Chapter 1619: Ruby’s Wrath
One year later —
Sector 101 Mid — Planet Shazar, capital of the Crumbled Dreams Millennial Empire
"...until today?"
On a towering throne, Hedrik muttered in a voice that was low yet carried through the hall like thunder muffled by distance. A restrained fury pulsed in his ruby like eyes, as though he was forcing himself not to erupt. Then his tone sharpened, rising like the crack of a whip.
"I granted you decades... Decades to search freely, to use every resource you wished. And yet, here we stand, and you still bring me nothing of worth?"
With a sharp motion, his palm struck the carved armrest of his throne. The sound echoed like a hammer against stone, reverberating through the vast chamber. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, and pointed his finger at the figure trembling below him.
"What kind of intelligence service dares are you? Why should I continue to feed you, clothe you, and fund your existence, if this mediocrity is the culmination of your labor?!"
"...."
The figure standing beneath the throne felt his knees weaken. Words failed him, his throat dried, and sweat slid down the ridges of his skin. He dared not speak, dared not even lift his head.
He was no human: his skin carried the shade of dark bronze, his legs bent backward in an unnatural, jointed curve, and the sides of his head were smooth—bereft of ears. His aura alone betrayed him as a being of great power, A High level World Cataclysm at least. Yet even so, faced with Hedrik’s wrath, he was reduced to silence.
At last, forcing himself, he croaked out words. "Your Majesty..." His voice was strained, but he knew that Hedrik’s silence would only breed greater rage. He had to speak. "The data... the information given to us was never reliable. The report you handed us was vague from the start. You said it came from a faction calling themselves the ShadowSwords . They claimed there were suspicious activities stirring in the southwestern Aurora Starfield, including the disappearance of several warships. But... that was the entirety of it!"
His words tumbled out faster, desperate to justify himself. "Do you understand, Your Majesty, the immensity of that starfield? We are not speaking of a solar system— The southwestern Aurora Starfield spans a galactic cluster containing no less than thirteen natural galaxies, with their sprawling arms filled with uncountable stars and wandering planets. The number of worlds accessible through functioning spacegates alone exceeds seventy thousand. And beyond those—uninhabited wastelands, war-ravaged spheres, fractured worlds—numbers too vast to measure. Even with unbroken centuries, even with fleets of agents working without pause, it would not be enough to sweep through the whole of it!"
"That does not concern me!" Hedrik’s voice lashed out like fire, his eyes burning until they seemed twin coals seething with flame. "I am finished with your excuses, with your endless delays. Tell me clearly, without twisting your tongue—are there movements, armies, enemies forming in that starfield against us? Or were these Shadow Swords nothing but tricksters seeking my wrath?"
The throne room grew colder at his words, though his anger burned hotter.
More than eighty years before, one of those so-called Shadow Swords had appeared before him. The stranger, wrapped in silence, introduced himself as a subordinate of Lord Robin Burton and handed Hedrik a sealed message. Its contents were brief, little more than scattered fragments of observation about nearby starfield movements. And then—he vanished, without explanation, leaving Hedrik with nothing but uncertainty.
That moment had struck Hedrik like a bolt of lightning cleaving through a clear sky. At the time, the Horned Crimson Elite Corps had not yet reached Planet Verilion, and the state of affairs there was grim, teetering on collapse. Hedrik had already begun preparations to send more weapons, to acquire additional artillery and entire fleets to reinforce their hold. But then... that report landed in his hands, unraveling every calculation he had carefully made.
If danger truly brewed in the neighboring starfield, it meant disaster—an existential calamity. It meant his empire, his throne, his very flesh, could be annihilated in a single strike. It meant that instead of securing the Seed, instead of expanding his dominion, he would be forced to worry about his own survival.
Reason whispered that he should ignore it. If such military stirrings were real, they would spread rumors, whispers, shadows of panic. If no rumors arose, and none of his agents detected even a flicker of change, then surely the threat was minor, limited, insignificant. Logic urged him to cast aside the message.
And yet... he could not. For the name attached to that report—Robin Burton—was enough to anchor it in the deepest chambers of his mind. Anything related to Robin Burton could not be treated as idle.
So he acted. Reluctantly, he froze the vast shipments of aid intended for Verilion. He summoned his entire intelligence division, binding them with oaths and threats. His command was clear: uncover what was happening within the Aurora Starfield, and return within a single year with a complete, irrefutable report.
