Chapter 137 – Between Old Friends

In the vast emptiness of space, a lone Frieza Force spaceship hummed softly as it coasted along the darkness. Inside the cockpit, the dim glow of control panels cast faint light over the slumped figure in the pilot's seat. A weary sigh full of exhaustion broke the silence.

Guavon dragged a gloved hand down his face. The escape had been close. Too damn close. The moment the planet had begun its violent, unexpected collapse, he had rushed to the nearest ship and pushed its thrusters to their limit. If he had been even twenty seconds slower… No. Best not to dwell on that.

A dry, nervous chuckle slipped from his lips. That had to be the most harrowing day of his life. He let himself slump deeper into the soft cushions and stare blankly at the ceiling. As the last of his adrenaline drained away, only a crushing, bone-deep exhaustion remained.

But there was no time to rest. He had things to take care of.

Guavon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly—more a sigh than anything. Forcing himself upright, he crossed the room to the ship's communicator and tapped in a specific frequency. As the signal began connecting, something within him shifted.

Like Clark Kent shedding his glasses to become Superman, the nervousness that had clung to him like a shroud quietly slipped away. His shoulders squared, his spine straightened, and the weary uncertainty in his eyes vanished, replaced by something sharp. The air around him changed too—what had once been an unremarkable presence now carried a quiet authority and a subtle but undeniable pressure.

Guavon, the dutiful and competent assistant, had never truly existed. Or, rather, he had been a mask, a convenient persona crafted for the mission. And now that the mission was over, the mask was shed.

A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he recalibrated his voice, letting it settle back into its natural baritone. He rolled his shoulders, then cracked his neck with a satisfied grunt to shed the last remnants of the façade.

It had been a long, long mission.

The call connected with a soft chime, and Guavon immediately dropped to one knee. He crossed his arms, then placed his right palm flat against his heart in a distinct salute.

"Your Majesty. Black Ops Commander-General Boreas reporting."

Through the transmission screen and upon his throne, the towering figure of King Cold regarded him with an unreadable expression. The heavy imperial cape draped over his broad shoulders only added to his already imposing presence.

It seemed that Boreas's call had interrupted a meeting, as there were two imperial ministers standing stiffly at the side, their heads bowed in silent deference. All ministers knew better than to speak in the presence of the King during such a report. Their purpose now was to merely observe—and to remember that their lives depended on their continued usefulness.

King Cold's voice was as smooth and polished as ice. "Speak."

"Sir, Lord Frieza has been confirmed to be killed in action by a golden warrior. According to Zarbon's data, it's a Saiyan from Planet 4032-Green-877, the same individual who defeated Elite Soldier Vegeta. Namek has been destroyed, and the remaining Frieza Force soldiers were either wiped out in the destruction or scattered. No significant assets could be recovered."

Boreas delivered the report with neither embellishment nor inflection. The moment he finished speaking, he bowed his head in deference and waited for further instructions.

A sharp breath full of barely restrained fury was drawn through gritted teeth.

"That fool...!"

Neither Boreas nor King Cold addressed the obvious—why Boreas had not intervened. There was no need to. A warrior capable of killing Frieza was far beyond even Boreas, the highest-ranking Black Ops commander. Engaging would have been nothing short of suicide.

The silence stretched, but Boreas understood his role well. He had served within King Cold's intelligence network long enough to recognize the rhythm of these exchanges. As expected, the silence soon became his cue.

"Sir. The reason behind the delay since my last report was Zarbon's technological chokehold. His control was absolute—so much so that all intelligence regarding Lord Frieza's activities on Namek was completely off the grid. Sending intelligence past Zarbon's security measures undetected proved nearly impossible. So, I engineered a situation to get close to him instead, by exploiting his well-documented fondness for talent and competence.

"However, this approach had an unintended consequence—it pulled me directly into subsequent events."

Boreas kept his tone even and clinical.

