"Greetings, Majesty!" The God King knelt, leading his angels. I quickly helped him up. "No need for that. In our empire, kneeling's not required. From today, we're family. For you, God King, I propose joining the Elder Council."
"Elder Council?" He looked puzzled.
"Yes, a council of tribal leaders with voting rights on major matters. When I'm away, they wield imperial authority and defend against enemies. You'll see," I explained.
The God King's eyes lit up. A powerful role, not a cage for a surrendered leader. He was grateful.
"God King, we must reorganize the god realm's legions to counter alien counterattacks," I said. Priority one.
"Do as you see fit. Baizhan, assist the generals," he ordered an angel.
"Come, God King, let's talk on the warship. I've got fine wine ready." I pulled him along.
His first time aboard a warship, the God King gawked like a kid, poking at everything. Not bad for a millennia-old guy seeing new toys.
After reorganizing, I stationed the White Dragon Legion on the god realm. The angel legions underwent training—space wars weren't magic contests.
Back in the empire, joy erupted. Conquering the lofty gods? I declared a three-day celebration.
This war added seventy million to our population and 1.5 million angel troops. Damn, the three realms are practically an army. But a headache lingered: angels' innate magic didn't suit warship roles. Current soldier classes weren't ideal.
"Lan'er, massage your husband's shoulders," I teased.
"No way! Take me to Earth, then I'll do it," Lan'er said, wrinkling her cute nose. My wives formed an alliance—same sassy tone. My husbandly authority's crumbling.
"Not now. Later?" I negotiated, feigning exhaustion. "You're tricking me again!" She wasn't fooled.
"How about I shower my little Lan with love instead?" I leered. Blushing, she lowered her head. "You're so bad," she mumbled, but her heart fluttered.
"Poor me, unloved," I sighed dramatically.
"Fine, Brother, I'll massage you. But don't forget your promise—take me to the demon realm next. I've never been! Na'er says the sky's black. How do they see?" Lan'er's curiosity spilled out.
"They're used to it. It's not pitch-black, and martial artists like us see fine at night, right? How's your training? No progress, and I'll spank you," I teased.
"I know! Look, I'm so skinny from training!" She exaggerated, flashing her pale arm. Tempting me, huh?
"Feitian, the generals are itching to invade the demon realm for revenge," Xue'er said, entering with a grin. "You're joining their hype? The gods just surrendered—hearts are unsteady. Logistics aren't set. We're not invading for revenge. Tell them, or those war maniacs will overheat."
"Got it. You sound like a nagging grandma," Xue'er teased.
"Heh, I know, beauty. Tell Mengjiang to hurry. The aliens might return, and it won't be just twenty thousand ships. Push production—build more factories. Combine captured alien ship strengths to make super-large warships. We underestimated cosmic races. Our ships are nimble but lack punch," I said.
"Raw materials are tight," Xue'er said, weary.
"Then have Earth's company gather more. They mine; we refine. Enough for mechanical soldiers," I suggested. "Xue'er, help me figure out where to place god soldiers in space combat."
"If current roles don't fit, create a new one," she replied instantly.
"I thought so, but what kind? I'm stumped," I admitted, lying on the bed as Lan'er kneaded my shoulders. "Whatever. Train them first, then brainstorm. Many minds, better ideas."
"Majesty, Dean Cohen's here with good news," a maid reported.
"Oh?" What's that old fox cooked up? Holed up in his lab for years, Cohen rarely emerged, but his inventions were game-changers. What surprise this time?
"Cohen, what's the good news?" I asked, seeing him pace the living room, buzzing with excitement.
"Majesty, it's huge! Would I come for less?" Cohen babbled, incoherent. Wasting my breath asking.
"Spill it," I said, intrigued.
From his storage ring, Cohen pulled out… armor? "Majesty, guess what this is? Bet you don't know!" He smirked like a smug villain.
"Just armor. Obvious," I said. Showoff. My heart bled—how much would this cost?
