Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1648: You won’t hide for long

The Mid Sector 101 – Deep within the southwestern Aurora Starfield

Crkkk... Crkkk...

Gray warships glided through the vastness of space in steady, deliberate motion, arranged in three massive battle formations.

Each formation was centered around a colossal mother ship, surrounded on all sides by ten escort vessels roughly a quarter of its size, encircling it in tight defense, their sleek armor glinting faintly under the distant starlight.

After a slow advance, the fleets halted in unison just before breaching the misty atmosphere of a nearby planet.

Then—

The sides of the three enormous mother ships split open, panels sliding upward with mechanical precision. Something deep within began to pulse with blinding light and mechanical roars that echoed across the void—

WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

Hundreds of smaller warships burst outward like swarms of steel hornets, spreading in formation and circling the defensive vessels with increasing speed, leaving trails of faint blue energy.

At the heart of the formation, the central mother ship began charging its massive cannon—a weapon capable of crushing fortresses from orbit, its energy core radiating violent fluctuations. Around it, ten guard vessels assumed protective positions, ready to intercept any incoming fire or unleash boarding troops. Beyond them, nearly five hundred assault crafts took formation, each specialized for rapid strikes and evasive maneuvers. The entire fleet now moved as one living entity, pulsing with synchronized energy, adopting a full battle-ready stance.

And they were not alone.

To the left and right, the other two fleets mirrored the same preparations, their engines burning bright, their weapon cores humming in unison. From afar, the three clusters of warships—with their luminous cannons spinning at their centers—looked like titanic drills poised to pierce straight through the planet’s heart itself!

Click-click...

The forward gate of the central formation’s mother ship slid open, and a lone figure stepped directly into the vacuum of space. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his square jaw and silver-black hair reflecting the faint light of nearby stars. His armor shimmered faintly, emanating an aura of restrained but crushing might. It was as if the steel around him bent slightly under his presence—he was the focus of everything, the undeniable center of power.

The man floated forward with unnerving calm, hands clasped neatly behind his back, descending slowly as his gaze turned downward—waiting.

And below him, the planet was not silent.

For as his eyes fell upon it, something from within the clouds looked right back—a luminous, single eye blazing with ominous intent.

Hummmmm—

Suddenly, the misty atmosphere of the planet split apart with a thunderous vibration. From the breach emerged a massive violet battleship, its main cannon raised and glowing with energy. Then another—then another—until in the blink of an eye, dozens of purple warships rose in formation, each one taking its designated position. Their movements were sharp, practiced—this was not a chaotic defense, but an organized armada prepared for war.

WHOOSH!

A figure materialized from the void, standing calmly above the atmosphere with arms crossed. His gaze drifted across the three arriving fleets with slow scrutiny, until it settled at last on the man before him. A faint smile curved his lips.

”Well, well... the great Marshal Tharn himself. One of the Three Grand Marshals of the Crumbled Dreams Empire—what an unexpected honor. Tell me, what brings such a figure to our doorstep?”

”I came, of course, to evacuate this planet,” Tharn replied with a half-smile, his tone deceptively calm. ”We received a report that a swarm of insects from another place are plotting against the sons of our beloved sector. Doesn’t that sound... familiar to you, Marshal Galtan?”

”Heh? Hahaha!” Galtan’s laughter echoed across the comms, booming and mocking. ”It seems the mighty Crumbled Dreams Empire has indeed crumbled in its own mind—coming all this way to pick a fight with us? We’ve stayed out of your petty war that’s already cost you half your fleets, and yet here you are, inviting another enemy into your misery? How laughable!”

”Perhaps you didn’t intervene directly,” Tharn replied, voice hardening, ”but you and I both know what the Curse Galaxy has been doing here, Galtan. You’re using this planet as a stronghold—to distribute curses and dark enchantments against our forces. Even more, you’re using it as a hub to coordinate and command their movements... That,” he paused, eyes narrowing, ”is far from pleasant.”

”Pure slander, nothing more.” Galtan waved his hand lazily through the air, his tone dismissive, his posture relaxed — as though the accusation had been about someone entirely unrelated to him. ”Prove that we are the ones doing it, if you’re truly capable.” He gave an indifferent shrug, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips. ”Perhaps your enemies are simply purchasing those products from the Spirit Society. You can hardly blame us for trade between free worlds, can you?”