"Vegeta killed Zarbon and stole the Dragon Balls Lord Frieza had gathered. Had I stayed, I would have been transferred under Lord Frieza's direct command. However, at that point, my cover would be compromised and the mission jeopardized. So, I used Zarbon's death as an opportunity to stage my own demise and extract myself from the situation.

"Afterward, I tracked Vegeta. At one point, I considered eliminating him, but he somehow sensed my intent. The method by which he detected me remains unknown. Given that uncertainty—along with the possibility that he might still prove useful—I opted to let him go rather than risk exposure."

For the first time, Boreas paused to subtly gauge His Majesty's reaction.

Nothing.

King Cold hadn't moved an inch. His regal posture remained unchanged, his tail draped idly over the side of his throne. His expression was as unreadable as ever—no flicker of irritation nor any hint of approval.

So, Boreas continued.

"Vegeta eventually left the Namekian village, and I pursued. His movements led me to the Grand Elder's residence, where additional Dragon Balls were located. I then—"

"Wait."

Boreas fell silent the moment King Cold interrupted. A subtle glance upward revealed something unusual—His Majesty had sat up in his chair, his posture no longer entirely relaxed but leaning slightly forward. It was the first visible reaction he had shown throughout the entire debrief.

"That Grand Elder, what was his name?"

Boreas tilted his head slightly, considering. "Guru, Your Highness."

"So, he was alive…"

After settling back into his throne, King Cold steepled his fingers as he fell into contemplative silence. Whatever realization had struck him, he did not voice it immediately.

Boreas remained perfectly motionless, waiting.

Half a minute of silence passed before King Cold motioned for him to continue.

"I remained hidden, observing Vegeta and several other individuals of interest at the Grand Elder's residence for a few more days. During that time, the Ginyu Force arrived on Namek. However, they were not given an appropriate mission debrief by Lord Frieza. Recognizing the error, I took the initiative to transmit the Grand Elder's coordinates to assist in securing the Dragon Balls. Due to the sensitivity of my identity at the time, I used higher-authority encryption to avoid compromise."

King Cold gave a slow nod, though Boreas, with his head bowed, could not take note of it.

"Later, when the Ginyu Force suffered an unexpected and catastrophic defeat, I determined it was necessary to preserve what personnel assets remained. Given the rapidly deteriorating situation, I issued a direct order to Jeice of the Ginyu Force—ordering him to retrieve Captain Ginyu and retreat immediately. To override Lord Frieza's standing orders, I had no choice but to reveal my identity to him."

Boreas paused briefly as the memory surfaced. Though he had left a recorded message for Jeice, he had also been monitoring the elite soldier's reaction. And that reaction had been… interesting. The moment recognition struck the red-skinned elite, his entire body had gone rigid.

"For some reason, he seemed terrified of me," Boreas said, tilting his head slightly.

King Cold waved a hand. Boreas, well-versed in the emperor's mannerisms, recognized with near certainty that it meant His Majesty had no interest in dwelling on such trivial details.

Taking the cue, Boreas continued.

"During the final battle, I attempted to tie up loose ends by eliminating those Lord Frieza had failed to deal with decisively. However, my primary target—the strongest among them—also sensed my intent.

"He was on the verge of death when I first set my sights on him. I moved in to finish the job, but somehow, he had already mostly healed—rapidly, impossibly fast. His power level, rather than diminishing, remained nearly intact. In terms of pure power, I still held the advantage, but not by a wide margin."

Boreas paused for a fraction of a second, recalling how his target had immediately responded to his killing intent.

"A prolonged battle was inevitable," he continued. "And such a battle could not be resolved quickly nor cleanly. I deemed it tactically unsound to engage, as it would have drawn unwanted attention. I chose instead to withdraw to reassess the situation.

"And after that... I was outmatched."

King Cold's crimson eyes bore into Boreas and scrutinized him with an intensity that could have shattered the resolve of lesser men. Any other officer—or perhaps even Frieza himself—would have wilted under that glare, scrambling for excuses and choking on panic.

Boreas endured the silence without so much as a twitch.

Then, finally, a sigh.

