A few weeks had passed since Tundra first learned how to teleport. With each passing day, his control improved. What once required intense focus now demanded barely any concentration at all.
Meanwhile, the engineers worked around the clock. They had established a rotation system — teams cycling out as exhaustion set in, ensuring construction never halted.
At the moment, Tundra was once again practicing teleportation, experimenting with variations of the technique. Then he remembered what he had attempted years ago.
Teleporting to inanimate objects.
For that, his ki senses would need to be far sharper.
He glanced around the engineering planet. With all its machinery and artificial interference, it would be difficult to sense anything subtle here.
He turned to Quesa. "You may leave. I will be traveling off-world."
Quesa stared at him for a moment longer — she had grown quite accustomed to doing that — before nodding.
"Okay."
She flew off to occupy herself elsewhere.
Tundra ascended into space and scanned the surrounding system. Before long, he spotted a green planet and made his way toward it.
He landed carefully on a stretch of open grassland, making sure not to damage the terrain. If he destroyed too much, it might complicate what he was trying to accomplish.
He looked around to confirm he was alone, then sat down and placed both hands on the ground.
He tried to feel something.
Anything.
Minutes passed.
Nothing.
With a slow exhale, he closed his eyes and shut out every other sensation, narrowing his awareness entirely to ki.
There.
Something faint.
A barely perceptible tingling beneath his palms.
He tried to expand that awareness outward — but the increase in range was negligible.
Nowhere near enough.
Days passed like this.
He returned to the ship only when hunger demanded it. He did not bother sleeping indoors, instead resting on the grass beneath the open sky.
Gradually, his senses sharpened to an almost absurd degree. Eventually, he no longer needed to focus to detect the faint life energy beneath his feet.
That was when he decided to try.
He extended a thin strand of ki — gentle and precise — allowing it to phase into the infinitesimal traces of energy within the ground.
Then he pulled.
He vanished—
—and reappeared several meters away, anchored to a patch of earth.
It worked.
A smile tugged at his lips. With refinement, he could even apply this in combat.
Then the smile faded.
In a real fight, he would not remain this calm.
He dismissed the idea — for now.
Looking upward, he realized his perception had expanded beyond what he once thought possible. He could sense the planet itself — its faint, collective ki — though it was dwarfed effortlessly by his own.
Still, it was a useful skill.
He rose into the sky and returned to the engineering planet, passing time by attempting to sense the star it orbited. At its core, he felt an immense power — yet even that was tens of times weaker than his own.
He landed near the primary hangar and made his way inside to check on the ship's progress.
A small engineer approached him.
Strange, Tundra thought briefly. Why are all of the engineers so small?
He discarded the thought as the engineer cleared his throat, visibly sweating despite his apparent age.
"Well, sire… you're here about the ship, correct?"
"Indeed," Tundra replied.
The engineer nodded. "Construction is proceeding smoothly. No accidents so far, and we are nearly finished. There is just one matter requiring your approval."
Tundra gestured for him to continue.
"We… took some liberties with the design. It is not an exact two-to-one replica of your previous ship. We hope that is acceptable."
Tundra considered this. "What modifications have you made?"
The engineer perked up slightly, encouraged by the question.
"First, there is a newly developed engine — faster and far more efficient. It fits the vessel's scale perfectly. Due to the ship's size, we have also enlarged the fuel reserves beyond proportional standards. Additionally, the scientific division recently discovered a stronger alloy. Much of the hull has been constructed using it."
Tundra nodded as he listened, a faint smile forming. The additional funding he had directed toward research had clearly not been wasted.
"Excellent," he said. "Your engineering division will receive 200 billion pol."
The engineer froze.
That was well above market value.
"Th-thank you, sire. We will devote our lives to you."
In truth, each engineer would likely receive around one billion pol — enough to live comfortably for several lifetimes. Gratitude was not an exaggeration.
Tundra smiled faintly. Two hundred billion was insignificant to him. He earned trillions annually; this would not even dent his reserves.
"That will be all. Spread word of the payment."
With that, he turned and departed, leaving the hangar behind as he considered how best to pass the remaining time.