of distance trivial.

While his method mimicked a portal, it was rooted in the raw, brute-force manipulation of space rather than arcane arts like Mana or Faith. He relied solely on overwhelming physical prowess.

Nevertheless, he was not unique in this ability; anyone capable of enduring the void-weight of the Galaxy could physically replicate this feat with minimal effort.

Kingsley meandered in a random direction, his mind replaying the events of the Galactic summit, the skirmish against the invading Angels, and the subsequent sparring matches that had left a profound mark on him.

He had held his own during the battle with the Angels, delivering a solid performance, yet in the spars against Anthony, Lucian, Aaaninja, and Aura Nova, his performance was dismal. He had suffered defeat against every opponent, a reality that gnawed at his composure.

Though he managed to prolong his exchange with Aura Nova, it still culminated in his failure. The bouts against Lucian and Aaaninja were far briefer; he had not even managed to deploy his specialized techniques before the matches ended in lopsided defeats.

His Universal Technique, his Limit Breaker Form, and his Concept Of Destruction—none had been utilized. They sat unused, an unproven arsenal he never found the opening to exhibit.

He found himself questioning his own potential. Even had he unleashed those trump cards, would the results against Lucian or Aaaninja have shifted, or was he inherently outclassed regardless of his effort?

The contemplation dragged on, heavy and persistent, until he finally released a sigh, his exhale revealing a sliver of humble acceptance.

He had initially pegged Anthony as the solitary outlier, assuming his associates were powerful but perhaps not to this degree. Now, he possessed the definitive answer he had been seeking.

’Have I become complacent?’ he questioned himself, eyes fixated on his palms as he flexed his digits, as if searching for hidden reserves of strength.

Prior to his introduction to Anthony, his team—Dale, Reynold, and Seraphim—were far weaker than he was. They were ill-equipped for the high-stakes missions his own capability demanded. If caught in such situations, his companions would perish in the blink of an eye.

’I must depart from them,’ Kingsley determined, his resolve crystalizing with every passing second.

He did not mean to sever their friendship, but he had to quit the squad. He required a personal path. While standard military protocol frowned upon solo missions, the rules were always flexible for those who occupied the highest tiers of power.

What could standard missions offer him now? They held no path for growth or challenge. He needed to petition the Supreme Monarchs for the high-level assignments they typically handled. Tasks that were meant for a team, he would execute alone, transforming their impossibility into habit.

He nodded to himself, his strategy coming into focus. He raised his hand, the Martial Rhythm pulsing softly within his palm. Observing its subtle oscillations, a smile formed on his lips—a look of quiet, forward-looking anticipation.

Unlike his peers, he did not require years of cloistered cultivation or seclusion. His sleep-based training method offered an immense time advantage, and given his style, he did not need to sit perfectly still to hone his Martial Rhythm. He could refine his craft through active combat in real-time, sharpening his edge with every encounter.

He would accept assignments, hone his Martial Rhythm in battle, and utilize his rest periods to further refine those insights, ensuring no instant was squandered.

Kingsley possessed a gut feeling that once he elevated his Martial Rhythm to a specific threshold, a new, unknown horizon would open to him—a realm beyond his current grasp, yet undeniably more vast.

With a faint grin, he continued his trek, steps firm. His immediate objective was to consult the Supreme Monarchs, a goal within reach since the influence of Anthony’s family made the path toward the governing elite far more accessible than it would be for anyone else.