"Oh you fiend... you despicable fiend!!" Ranther's voice thundered through the chamber as he slamd his hand onto Aro's collar with fierce intensity, lifting him slightly off the ground. "You destroyed it?! Of all the countless heavenly bodies scattered across the sectors, you couldn't find a single other target except Draklon?! The planet of the Sylas family, the cradle of their lineage, their legacy! Did it even occur to you what this would an?!"
Aro pushed Ranther aside with effortless calm, his movents precise and controlled, and readjusted his uniform. "I wanted to send a ssage," he said, his voice low but carrying over the tense silence in the war room. "Now that ssage will reach every single corner of Mid Sector 99 before the day ends." His tone sharpened, becoming more commanding, more final: "That no one, absolutely no one, dares to interfere with the Grave Double Centennial Empire!! Everyone will know."
Ranther ground his teeth, rage boiling inside him. What had happened was done; there was no turning back, no amount of regret would fix the destruction. "...And Sylas?" he spat through clenched teeth. "What will he do when he finds out about the attack? Has he... already witnessed it?"
"When he finds out? hehe." Aro's lips curled into a sly, almost casual smirk, and he let out a quiet, low chuckle. Then he returned his attention fully to the live feed, watching the chaos that still roiled through the remains of Draklon with cold, calculating eyes.
In truth, Aro had secretly arranged with the Shadow Swords and Wade to insert several elite imperial guards into the battlefield. Their objective was simple: seize every salvageable treasure, every vault, every piece of sensitive docuntation from the wreckage before anyone else could intervene. They moved with astonishing speed and precision, securing a sizable portion of resources before detection forced a swift retreat.
Now, Flood Note fighter ships scoured the planetary debris at incredible velocities, dodging massive floating rocks and molten streams, extracting what they could from the shattered planet before it disintegrated into dust and energy. All the while, enemy ships, several Nexus State operatives, and even World Cataclysm events tried desperately to stop them-but it was already too late.
This was no longer a battle in the conventional sense. Supremacy Note and Destruction Note fleets had already withdrawn from the area, leaving only the cleanup operation underway, ticulous and thodical, yet terrifying in its efficiency.
"What... what are you laughing at?" Ranther's voice cracked with fury, the urge to physically throttle Aro rising inside him. He turned sharply, shouting to pierce the tense air: "What is this horned bastard laughing at now?!"
"He laughs at your question regarding Guardian Sylas, my lord," answered Wing Commander Howard, his face glistening with the thick, translucent sweat of tension. "He was literally on the planet the mont our strike landed."
"...On that planet?" Ranther's eyes widened, his finger instinctively pointing at the remaining debris of Draklon, fragnts of what had once been the crown jewel of the Sylas lineage.
Howard nodded. "Yes. Though our attack was executed with swift precision, the instant our armada appeared in orbit, the Destruction Note and Flood Note crafts engaged the enemy fleets. They didn't stop there-they neutralized Nexus State operatives and even managed skirmishes with World Cataclysm experts. anwhile, the Supremacy Note ships focused solely on the planet, firing their cannons relentlessly without any flashy maneuvers or side distractions. The goal was singular and clear from the very start..."
Howard's tone shifted, laden with awe and a hint of disbelief. "... Yet sohow, for reasons beyond comprehension, Guardian Sylas erged from a space portal at the final possible mont, absorbing the brunt of the attack firsthand."
He leaned closer, voice dropping almost to a whisper as if the numbers themselves were impossible to grasp: "Ten crafts-each outfitted with ten primary cannons, totaling one hundred massive cannons. Twenty of them were modified, each discharging devastating attacks enhanced by the Corrosion Law and the Purgatory Fire Law."
Howard's eyes trembled as he continued: "Each of those twenty modified cannons was supported by twenty-five thousand soldiers-the full force we managed to assemble on such short notice. The eighty regular cannons struck with the intensity of a mid-tier World Cataclysm, while each of the twenty modified cannons delivered a force surpassing the peak of any World Cataclysm ever recorded... A destructive power teetering on the edge of a Nexus State."
