Chapter 1614: Old acquaintance
The Middle Sector 100 — Pit of Destruction Planet
BangBangBang
A woman stood silently upon the balcony of her palace, gazing out at what others might still call the wonders of creation stretched before her. Yet the truth was unavoidable—she herself eclipsed any scene that could be painted upon the canvas of the heavens. Compared to her, the stars were dull embers, the moon a mere pale reflection, the sun itself humbled.
Her hair cascaded down like pure, freshly fallen snow, strands gleaming faintly under even the faintest light. Her eyes were a blazing crimson, twin rubies that pierced through shadow, mist, and sea alike, as though they could see across ages. Her face was carved with divine symmetry, too flawless to be mortal, as though a celestial artisan had etched her features with a pen borrowed from the heavens themselves. Her body bore the polish of ivory and the glow of milk, sculpted into a form that seemed destined to shame sculptures and unsettle poets alike.
Even the simple garments she had chosen—plain, almost austere, utterly devoid of vanity—looked regal upon her figure. The jewelry adorning her neck and wrists were no more than ordinary rubies, common stones in the great markets of the stars. Yet upon her, they radiated majesty, appearing as though they were imperial relics, treasures meant to be passed down through dynasties until the end of time.
This was Helen Distra—the girl who had once been spoken of in every court, every banquet, every battlefield. The one rumored to be not only among the most beautiful but also one of the most gifted women in the cosmos. First unveiled to the public at the age of fifteen when she appeared beside her father, she had carried herself even then with the aura of a monarch-in-waiting.
...Now, Helen crossed her arms and looked into the distance, her expression poised between calm composure and a thinly veiled disdain. Once, this balcony had been built to overlook waterfalls cascading into emerald pools, gardens overflowing with roses and amber lilies, the kind of scenery fit for emperors and dreamers. Now, the land below told a very different story.
The earth was blackened and barren, scarred by mines that ripped through mountains, leaving them hollow and bleeding. Smoke rose endlessly from pits and smoldering craters. Half-naked men, their bodies coated in soot and their backs bent with exhaustion, carried stones and ores dark as coal. Their sweat dripped into the soil, staining it further with bitterness.
There was no fragrance of roses, no sweetness of amber. The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder, burning oil, and the iron tang of blood.
Directly beneath her balcony, a battalion had gathered in grim silence. Nearby loomed a battleship, massive yet battered, its surface cracked and scarred, as though the only thing holding it together was stubborn defiance.
Three thousand soldiers stood at attention, or something close to it. Before them, thirteen officers had assembled, each one exuding an aura that pressed upon the lungs like lead. Their appearances were chaotic, almost absurd—one bare-chested with only a tattered cloak, another wearing straps of leather across his torso, another with mismatched scraps of armor pulled hurriedly over what seemed like his bedclothes.
Yet despite the disarray of their attire, one glance was enough to silence doubt. These were not farmers forced into conscription, nor guardsmen drilled into order. They were killers. Their auras were thick with the scent of slaughter, cascading like crimson waterfalls. Each gaze carried a weight that could drown a man. Anyone who looked upon them would know instantly: these were men who had slain until the sun itself seemed dimmed, until seas were dyed red. The karmic burden of their killing eclipsed entire armies of millions.
And now, they all stood beneath her balcony, not clamoring, not begging, but waiting. Some sighed, some closed their eyes, their bodies at ease yet coiled like blades. They awaited her command—one that had been withheld for far too long.
The war against the Gassan Empire had entered a decisive stage...
At the start, her enemies had faltered. Emperor Gassan and his generals had been unprepared for her brutal, overwhelming style—where Helen herself would descend upon a battlefield, or else send only her closest handmaiden, and annihilate everything in sight. Armies were crushed like insects, cities erased in hours. But slowly, bitterly, the enemy adapted.
They no longer fought her head-on. Instead, they sent strike teams, darting like vipers, striking at her vassals, raiding her supply lines, tearing at the roots of her holdings. Whenever she herself appeared, they vanished, dissolving into shadows before her wrath could reach them.
Or so they thought. For Helen’s followers were not weak. Though they lacked good weapons or glimmering armor, many fought with bare hands alone, fists wrapped in blood instead of steel. They fought as though their children and kin stood just behind them, and their enemies were reaching out with blades. They fought until their last breath, teeth bared in defiance.