"Frieza's death is a monumental loss to the empire. However, I cannot fault you. Your mission was to observe and report, not to interfere. At the time, you also had no way of knowing that Frieza would fall."

The words were logical, detached—a simple acknowledgment of facts. King Cold leaned back and rested his chin against his knuckles.

"Your mission, strictly by its objectives, was successful, and your decisions were strategically sound within the framework you were working within. And yet, I find myself…disappointed."

Boreas stiffened slightly but did not look up.

"As my right hand, I expected more from you," King Cold continued, his tone laced with quiet reproach. "You took insufficient actions to secure the empire's assets and interests. I may tolerate my lesser soldiers adhering strictly to the letter of their orders rather than the spirit of their mission, but I do not and cannot extend that leniency to you."

King Cold's disappointment weighed heavily on Boreas, but he remained still. His head lowered slightly, eyes focused on the polished metal floor beneath him. He had nothing to say, no defense to offer. King Cold had always been fair. If punishment were warranted, the reason would be laid out plainly, and the severity would match the offense. It would come right about now, actually.

"…"

However, King Cold remained silent, so Boreas moved on.

"Your Majesty, what shall our next move be?" Boreas asked while lifting his head to meet his emperor's eyes. The question was nothing more than a formality, for he knew the answer already: retribution.

Those responsible for Lord Frieza's death will be annihilated, along with their civilizations. King Cold, Prince Cooler, all Black Ops Commanders, their forces, the empire's available intergalactic fleet, vassal fleets, auxiliary forces, allies, and mercenaries will all be mobilized. In retribution for the death of its Crown Prince, the Cold Empire will spare no resources to exact its vengeance. The empire will strike back with the maximum possible force.

The entire sector will be razed.

And if even that fails, Boreas knows His Majesty could call in a favor from the God of Destruction through his angel attendant. The Destroyer could remain dormant for decades or centuries at a time precisely because His Majesty had always resolved issues on their behalf before those issues could become problems. In exchange, the empire receives a reasonable degree of immunity from their judgment.

If His Highness chooses this route, then it's over.

Because no one survives the Destroyer.

But he was certain it wouldn't come to this. There was no force in the universe capable of challenging King Cold alone, let alone the full might of the empire.

However, instead of the promise of retribution he had anticipated, Boreas realized King Cold was no longer paying attention to him. It only took him a split second to identify the cause.

From deep within his own body—right at the center of his chest—a small orb of white light materialized and floated weightlessly into the air.

The tiny sphere wobbled in a playful manner. It hovered for a moment, swaying gently, before bouncing once in midair like a droplet of water. Then, without warning, it began to expand.

Light spilled outward in waves and gradually settled into the solid, distinct form of Elder Guru. The Namekian Grand Elder rested on a majestic white throne, starkly contrasting King Cold's jagged, towering obsidian one.

The two figures—each ancient and immovable in their own way—now locked eyes across time and space.

Meanwhile, Boreas had instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, still reeling in shock. How long had that orb been inside him? When had it been planted there? How come he hadn't sensed that something was amiss with his body?!

A chill crept down his spine. The implications were staggering.

Had he ever truly been hidden? Or had the Namekian Grand Elder simply allowed him to believe so? Worse still, how had the Elder known he was affiliated with King Cold!?

King Cold, however, rested his elbow on the armrest of his throne and, with the slightest curl of his lips, remarked, "You've become quite obese. What a disgrace."

Guru chuckled and casually mirrored King Cold by resting his own elbow on his throne, as though this were nothing more than a casual conversation between old acquaintances.

"That's rather hurtful, old friend," Guru replied, amused.

Boreas blinked. Old friend?

Before he could process this revelation, Guru spoke again.

"Did you enjoy the spectacle?" he asked. "An ancient legend revived... the Super Saiyan. Consider it my parting gift to you."

"You and I both know this changes nothing," King Cold replied smoothly. His voice was quieter now, but something unmistakably dangerous was lurking just beneath. "All you've done is seal their fates. My retribution is inevitable."

The room seemed to darken with tension.

