I chose the safe house, and the Human Alliance regretted it.

Zi Jin led Wang Wei through the last archway and stopped in front of a separate hall.

The palace gates were unguarded and unlocked.

Zi Jin raised her hand and pressed it against the sensor area on the side of the door. A dark golden light swept across her palm, and the door slid open silently.

"Come in," she said.

Wang Wei followed her inside.

The interior space is extremely large, with a soaring dome that allows light to pour down from the top, creating a soft yet not glaring effect.

The ground is made of black mirror stone, and every step you take creates a ripple of pale gold.

Then, he saw those figures.

It's not a real person, it's a 5D holographic image.

One after another, the statues stretched from the depths of the main hall to both sides.

They stood or sat, some gazing into the distance, others lost in thought.

Each one is so lifelike that even the trembling of the eyelashes can be clearly seen.

Wang Wei stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the figures.

"These people," Zi Jin's voice echoed in the empty hall, "are the history of the empire."

She walked up to the nearest image.

He was an elderly man with white hair, a thin face, and sharp, piercing eyes.

He was dressed in the early marshal's uniform of the First Empire, his chest adorned with medals, and he rested his hands on a longsword.

"Lin Yuan, the founding marshal of the empire." Zi Jin's voice echoed in the empty hall, "He joined the army at sixteen and fought for three hundred and seventy years. He conquered one-third of the empire's territory."

Wang Wei looked at the image. The old man stood there quietly, like a mountain.

Zi Jin softly read the inscription below the image.

The inscription, carved on a black metal plate, contained only one sentence: "Every inch of the empire's territory holds the remains of my brothers."

Wang Wei's gaze sharpened slightly.

One sentence, a lifetime.

He followed Zi Jin toward the second image.

He was a middle-aged man with a resolute face, high brow bones, slightly sunken eye sockets, and a gaze as calm as a stagnant pool.

He was wearing a dark blue Imperial Marshal's uniform, without any medals, only a dark gold badge on his chest.

"Chen Beixing, the third marshal of the empire." Zi Jin paused.

"During his reign, the Empire suffered its first invasion by the Kailos. He led his army to defend the border to the death, using a fleet of 300,000 to hold back the enemy's main force, thus buying the Empire precious breathing time."

"In that battle, out of 300,000 ships, not a single survivor remained. He himself died from severe injuries after the battle."

The inscription consists of only one line.

"I'm back."

Wang Wei frowned.

"His last question was, 'Have the troops returned?'" Zi Jin's voice was soft. "The adjutant held his blood-stained hand and said, 'They're back.' Then he closed his eyes."

Wang Wei remained silent for a long time.

"You're back" is a lie.

He slowly walked towards the third image.

He was a young general, who looked to be no more than thirty years old, with sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, and full of vigor.

He wore a silver-white Imperial military uniform, without any superfluous decorations, as clean as a newly turned page of a battle report.

"Shen Xinghe, the Empire's youngest marshal." Zi Jin's tone changed slightly.

"He was promoted at the age of twenty-one and died in battle at the age of twenty-four. In the Battle of Xingyuan, he led a fleet of 50,000 men to defeat an enemy force of 500,000, achieving legendary status in one battle. But it was also in that battle that he personally led his troops deep behind enemy lines and never returned."

There are only three characters on the inscription.

"Charge!"

That was the last order he issued.

Wang Wei stood in front of the young image, looking at a man who had become a marshal at the age of twenty.

The fourth one. Li Wujiu.

The seventh marshal of the empire. He led his army on a distant expedition, deep behind enemy lines, where the entire fleet was annihilated, with no survivors.

Zi Jin stood in front of this one for a little longer than those in front.

"Nobody knows what happened in that battle," she said. "Nobody knows how it was fought. All that's known is that the enemy didn't launch an attack for three years afterward."

The inscription does not contain a single word by Li Wujiu himself.

There is only one line of text, which was added by later generations.

"He went, and he didn't come back. The empire's borders have remained untouched for three years."

Wang Wei's gaze lingered on that line of text for a long time. The spacing between the four characters "Three years untouched" was wider than the other characters, perhaps because the person who carved the inscription was trembling when they reached this point.

He continued walking forward.

The fifth one. Purple Xiao.

A thin old man sat in a wheelchair, a thin blanket covering his knees, and a chess piece in his hand.

He didn't look at the chessboard, but gazed into the distance, a faint smile playing on his lips. The inscription on the monument contained a sentence...

"As long as the imperial star remains, the empire will never perish."

The sixth one. Bai He.

He was dressed in a plain white military uniform, had short hair, and stood ramrod straight.

The inscription on the monument reads with a single, frank and resolute sentence: "I will fight this battle."

The seventh one. The Chu Dynasty.

The bald, burly man had a rugged face with a hideous scar running from his forehead to his jawline across half of his face, giving him a menacing aura.

He stood in the video with his hands on his hips. The inscription on the monument contained only six characters.

"Form ranks, and charge with me!"

There was no fervor, no sentimentality, no superfluous emotion.

This is the most times he has ever done in his life.

But this time, he never returned to the sound of war drums.

Zi Jin walked slowly forward, gently explaining as he went, recounting the tragic lives behind each image.

One after another, marshals of the empire, one generation after another, spent their lives on the battlefield, giving their all and their blood, and in the end, all that remains in the world is a short sentence on their tombstones.

After walking for a long time, Wang Wei suddenly stopped. "What about the millions of ordinary soldiers who died in battle?"

Zi Jin remained silent for a few seconds.

"The Empire does not commemorate every dead person." Zi Jin's voice was calm, almost indifferent.

"There is no time, no resources, and no meaning. War is not about glory, it is about consumption. People are expendable. Generals are expendable, marshals are expendable. Emperors are expendable."

She turned around and looked at Wang Wei.

"A general may die, a marshal may die, an emperor may die. But the empire cannot perish. This is written in the imperial law, and it is the oath of every imperial soldier when they enlist."

Wang Wei looked at her without refuting her.

"This is the will of the Empire." A barely perceptible fluctuation finally appeared in Zi Jin's voice.

"The Empire remembers not the people, but the sacrifices. It doesn't matter who sacrificed, or how many sacrificed. What matters is that—even though people sacrificed, the Empire still stands."

"This is the true nature of the empire. Cold inside and out."

Zi Jin finished speaking.

Wang Wei remained silent.

Then he spoke.

"Where's the energy fluid?"

Zi Jin was slightly taken aback. He seemed not to have expected Wang Wei to suddenly return to reality at such a solemn moment.

She gave a wry smile and pointed deeper into the hall: "Inside. Ten billion. Not one less."

Wang Wei nodded.

He turned and walked deeper into the main hall, without glancing at the images again.

Zi Jin watched his retreating figure and shook her head.

It seems my father's painstaking arrangements are of little use now.

Deep inside the main hall, the energy liquid was piled up into a small mountain.

"Exchange all of them."