"Little White, go and arrange the escort missions for the inkstones."
"And… we can't ignore what Prefect Belloso said on the arena today."
Locke's voice was calm, but decisive.
"Do this—starting from Blood River Prefecture, send out my challenge to the ten nearest prefectures."
"Schedule each challenge one thousand years apart."
"That way, even if some Prefects delay their response to the maximum limit, it won't disrupt my plans."
Although Locke had already conceived of refining large quantities of Sovereign's Might to subcontract the construction of Fiend Castles, he couldn't halt the challenges before he had accumulated enough.
Both hands must work. Both must strike hard.
More importantly, Locke didn't yet know how long it would take to refine a single drop of Sovereign's Might.
Each prefecture conquered meant saving himself the time required to refine one drop.
"Yes, Lord Locke. I'll see to it immediately."
After Little White withdrew from the cultivation chamber, Locke closed his eyes once more.
Within his soul space, he began reconstructing the interactions of Water-element laws exactly as he had once recorded them—using simulation to accelerate the fusion of Profound Mysteries.
Soon, he would have to devote immense time to refining Sovereign's Might. There would be little room left for cultivation.
He might as well train while the inkstones were still being transported.
Hell exploded into frenzy.
No one had expected that merely a thousand years later, Locke would break through again—ascending from Seven-Star Fiend to the highest rank of the Fiend Castle:
Shura.
And Blood River Prefecture's Lord Belloso had, through some miraculous auxiliary treasure, briefly attained Shura-level power as well.
A battle between two Shuras.
Those fortunate enough to witness it firsthand were exhilarated.
Those who hadn't secured seats were consumed by regret.
The first Shura-level clash in Hell's history—and they had missed it?
Fortunately, many spectators had recorded the battle using scrying stones. Even viewing the projections alone was enough to grasp the terrifying might of a Shura.
When Locke had still been a Seven-Star Fiend, perhaps two or three of the 106 Prefects in Hell had entertained thoughts of challenging him.
But after the projection of his battle with Belloso spread—
Not one dared.
The gap was simply too vast.
Another topic, however, rivaled even the battle in popularity.
What exactly was that droplet Belloso had used?
Why did it carry such overwhelming pressure? How had it multiplied his strength hundreds of times—raising him from Six-Star Fiend to Shura?
Because it involved Sovereigns, those who witnessed the truth dared not speak openly. Thus, speculation never directly named Sovereign's Might.
Still, across Hell, a bizarre phenomenon erupted—
Anything resembling a droplet began selling at absurd prices.
Meanwhile, Locke formally issued challenges to ten Prefects at once, with battle dates staggered from one thousand to ten thousand years in the future.
Rumor had it this was to counter any Prefect attempting to delay to the ten-thousand-year limit.
By challenging ten at once, even if all delayed to the maximum, it wouldn't hinder Locke's expansion.
Ten prefectures in ten thousand years.
One hundred and eight prefectures in one hundred thousand years.
Then—
Locke would retire in triumph.
Yet contrary to expectation, the Prefects did not resist.
Each accepted his challenge and agreed upon dates.
After all, since Kurus had lost yet retained his position as Yemu Prefect, everyone understood—
Locke wasn't conquering prefectures for territory.
He was expanding the Fiend Castle's influence across all Hell.
In that case, offering him goodwill cost them little.
And they could conveniently have their own Fiend rank certified by him.
Over the following thousand years, Locke's legend spread throughout Hell.
After defeating Belloso—even with Sovereign's Might—he was widely acknowledged as the strongest beneath the Sovereigns.
"The Legendary Shura."
That title belonged to him alone.
Even if others reached Shura-level strength in the future, they would never claim it.
Through interplanar merchants, Locke's legend—and the Fiend Castle's ranking system—began spreading into the other seven Divine Planes and the three Supreme Planes.
Ironically, in this era, even Sovereigns' reputations often failed to cross planar boundaries.
Yet Locke's name spread by merchant gossip.
In matters of gathering faith, the Sovereigns truly lacked talent.
Still, Locke understood why.
The Sovereigns feared becoming prey to one another. They hid within their primary planes, building Sovereign armies to maintain order, rarely venturing out.
How could one cultivate fame while hiding?
But Locke had no time for such thoughts now.
Little White had estimated seventy years to gather surplus inkstones.
In truth, within just over fifty years, eighty percent of the Fiend Castles had delivered theirs.
Now—
The top floor of Blood River Prefecture's Fiend Castle was stacked with more than thirty thousand spatial rings.
"Let's see," Locke murmured.
"How many inkstones does it take to refine a single drop?"
After binding all the rings, he set up a defensive magic array within the cultivation chamber and began.
With a flick of his hand, one cubic centimeter of inkstones—one million pieces—appeared before him.
His soul power spread.
Frowning slightly, he divided them into four groups of 250,000.
In an instant, his soul force penetrated the first quarter-million.
Three breaths later—
The Sovereign's Might within those inkstones had been stripped and condensed into a fist-sized black flame hovering before him.
Every second, it burned and dissipated.
Without pause, Locke refined the next 250,000.
Another three breaths—
The flame swelled larger as fresh Sovereign's Might joined it.
By the time he had processed one million inkstones, the black flame had grown to the size of three fists.
Roughly speaking, refining one million inkstones resulted in the loss of Sovereign's Might equivalent to 250,000 stones.
Locke had no benchmark for efficiency, but one thing was clear—
His refinement speed exceeded the dissipation rate.
He continued without rest.
Ten million. Twenty million.
Inkstones drained of Sovereign's Might turned to ordinary black stone—and were instantly annihilated to dust.
At one hundred and fifty million inkstones refined, the flame had expanded to a full meter in diameter.
When he infused the Sovereign's Might refined from 150 billion inkstones into the mass—
Something changed.
The constantly burning flame suddenly drew inward.
All the blazing power compressed.
Within a few breaths—
The meter-wide black inferno collapsed into a single droplet.
A fist-sized black drop of Destruction Sovereign's Might.
It hovered silently before him, radiating terrifying authority.
"…I succeeded?"
Only then did realization strike Locke.
He had truly completed the refinement.
"But the cost…"
He felt the faint fatigue in his soul.
It wasn't light work.
"So, this is the ratio."
"It seems Sovereigns mint inkstones at roughly one drop of Sovereign's Might per one trillion inkstones."
Locke gazed at the droplet in silence.
One drop—
And he needed at least one hundred and six.
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