As various systems fell into pce, the empire's civilization advanced at a pace that left neighboring countries in the dust.

  Rumors whispered about beings called "reincarnators," but any real information was locked down tight, impossible to uncover.

  Technological and cultural advancements were never leaked to other nations—absolutely never.

  Not even to allies who fulfilled their obligations, or to vassal states. No exceptions.

  (The tech gap was like comparing the 2010s to the pre-Industrial Revolution era.)

  Of course, Astaraia's cutting-edge civilization boosted its military might too, but they never used it for outward conquest.

  They simply enjoyed the convenience and abundance within their own borders.

  Neighboring countries naturally envied and resented this technological and lifestyle disparity, but any attempts to adopt it were ftly rejected.

  And trying to seize it by force? Utterly hopeless—they were outmatched.

  Espionage countermeasures were poured into with even more fervor than combat forces, making theft impossible.

  Only by petitioning for annexation or colonization (as overseas provinces) could they finally share in the benefits—and even then, it was gradual.

  Think bck-and-white tube TVs, or cassette-based video recorders before HDDs.

  For the internet, it started with dial-up lines leading to ADSL, long before fiber optics or Wi-Fi were unlocked.

  They deliberately kept these legacy systems around, at extra cost.

  And to prevent people from holding off on purchases, they made selling a profitable volume of those outdated models a prerequisite for releasing the next tech upgrade—what a sly move.

  If they kept holding out forever, they'd stay stuck at pre-annexation levels, forever denying themselves the convenience and comfort of even the older versions.

  That said, a fair share of tax revenue from new territories was funneled back into local infrastructure.

  Far better than being endlessly exploited by the homend, even if it was partly a carrot to prevent rebellions.

  Factories for producing these outdated goods were typically shifted to the most recently annexed territories, keeping costs down.

  Sure, it felt like drawing the short straw, but it was the price of deying the decision—and it did create jobs, after all.

  Above everything, the royal family—or presidents and surrounding power brokers, along with their kin—were absolutely required to fall into svery.

  Mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, and the like had to serve as prostitutes, while the men were forced to work as staff, witnessing it all up close.

  No matter how much respect for prostitutes was promoted, the mental anguish never truly faded.

  The women might steel themselves and cope, depending on their resolve, but the men had to endure watching their family members taken by strangers they hadn't chosen—anyone and everyone.

  Trying to distract themselves? As sves, their freedom was limited, and resources scarce.

  Most often, the men broke down faster than the women, either resigning to numb obedience or spiraling into despair, becoming shells of themselves or outright mad.

  The new Astaraian citizens got to savor the convenience and comfort of civilization while seeing their former royals and elites dragged down into such degradation.

  Once tasted, that convenient, comfortable life became impossible to give up.

  The sorrow and resentment of a fallen nation withered away, overshadowed by the guilt-tinged allure of it all.

  In this way, multiple countries and ethnic groups were absorbed, leading to the renaming as the Astaraia Empire, with the king becoming emperor.

  Only when resistance to the empire fully vanished were territories assimited to the homend's level of civilization and comfort.

  The know-how for deciding which stages unlocked what tech refined with each annexation.

  There was even a dedicated ministry for mergers—the Annexation Bureau.

  Children of former royal sves were monitored by this bureau to decide if they'd remain sves or gain imperial citizenship.

  Inevitably, new tech introductions led to bankruptcies and job losses, but the empire wielded its authority to forcibly relocate people into emerging industries.

  Resist? Fine—go back to being unemployed; they wouldn't babysit you forever.

  Obedience to dispatched imperial administrators was key, of course, but an even clearer metric was how enthusiastically the ensved royals threw themselves into their roles as prostitutes, adult film stars, or staff in intimate services and operations.

  If they seemed reluctant, dragged into it against their will, tech rollouts crawled along slowly.

  From the citizens' side, compints arose like, "Come on, Princess, put some real effort into selling your body!"

  These demands carried a mix of betrayal guilt and desperate craving for the tech.

  Pushing through that inner conflict to embrace the comfortable life—that was the true measure of becoming an imperial citizen.

  In the end, if former subjects could gang up on their princess, ravage her completely, and then casually say,

  "Looked like you were having a bst, Princess. We sure enjoyed ourselves too.

  Thanks to you, we get to live the good life—ha ha ha!"

  Then it was safe to assume any lingering attachment to their old homend had vanished.

  That said, lifelines like power grids could be cut off at any moment if needed—they never fully handed over control.

  In fact, no rebellions demanding independence have occurred after full annexation—at least not yet.

  Without military invasion, they brought others to their knees through overwhelming tech superiority.

  After absorption, they delivered even greater convenience and comfort, minimizing any nostalgia for the "good old days" of the old regime.

  And so, the Astaraia Empire reigns as the world's superpower.