But the year passed. Then ten. Then fifty. Then eighty... and still, nothing but silence.
Every time Hedrik demanded a proper report, the answer was always the same, repeated like a broken chant: "We are working on it." And every time he considered putting an end to this fruitless mission and returning his focus to Verilion—where aid and weapons were desperately needed—the head of intelligence would insist, "Do not abandon it, Your Majesty. Wait. Just wait a little longer."
So Hedrik waited.
Eighty years of uncertainty, of gnawing doubt, of watching shadows move across the horizon without ever knowing if they were real enemies or phantoms conjured to torment him.
Finally, on this day, the silence broke.
"...We have new information, Your Majesty," the chief of intelligence whispered, his voice so low it almost vanished in the vastness of the throne hall. His words trembled as if they carried the weight of a thousand failures. "But it is still not enough to compile into a full report."
Hedrik leaned forward, his gaze sharp as blades. "What is it? Speak plainly. Is something truly happening in the Aurora Starfield, just as I was warned all those years ago?"
"The short answer... is yes." The chief dipped his head. "But the long answer is more complex. What we have seen is this: an immense number of ships entering the starfield. Officially, everyone assumes they are passing through, bound for the Young Sector to take part in the great cosmic war unfolding there. But the truth is different. They do not simply pass through. They linger. They remain for years, drifting between planets. And during this time, their numbers dwindle. Piece by piece, fleet by fleet, their strength erodes. By the time the rest finally advance toward the Young Belt, thirty to fifty percent of them have already vanished... and this, Your Majesty, is an undeniable fact."
Crack
The throne itself seemed to quake with the grinding of Hedrik’s teeth. His fists clenched, and his jewel-like red eyes began to tremble with fury. "Eighty years..." His voice thundered through the chamber, reverberating against the high arches. "It took you eighty years... to tell me nothing more than what was already written in the message?! Where are those ships now? How many fleets remain? Who commands this hidden movement, this silent war? Tell me!"
Drop
A bead of sweat broke free from the intelligence chief’s temple. It rolled down his skin, heavy with dread, before falling to the marble floor below. The sound of that tiny drop striking the ground echoed like an explosion. His lips quivered as he forced the words out. "...We still do not know, Your Majesty." And instantly, as though struck by lightning, he raised both hands high, pleading, his entire body trembling, terrified that in the next breath Hedrik’s wrath would erase him from existence.
But no blow came.
Puff
Instead, Hedrik collapsed back against his throne, his massive frame seeming to shrink as the weight of despair pressed down on him. His voice, when it came, was low, hoarse, almost broken. "For hundreds of thousands of years... I have honed my generals, forged my fleets, armed my knightly legions. For hundreds of thousands of years, I believed that brute force alone was sufficient—that sheer strength was the one answer to every challenge, the one wall no enemy could breach."
His tone shifted, the iron in it turning to poison. "And now... now I stand on the edge of the worst threat I have ever faced, and my armies are worthless. My weapons useless. Because I do not even know where to aim them. I cannot wield my power blindly, not when I don’t even know from which corner of the stars the strike will fall. And why? Because I have shackled myself to incompetents!"
"Kieh!!"
Hedrik surged to his feet, the veins in his neck burning red, and he thrust a finger downward at the chief of intelligence. "The Shadow Swords under Robin Burton stood where you now stand eighty years ago. Eighty years! A mere intelligence organization, barely a thousand years in existence, humiliated you. Made fools of you. And worse—it has made me appear a fool!"
His rage coalesced into his hand. A gray, metallic layer spread across his fist like armor, swirling with killing intent. His voice shook the entire hall. "What should I do with you? Tell me! What use do I have for an intelligence corps whose presence is equal to its absence?! You are nothing. You are less than nothing. Perhaps the only way to cleanse this failure is to erase you utterly. I will—"
Knock
The titanic doors of the throne hall opened. Light spilled inward.
A woman stepped through—stunningly beautiful, her every movement like flowing silk. She bent deeply, pressing herself into a complete bow, reverence radiating from her form. But more than beauty clung to her. From the aura surrounding her body, it was unmistakable: she was in a Nexus State.
Slowly, she rose from her bow, her spine straight, her eyes bold. She gazed directly into Hedrik’s burning rubies without flinching.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice clear, carrying like a song through the chamber. "A Shadow Sword has arrived. I have brought him in instantly as your per command. Shall I permit him entry?"