Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1650: Cosmic War News -1

Lord Zarion had no idea what to do in those trying times...

In order to reach and rescue one of the besieged planets or an entire fleet under attack, he had to remain stationed within the Soul Society, waiting endlessly for messages to arrive. Yet every time a plea for help finally reached him and he departed swiftly to save that planet or fleet, he would arrive only to find the assault already over — the enemies had withdrawn, and a new devastating offensive had begun somewhere entirely different.

And whenever he returned to the Soul Society, he would find another urgent call for aid waiting for him there, as if the battlefield itself was mocking his every step.

How did Hedrik’s generals know the exact locations of all those planets where soldiers hid and regrouped, as if those coordinates were etched upon their palms? No one could tell.

How did they always seem aware of Lord Zarion’s movements, countering him within minutes, altering their objectives with uncanny precision? Again, no one knew.

It was an impossible dilemma, one that seemed to defy logic and reason. Yet until recently, there had never been a need to solve the communication issue, because the problem had affected both sides equally. But in this war, for some mysterious reason, it was clear that the communication failure existed only on Zarion’s side and among his own forces.

This advantage — the ability to strike first, to isolate enemy fleets before they could regroup, to infiltrate their ranks and cut off their paths of retreat — persisted for a full three years.

During that time, Lord Hedrik’s army crushed more than nine hundred and fifty fleets in total.

But victory had its price. The main army that had started the war, numbering nearly six hundred fleets, was reduced sharply to three hundred and eighty.

By the third year’s end, Lord Zarion no longer dared to play the risky game of dividing his colossal armies across multiple fronts. Instead, he commanded that all remaining forces be gathered at once in a single location to reduce the mounting losses.

Yet even during that massive mobilization, the Crumbled Dreams Empire struck again — ambushing and obliterating another fifty fleets while they were en route to the rally point.

But from that moment onward, the tide turned.

The age of guaranteed victories and relentless momentum was over.

Lord Zarion led his assembled force of nearly 2,300 fleets, launching a direct and unprecedented assault against the Crumbled Dreams Empire.

At that time, Hedrik still lacked a galactic seed, and his dominion extended across nearly five thousand planets scattered throughout an entire stellar field. So when Zarion’s vast fleets entered his domain, it wasn’t the end of his world — but it was undeniably the beginning of something monumental.

The entire western front was annihilated within a single year.

Every defensive measure — planetary cannons, orbit-based artillery, light-class warships, and intricate space traps — failed to halt the overwhelming surge of power that tore through everything in its path.

After losing another 120 allied fleets, and with 60 enemy fleets destroyed in return, Zarion and his alliance succeeded in conquering 300 of Hedrik’s planets and annihilating 150 more.

After four years of war, more than 1,500 fleets were lost, and over 200 planets were obliterated in total from both sides combined. The scale of devastation alone made the entire sector hold its breath, reviving old fears of what a cosmic war could truly unleash.

At the dawn of the fifth year, Zarion attempted to initiate a second wave and continue his advance toward Hedrik’s second defensive line.

But merely traveling across the vast void of space — an ordeal that could take weeks or even months before a new battle began — brought fresh resistance from his war council.

They refused.

They outright refused his command.

Zarion had completely forgotten — or perhaps refused to remember — that those countless fleets scattered and collapsing across the endless reaches of space were not cheap armadas built overnight, nor were they disposable forces conjured by his will. They were the hard-won legacies of hundreds of ancient empires, each fleet forged through sweat, sacrifice, and unimaginable effort over millions upon millions of years. These were not numbers on a report — they were the living history and pride of civilizations.

And yet, within just the first four brutal years, one thousand one hundred and twenty fleets had been utterly annihilated. The rest were no better — over half of the surviving ones were crippled beyond recognition: hulls shattered, engines failing, and command systems burning out. Countless warships were drifting aimlessly in space, begging for repairs that would never come.

Zarion’s voice echoed through the command halls, filled with rage and disbelief. He shouted at his sub-commanders, insisting that the balance of power was still in their favor — they still possessed more than two thousand fleets, while Hedrik, that Monarch of the Crumbled Dreams Empire, had barely three hundred remaining. ”This is our moment!”

Zarion thundered. ”Strike now before the tide turns!”
But no one moved. The words rang hollow.

For many of the allied empires, logic had lost all meaning. An empire that had lost forty fleets out of ninety, whose docks were empty and whose people wept for fallen sons, no longer cared about strategic advantage. They wanted only to cling to what little remained, to preserve the fragments of power that had not yet been consumed by this endless war.

The despair spread like a contagion through the ranks. Propaganda, rumor, and sheer hopelessness fueled it, and soon entire sectors were paralyzed by fear. Reports exaggerated the defeats and whispered of betrayal; morale crumbled. Reinforcements that were once proudly marching to join Zarion now halted mid-voyage. His remaining allies — empires that had sworn eternal loyalty — were suddenly unwilling to send even a single additional ship.

Then came the true blow. A new menace emerged from the Hundredth Middle Sector — an unknown uprising power that, through some mysterious means, managed to identify every major faction involved in the war. Without warning, it began launching calculated assaults on their undefended territories, swallowing worlds and annexing star systems before anyone could react.

And somehow, those grim reports spread throughout the allied armies like wildfire, even though ordinary soldiers had no access to the Soul Society. Panic turned to chaos. Whispers turned into mutiny.

Zarion fought desperately to keep his legions intact, moving from one stronghold to another, his tone half-pleading, half-commanding. He promised them vengeance — that once Hedrik was crushed, he would personally lead them back, burn the Hundredth Sector to ashes, and erase the name of those upstart conquerors from existence.

But promises lose their weight when a soldier knows his home is burning.

For without a homeland, without family, without something worth protecting, a man’s will to fight dies. And once that spark is gone, even the mightiest fleet becomes nothing more than drifting debris.

Within days, dozens of once-loyal powers began to retreat, openly defying Zarion’s orders. They sought to return to the Hundredth Middle Sector, hoping to salvage what little was left of their empires. Even though the journey would take years — even though the odds of survival were slim — the instinct to protect their dying homes outweighed every command and every threat.

But then...

Hedrik struck.

The forces of the Crumbled Dreams Empire appeared, ambushing the retreating fleets from Middle Sector 100 in a storm of destruction. Chaos erupted instantly — formations shattered, signals drowned in static, captains screaming orders that no one could follow.

Hedrik himself descended into the fray, his aura radiating the authority of a Monarch. With a single gesture, entire fleets crumbled under his might, their shields collapsing like glass beneath the weight of his power.

At his side stood the Royal Four-Star Soul Master, Drais, his presence like a burning constellation. Drais unleashed torrents of pure soul energy, weaving barriers across the stars to block every escape route. The retreating fleets found themselves trapped between the relentless assault of Hedrik’s armadas and the unyielding walls of Drais’s sorcery.

From all directions, the armies of the Crumbled Dreams Empire closed in — disciplined, merciless, and unstoppable. What began as a withdrawal turned into a massacre.

Those who survived the slaughter — bloodied, trembling, stripped of pride — had no choice but to crawl back under Zarion’s command, their heads bowed low in shame. Nearly thirty-five entire fleets had been obliterated in that disastrous retreat, while the remaining ones were left in ruins, their strength broken, their spirits crushed.

The war that once promised glory had become a nightmare that none of them could wake from.