"You told me to watch anime for inspiration. What's this armor like?" Cohen grinned, smug.
He's got something. I knew him—only groundbreaking stuff got him this cocky. "Golden Saint Seiya armor? Sort of?" I guessed, uncertain. It was close, yet not.
"Haha, you got it! Saint Seiya armor, tweaked," Cohen crowed. "Majesty, you okay?"
I nearly fainted. The gleaming, majestic armor—did this lunatic make it entirely from gold? "My god, you didn't use pure gold, did you?" I pleaded for hope.
"Of course!" he said casually. "Golden armor needs gold."
"I'll kill you! You don't know costs!" I throttled him, shaking.
"Majesty, stop! I'm joking! It's new materials!" His words were music. I released him, relieved.
"Explain its functions and concept," I said, sipping water.
"This armor's the ultimate fusion of cosmic tech and magic. Old armor's obsolete. It boosts a soldier's potential by 300%—not tech, but their own power. It supercharges qi or magic. It's quasi-biological, self-repairing, and sizes to your body. With anti-gravity and life-support systems, it absorbs atmospheric energy in harsh environments, keeping you energized. You can breathe underwater. Crucially, it forms a protective shield as long as you live, stronger with your power. We capped it at triple strength—stacking more yields no gain. Still, its perks shine. It withstands a small Dragon-class warship's laser. Medium ships can't outdamage its repairs. Only large ship lasers break it," Cohen raved.
My god, millions of these soldiers would dominate the universe! I daydreamed, grinning. Cohen, reading my face, snapped me back. "It's great, but costly. Materials are scarce—two tons across six billion light-years."
"How much per suit?" I asked, dreading the answer. "Cheap—$100 billion USD. Money's not the issue; materials are gone," he said. Even my wealth can't cover millions of suits. A gold planet wouldn't suffice.
"So it's useless?" I slumped.
"No! It triples your strength. On mechas, soldiers can cast magic. Cool, right?" Cohen said.
Genius! "True, but it needs that rare metal," I sighed.
"Naturally, but mechas use less. This suit's custom for you, handling double a Tier 12's full burst. For generals, Tier 6 is their peak—$10 million per suit," he said. I exhaled—affordable.
"Can we mass-produce?" The real question.
"Yes, but materials limit us to just over 100,000 suits," Cohen said, helpless.
"What tier standard?" "Tier 4." Only fourth-stage soldiers can use them, or it's wasteful.
"Most soldiers hover at third stage. Tier 4 doubled suits their lifetime cap—perfect," Cohen explained.
"This solves my god soldier issue! You said it pairs with mechas. Let's outfit them with new mechas—call them Demon-God Armaments. The armor's Dragon Armor. Thoughts?" I said.
"Fits their traits," Cohen nodded.
"Make the armaments black. Squadron leaders' Tier 5, emerald green. Brigade leaders' Tier 6, purple—for distinction. Produce 80,000. The rest: 200 Tier 6 suits, yellow; ten each for Tiers 7, 8, 9, crystal-colored; the rest Tier 5. How many with that?" I asked.
"Tier 6 and up uses more. About 10,000 Tier 5 suits left," Cohen calculated on his smart device.
"Make those silver-white," I said. My plan? My wives, dual-cultivating with me, progress exponentially. The 200 Tier 6 suits go to them, top generals, and future elites. Tier 8 suits for the God King and Demon King, extras as rewards for war heroes. The 10,000 Tier 5 suits equip my Palace Guard's elite.
"Cohen, tweak the armor's look. How do you wear it? Five holes?" I puzzled.
"Hah, clueless? See the wrist's small hole? Inject qi or magic—it shrinks to a bracer. Inject again, it reforms. Under a second. After dripping blood in the second hole, only you can use it. Advanced, huh? Our lab's foam-molding tech," Cohen bragged.
