Legacy of the Void Fleet

Then, from the Minotaur Flagship Jarkon responded. His voice came through the interconnect com—it was a bit fractured, shaky—laced with confusion, frustration, and unmistakable fear.

”We did fight here, Your Grace, the Duke... and it was real. You can tell—from the corpses of my fellow comrades drifting out there...”

He paused, breath catching, then pushed on.

”There’s only one possibility. They did salvage everything. Wiped it clean. Left nothing but the dead behind. And though it seems impossible, not with the time they had... maybe they had the equipment. Maybe that’s the only way it makes sense.”

Duke Flexy heard this and could only nod. There was nothing else to think—nothing his fleet could offer. They had scanned the entire star system. No equipment, no trace. Nothing to explain this bizarre situation.

It wasn’t a major battle. The only reason he was even involved was the hope—however slim—that they could recover data from one of the destroyed ships. Every ship, including those from any power in the galaxy and even his empire and the Minotaur clans, had a recording module installed. A failsafe to capture combat data.

His plan was simple: retrieve the module, extract whatever information it held, and finally learn something—anything—about the enemy that remained completely in the dark.

But now? Now it seemed the enemy wasn’t just cunning. No. They were smart—predictive. Thorough enough to erase not just the people, but every shred of data that could be turned against them.

Flexy sighed.

One of the few things that might have given him an edge—an opening—was gone. With it, the only real chance to understand the enemy, the Minotaur’s claimed came from inside the Forbidden Zone.

He stared ahead.

Not far off, swirling multi-colored particles—raw mana—danced violently. They surged into the region, surrounding it completely like a living storm.

He sighed again.

As the Duke sighed, his mind spun through a tangle of thoughts—frustration, strategy, speculation. Then one detail surfaced. A line from a report the Minotaur’s had submitted. It contained fragments of history, warnings, and myths about the Forbidden Zone—once called the Holy Region.

That name, Holy Region, now sounded almost ironic.

According to the report, the zone had become forbidden because of a demonic artifact. An ancient construct said to drain all mana—the lifeblood of everything that exists. It didn’t just consume the mana. It created a barrier, cutting the Holy Region off from the galaxy… and possibly even the universe.

If that artifact was real, then it made sense. The region should’ve become a wasteland. No mana. No life. Nothing.

And yet…

The Minotaur’s had also claimed that the mysterious enemy came from within that same zone. That they had inherited—or claimed—the legacy of some ancient power once buried there.

And now, thinking back, the Duke saw how it added up.

The enemy had ships powerful enough to destroy a Minotaur war vessel—one built with tier-2 technology. That level of force, in a zone supposedly stripped of mana, with no access to high-grade alloys or advanced materials? Impossible—unless they’d truly uncovered something old. Something that defied the natural laws of the galaxy.

It would also explain their ruthlessness. Why they salvaged everything. Why they left nothing behind—not even scraps.

They weren’t just covering their tracks. They were collecting. Gathering resources. Reforging lost power.

Maybe they needed every bit of high-grade alloy they could find to keep building their fleet… to expand their strength… to prepare for something bigger.

But for what?

The question echoed in Duke Flexy’s mind. He turned it over, again and again, until a conclusion formed—one so absurd he almost rejected it on instinct.

Even though he was the one who had just arrived at it.

The power the enemy had displayed was undeniable. Devastating. If they wanted to wipe out the Minotaur clans completely, they could have. Easily. Yet they hadn’t.

Instead, they struck hard, salvaged the remains of the destroyed ships, then vanished back into the Forbidden Zone. They didn’t just disappear—they navigated the chaotic mana storm that surrounded the entire region, as if it posed no threat at all.

That alone was telling.

It meant they weren’t just strong. They were prepared. And strategic.

Two possibilities surfaced. Either the enemy anticipated that the Minotaur’s would rally allies—reach out to others, build an alliance to fight back…

Or—they were simply expanding. Quietly. Carefully. Stockpiling power before a larger assault.

Of the two, Flexy found himself leaning toward the second.

Even though there were holes in the theory—many of them—it still made more sense than the first. Why leave survivors? Why risk exposure?

