Chapter 7
Whose Victory?
Ⅰ
The young independent merchant from Fezzan, Boris Konev, wore a displeased expression. Not only did he have to risk navigating through a battlefield in space to transport a group of Earth Cult pilgrims to Earth, but the profits were meager. After paying off debts, covering crew salaries, and sending the Behruska in for repairs, the remaining living expenses wouldn't even buy ten square centimeters of starship hull.
"You don't seem very happy," the man across the table said gruffly.
Konev hurriedly explained, "No, no! My face always looks like this. It's not just in front of you, Your Excellency!"
The last part was clearly unnecessary, and the speaker regretted it immediately. However, it didn't seem to affect the mood of the autonomous ruler, Rubinsky.
"You were responsible for transporting the Earth Cult believers to their holy land, correct?"
"Yes."
"What do you think of them?"
"I don't know much, but as far as religions go, I think the poor tend to believe in divine justice—which is quite a contradiction. Isn't it precisely because the gods are unjust that the poor exist in the first place?"
"Well said. So, you don't believe in gods?"
"Not at all!"
"Hmm."
"Those who claim to ascend to godhood are all great frauds in history. The only things worthy of admiration about them are their imagination and business acumen. From ancient to modern times, in every nation, haven't the wealthy always been the nobles, landowners, and temple clergy?"
The autonomous ruler, Rubinsky, watched the young independent merchant with keen interest. Konev felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Rubinsky appeared to be a sharp and vigorous man in his early forties, but his head was completely bald. Of course, being stared at by a man with such an odd appearance was nothing like being stared at by a beautiful woman.
"That's quite an interesting perspective. Is it your own?"
"No…" Konev replied, feeling a pang of regret.
"I wish it were my own idea! Actually, most of it is borrowed. It was from my childhood, about sixteen or seventeen years ago."
Rubinsky remained silent, signaling him to continue.
"While growing up, I traveled from planet to planet with my father. Once, I met a child in similar circumstances—he was about twelve at the time—and we became good friends. After spending two or three months with him, I realized he was incredibly perceptive and sharp-minded. What I just said was his words!"
"What was that child's name?"
"Yang Wen-li!"
Konev's expression now resembled that of a magician who had just successfully performed a new trick.
"Now, that guy is a famous military officer in the Free Planets Alliance. I imagine his life isn't easy. As a free man, I can't help but feel sorry for him!"
The young captain was a little disappointed because his audience, the autonomous ruler, didn't seem impressed by his trick. There wasn't a trace of surprise on his face.
After a long silence, Rubinsky spoke gravely, "Captain Boris Konev, the autonomous government has an important mission to entrust to you."
"Ah."
Konev was momentarily at a loss, not out of surprise but because he was listening intently. The autonomous ruler, whom both the Empire and the Alliance called the "Black Fox of Fezzan," was said to be filled with layers upon layers of schemes and strategies—like a mille-feuille—within his broad and sturdy frame. Konev himself had no means to refute this legend, nor did he understand why an ordinary merchant like himself had been summoned by the autonomous ruler. Since it wasn't to hear his childhood memories, what exactly was the mission?
Soon after leaving the government building, Konev swung his arms vigorously, as if trying to shake off invisible shackles.
Just then, a small dog being walked by an old woman barked at him. Konev raised his fist at the dog as if it were Rubinsky himself, earning a scolding from the old woman before he strode away in frustration.
Back on his ship, the elderly chief officer, Malinovsky, greeted him with a face full of smiles. The public energy corporation had sent them a notice—they no longer needed to worry about fuel for the Behruska!
"What kind of magic did you pull? For a tiny ship like ours, getting special treatment from the government is nothing short of a miracle!"
"I've sold myself to the government."
"What?"
"Damn it! That black fox!"
The chief officer nervously glanced around, but the speaker continued cursing loudly without restraint.
"He must be up to no good! Dragging a law-abiding citizen like me into this!"
"What exactly happened? Selling yourself to the government means we've become civil servants?"