Still, the war dragged on. The emperor did not relent. His empire was ancient, his armies disciplined, his generals skilled in patience. Year after year, raid after raid, the toll upon Helen’s forces mounted. Her most trusted elites, the companions she relied upon most, were cut down one by one. Even the loss of a single soldier was a wound that she felt keenly.
And so, Helen herself had been forced into the field more often. She struck down raiding parties with her own hands, sometimes for victories so small they felt like ash upon her tongue. For against an ancient empire, against a war machine fueled by centuries of conquest and cruelty, brute strength alone was not enough.
Recently, her planetary holdings had dwindled further.
Only five remaining.
And even those are trembling on the edge, each one like a candle flame guttering in the wind, ready to be snuffed out at the next breath.
Recently, Helen had begun overturning her remaining planets one by one, leaving no stone unturned. In her desperation, even the gardens of her palace—once a sanctuary of beauty and pride—had not been spared. The elegant flower beds had been uprooted, fountains dismantled, and ornate pavilions torn apart, all in the frantic search for veins of ore or any hidden treasure that might be buried beneath the soil.
Anything that could be sold, anything that could be reforged into a weapon, anything that could keep her empire breathing a little longer... anything!!
Indeed, the rate of discovering ores suitable for forging weapons and other war-related uses had risen noticeably. But then the question arose—what next? Her followers were not famed blacksmiths or artisans capable of turning raw stone into epic gear. They had the strength to fight, but not the hands to craft.
The harsh reality was this: all Helen could do was sell the raw materials for pitifully cheap prices, then spend the proceeds to acquire weapons. At the very least, she could scrape together enough to pay Interas—the mercantile power that controlled the nearest network of gates—the exorbitant fees required to use them.
Without those gates, neither she nor her elite warriors, those thirteen figures waiting in silence beneath her balcony, could move quickly to defend her territories. Otherwise, they would remain stuck here, awaiting the slow arrival of reports, before dragging their battered and broken ship across empty space for days, sometimes even weeks, just to reach their next battlefield.
KnockKnock
"My lady, there is news. Would you like to hear it?" The voice was soft yet steady, muffled by the wooden door, carrying the familiar cadence of Helen’s loyal maid.
"Enter, Seraphina..." Helen’s voice was calm, though a faint weariness lingered in it. "What news do you bring this time? Has that old fox Gasan finally decided to make his move?"
Creak. The heavy door opened, and in stepped a young woman with jet-black hair tied tightly into a horse’s tail, each strand gleaming like polished obsidian. She wore a set of gleaming white-and-blue armor, polished to a mirror sheen, with two sharp swords hanging at either side of her hips. Compared to the simple, almost ragged attire Helen’s followers usually wore, this sight was striking. Armor of that quality—though still considered low-level in the grand hierarchy of epic gear—was rare among Helen’s ranks. On Seraphina, however, it seemed almost tailor-made, as though her aura fused naturally with its luster.
"There is no news concerning Gassan for now," Seraphina reported as she advanced into the chamber, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "His forces are still attacking Planet S-5 as they always do. There is nothing left for us to lose there." She moved until she stood directly beside Helen, her expression serious, her tone carrying the faintest tremor of urgency. "But I have two pieces of news that may matter to you. The first is about... Lady Renara."
"...?!" Helen’s crimson eyes widened sharply, her brows knitting together as she snapped her head toward Seraphina. "That woman... the one who squandered an empire seven million years old? What of her now?" Her voice carried both disdain and the faintest flicker of unease.
"She has resurfaced," Seraphina answered quickly, her words tumbling forth like arrows released from a bowstring. "She led a direct assault against the Pack of Planetary Emperors, backed by none other than the elite forces of the Cradle Empire. Together, they succeeded in killing two Planetary Emperors outright. One of them was the infamous Iron Boar Emperor!"
She hesitated only for a breath before adding, "As for the rest, they scattered. Word is that every last one of them has already sent letters of surrender to the Cradle Empire. Negotiations on their terms of submission are already underway."
"...." Helen’s gaze slowly shifted back toward the ruined courtyard outside, her crimson eyes reflecting both thought and shadow. She whispered, almost to herself, "You should have simply said you brought news about the Cradle Empire."
"No," Seraphina replied, her tone tightening with unease, a bead of sweat tracing her temple. "I chose to mention Renara’s name first on purpose." Her voice lowered, carrying a weight she dared not emphasize aloud. "My lady... did you not once tell me, long ago, that you knew her personally?"