Then again, the first theory had its own flaws. After all, they knew nothing about the enemy.

Calling it ”too little” was generous. They knew nothing.

Nothing beyond their firepower—and the fact that they had utterly overwhelmed a fleet ten times their size.

He sighed again, then keyed into the interlinked comms.

His voice came through calm, but laced with edge.

”Jarkon… didn’t you say the mana clouds surrounding the Forbidden Zone should’ve dissipated? Completely gone?”

He paused—just enough to let the question land.

”Then why are they still there, hmm?”

He already had a guess. But that wasn’t the point. There was a difference between guessing and knowing. And so far, the Minotaur clan had fed them not just incomplete data—but incorrect data. Twice.

Back aboard the Minotaur clan flagship, Jarkon gulped. The static buzzed before he answered, his voice brittle, strained with fear.

”Your Grace… it’s not like I’m lying or trying to mislead you—though I know it seems that way.”

He rushed to explain.

”When we ran our calculations using the fleet’s best systems, the data showed the mana clouds should’ve cleared within twelve hours—or, at worst, one galactic day.”

”But they haven’t,” Flexy said flatly.

”No, sir. They haven’t. Which means… the damage caused by the demonic artifact must be far worse than we understood. The mana zone is still… trying to repair itself. Or balance out whatever’s been broken. That’s why the clouds are still there.”

There was a pause on the line. Silence, thick as smoke.

Flexy didn’t respond immediately.

After a brief silence, Flexy spoke, voice flat but cutting.

”Run a scan on those mana clouds. I want real data—our data. Not whatever guesswork the Minotaur’s passed off as truth. It’s clear they can’t be trusted with anything beyond their own myths.”

One of his subordinates snapped to attention. ”Yes, Duke. I’ll have it done immediately.”He turned on his heel and began barking orders, the crew scrambling to reorient the ship’s sensors toward the swirling clouds around the Forbidden Zone.

Meanwhile, aboard the Minotaur flagship…

A hail came through. One of the High Elders—just a step below the Supreme Elders—appeared on the bridge screen. His face, already crimson by nature, had flushed an even deeper red. Not from shame, but from quiet, boiling fury.

He’d heard the Duke’s words. Every insult. Every dismissal.

Not just of Jarkon. But of the entire Minotaur race.

He seethed inside, jaw clenched, fists balled just off screen. And yet—he couldn’t respond. Couldn’t refute. Couldn’t even show his anger.

Because in this moment, he was weak.

The Minotaur clan was weak.

Not just compared to the mysterious enemy inside the Forbidden Zone… but to the Duke himself. And the empire behind him.

Back aboard Duke Flexy’s flagship…

A few minutes later, one of his senior officers returned, saluted, and delivered the report.

”Duke, based on our ship’s data and advanced sensors, it would take approximately 10 to 15 galactic days for the mana clouds to stabilize. And even then, they wouldn’t completely disappear. The clouds would remain—much like they are now—but by then the spatial instability should settle enough for us to travel through.”

He paused briefly, then added, ”There would be some strain on our ships, but nothing our shielding systems can’t handle.”

Flexy raised an eyebrow, frowning.

”Ten to fifteen days,” he repeated, almost to himself. ”And it could be more, depending on the fluctuations in spatial density…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

Because the rest of it was clear.

More than eight galactic days… and we’re exposed.

The other fleets would arrive. Others who’d been quiet so far, watching. Waiting. The political pressure would mount. What had started as a minor incident could become a spectacle—drawing eyes, questions, agendas.

Flexy exhaled through his nose and shook his head in disappointment. Then, with a flick of his hand, he closed the intercom with the Minotaur clan.

And muttered aloud, mostly to himself, ”Looks like we moved in too fast after all. But… pulling out now would be worse. No going back.”

He stared at the swirling mana storm on the main screen.

”We have to wait,” he said, the words dry, bitter.

Then he looked to his officer again. ”Anything else?”

”No, Duke.”

Flexy gave a small nod, then waved him off.

The officer turned smartly and left the room, leaving the Duke alone with the silence—and the growing weight of decisions already made.