"Civil servants?"
Hearing the unconventional chief officer's words, Konev deflated like a defeated rooster, his anger dissipating.
"I suppose you could call it a type of civil servant. We're being sent to the Free Planets Alliance as intelligence operatives. Our mission is to get close to Yang Wen-li and monitor his every move!"
"Hah!"
"The Konev family…" the young captain protested loudly, "has prided itself for two thousand years on never producing a single criminal or public servant. We are truly free people! Free men! What nonsense! Now they want me to become some shady spy? In one fell swoop, I've been tainted with both!"
"Not a spy—an intelligence operative. An informant."
"Just a euphemism! If you call cancer a cold, does it become a cold? If you call a lion a mouse, will it stop killing you if it bites?"
Malinovsky didn't respond, but he thought the analogy was a bit extreme.
"That guy already knew all about my childhood friendship with Yang Wen-li. That's not fun at all! Maybe I should just tell Yang everything!"
"But that might not be wise."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Do you think being an informant is that easy? To ensure you don't do anything against the state's interests, there's probably another pair of eyes watching you—or rather, eyes for surveillance and punishment!"
"…"
"Come on, tell me exactly what happened."
Malinovsky stirred his coffee, the strong smell of cheap instant coffee filling the air. He took twice as long as Konev to sip his coffee while listening to the story.
"Well, I must say, Captain, you didn't have to bring up Yang Wen-li's name in front of His Excellency the autonomous ruler. Even if you hadn't, he would've probably mentioned it himself. But at least then, you wouldn't have been so passive."
"I get it! My big mouth got me into trouble! I'll have to watch what I say from now on!"
Konev grudgingly admitted his mistake. Still, he couldn't accept Rubinsky's orders as a matter of course. Though invisible, the shackles felt all the more oppressive. To him, the accompanying displeasure was far more painful than simply not making money. If someone like Boris Konev had any value, it lay in his untamed independence. Yet the autonomous ruler of Fezzan, Rubinsky, had trampled on the very thing he took pride in—and treated this insult as a favor! Those in power often seem to believe it's their privilege to place citizens under their authority. Even Rubinsky wasn't free from this delusion.
"So, you're saying we should just go with the flow and pretend this delusion is real?" Konev smiled bitterly.
Malinovsky studied the young captain thoughtfully and picked up the coffee pot.
"Want another cup?"
Ⅱ
By August, Yang Wen-li had reached the outer edges of the Barath Star System and immediately began deploying his fleet, preparing to attack Heinessen.
The distance to Heinessen was six light-hours, about 6.5 billion kilometers—a mere stone's throw for a spacefaring fleet.
Yang's arrival in this region held not only military significance but also major political implications.
The National Salvation Military Council, which had occupied Heinessen, couldn't even fully exert control over the Barath Star System. Their influence was limited to the planet Heinessen itself. The defeat of the 11th Fleet had stripped them of any space combat capability, meaning the bankruptcy of the National Salvation Military Council, the failure of the coup, and the restoration of the Alliance's constitution and legal order were only a matter of time. This operation was meant to showcase all of this to the Alliance's citizens and military.
The effect was astonishing—thanks in no small part to Yang's reputation (or "empty fame," as he called it). Those who had been wavering between the Council of Representatives and the coup faction now began raising their flags clearly, siding with Yang. Volunteers from planetary defense forces, local patrol fleets, retired soldiers, and civilians eager to join the resistance all flocked to Yang's side.
From the start, organizing the volunteer forces had been problematic. Yang didn't want civilians dragged into the war, and frankly, he doubted the combat effectiveness of untrained citizens driven purely by patriotism. However, their willingness to fight was undeniably spontaneous. They even invoked the "right to resist" from the Alliance Charter—"The people have the right to resist unjust acts"—to counter the stubborn young commander.
Reluctantly, Yang had to compromise, setting age restrictions: no one under eighteen or over fifty-six could join. Yet many who looked well over eighty insisted they were only fifty-five, and a sixteen-year-old volunteer, upon seeing Julian, argued, "He doesn't look any older than me!" The recruiting officer could only reply, "Joining the military isn't child's play!"