"That's what you believe, Cold," Guru chuckled. "But that Saiyan, Bardock, was rather clever—sending his son, the future Super Saiyan, to one of the few places even you dare not tread."

King Cold's brow furrowed, and his lips curled downward ever so slightly. Puzzlement flickered in his crimson eyes.

But realization struck quickly after.

His pupils constricted, and his entire body went rigid. With a sudden, violent motion, he shot up from his throne—so fast, so forceful, that the obsidian beneath him shattered and broke into shards that scattered across the floor.

The sound of destruction crackled through the transmission, and Guru's laughter followed in its wake, rich with undisguised delight. "Ah, what a shame this is only a recording! I would have loved nothing more than to see your face right now."

He winked.

But right after, his tone shifted, growing solemn. "But let me say this, Cold—if someone of your power decides to hunt them down, then another legend will rise from its slumber. One that has been millions of years in the making… and unlike the Super Saiyan—"

The old Namekian's eyes glowed with an eerie certainty.

"This one, you can't handle."

King Cold's body trembled with barely contained rage. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked, then loosened, only to tighten again. Over and over, his body wavered between restraint and an all-consuming urge to annihilate everything in sight.

Cold gave no verbal response, no outward explosion of power, but the sheer pressure of his presence became suffocating. Even though his projection was nothing more than an echo across time and space, Boreas still had to fight the instinct to take a step back.

Guru's half-lidded gaze brimmed with something suspiciously close to satisfaction.

"Believe me, or don't—it makes no difference. Do as you please. In fact…" His smile sharpened into a knowing smirk. "I hope you go. I truly do. Because when you fall, I'll be waiting for you in Hell… just so I can gloat and say, 'I told you so~.'"

With that, the projection wavered violently—then vanished, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

King Cold stood amidst the ruins of his shattered throne, his head slightly bowed, his teeth grinding audibly. The quiet, restrained fury within him had not subsided; it merely simmered beneath the surface like magma straining against the earth, just waiting to erupt.

Boreas did not move. He barely dared to breathe. Along the far wall, the royal ministers—silent and still as tombstones—looked as if they wished to sink into the floor and never be seen again.

Then, at long last, Cold broke his silence.

"Boreas, your mission is complete. Effective immediately, you are reinstated to your former position as Hand of the Emperor."

King Cold exhaled sharply through his nose—a deliberately controlled action that helped force him to remain composed. When he spoke, his voice was ice.

"Your first directive: Assign Planet 4032-Green-877 and its entire surrounding sector in the Northern Quadrant with a Code Black designation. Furthermore, classify everything you just heard with Code Oblivion."

Boreas took a sharp breath. The Code Oblivion classification was the highest level of confidentiality within the empire. So confidential, in fact, that only a handful of people even knew it existed. The rules of Code Oblivion were simple: the information must stay confined to those present when it was first uncovered. No reports, no documentation, no whispers. Anyone who learned of it beyond that circle was to be executed immediately, without exception.

Hence, Oblivion.

"You will ensure that NO ONE learns of this," King Cold continued, his crimson gaze drilling into Boreas with deadly intensity. "Not a single soul. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your Highness!"

But Cold wasn't quite done with making his point. His next words were spoken slowly, each syllable heavy with absolute authority.

"We cannot allow that wretched Babidi to know where True Evil is sealed. Because if that thing is released while the Destroyer still slumbers…"

King Cold's eyes narrowed.

"This Universe is finished."

A cold dread settled in Boreas's gut.

King Cold's measured footsteps echoed through the throne room as he paced before the ruins of his shattered seat. Then, mid-stride, he stopped abruptly. His head turned sharply toward the two ministers who had stood rigidly at the edge of the camera's view. Their heavy silence betrayed their desperate hopes of remaining unnoticed.

King Cold's gaze lingered on them a fraction of a second too long, just long enough to send ice through their veins. From the panicked shuffle of feet and the stifled gasp, they clearly understood their situation. And then, in a desperate, shaky chorus:

"Y-Your Majesty! We would never talk!"

