The IPC was founded eight hundred Amber Eras ago.
A throng of simps observed a towering, magnificent deity meticulously 'mixing concrete,' and just like the bystanders in Type-Moon who catch sight of a jackal doing a high jump, every last one of them was captivated by that figure.
On the spot, this throng of simps split into two factions. One faction thought to itself: Wow, a deity is mixing concrete—then we have to mix concrete too!
——Never mind what causality or logic links the before and after; a simp has no need for such things.
This faction donned hard hats and joined the party then and there, beginning to squander the precious material resources of their respective planets to fashion utterly useless things.
The other faction's thinking was much the same: We must help the deity mix concrete!
This crowd began crossing the sea each displaying their own divine talents, gathering all sorts of concrete-mixing materials solely to win a single downward glance from the goddess.
They started using the Silver Rail blazed open by the Will-o'-Wisp Youth to transport materials from every corner of the worlds, depositing them on the planet beside the deity, and along the way they did a little business during the logistics and freight.
Carrying one world's local specialties to another world—as for the price, well, that all depended on how dazzlingly a single mouth could spin its boasts.
Even after the simps made money, they wouldn't spend it on themselves; they still bought concrete-mixing materials for the goddess. And though the goddess never once used the gifts, she more or less acknowledged her followers, and casually handed out to them a few Emanator quotas.
In short, in the end it grew into a colossal enterprise spanning the whole universe and monopolizing all trade—the number one financial conglomerate of the cosmos.
From the moment the Market Development Department broke off on its own, it expanded its markets by every conceivable means, sparing no scruple.
Such rapid expansion was not without its setbacks for the IPC.
For instance, conflicts with various powers; for instance, the Border Star Trade War; for instance, the several Emperor Wars...
But what level of existences were those? And now, a fledgling little civilization that had only just crawled up out of an abyssal cliff, together with a Nameless who fancied he had a few connections, actually wanted to block the IPC's advance—and even challenge the IPC's authority?
Demanding a debt from the IPC?
The rhythm of Oswaldo's fingers tapping on the desk abruptly stalled. He slowly removed his gold-rimmed glasses; reflected in the lenses were the figures of Caelus and Yue'er within the holographic projection.
When he heard the gray-haired young man's words—'This debt is getting collected today, and not even Louis Fleming could stop it, mark my words!'—the corner of his mouth first twitched neurotically a couple of times, then suddenly burst out with a short, clipped 'Ha,' like the misfire of a jammed gun chamber.
"Interesting~"
Oswaldo's motion of wiping the lenses with his handkerchief was terrifyingly gentle; the projected Light Curtain cast flickering shadows across his face:
"Bryce, tell these two friends who don't know how high the sky is——"
He put the cleaned glasses back on and tucked the handkerchief into his inner suit pocket with his fingertips:
"This project has already been entered into the IPC's Debt Compulsory Enforcement List. I've adjusted the execution sequence: asset appraisal of the planet Jarilo-VI, debt liquidation—execute immediately."
The heels of his black leather shoes clicked against the floor; passing the thirty-meter curved panoramic viewing wall, the vast, cold nebula was mirrored on the side of his face:
"Execution code——"
The corridor's sensor doors opened one after another in step with his stride; the meshing sound of the alloy gates was like a colossal beast grinding its teeth. Oswaldo boarded the enterprise-class starship 'Amber Guardian.'
"Tell them."
Oswaldo halted at the top of the boarding ramp and looked down below, his silhouette stretched long by the lights:
"The IPC has come to collect."
Although he was the head of the Market Development Department, and debt collection was the Strategic Investment Department's job, Geomarrow was an important strategic resource—whoever could seize it first would gain the upper hand in inter-departmental competition.
As for an individual approaching the level of an Emanator—she was indeed one of the stronger existences in the universe, but still nowhere near enough to make him yield.
Even if that girl were a true Emanator, Oswaldo wouldn't feel the slightest fear.
If he were afraid of Emanators, he wouldn't be contending with Diamond for a seat on the board of directors.
"Since these arrogant, unreasonable natives are unwilling to cooperate with the Market Development Department, then we shall use force, and bring the IPC's civilization to that world."
