Stellar Slacker: I Thought This Was an Idle Game!

The golden Sky-Chariot hovered thirty feet above the grass, its massive anti-gravity rings kicking up a gale that whipped the garden weeds back and forth.

Imperial Inspector Lord Sterling stood at the gilded prow, his crimson magistrate robes billowing like war banners.

In his left hand, he held the glowing scroll of the Imperial Seizure Writ. In his right, he gripped a heavy scepter of carved dragon-bone.

”Felix Vance!” Sterling’s voice boomed through the enchanted jade megaphone, shaking the dust from the cottage eaves. ”You have been given thirty seconds to present your submission! Surrender the thirty-two tribute chests of the Ashford Fleet! Renounce your false claims of sovereignty! Present your wrists for the Adamantine Soul-Lock Fetters, or suffer the righteous wrath of the Son of Heaven!”

Around the chariot, the twelve golden drake-guards drew their glowing eight-foot halberds.

The four Celestial Scale-Drakes hissed, spreading their leathery wings as jets of white-hot dragon-fire curled around their razor fangs.

Lyra Ashford took two swift steps forward, placing herself between the hovering chariot and Felix’s canvas chair.

Her silver rapier gleamed with razor-sharp frost mana.

”Lord Sterling,” Lyra said, her voice freezing the humid mountain air. ”You are courting supreme destruction. If you advance another yard, there will not be enough left of your soul to reincarnate as an earthworm.”

Sterling sneered down at her from his gilded perch, laughing with arrogant disdain.

”Defiant to the bitter end, little Ashford traitor!” Sterling mocked. ”Do you think a ruined girl and an academy vagrant can withstand the imperial law? Guards! Lower the chariot! Seize the girl! If the peasant resists, pin him to his chair with three halberds!”

The heavy chariot began its descent, descending toward the patch of weeds beside the porch.

Down in his canvas lawn chair, Felix Vance did not look at Lord Sterling.

He did not look at the glowing seizure writ. He did not look at the four scale-drakes or the twelve imperial guards.

Felix was staring with profound, narrow-eyed irritation at the rim of his tea glass.

Sitting on the crystal edge of the glass, rubbing its filthy hind legs together in brazen defiance, was a fat, shiny black horsefly.

It had three red dots on its thorax and buzzed with an obnoxious, tinny drone: bzzzzz-bzzzzz.

Felix’s brow furrowed.

”Seriously?” Felix muttered under his breath. ”Right on the rim? That’s where my mouth goes. This fly has zero respect for food safety standards.”

A small system tooltip blinked directly over the annoying insect:

【Target: Mountain Horsefly (Common)】 【Threat Level: 0.000001】 【Current Status: Contaminating Beverage / Taunting the Player】 【Durability: 1 / 1 HP】

The fly took off, circled the frosted pitcher twice, and landed squarely on the corner of the wooden picnic table, barely two inches from Felix’s elbow.

Felix sighed.

He didn’t want to get up. Standing up required engaging his core muscles, which consumed valuable stamina.

Instead, Felix casually slipped his left foot out of his frayed straw slipper.

He reached down with his left hand, picked the slipper up by its worn hemp heel, and gave his wrist a loose, relaxed flick.

”Go away,” Felix grumbled.

He swatted down at the wooden table.

To Felix, it was a completely mundane, half-hearted slap meant to crush an annoying bug before it flew into his tea.

To the fabric of reality, things were slightly more complicated.

Deep inside Felix Vance’s solar plexus rested a celestial stellar core possessing the exact gravitational mass of the planet Earth.

Even though Felix was using less than one billionth of a percent of his strength, his physical body was backed by the dense, immovable inertia of an entire world.

When the frayed straw sole made contact with the corner of the wooden table, the compressed air trapped beneath the straw had nowhere to go.

The atmospheric air column underwent instantaneous kinetic collapse.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The sound was not an explosion. It was the atmospheric sound barrier being ripped apart and vaporized at fifty times the speed of sound.

A flat, blinding conical blade of white shockwave energy detonated outward from the tip of Felix’s slipper.

The horsefly did not get crushed. The horsefly was erased at the subatomic level, its atoms scattered into free quarks before it could even register the concept of pain.

The conical shockwave did not stop at the edge of the table.