”Prove it?” Tharn’s half-smile returned, but this time it was sharper, colder — a smile that belonged to a man standing on the edge of a battlefield. ”Once the war begins, Galtan, there’s no longer a need to prove anything... after the first shot is fired, there are only two kinds of beings left in the universe — the living and the dead.”

With that, he raised his left hand slowly, deliberately, the gesture clear to all around — a signal preparing for war, the moment before thunder.

”...?” Galtan’s expression hardened, his brows knitting together, his voice losing its earlier humor. ”Think, Tharn. Think very carefully about what you’re doing,” he warned in a low tone. ”You’re already at war with the savage Zavaros Galaxy — more than half your armies have been annihilated or scattered to the winds. You don’t need to provoke another power. You’re standing on the edge of an abyss and don’t even see it. I’ll give you one chance — withdraw now, and I’ll pretend this little outburst never happened.”

The Behemoth Curses Galaxy, known formally as Darfon, had not prepared for an all-out conflict in a neighboring sector. Their grand plan was patience — to wait until all six thousand fleets were fully assembled, then allow Lord Zarion to emerge at the perfect moment, leading them under the righteous banner of ”ending the cosmic war of annihilation” — a war tearing apart the Young Sector, ignited by the deceitful Hedrick and his followers, a war that had already claimed billions of innocent lives.

Once the war began, it was Galtan’s role — Marshal Galtan — to step into the light, to declare allegiance to Zarion’s vision of ascension, supporting the campaign not through direct combat, but through the flow of curses, enchantments, and hexes that would sap their enemies’ strength from afar.

The Behemoth Curses Galaxy had never been one for open confrontation. Their power thrived in the shadows — in whispers, plagues, and spiritual corruption — not in fleets colliding under burning suns. Their presence in the galactic theater was more about diplomatic appeasement than conquest, serving as a gesture of friendship to the Radiant Galaxy, their closest ally.

And, of course, there was politics — after all, the son of Behemoth Curses was soon to be wed to the daughter of Behemoth Purity, the noble Kaylis, sealing one of the most powerful cosmic alliances ever forged.

But a direct battle against a Great Empire that wielded a Law from the Path of Destruction, head-on, across sectors, with only a fragment of their forces?

No. That was suicide. And Galtan had no intention of dying for Tharn’s pride.

”Heh-heh... at first, we decided to leave you to your own chaos,” Galtan began again, his voice taunting, dripping with mockery. ”As long as you remained obedient little dogs, hiding quietly in your dens, we had no reason to—”

Shwooooi—

His words were cut short.

A sphere of light materialized around Tharn out of nothingness — a sudden, shimmering bubble of rainbow light that pulsed with seven radiant hues. The glow was so intense it bathed the fleets in color, vibrating like the breath of a living star. For several long seconds, it flared, its brilliance almost blinding... and then — pop! — it imploded inward, collapsing into a small, translucent orb like a soap bubble, suspended in the air before Tharn’s chest, swirling with dense black smoke that twisted like living ink.

The sight wiped the smirk off Tharn’s face entirely. His expression darkened, and the temperature around him seemed to drop. When he spoke, his tone was icy enough to freeze the void.

”A Soulcraft Curse? You dare cast a curse upon me — here — in the middle of our parley? Tell me, Galtan... do you no longer wish to leave this place alive?”

”Damn it—!” Galtan cursed under his breath, his earlier arrogance cracking. ”Where did you get those anti-curse shields?! That’s impossible!” He had forgotten to deny the act — his shock gave him away completely.

Those anti-curse devices were now standard issue among every officer ranked commander or higher, each crafted in different grades of protection. Any curse cast upon them was automatically absorbed or reflected, manifesting in that same dazzling explosion of rainbow light.

Tharn had come furious over their interference in the war, but the truth was harsher — throughout the entire conflict, the Behemoth Curses had been unable to harm him or his forces directly. Their hexes, no matter how vile, fizzled into harmless sparks against the defensive enchantments. The most they could do was empower their allies slightly, giving them blessings wrapped in shadows.

”You’ll find your answer in hell!” Tharn roared, dropping his hand like a hammer.

And then—

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The heavens themselves erupted.