Frederica Greenhill, listening nearby, couldn't help but smile wryly.
One thing that comforted Yang was the public declaration of support from former High Commissioner of the Joint Operational Headquarters, Admiral Sidney Sitwell, who had retired. Yang had deeply respected him as the commandant of the officers' academy, though he also found him a tough man to deal with. With his open endorsement, at least Yang wouldn't have to face him as an enemy—a small relief. Just being at odds with Admiral Greenhill was painful enough.
Many who had initially sympathized with the National Salvation Military Council now switched sides to Yang's camp. Particularly after news of the "National Plaza Massacre" spread, they began loudly condemning the coup faction, their criticism growing ever fiercer.
The upright Chief of Staff Murai harshly criticized their opportunism.
Yang, however, had a different take: "Everyone has the right to seek their own safety. If my responsibilities were lighter, I might've chosen the more advantageous side too. Why blame others?"
History showed that people in turbulent times often acted this way. Those who didn't adapt couldn't survive. As long as they could assess situations and remain flexible, they wouldn't be condemned, nor would it harm society. On the contrary, those who stubbornly clung to their views often caused far greater harm to others and society.
Rudolf von Goldenbaum abolished the democratic republic, declared himself emperor of the Galactic Empire, and slaughtered four billion people who opposed autocracy. His convictions were unmatched! The members of the National Salvation Military Council now occupying Heinessen likely acted out of similarly strong convictions, believing they were saving the world. In human history, there's no such thing as a struggle between "absolute good and absolute evil." There are only clashes between subjective good and subjective evil, between competing beliefs in justice. Even in one-sided wars of aggression, the aggressors believe themselves to be just. Thus, war is endless—as long as humanity believes in gods and justice, the world will never know peace.
When it came to convictions, Yang couldn't help but shudder at phrases like "faith in certain victory."
"If believing in victory guaranteed it, nothing in the world would be easier! Everyone wants to win!"
To Yang, convictions were nothing more than strong desires, lacking any objective basis. The stronger the conviction, the narrower the perspective, and the harder it became to make accurate, objective judgments. Generally speaking, "conviction" was a disgraceful term—best left in the dictionary, not spoken aloud.
"Isn't that statement itself your 'conviction,' Admiral?"
Julian and others deliberately picked at his wording.
Yang had intended to retort, but the boy already understood what he meant.
In any case, the first armed attack on the capital—the planet named after the founding father, Heinessen—in Alliance history wasn't carried out by the Empire.
"Who would've thought it'd be Yang Wen-li?"
Yang smiled faintly at Julian. At this point, he could only smile. Holding firm to his democratic ideals, he hadn't hesitated to attack his homeland, even if it brought tears. To outsiders, this might seem like tragic heroism, but Yang wanted no part of such glorification. Instead of clumsy consolation, Julian replied:
"As for attacking the Galactic Empire's capital, please leave that task for when I'm ready! I'll work hard to prepare myself!"
"Odin? That's all yours. Heinessen is enough for me. I just want to retire as soon as possible and live the quiet life I've always dreamed of."
"Ah! So you're saying I can become a soldier?"
Yang quickly backtracked. Julian had always wanted to be a soldier, leading great fleets across the stars. But Yang still hadn't made up his mind about that.
Thinking further, Yang wondered: Wasn't the very concept of霸权战争 (hegemony wars) decided by large fleet battles outdated?
In short, the key was securing necessary space at necessary times. A given region of space only needed to be controlled for a given period. To secure permanent space, shipping lanes had to be established, and battlefields had to be limited. War was inevitable, but areas without enemies should remain unused when no enemies were present, right? Yang tentatively named this strategic framework "space control," with the resulting fleet battles termed "space dominance." He wanted to systematize a more flexible and rational strategic philosophy.