It expanded into a terrifying, crescent-shaped wall of hyper-compressed atmospheric pressure, ripping forward at Mach 50!

The golden Sun-Drakon Sky-Chariot was hovering thirty feet above the grass, perfectly centered in the trajectory of the expanding cone.

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”What is that—” Lord Sterling barely managed to open his mouth.

The shockwave hit.

The four thirty-foot Celestial Scale-Drakes were hit first. Their multi-ton bodies were flattened like sheets of parchment, their leathery wings folded backward as they were launched into the stratosphere like yellow tennis balls struck by a titanium bat!

Next came the twelve Imperial Drake-Guards. Their enchanted full-plate armor shattered into millions of golden specks, and they were blown backward across the cloud cover at fifteen thousand miles per hour, screaming high-pitched notes that vanished over the horizon!

Finally, the shockwave slammed into the multi-ton auric dragon-gold Sky-Chariot.

The anti-gravity repulsor rings burst with brilliant electrical flares. The forty-foot gilded frame bent like an empty soda can stepped on by an iron golem.

KRA-BOOOOOOOOOM!

The entire golden chariot was launched horizontally out of the skybox.

It skipped across the cloud deck like a flat stone thrown across a quiet pond, tearing a three-mile-wide trench through the upper cloud bank.

End over end, screaming through the thin air at hypersonic speeds, the mangled golden wreckage soared across two mountain valleys, ripped over five outer academy peaks, and vanished toward the jagged horizon!

Twenty-five miles to the north, deep in the uninhabited Iron-Peak Mountain Range, a towering five-thousand-foot granite cliff stood quietly in the afternoon sun.

CRASH-SMASH-BOOOOOOM!

The golden chariot cratered into the solid stone face of the mountain, blasting a sixty-foot crater into the cliffside and triggering a colossal rockslide that buried the northern pass under three thousand tons of pulverized rubble!

* * *

Back on Solitude Spire, absolute silence returned to the lawn.

The mountain breeze was warm and gentle. The persimmon leaves fluttered softly overhead.

Down in the garden, the Sun-Lotus Cabbage swayed gently, its golden leaves soaking up the afternoon sunshine.

On the rough-hewn picnic table, the frosted glass of iced peach tea sat completely undisturbed. Zero drops had spilled. The surface of the tea was as smooth and calm as a mirror.

Beneath the left rear leg of the table, the Sovereign Heart Seal remained wedged tight, glowing with faint, indestructible obsidian stability. It had absorbed ninety-nine point nine percent of the downward kinetic vibration, keeping the table trued to within half a millimeter.

Felix looked down at the corner of the table.

The horsefly was gone. In its place was a microscopic white scorch mark on the weathered pine wood.

Felix turned the slipper over in his hand, squinting at the heel.

Three braided straw fibers had snapped loose along the outer edge, fraying slightly against his thumb.

Felix clicked his tongue in deep, genuine disgust.

”Unbelievable,” Felix grumbled, shaking his head. ”I bought these slippers three days ago from the market vendor near the main gate. He swore they were reinforced with spirit-hemp! Look at this heel fraying already!”

He tossed the worn slipper onto the grass, slipped his foot back inside, and rubbed his toes against the straw.

”Cheap merchant knocked off my durability points,” Felix muttered. ”Next time I go to town, I’m leaving a one-star review on his stall.”

He picked up his frosted glass, took a long, refreshing swallow of sweet peach tea, and leaned his head back against the canvas chair.

”Much better,” he whispered, closing his eyes. ”Finally, some quiet.”

Two paces away, Lyra Ashford stood frozen like a silver statue.

Her slender rapier was half-sheathed, her hand frozen on the ivory grip. Her golden eyes were blown wide with an expression that bordered on absolute, soul-shattering terror.

She slowly turned her gaze toward the northern horizon.

A twenty-five-mile-long tunnel of completely cleared air stretched through the skybox. The heavy afternoon clouds had been neatly sliced in half, leaving a vast, empty vacuum corridor that revealed the dark blue stratosphere beyond.

A slipper... Lyra thought, her knees trembling so violently they clattered beneath her silk robes. He used... an old, frayed household slipper...

Her mind raced in frantic circles, piecing together the terrifying cosmic reality.

