"Congratulations, you are now an adult."
Responding to his father's emotionless words, Drov opened his bloodied mouth and spat something onto the hard, blood-stained ground.
Luciel paid no attention to his son's rude behavior, who had successfully proven himself to be a powerful warrior, not disappointing the Viltrumite Empire.
He placed his hand on his neck, touching the torn flesh. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the small piece of flesh Drov had spat out, and a sadistic smile formed on his face.
"Go clean yourself up, then prepare. Soon, you will be assigned your first mission."
After saying this, Luciel began to float. His distinctive white clothes, belonging to the soldiers of the Viltrumite Empire, fluttered as he added coldly, as if the other party were not his own son:
"Do not bring shame to the Empire."
Drov watched his father leave with a calm, expressionless face, his blood-stained features creating a terrifying impression for anyone who might see him. Fortunately, there was no one around.
He touched the grotesque wound on his chest that stretched from his neck down to his left waist, exposing flesh and a hint of white that could only be noticed upon close inspection , it was his bone.
Although his father was the one who caused this severe injury, Drov felt neither anger nor sadness about it. He could barely even feel pain.
He was hollow inside, devoid of emotion, raised this way since early childhood.
At the age of five, he had been forced to kill four of his peers just to survive. How could someone like that feel anything?
Drov crushed the small piece of flesh he had torn from his father's neck in a failed attempt to kill him. He wiped the red blood staining his mouth and chin, then his feet lifted off the ground as he began to float before shooting off at high speed, leaving behind a shockwave.
The wind resisting his flight washed away all the blood on his suit. Fortunately, his healing ability was strong enough to stop the wound on his chest from bleeding; otherwise, he would have lost half his blood during that flight.
He landed on the balcony of his room, located on the 70th floor of the tower.
He removed his torn clothes and tossed them aside, standing completely naked in his room, neither bothered nor embarrassed, or rather, why would he be? He was alone.
He headed to the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror.
"I am weak," he muttered in a tone filled with deep disappointment, staring at his reflection with clear disgust on his pale face.
He turned on the shower and let the hot water fall over his thick black hair, streaming down across his lean but trained body.
When he finished bathing, the horrific wound on his chest and the bruises scattered across his body had already disappeared, without leaving even a scar.
"Strange..." Drov touched his chest, frowning slightly in confusion.
"I didn't heal at the usual speed."
Viltrumite blood granted high regenerative abilities, but even among his people, Drov had displayed an exceptional healing capability, visible to the naked eye.
That was why he was confused, such a simple wound had taken a long time to heal, almost as long as it would take to regrow one of his limbs.
He brushed the matter aside and didn't think further about it. Throwing himself onto the large bed with black sheets, he quickly fell into a deep sleep. And for the first time in 18 years since his birth, he did not have a terrifying nightmare, but instead… he dreamed a strange dream.
Unfortunately, his biological clock woke him in the middle of that pleasant dream, one whose contents he couldn't even remember—only that it had been beautiful.
He got dressed and left his room, flying toward a peculiar tower. He was not the only one heading there. Every Viltrumite who had undergone the coming-of-age ceremony was required to go to the tower, where they would receive their uniform and their first mission.
They differed in race, color, and appearance, yet they were all the same age, and they shared one thing in common , injuries scattered across random parts of their bodies.
Of course, Drov was an exception due to his powerful healing ability.
He didn't recognize anyone present. Most of those he had known in the past were now dead… by his hand, or at least some of them.
Drov waited quietly, noticing the expressions of joy and pride on the faces of his people as they received their uniforms, as if they were children being handed candy.
He felt disgust and repulsion, but did not show it, maintaining his cold expression.