It was no wonder Cazellne would mock him—Yang hated war but was passionately devoted to the intellectual game of strategy and tactics.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the Joint Operational Headquarters on Heinessen, a man was rallying his comrades.
"It's not over yet! We still have the 'Necklace of the Virgin'! With these twelve unparalleled attack satellites, even Yang Wen-li can't break through Heinessen's gravity well!"
Admiral Greenhill's voice was hoarse with urgency. Seeing faint glimmers of hope on his comrades' faces, he pressed on:
"We haven't lost!"
Ⅲ
"We haven't won yet!"
Yang stared at the emerald-green planet on the screen, thinking to himself.
In truth, he didn't consider the "Necklace of the Virgin" a serious obstacle. No matter how powerful, whether it was "Thor's Hammer" or the "Necklace," he had never feared such hardware—weapons or fortresses. There were countless ways to destroy the "Necklace."
Moreover, capturing an inhabited planet was no easy task. A planet itself was a massive supply and production base. The attacking side needed vast amounts of military supplies. During the early stages of the Amritsar Campaign, the Alliance had captured many inhabited planets only because the Imperial forces had lured them into a trap with strategic retreats—scattering bait along the path to complacency.
Heinessen was different, but it had one weakness: blind faith in the "Necklace" as hardware. Shattering that faith would dissolve their will to resist.
The twelve military satellites, capable of 360-degree omnidirectional attacks, were armed with laser cannons, particle beams, neutron beams, thermal rays, fusion missiles, railguns, and more. Powered by semi-permanent solar energy, these twelve mirrored spheres shimmered in silver and neon hues, appearing almost elegant—yet they were deadly killing machines.
But before they could achieve any notable feats, Yang Wen-li would likely destroy them completely. What truly worried Yang was the ten billion people on Heinessen—hostages to the coup faction.
If the coup faction threatened to kill all civilians or blow up the planet… or held Admiral Bucock at gunpoint to force negotiations… Yang would be powerless.
He didn't think Admiral Greenhill would do such things. Yet the fact that he had become a coup leader in the first place was beyond Yang's expectations.
To prepare for such scenarios, countermeasures were necessary. How could he crush their delusions and make them abandon futile resistance? Clearly, regardless of the participants' intentions, this coup had been orchestrated by Reinhard von Lohengramm, the Marquis of the Galactic Empire.
There was no physical evidence yet, but the large-scale civil war in the Empire served as circumstantial proof. Or perhaps, once the coup was suppressed, evidence would surface. For now, the priority was to produce a witness.
Yang chose a man.
Summoned, Lieutenant Commander Bagdashu entered Yang's office with light steps. After the adjutant, Frederica, left, Yang spoke:
"I need your help with something."
"What is it?"
Bagdashu glanced around the room, relieved not to see Julian. The beautiful boy struck him as formidable. Once outmaneuvered, the memory lingered like a snake's bite.
"There's something only you can do. If ordered, would you infiltrate Heinessen…?"
"And then return to Admiral Greenhill's side?"
"No! That's not what I meant!"
"Just joking. Actually, I need you to testify."
"Testify? To what?"
"I need you to testify that this coup by the National Salvation Military Council was instigated by Reinhard von Lohengramm, Marquis of the Galactic Empire."
Bagdashu blinked in disbelief. Once he grasped Yang's meaning, his jaw dropped.
He stared at the young admiral as if seeing a stranger.
"That's… absurd…"
Propaganda to undermine the coup's legitimacy—that was Bagdashu's interpretation. Because that's exactly what it was.
"It's the truth. There's no physical evidence yet, but it's the truth," Yang said.
But Bagdashu's expression remained skeptical. When he tried to speak, Yang gave up on convincing him.
"Never mind. Your disbelief is understandable."
It felt half-hearted. Even if not Bagdashu, would anyone else believe Yang? Most would likely remain doubtful. Those who did believe him were probably people like Bucock and Julian, who had heard Yang's analysis before the coup.
What about Cazellnu and Frederica? Cazellnu might flash his trademark sarcastic smile and say, "Well said! But too blunt. A bit more tact, and it'd be an 80/100."