He had done this sort of thing more times than he could count; it was, however, the first time he had encountered anyone who dared to challenge the IPC's authority.
He recalled that long ago there had been a band of savage, ill-mannered cowboys who rebelliously tried to halt the Market Development Department's advance, and then...
That planet's black mineral, as a rare metal, was used in great quantities to manufacture high-powered weapons, and was shipped off to ever more planets by fleet after fleet of the IPC's freighters.
The process?
He had long since forgotten it.
Every high-value mineral within the Galaxy ought to belong to the IPC!
"All for the Amber King!"
Oswaldo pressed a hand to his chest and let out a sincere, fanatical cry.
...
Belobog, Goethe Manor.
The holographic interface went dark, ending the communication with his superior, and Bryce recovered a measure of ease—much like his state when he had first stepped into the Grand Guardian's palace:
"As you all wished, I have reported the matter to my supervisor. The compulsory enforcement procedure has been authorized by Headquarters and is activated effective immediately."
"The IPC's fleet will soon arrive at Jarilo-VI and blockade the near orbit. Everyone..."
"Chotto matte!"
Caelus's arm suddenly shot up and barred the way before Bryce, cutting off the words rolling between the senior cadre's lips and teeth, and he gave an almost imperceptible pause.
The Synesthesia Beacons failed to translate these four syllables, yet they barely conveyed the meaning.
"Once the procedure is launched, it's irreversible. Mr. Caelus, it's too late for regrets now."
Bryce lightly tapped his palm with the edge of his data tablet.
"Regret what? I'm asking——"
Caelus raised a finger:
"Are the starships you all came in all that model out there? How many credits each? Do you have any star-destroyers? Have your boss send over a few more—after all, I'm not too clear on how many starships it'd take to offset Belobog's maintenance fee."
Caelus scratched his head, wearing the bashful smile of a sunny, cheerful big boy, and rubbed his hands together:
"What if, during the compulsory enforcement, we break a few of them, and the remaining warships aren't enough to cover the compensation?"
"Isn't that right, Star-baby?"
Caelus lightly nudged Stelle beside him with his elbow.
"Mm-hmm! Right, right!"
Stelle crossed her arms over her chest and, like a little robot whose switch had been flipped, kept nodding her head up and down, looking utterly earnest.
"So you see~"
Caelus slid his arm around Stelle's shoulders, his tone breezy:
"You all should get ready to send the whole shipment over in one go, to save the trouble of making two round trips—so much hassle~"
"Exactly, exactly!"
Stelle echoed along like a parroting recorder.
"..."
Bryce's mouth worked soundlessly as he watched the two of them, feeling as though he were witnessing a pair of lunatics dancing at the edge of a cliff.
To be honest, he had been observing the Nameless ever since he entered the palace, and had long suspected that this gray-haired pair had something wrong with their heads!
This gray-haired girl was bounding in and out of a trash can, even pulling the can over her head and using the lid as a shield—like a child who had picked up a sword-shaped icicle in winter, playing to her heart's content.
The IPC's fleet was already on its way!
Instead of hurrying to make their final arrangements, they were goading the IPC into dispatching even more starships?
Were they trying to help this planet's civilization, or were they trying to drive them to their deaths?
Bryce looked toward Belobog's leader, the Grand Guardian Bronya.
The silver-haired girl's palm was unconsciously clutching at the edge of the Grand Guardian's cloak; Bryce could easily tell this was a sign of nervousness. Yet when she noticed his gaze, she actually revealed an awe-inspiring smile.
"I trust Caelus's judgment."
Bronya's words landed with weight—after all, Caelus was her fiancé!
Bryce shook his head; he simply could not comprehend these people's thought processes.
Just as he was about to say something more, he suddenly saw Caelus crane his neck and shout toward the outside:
"Bronie, how's it going? Can you crack those starships' operating systems?"
Bryce's movements froze. Crack the starships' operating systems?
The corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably; it was as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the entire universe.
