Legacy of the Void Fleet

There was a sharp tug at his conscience, a voice in his mind telling him to stop, that the risk to life was too high. But there was an even greater pull—a cold, survivalist instinct that told him to act without hesitation. Surviving was more important than dying for honor.

The clan was in a state of crisis; who knew what condition the rest of the empire was in? This was the time when the entire race needed every soldier and every ship they could muster. Letting his fleet be destroyed here was a cost the entire clan could not afford. This was just one star system—there were hundreds more.

Sacrifice one to save a hundred. A sacrifice worth making.

Those were the words that echoed in his mind, and he felt himself leaning further and further toward that dark necessity.

”Don’t blame me, oh ancestors,” Mimosa muttered under his breath, steadying himself. His mind was made up; he knew what had to be done, regardless of the consequences. Even if the worst happened, he convinced himself it was a sacrifice worth making for the ultimate survival of the clan.

”Rear Admiral...” Mimosa turned his gaze toward the holographic figure that had been hovering in the command bridge. ”Give me the status report on our preparations to jump out of the star system. I know many ships have already calibrated their warp drives; I want an accurate count of those ready to jump now.”

The Rear Admiral gulped on his non-existent saliva before hastily replying to the Secretary of Defense. ”S-Secretary... out of our remaining 4,900 ships, approximately 3,500 have their warp drives calibrated and fully cycled.”

(It was a grim reminder: the Minotaurs had originally entered this conflict with a fleet of nearly 10,000 vessels. A major chunk of that might had been devoured by Kael and his Dark Blade in a matter of minutes.)

”In other words, only 3,500 ships in our fleet are ready to jump out of this system and escape certain death,” Mimosa said, his voice laced with self-ridicule. ”Of almost 10,000 ships, that is all we have left. More than 1,000 will stay behind to die at the hands of our enemy. Never in my life did I think I would face a situation like this. I never even imagined such a possibility existed.”

When he spoke the word ”battle,” it was dripping with sarcasm—as if he couldn’t bring himself to believe this had been a fair fight. To him, it was something else entirely.

”This ’battle’ has been an eye-opener for me, as it should be for all of you. The things we have been oblivious to for so long have been laid bare before us, as clear as a chapter in a common book. All of you who remain with me—keep this in your memory. Hold onto the anger that has been building within us as we watched, helplessly, while our people died without a single chance to even retaliate against this enemy.”

”You all should remember the helplessness we feel against this enemy. Remember how they have played with us this entire time. All of this—along with what is about to happen, the sacrifices, the deaths—all of it must be etched into your memories. For one day, we will have our revenge against those who dared to do this to our race!”

Mimosa’s voice rose to a booming command as he made the fleet-wide announcement. ”Everyone, settle at your stations! Be exactly where you are meant to be! Prepare yourselves for warp travel... we are leaving this place in a matter of minutes!”

As his speech concluded, Mimosa cut the communication line to the fleet. The fiery orator vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow shell of a man. He turned his gaze toward a specific officer.

”Captain... is the Star Cannon ready and charged?”

Mimosa’s voice was grim, sounding less like a leader and more like a Reaper coming to collect a debt of souls.

”The Star Cannon is ready and has been cycled for discharge,” Captain Chap replied. His face was just as grim as Mimosa’s, his fists clenched tight in a display of blunt unwillingness.

The Captain didn’t bother hiding his emotions; he threw his disgust directly in Mimosa’s face. It was obvious, raw, and undeniable. But Mimosa ignored it. To him, the emotions or glares directed his way—good or bad—meant nothing. He might have appreciated a look of respect, but in the face of hatred, he simply couldn’t care less.

What mattered to Mimosa was whether his orders were followed. If they were, things were ”good,” as they were now. If they weren’t, the story in this command bridge would have turned very bloody, very quickly.

Nodding his head and acting completely oblivious to the daggers Captain Chap was staring at him, Mimosa gave the final order with a thoughtful, distant look.

”Target the Fang Star. Set the Star Cannon to fire directly at the Fang Star... Now.”

”Fire the cannon. Now,” Mimosa commanded.

He immediately turned back to the Rear Admiral. ”The moment that Star Cannon fires, I don’t care if that weird Mecha is distracted or not—every ship that is warp-ready must jump instantly. No delays. Do you understand?”

Mimosa’s face was like stone as he waited for confirmation.

”I understand, Secretary Mimosa,” the Rear Admiral replied, his voice trembling. ”I will go and ensure everyone is briefed and ready for the transition.”

Mimosa nodded curtly. ”Good. Go immediately. There must be no gaps, no mistakes when the time comes... or I will hold you personally responsible.” As he added that last bit, Mimosa narrowed his eyes, the words landing as an open, lethal threat.

The effect was instantaneous. ”Worry not, Secretary! Everything will happen according to your wishes, without a single delay or error. I swear it!” the Rear Admiral stammered, his manner completely subservient.

Mimosa simply nodded and waved his hand dismissively. Understanding the signal, the Rear Admiral’s holographic figure vanished.

But just as the Rear Admiral’s figure disappeared from the command bridge, Captain Chap remained. He stood silent, implementing the orders he had been given despite the crushing weight of his own unwillingness. Even though he wasn’t from this star system, and had no family or roots here, he felt a profound sense of guilt.

The weapon he was about to fire would strike members of his own race. Though they were strangers to him, they were still his fellow Minotaurs. How could his conscience allow him to commit such a massacre?

And yet, he continued to follow the Secretary’s commands without pause. Why? It was because of his fundamental military principles—the absolute duty to obey orders. That principle was a force of nature, driving him to act even when every fiber of his being screamed against it.

This was an inherent burden for every pilot who reached a higher realm of power. At a certain point in their ascension, they often became ”coupled” with a core principle they had to adhere to, even if they later found it morally wrong.

This ”defect” usually didn’t plague active pilots who still fought in the thick of battle. Clearly, Chap was no longer an active Mecha pilot—something had happened to him that forced him out of the cockpit and into this command chair, leaving him at the mercy of his own unyielding code.

This unyielding code had grown only more restrictive now that Chap was no longer part of the battlefield—at least, not in the way he used to be. Without the release of combat, the principle had festered, becoming a shackle that grew heavier with every passing year. It was that very weight he felt now.

”Secretary Mimosa...” Chap spoke, his face twisted with bitterness. ”I am following your orders, however unwillingly I may be. I am being forced by the weight of my own power to act against my soul.”

He looked directly at Mimosa, his eyes burning with a promise of retribution. ”But know this: if the worst happens—if the Fang Star is destroyed along with the billions of our fellow clan people living there—I will not let you go. I will hold you in contempt for the massacre of our own kind. And if they somehow survive? I will still take you down for the mere intent you have shown today. If you can do this once, you will surely do it again and again.”

Hearing that, Mimosa’s face hardened as he internally became infuriated by the arrogant display of the Captain Chap.

He was able to ignore other things, but blatant arrogance he could not—especially when the person in question was all but openly threatening him. But even though he was infuriated, Mimosa had more self-control at this moment than he might ever have in his life.

After all, the weight of the thinking he was about to do was placing an immense burden on him, making it impossible for him to consider much else at this moment. Something like this wouldn’t happen if not for the moral weight he was carrying upon himself.