Frederica might protest:
"Don't insult my father! He'd never stoop to being the Empire's pawn!"
Yang shook his head, as if dispelling the imagined faces.
"In any case, I need testimony. If necessary, we can fabricate a detailed script and evidence. I know this isn't fair. Well? Will you do it?"
Yang's expression and tone weren't particularly stern, but Bagdashu sensed an irresistible force.
"Understood. I'm a traitor—I'll do my best."
Bagdashu had no choice but to entrust his fate to Yang.
After Bagdashu left, Yang felt a twinge of self-disgust. He called Frederica Greenhill:
"Regarding methods to destroy the 'Necklace of the Virgin,' there are technical issues to discuss. Gather everyone in the conference room."
"Yes, sir!"
The thought of destroying twelve immensely powerful military satellites made Frederica tremble. The losses and sacrifices would be unimaginable! Sensing her tension, Yang smiled reassuringly:
"Don't worry, Lieutenant Greenhill. I promise not a single ship or life will be lost in destroying the Necklace!"
Yang wasn't just trying to ease his conscience…
Ⅳ
The appearance of Lieutenant Commander Bagdashu on FTL broadcasts shocked and enraged the desperate members of the National Salvation Military Council. Not only had he failed to assassinate Yang Wen-li, plunging them into crisis, but now he was falsely testifying that the coup had been orchestrated by Reinhard von Lohengramm, branding their former comrades as Imperial lackeys and denying their righteous revolution!
"Bagdashu! Shameless traitor! How dare you show your face!"
Their furious roars carried gloom. They knew they could no longer retaliate against this traitor. They had to face the reality that even the "Necklace of the Virgin" would only delay their inevitable defeat. Now, the National Salvation Military Council's control was limited to the surface and a small underground portion of Heinessen. The rest of space belonged to the enemy.
The enemy was that young upstart, Yang Wen-li! He had caused the coup's failure! He crushed the 11th Fleet, stripping the Council of their only space combat capability, confining the coup's effects to Heinessen alone. Even the hesitant had flocked to Yang's side. Now, the National Salvation Military Council stood completely isolated.
Yet one thing still gnawed at Admiral Greenhill.
"Perhaps we underestimated Yang Wen-li! To resort to such despicable tactics, slandering us as Imperial pawns! What's the point?"
All members nodded vehemently. Admiral Greenhill looked at them and continued:
"This coup was launched by our own will! Lieutenant General Lynch's return from the Empire provided us with an excellent battle plan—it had nothing to do with Marquis Lohengramm! Isn't that right, Lieutenant General Lynch?"
Lynch's alcohol-reddened eyes flickered.
"You flatter me! That battle plan wasn't my work!"
"What?"
A shadow of doubt crossed Admiral Greenhill's face. After a few seconds, he asked:
"Then who? Who devised such a plan?"
A long silence followed.
"Galactic Empire Marshal—Reinhard von Lohengramm!"
For a moment, there was no sound. The silence was filled with wordless screams. Every face turned pale.
"What did you say…?"
"Yang Wen-li saw right through it! He was absolutely correct! This coup was engineered by Lohengramm—that golden-haired brat! To deal smoothly with the nobility during the civil war, he stirred up strife in the Alliance. You've all been used."
"You're saying we danced like puppets in Lohengramm's palm?"
The question came in a hoarse, cracked voice.
"Exactly! And you all danced beautifully! Colonel Krizanci was a fool—and so were you, Admiral Greenhill!"
Malicious laughter filled the room, thick with the stench of alcohol. Invisible needles seemed to pierce their hearts. Someone sobbed.
"See for yourselves! This is the battle plan Lohengramm ordered me to execute!"
A thin folder flew from Lynch's hand, landing on the table with a dry slap.
Admiral Greenhill snatched it up, flipping through the pages.
Stir unrest not just in one border star system, but multiple simultaneously, diverting the capital's forces. When a vacuum forms, seize political and military bases…
Admiral Greenhill's breathing grew ragged. He threw the documents aside as if bitten by a snake.
