Thirty years later— three full centuries had passed since the day of coronation.
"Whooo~" Robin released a long, steady exhale. Then, slowly, as if waking from a timeless dream, he opened his eyes. A soft, serene smile traced his lips.
"Level 31 at last… How many times have I rebuilt this cursed foundation? the third of fourth...? No matter."
At that very moment, his smile stretched wide—ear to ear—as if mocking the very heavens for the delay. He raised his hand with calm assurance and began sketching something into the empty air, as though the void itself were his canvas.
The drawing process took nearly ten painstaking minutes. By the end, Robin was soaked in sweat, his breath shallow and ragged—yet in return, a reward shimmered before him: a glowing, suspended pattern sculpted entirely from his internal energy.