Those were the IPC's starships—their operating systems had triple encryption: the Entanglement Key, the Bio-Neural Lock, and the Dynamic Chaos Algorithm, a firewall that had sent countless hackers across the Galaxy home in defeat.
These people actually wanted to crack it?
What kind of joke was this.
"Mr. Caelus, no need to waste your effort. Do you know how many times per second our firewall performs..."
A sudden roar of engines drowned out his words. Bryce's expression instantly congealed as he looked toward the starship hovering in the sky, hijacked and hacked by the system, his eyes bulging wide as though he'd seen a living ghost.
Impossible!
How could this be possible!
Although the IPC starships' firewall couldn't be called foolproof, those in the universe capable of hacking into the system in such a short time could be counted on one hand—every one of them a renowned, famous hacker.
How could Jarilo-VI possibly...no, was it the Nameless!
Even for a Nameless, it shouldn't be possible.
"Not bad, eh—a bit tricky, but not too high a difficulty."
The cabin door slid open. The blue glow of not-yet-dispersed Quantum data streams still danced at Bronie's fingertips; she clapped her hands, did a Leap of Faith, and landed on the platform outside the palace.
"I did get a little stuck on the last layer, but since you said we were pressed for time, I didn't research it myself—I just asked that Intellitron a little."
After absorbing this world's knowledge, the Haxxor Bunny's hacking skills had grown at rocket speed; she could easily thrash a hundred of her former selves from before she came to this world.
Learn a few more tricks from Screwllum, and a universe-class hacker would be just around the corner!
"Thanks for your hard work!"
Caelus and Miss Haxxor Bunny exchanged a cool, fancy high-five in perfect sync, then belatedly turned their gaze toward Bryce.
"Oh right, Mr. Bryce, what were you just about to say?"
"..."
Bryce's expression shifted through a tangle of emotions.
The fact was laid out before his eyes; no matter how much he refused to believe it, he had to believe it.
This twin-tailed Nameless in a bunny-eared hood was a super-hacker capable of breaking into the IPC's firewall!
Wait—why does she look kind of familiar?
Bryce couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen this face somewhere before...
At the same time, an ominous premonition welled up in his heart: the boss wouldn't end up capsizing this time, would he?
...
The Jarilo Star System.
Because its space had been sealed off by the Stellaron for over seven hundred years, no interstellar routes had long since passed through this remote and dangerous blockaded star region, and even after the blockade was lifted, no one knew of it.
In the vast stellar system, only the planets quietly rotated.
Today, however, this lonely star system once again welcomed new visitors.
Unfortunately, they were uninvited guests.
At the edge of the deathly-still stellar system, accompanied by a bout of distorted, continuous gravitational collapse, one steel warship after another, gleaming with a cold, hard metallic sheen, entered this world along the Silver Rail that had returned to normal after the Stellaron vanished.
The silver hulls were still coated with a layer of not-yet-fully-dispersed Imaginary energy, proof enough of how distant the world they had leaped across was.
"Successfully arrived at the target world. This place really is backward."
On the command deck section of one starship, an IPC employee clad in a standard black suit sneered aloud.
"I hear this place was a tourist planet for a few hundred years."
"Who told these poor bastards to run into the Cancer of All Worlds?"
"That their civilization survived at all is just dumb luck."
"Hey, I hear this civilization wants to demand several hundred trillion in maintenance fees from the IPC? Hahaha! Hilarious."
"Hey, wanna bet? I bet they won't even last through the first round of orbital bombardment."
"All hands, take note! The enemy has activated their ultimate weapon—the Snowfield Cavalry Charge! Hahaha!"
Aboard the starships, the IPC employees joked and laughed.
This is how the IPC is: the natives just have to pack up their bags and get out, go be coolies digging mines, and let their descendants shoulder the debt—and that's that. But the IPC has many things to consider.
Take them, for instance—they had to rack their brains over how to skim as much profit as possible during the execution of this project!
"Fleet, advance! Target—Jarilo-VI!"
After briefly adjusting and acclimating to this world's space environment, the fleet set sail once more, crossing the deathly-still, empty void to arrive at a fairly close distance from Jarilo-VI."
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