"Everything went according to script until now. But the latter half was interrupted—because you actors lacked the skill!"
"Lieutenant General Lynch! Why would you serve Lohengramm and betray your own people? Did he offer you something? Like making you an Imperial admiral…?"
"That was part of it…" Lynch's voice grew quieter, though he made no effort to adjust it.
"But not all. I wasn't obeying anyone. I just wanted those so convinced of their own righteousness to taste unbearable shame! Promotions, the rest of my life—none of it matters!"
A mocking light gleamed in Lynch's reddened eyes.
"Well, Admiral Greenhill? Your noble National Salvation Military Council was just a tool of Imperial schemers! How does that feel?"
His words dissolved into laughter—an erratic, unnatural sound that ate at their hearts like acid. The shadow of his failed escape from El Facil nine years ago had haunted him, leaving no room for explanation. Drowning in alcohol, he had borne the pain alone, day after day… Now, he finally had his chance to vent.
"Chairman! The enemy has begun their attack!"
A stiff-voiced officer delivered the report, shattering the frozen atmosphere. Admiral Greenhill turned sharply, his voice like that of a man waking from a nightmare.
"Which of the twelve satellites is under attack first?"
The reply was laced with confusion.
"All… all twelve at once!"
For a moment, their gazes locked. Their expressions showed not shock but bewilderment.
The twelve freely orbiting satellites were designed for mutual defense and support. Attacking several at once would disperse firepower dangerously. Attacking all twelve simultaneously defied logic. What was Yang Wen-li thinking?
The surveillance screen displayed incoming objects closing in on the satellites. When their nature became clear, the room erupted.
"Ice…" Admiral Greenhill murmured.
Gigantic blocks of ice—far larger than battleships—were hurtling toward them!
Ⅴ
Three hundred years ago, on the Galactic Empire's frontier.
On the frigid seventh planet of the Altair System, a young republican named Ale Heinessen toiled in slave-like mining conditions.
He dreamed of leaving this planet to build a new, free democratic nation in the distant sea of stars. But there was one problem: they lacked the materials to build a starship.
One day, Heinessen saw a child playing with a small boat he had made—out of ice. The young man had an epiphany.
Using dry ice, abundant on Altair VII, he constructed a starship and embarked on a fifty-year, 10,000-light-year journey.
This became the legendary tale of the father of the Free Planets Alliance.
"This operation is inspired by the founding father's story!"
Yang wasn't exaggerating. Understanding the situation made it clear he was finding humor in adversity.
The sixth planet of the Barath System—Sirinagar—was a frozen world. Twelve blocks of ice, each one cubic kilometer and weighing one billion tons, were carved from its surface.
The ice blocks were transported into the zero-gravity of space, where temperatures below absolute zero (-273.15°C) prevented melting.
The ice was shaped into navigable spacecraft—cylinders hollowed by laser beams, fitted with ramjet engines.
These engines generated immense magnetic fields at the front to absorb ionized interstellar matter. Compressed and heated in the hollow core, this matter underwent nuclear fusion, producing vast energy.
Thus, these unmanned ice ships could accelerate endlessly, nearing light speed. As velocity increased, so did their capacity to absorb interstellar matter, eventually reaching relativistic speeds.
Here, basic relativity came into play: as speed approaches light speed, an object's mass increases.
For example, at 99.9% light speed, mass becomes 22 times greater; at 99.99%, 70 times; at 99.999%, 223 times. A one-billion-ton ice block would weigh 223 billion tons at near-light speed—equivalent to three million sixty-story skyscrapers. The impact of such a mass would be catastrophic.
Not even the mighty "Necklace of the Virgin" could withstand it.
The only concern was ensuring the ice didn't strike Heinessen itself. Meticulous calculations were needed—the slightest error would spell disaster.
No lives were on the twelve satellites. No lives were on the twelve ice ships. A bloodless war!