Lord Sterling was an Eighth-Tier Golden Core magistrate! He commanded an Imperial Drakon Chariot forged from auric dragon-gold and protected by ancient warding arrays! And Senior Brother... Senior Brother did not even glance at him!

Tears of profound, overwhelming enlightenment spilled over Lyra’s lashes.

To Senior Brother, an imperial magistrate and a hovering war carriage are of the exact same classification as a common horsefly! He did not banish them with celestial wrath; he simply swatted them away as minor household annoyances! And the slipper... the slipper is not footwear! It is a Primordial Divine Implement of Casual Correction!

Lyra dropped to her knees on the grass, pressing her forehead against the earth beside Felix’s chair.

”Senior Brother’s boundless mercy touches the heavens,” Lyra whispered in reverent trembling. ”You spared their mortal lives, granting them the fortune of a twenty-five-mile exile rather than erasing their souls from the cosmic registry!”

Felix didn’t answer. A soft, rhythmic snore was already drifting from beneath his straw hat.

Up on the porch railing, Barnaby the Clockwork Owl rotated his brass head toward the northern horizon.

Behind his black rubber stopper, a muffled, cynical vibration whistled through his ear vents:

”Mmmph. Idiots.”

Barnaby tightened his brass talons around the cold copper coin and went back to glaring at the front gate.* **

Twenty-five miles away, in the desolate rubble field beneath the Iron-Peak Mountains.

A thick cloud of white granite dust and pulverized dragon-gold drifted over a fifty-foot impact crater.

Cough! Hack! Wheeze!

A trembling, blood-stained hand emerged from beneath a shattered slab of celestial jade.

Imperial Inspector Lord Sterling crawled out from the wreckage of the golden Sky-Chariot on his elbows and knees.

His immaculate crimson robes were shredded into pathetic ribbons of soot. His eight-pound sovereign-jade necklace had been ground into fine green powder.

His towering magistrate hat was flattened into a ragged disc of crushed felt, tilted haphazardly over his left ear.

Around him in the rubble, the four Celestial Scale-Drakes were lying upside down with their tongues hanging out, their golden scales smoking like charred sausages.

The twelve elite drake-guards were scattered across the scree slope like discarded tin soldiers, groaning in unconscious misery.

Sterling dragged his battered body forward until he collapsed against a boulder, coughing up mouthfuls of gray rock dust.

His eyes were completely vacant, staring into the sky with the shattered sanity of a mortal who had gazed directly into the maw of an ancient, cosmic horror.

”A slipper...” Sterling whimpered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as tears carved clean white tracks through the soot on his cheeks. ”He... he didn’t even stand up... he didn’t even look at me... he took off an old, soiled shoe... and swatted the sky...”

Sterling reached into his torn sleeve with shaking, bloody fingers.

From a secret pocket, he pulled out a miniature brass cage containing an Imperial Swift-Wing Spirit Pigeon—an emergency communication beast linked directly to the Imperial War Council.

With trembling hands, Sterling bit the tip of his index finger, smearing dark red blood across a tiny strip of silk vellum.

His handwriting was a spastic, jagged scrawl:

[EMERGENCY IMPERIAL DISPATCH: PRIORITY ZERO][TO: IMPERIAL CHANCELLOR & WAR COUNCIL][SECTOR: SOLITUDE SPIRE, SEVENTH PEAK]

[ABORT ALL ASSESSMENTS. CEASE ALL AUDITS. DO NOT SEND THE ARMIES. DO NOT SEND THE DRAGONS. DO NOT SEND THE CELESTIAL COURTIERS.]

[THE MONSTER WEARS GRAY PAJAMAS. HIS FAMILIAR IS A BRASS SOVEREIGN BEARING THE SEAL OF SILENCE. HIS SLIPPER POSSESSES THE MASS OF A SHATTERED PLANET.]

[IF WE DISTURB HIS PEACH TEA AGAIN, THE ENTIRE CAPITAL WILL BE SWATTED INTO THE ASTRAL SEA.]

Sterling rolled the blood-soaked silk into the message tube, shoved the pigeon into the air, and watched it dart toward the southern capital.

Then, Imperial Inspector Lord Sterling pulled his knees to his chest, curled up behind the boulder, and began to sob quietly in the mountain dirt.