"We'll take this to the grave!"

King Cold inclined his head ever so slightly. "Yes. Thank you." His voice held an almost…gentle quality. "Your respective civilizations will be granted a decade-grade Blacklist Slot in recognition of your service and loyalty."

The next sounds were not words but wretched, dying screams. King Cold made it mercifully quick, so their strangled, miserable screams did not last long. And then… silence.

During this time, not a single muscle twitched on the emperor's form. Not a single movement betrayed what had just transpired. He stood unmoving, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture as composed and regal as ever.

Across the screen, countless light-years away, Boreas's expression remained unreadable, neutral, even as the last of the screams faded. The deaths of the ministers were of no concern to him.

"Your Highness, may I ask why the words of a Namekian Grand Elder were reason enough to execute both the Prime Minister and the Minister of Economy? Their positions are not easily filled in the short term."

Boreas had already dismissed the matter in his mind, not harboring any expectations that the emperor would entertain such a question. But to his mild surprise, after a brief pause, King Cold chose to respond.

"The Namekians were once among the most prestigious races in the universe," Cold changed the subject rather abruptly. With unhurried grace, he retrieved a towel from somewhere off-screen and wiped away the stray droplets of blood that had splattered onto him. "They were powerful, deeply tied to the Galactic Patrol, and—most importantly—a persistent thorn in my side."

Boreas inclined his head slightly. "But you could have destroyed them, my king?"

"Undoubtedly," Cold replied, composed. "But not without difficulty, since I was not nearly as powerful back then as I am now. Nevertheless, well over a thousand years ago, I sought to claim Namek and the Dragon Balls for myself. However, I failed because a single Namekian stood in my way. He fought me to a standstill and halted my invasion in its tracks."

Cold's gaze was distant, lost in memory. "Twice more, I tried. Twice more, I was repelled. No matter how I strategized, no matter how precisely I struck, I could not set foot on that world."

Boreas observed the emperor carefully. To his surprise, he detected no trace of seething anger or lingering resentment. If anything… there was a hint of wistfulness in the emperor's voice.

"To this day," Cold finally said, "Guru remains the only being who has ever truly rivaled me. The only one to have earned my respect."

Boreas's brow furrowed. Upon reflection, perhaps he shouldn't have been so shocked that a magical projection had been implanted in him right under his nose. A Namekian capable of repelling King Cold not once, but three separate times—an achievement no other individual had accomplished even once—was clearly far beyond him in both power and skill.

"But then, one day, all life on Namek was reduced to zero." Cold's voice lost what little levity it had carried. "An extremely powerful civilization at its prime was reduced to nothing but a barren wasteland. The Namekians were no more."

When King Cold's piercing gaze shifted toward him, Boreas unconsciously straightened, his body responding instinctively to the emperor's undivided attention.

"Tell me, Boreas. Do you know why Namek is classified as Code Black in our records? Why the empire never sought to expand in that direction? Why that world left… untouched?"

Boreas hesitated for only the briefest moment before answering.

"Because of this Namekian Grand Elder?"

"No. Not because of Guru, nor any other Namekian." King Cold immediately shook his head. He paused seemingly mid-thought, his gaze darkening as he turned his full attention to the screen.

"It is because whatever force annihilated Guru and the Namekian civilization at its peak—a force that left the planet itself untouched, yet slaughtered them so thoroughly that not a single soul remained—could do the same to me… and to the empire.

"The truth is, Namek was classified as Code Black because I have no interest in uncovering what had happened. If their extinction was caused by some unfathomable force, then I have no desire to draw its gaze—not when it demonstrated the ability to silently eliminate someone as strong as me."

King Cold leaned in, his massive frame dominating the screen.

"And I still have no intention of prying, not even now, when I know that Guru had been alive all this time."

Boreas swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.

"So, Boreas…"

His body stiffened as King Cold addressed him directly.

"In the future, keep your curiosity to yourself. Knowledge could kill you."

"…I understand, Your Majesty."