"…Any objections?"
Cazellnu raised a hand lightly.
"Destroying all twelve—no problem with that?"
"For future considerations, wouldn't keeping a few be better?" he asked sarcastically.
"No need. Destroy them all." Yang didn't hesitate.
He believed part of the coup faction's delusion of success stemmed from the "Necklace."
The vile logic was that even if every other star system and planet fell, Heinessen could hold out—the "Necklace" embodied this idea. But deeper reflection showed that if enemies reached this point, defeat was imminent. Survival would be a death rattle.
Preventing enemies from arriving in the first place was preferable—through political and diplomatic efforts, not military hardware.
Relying on hardware for peace was the fantasy of rigid militarists, no more sophisticated than children's action dramas. The plots were always the same: one day, evil, warlike invaders appear from deep space, attacking humanity without cause. The peace-loving, righteous humans must resist—thus requiring mighty weapons and equipment.
Whenever Yang saw the twelve satellites encircling beautiful Heinessen, he didn't think of a necklace but of poisonous snakes coiled around a goddess's throat. It disgusted him.
In short, Yang had never held the "Necklace" in high regard. To shake the coup faction's blind faith in hardware, he chose the most spectacular method among nine options to destroy it.
The operation commenced.
Twelve massive ice blocks targeted the twelve attack satellites.
It was a sight beyond imagination. As speed increased, so did mass, transforming the ice into unstoppable weapons.
The satellites' radars and sensors detected the approaching ice, but ice posed no inherent threat—it was neither energy nor metal. Only its mass and velocity were dangerous. The satellites' computers activated.
Laser cannons locked onto the ice, firing ultra-high-energy beams.
A three-meter-wide hole was bored into the ice, but even high-powered lasers couldn't penetrate fully. The beam's precise focus limited its destructive scope. Part of the ice vaporized into steam, absorbing the laser's heat. In the vacuum, the steam rapidly cooled into fine ice crystals, continuing onward at near-light speed.
Missile strikes added dazzling bursts of light to the spectacle.
On the bridge of Yang's flagship, Hyperion, everyone watched in silence. The mass indicators fluctuated wildly. As the ice neared light speed, its mass peaked.
Collision.
The ice shattered. The satellites shattered. Ice fragments danced through space, glittering under reflected sunlight and planetary glow. Each shard weighed hundreds of tons, yet on the screen, they floated like snowflakes. Soon, even satellite debris became indistinguishable.
Ⅵ
"All destroyed… The Necklace of the Virgin… Gone… All of it…"
The communications officer repeated the words numbly. The members of the National Salvation Military Council stood frozen like pillars of salt.
The same phrase echoed in their ears until a heavy thud broke the silence.
Admiral Greenhill had collapsed onto his chair. His comrades' gazes fixed on him as he weakly rasped:
"It's over. The military revolution has failed. We've lost. Surrender."
Seconds later, angry shouts erupted. Colonel Evans rallied the others hoarsely:
"No! It's not over! We still have hostages—Heinessen's billion citizens are in our grasp!"
He slammed the table. "We've also captured the Joint Operational Headquarters' acting chief and the Space Fleet commander. We can negotiate! There's still hope!"
Admiral Greenhill shook his head despairingly.
"Give up. Further resistance is futile—it'll only harm the nation and its people, leaving us infamous in history. Our revolution was to save the country, not ruin it… It's over. End it now."
The colonel's shoulders slumped. His lips paled as his voice faded.
"Then what? Surrender and face trial?"
"Those who wish to surrender may do so. I have other plans. But first, I must settle one matter."
Admiral Greenhill's eyes burned with hatred as he glared at Lynch.
"Lieutenant General Lynch… I once held great expectations for you. Back at the officers' academy, you were two years my junior—brilliant. Nine years ago, at El Facil… I deeply regretted what happened. That's why I defended you this time, hoping to restore your honor. Yet you…"
"You were just blind."
Lynch's alcohol-laced voice was coldly factual. Admiral Greenhill's face darkened—rage, despair, defeat, and loathing surged within him, threatening to erupt.