"..." Even Ranther's eyes widened, his pupils stretching as if they could absorb every terrifying detail unfolding before him. The devastation, the chaos, the unimaginable scale of destruction-it was almost too much for a single mind to process.
"In that single attack wave alone, more than 35 million Pearls of energy were consud," Howard continued, his voice tense, trembling slightly under the weight of the numbers. "All of it-completely burned out, gone in an instant. Never-never in the entire recorded history of space wars-has there been a single offensive wave capable of consuming this magnitude of energy. And not just energy... this was enough to obliterate a dium-sized planet in the Mid Sector. Never before has a single assault resulted in such catastrophic devastation."
"...Twenty cannons, each with power approaching a Nexus State, supported by the Laws of Corrosion and Purgatory Fire, and eighty other cannons, all far stronger than the main cannons of ordinary motherships. If this level of force doesn't completely annihilate a planet, then what conceivable force could?" Ranther exhaled, the tension pressing down on his chest, as he forced himself to observe the devastation through the projected display.
At that mont, a sharp sting struck his heart. He cast a quick glance at Aro... Would that madman, that calculating genius, have done sothing like this to him if Ranther hadn't chosen to heed Lord Human's words and join them? Nothing-absolutely nothing-was outside the realm of possibility for Aro. His disdain for direct wars was infamous; he preferred negotiation, diplomacy, and manipulation first. But when provoked, when the spark was struck, the results were absolute, and catastrophic.
Then Ranther's mind clicked to another concern. "Ah-what happened with Guardian Sylas?"
"He survived, unfortunately," the woman with the feathered crown spoke this ti-the ruler of the Exile Peacock Wing. Her voice, steady but filled with tension, carried the weight of authority. "The shots did strike the city where he appeared directly. But the rest were distributed across multiple key regions on the planet. The combined wave had the potential to destroy the entire planet, but it wasn't enough to inflict significant damage on him."
".....?!" Ranther's disbelief froze him in place.
Did he just hear that correctly? A Guardian-soone of imnse power, a master of a Seventh-Stage Law-survived... unfortunately? Shouldn't it have been impossible for him to survive such overwhelming force? Just how precise, how imnse, must the explosion have been to allow such a thing to happen? Yet, thinking deeper, the difference between a Nexus State Expert and a Guardian was significant-but not insurmountable. Ten peak Nexus State fighters could theoretically restrain a low-level Guardian, yes. And those twenty cannons with power nearing a Nexus State-if focused entirely on Sylas's body-they would undoubtedly strike with incredible force. They could remove limbs, inflict crippling damage, or even kill him outright. Yet here he
was, still standing.
"...After that, Sylas charged from the remnants of the planet like a tempest unleashed. He attacked our fleets with precision and unparalleled speed, destroying a Supremacy Note Mothership and three Destruction Note support ships before our forces could even coordinate a proper retreat," another Wing Commander reported, his tone both awed and fearful.
"..." Ranther nodded several tis, slowly digesting the information. It was normal. No fleet, no matter its firepower or size, could hope to confront a Guardian head-on.
A Guardian would infiltrate between ships, carve paths of destruction, and strike with precision and velocity. The only viable strategy was retreat- wherever the Guardian appeared, that was the safest choice.
But...
"Where is he now?" Ranther's expression darkened, tightening into a scowl.
"He chased our ships in chaotic, unpredictable patterns until they scattered in every direction. Then he turned toward the nearest planet under his control. Two of our fleets were stationed there, enforcing a blockade and bombarding it with secondary cannons," Aro said, moving the platform to reveal a new, horrifying scene. "Our forces there withdrew as well after one Destruction Note unit sustained heavy damage and seven Flood Note units collapsed under
his hand. But Sylas did not pursue them further. He saved that planet, then moved on to another"
"You're saying he's acting like a mobile defense force?" Ranther asked, incredulously.
If anyone else were in his position, and had seen their howorld explode in
such a fashion, they would have imdiately stord the heart of the enemy capital and utterly destroyed it in retaliation. The logical path would have ended at Apocalypse Planet, not moving tactically to reduce pressure on his
own citizens.
"Guardian Sylas... he truly is not soone to be underestimated," Ranther murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper-but filled with heavy respect and
fear.
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