Chapter 324 - 325: "Hello. Excuse me."

Chapter 324: Chapter 325: "Hello. Excuse me."

The discussion continued without interruption.

The Paragon woven from living star charts gestured toward a cluster of floating screens, his voice calm and measured as he adjusted projected quota numbers. "Sector 7-A has shown a twelve percent drop in hybrid principle generation over the last era cycle. I recommend increasing reincarnator density by at least three thousand carefully selected souls. Preferably ones with strong emotional volatility."

Across from him, the Paragon whose form shifted between crystalline light and dense shadow leaned forward. "Three thousand is conservative. Those universes have grown soft. They need chaos, not gentle stimulation. Flood them."

A third Paragon, seated on a throne of condensed time, reviewed system performance metrics with detached precision. "The new ’husband-conquest’ template is outperforming projections in several mid-tier universes. We should expand its distribution."

None of them looked toward the open center of the hall.

None of them sensed the additional presence that had been standing there for some time.

Runar waited, simply observing. Absolute Comprehension had already mapped every principle, every hidden contingency formation, and every personal strength of the dozen true Paragons seated on their thrones. Origin Weave rested around him like a quiet second skin. He could have ended the meeting—and every life present—before any of them finished their current sentence. He chose not to.

Instead, he spoke.

"Hello. Excuse me."

The words were calm, polite, and perfectly clear.

The effect was instantaneous and total.

Every conversation died mid-sentence. Every screen flickered once as the attention of its owners was violently redirected. Twelve true Paragons—beings who had lived for trillions of years, who had shaped the reincarnation machine of the Multiverse, who had long since stopped fearing most things—turned as one toward the center of the hall.

For a single, stretched heartbeat, pure shock ruled the circular chamber.

How?

The thought slammed through the mind of the star-chart Paragon like a physical blow. His living constellations stuttered. How did he get here? The seals are absolute. Even other Paragons require formal invitation and layered verification. Nothing should be able to enter without us knowing.

What the fuck, the crystalline-shadow Paragon’s thoughts snarled, form flickering between states in uncontrolled agitation. Who is this? When did he arrive? I never felt a single fluctuation. Not one.

The time-throne Paragon’s eyes narrowed to slits. Impossible. I monitor temporal integrity across this entire dimension. There was no entry signature. No temporal scar. He was simply... here.

Similar thoughts raced through every mind present.

How long has he been standing there?

Did he hear everything?

Why can’t I fully read his existence?

This pressure... even before he does anything, the air itself feels heavier.

They were not arrogant sect elders from lesser stories. They were true Paragons. Experience measured in trillions of years had burned away the luxury of stupid pride. The moment the initial shock passed, calculation and caution flooded in with cold speed.

This newcomer had already proven he could have killed every one of them before they even knew he was present. That single fact rewrote the entire power dynamic of the room in an instant.

No one shouted.

No one demanded explanations with puffed-up authority.

No one tried to assert dominance they clearly no longer possessed.

They simply became very still, very respectful, and very careful.

Runar watched the shift happen in real time and felt a mild, genuine surprise.

He had half-expected the usual reaction—immediate hostility, arrogant demands, perhaps even a coordinated attack from beings who had sat at the top for so long they had forgotten what true danger felt like. That was the pattern in so many of the stories he had once read across countless universes. Old monsters who had lived too long often became the most foolish when faced with something beyond their understanding.

These ones did not.

They felt the difference immediately, and they adjusted.

A small, dry smile touched the corner of Runar’s mouth.

"I guess you’re not as dumb as expected," he said, voice still calm and even. "Those webnovel stories really are exaggerated. You can already feel the difference between us." He glanced once around the ring of thrones. "Good. That saves time. Let’s move on to why I am here."

The star-chart Paragon inclined his head a fraction—not in submission, but in clear acknowledgment of reality. The others remained silent, waiting.

Runar continued without raising his voice.

"I made a promise. Two guardian wills—William and Willith—requested additional reincarnators for their universes. I’m here to see that request fulfilled."

He raised one hand. A simple stream of information unfolded in the air between them: exact coordinates of the two universes, current reincarnator density, historical novelty generation rates, and the precise shortfall that needed correcting. Absolute Comprehension had already extracted every relevant detail from the floating screens and the Paragons’ own records the moment he entered.

"These two universes. More reincarnators. Immediately. Sustained flow until their growth stabilizes at a healthy level."

One of the Paragons—the crystalline-shadow figure—shifted slightly, as if preparing to speak about logistics or existing quotas.

Runar did not wait.

He released a controlled fraction of his aura.