Two beams of light flashed across the room. One struck Admiral Greenhill's forehead. The other grazed Lynch's left ear, slicing skin and muscle.
Screams filled the air as beams from all directions pierced Lynch's body, leaving searing holes. Within seconds of Greenhill's fall, Lynch followed.
"Fools…"
Lynch lay in a pool of blood, laughing weakly as his gaze swept over his attackers.
"I saved Admiral Greenhill's honor. Don't you agree?… Better to die now than live for sentencing… Hah! Honor! Meaningless!"
Blood gushed. His eyes rolled back. Colonel Evans spat on his face and ordered:
"Burn these filthy documents! Dispose of Lynch's body! Erase everything that tarnishes our noble cause!"
"Admiral Yang's fleet is in orbit, preparing to land. What do we do?"
"Open communications! I'll speak to the admiral!"
Soon, a young admiral in a military cap appeared on-screen, his staff standing behind him. Beside him was Frederica Greenhill. Seeing her, Colonel Evans stiffened slightly.
"Acting Chairman of the National Salvation Military Council—Alliance Colonel Evans, addressing you. Cease your attack! We admit defeat and will surrender! It's over!"
"Good. But…" Yang remained skeptical.
"Where's Chairman Greenhill? Why isn't he here?"
Colonel Evans took a deep breath.
"The admiral has committed suicide. He died honorably."
Yang was stunned. Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill gasped softly, a hand covering her mouth as her shoulders trembled.
"Admiral Yang! Our goal was to purify the corrupt democratic republic—to erase the Galactic Empire's tyranny from this universe for humanity's sake! That this ideal remains unfulfilled is tragic! Admiral Yang! Will you aid the oppressors?"
"What is tyranny? It's when unelected rulers seize citizens' freedoms through violence and power, seeking to dominate. In other words, what you've done on Heinessen is the very definition of tyranny!"
"…"
"You've used patriotism as an excuse for dictatorship! Haven't you?"
Yang's tone was calm, but his words were merciless.
"Wrong!"
"We sought not power for ourselves! Power was merely a temporary means—to overthrow corrupt mob rule, save our homeland, and defeat the Empire!"
"Temporary means?…" Yang repeated mockingly. "Any excuse will do to justify oneself. How many have died for this 'temporary means'?"
"Then answer me this: We've fought the Empire for 150 years without victory. Another 150 might not suffice. Will you cling to your seat of power, stripping citizens of their freedoms, all in the name of 'temporary means'?"
Colonel Evans had no retort. Instead, he shifted the argument:
"The corruption of politics is undeniable. Was there any other way to correct it besides removing them all?"
"Political corruption isn't about bribes or abuse of power—that's personal corruption. It's when no one can criticize such acts. You've enacted laws to control speech, robbing people of their right to oversee government. By that alone, what right do you have to criticize Imperial tyranny or the Alliance's current state?"
"We swear by our lives and honor…" Evans' voice was stubborn. "We acted with conscience and noble ideals for our people! No one may slander that! We've betrayed nothing—only lacked luck and strength!"
"Colonel Evans!"
"Long live the revolution! Long live the National Salvation Military Council!"
The screen turned gray.
Chief of Staff Murai exhaled.
"Even at the end, they refused to admit they were wrong."
"Everyone has their justifications."
Yang replied gloomily, then ordered Cazellnu to prepare for landing.
Thus, Yang's fleet landed on Heinessen without a single casualty.
Given his position, Yang's casual movements were astonishing. As commander, he wandered about unguarded, as if it were nothing. His subordinates fretted over his safety—especially with coup remnants still hiding, their motives unknown.
Chief of Staff Murai pleaded with him to be cautious, but Yang brushed it off, heading straight to the Space Fleet Command Headquarters. After learning Admiral Bucock's location from surrendering officers, he personally freed the old admiral and sent him to the hospital.
After four months of confinement, Bucock was frail but sharp-eyed and clear-