"Alright, let's test it. Prove you're not bluffing," I said, grabbing the armor. I injected qi, and it became a bracer with a yellow dragon carving. Slipping it on, I injected again. A golden shield formed, damn, mythic-level stuff. Golden liquid coated me, forming armor. The shield vanished, but a faint protective layer lingered. Under a second.
"Cohen, you thought of everything," I praised.
"Of course! Scientists must be meticulous. The golden shield's a mini absolute defense, active with qi, even when stored. The armor's outer layer forms another shield, scaling with your strength, locking at your peak's tenth, activating only under threat. It's one centimeter thick, denser with power. With your body's qi, that's four defense layers," Cohen rambled. Never thirsty, this guy.
"Enough talk. Let's try it," I said.
"Wait, Majesty! No blood, no full functions—others work," Cohen stopped me.
"Keep yapping, and I'll itch to death," I said, dashing to the Palace Guard's training ground. "Open the defenses!" I bellowed, startling the guards. Seeing me, they complied. I dragged Cohen in. "Majesty, you'll kill these old bones!" he whined. Liar. You made yourself a suit—how else would you know the specs?
Boom! I hit third-stage transformation instantly. Helping Xue'er widen her meridians boosted me, but this was wild. Frenzied energy surged into the armor, half restoring my reserves, half storing double my full strength. No wonder it's triple attack power.
The energy surge formed a crystal-clear qi shield. Never had this before. The armor sustained 1.5 times my power, unlike my fleeting second-stage bursts. Cohen, I love you! My strength soared, transformation on demand.
"Cohen, spar!" I yelled at him, cowering under my aura. "Help! Murder!" he wailed, flopping like an octopus. Guards outside saw his antics, awed by my energy. My imperial majesty overwhelmed the field; none dared meet my gaze.
Guard A: "Majesty's unreal—third stage! We're stuck at first."
Guard B: "Don't kid yourself. That's Tier 8 or higher. We're barely Tier 4. Gotta train harder."
"Cohen, suit up, or I attack in three seconds!" I saw his bracer. Grumbling like a wronged wife, he activated his armor.
To test his claims, I launched a Tier 1 wind blade, blending magic and martial arts, at his absolute defense. It held—Tier 4 equivalent. But Cohen crashed into the training ground's shield.
"Majesty, mercy! I'm dying!" Faking it, alive and kicking.
"Cohen, where'd your helmet and mask come from? Mine's missing!" I'd struck too fast to notice. His armor covered all but his eyes, shielded by something sleek. So cool.
"Don't blame me—you cut me off! It's blood-activated. Press this," he said, tapping his collar. The helmet and mask vanished into it, reappearing with another tap. Guards gaped—stylish and badass. Cohen floated via anti-gravity; I hovered on raw power, barely taxing my energy.
"Let's spar," I said, itching.
"Can we not? I'm Tier 3, with millennia to live. I don't wanna die!" Coward. Fine, I'd test solo.
I fired a Diamond Finger, channeling energy to my hand's solar meridian. A white beam struck the ground. Bang! Dust clouded the field. When it cleared, I froze. The guards did too. Silence, then roars—the ground sank ten meters from one finger. Insane.
My qi drained instantly. Cellular reserves and armor-absorbed energy refilled my dantian in thirty seconds. Blazing fast.
"Activate all twelve palace defense layers," I ordered. I wanted to test a full-power fire forbidden spell but hesitated after the last result. Using minimal spell mana, I cast Fury of the Fire God. The earth quaked, shattering six of twelve absolute defense layers. My god! I teleported to Cohen, hugged him, and planted kisses. Guards blinked. "Haha, I'm thrilled! Cohen, name your reward!" I said, slapping his shoulder.
He stood, dazed. "Well, Majesty, can you kiss me again? Felt better than my wife." This perv! I kicked him flying.
"You asked, and you kick me?" he whined. Who else, you rabbit?
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, Feitian's Demon-God Armor is cosmos-shaking! Will it crush the demons, or are aliens crafting their own tech? Is Meilina's silence a trap? Drop your interstellar bets in the comments—let's decode this epic power-up!