It was not an attack. It was not even a full release. It was a thin, precise pressure—barely a fraction of what he truly carried—allowed to settle across the circular hall like a quiet, inescapable weight.

The effect was immediate and profound.

Thrones that had never trembled in trillions of years groaned faintly under the sudden density. Principles that had stood unchallenged for eras tightened and recoiled. The trillions of floating screens flickered violently as the ambient laws of the concealed dimension strained to accommodate the presence of something that stood outside the Multiverse entirely. Several Paragons gripped the arms of their thrones hard enough to leave permanent marks in condensed law. One of them—the time-throne Paragon—actually stopped breathing for a moment as the pressure brushed against the edges of his existence.

The message was unmistakable.

The being in front of them was not negotiating from a position of equal footing. He was stating a requirement. The cost of refusing it would be absolute.

The crystalline-shadow Paragon slowly closed his mouth and leaned back into his throne.

The star-chart Paragon’s living constellations dimmed slightly in instinctive deference.

Every other Paragon present met Runar’s gaze for only a moment before lowering their eyes a fraction—not in submission born of fear alone, but in the clear-eyed recognition of a power differential so vast that resistance would be meaningless.

One by one, they nodded.

No arguments.

No conditions.

No attempts to bargain or delay.

Acceptance was immediate and complete.

Runar let the thin pressure fade as cleanly as it had appeared. The hall returned to its previous equilibrium, though none of the Paragons truly relaxed. Residual tension still clung to the air like the memory of a storm that had chosen not to strike.

"Good," he said simply. "I’ll leave the details to you. Make sure the flow begins without delay."

He did not wait for further acknowledgment.

One step.

The concealed dimension folded away behind him as suddenly and completely as it had opened. There was no dramatic exit, no lingering afterimage, no residual spatial fluctuation. One moment he stood in the center of their private hall. The next, he was simply gone—as if the space he had occupied had never been disturbed at all.

The moment he disappeared, the twelve true Paragons visibly relaxed.

Shoulders that had been locked rigid eased by a fraction. Forms that had flickered or solidified under pressure settled back into their preferred states. The star-chart Paragon’s living constellations brightened again. The crystalline-shadow figure stopped shifting between states. The time-throne Paragon finally released the breath he had been holding.

For several long seconds, no one spoke.

Then the discussion erupted.

"Was that a Transcendent?" the crystalline-shadow Paragon asked first, voice low and tight. "One who descended for some private reason and decided to interfere?"

"Unlikely," the star-chart Paragon answered, though uncertainty colored his tone. "True Transcendents who still bother with Multiversal affairs announce themselves differently. Or they don’t announce themselves at all. This one walked in, spoke, pressured us, and left. No posturing. No demand for recognition."

"An ancient existence that had been in seclusion," another Paragon suggested, form like a slowly turning galaxy of frozen light. "Someone who stepped outside the Multiverse long ago and only now returned. That would explain the seals failing. Our formations were never designed to stop something that no longer belongs to this framework."

"Or something beyond normal Transcendents," the time-throne Paragon said quietly. His voice carried the weight of someone who had watched entire eras collapse and reform. "The pressure he released was controlled. Deliberately limited. And even that fraction made the laws of this dimension strain. I have met Transcendents. None of them felt like that."

Theories flew back and forth across the circular hall.

A forgotten progenitor of one of the original reincarnation systems.

A being who had achieved a form of existence outside the known paths of Paragon and Transcendent.

Something that had never been part of the Multiverse’s hierarchy to begin with.

Each suggestion was examined, weighed, and ultimately set aside. None of them could determine his identity. Absolute Comprehension had left no traces they could follow. Origin Weave had erased every residual signature the moment he departed. The only things that remained were the exact coordinates he had provided, the clear demand, and the lingering memory of a pressure that still made several of them reluctant to fully unclench their principles.

In the end, the star-chart Paragon spoke for all of them.

"It does not matter who he was," he said. "We felt the difference. We accepted the requirement. The reincarnators will be sent."

The others nodded once more.

Outside the concealed dimension, the public Multiversal Center continued its endless bureaucratic dance without the slightest awareness of what had just occurred in the room beneath it—trucks still practicing optimal smash angles, system architects still arguing over reward curves, young guardian wills still learning how to keep universes from collapsing.

Runar walked through the arrival plaza once more, hands loosely behind his back, expression calm.

The promise was kept.

And the Paragons who ran the Multiverse’s reincarnation machine were left with a quiet, unsettling truth: there were still things in existence that stood so far above their carefully ordered world that even their trillions of years of experience could not put a name to them.