Chapter 256
Chapter 256
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 256
Chapter Title: Kesh Arma, the Fallen King
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Long ago, before humanity ventured into space, intelligent beings had already pioneered the stars.
Though their bodies were frail, they were a race blessed by the gods, wielding extraordinary powers.
Guided by the 'providence' decreed by the divine, they emerged into the cosmos and named themselves the Cult.
At first, they could barely navigate between satellites. The gods' favor didn't extend to true spacefaring.
But the Cult never gave up. Rather than relying solely on their innate psychic powers, they devoted themselves to technological advancement.
Satellite hops evolved into planetary colonization and exploration of their home star system. These beings, born on a modest planet, soon forged a vast empire spanning multiple star systems.
Of course, by the universe's measure, this was a mere blink. Countless civilizations had risen and fallen before them, and theirs would be no exception.
The Cult Empire's prosperity was short-lived. Internal strife, corrupt rulers, and endless wars swiftly eroded its lifespan. By now, it had decayed to less than half its former glory.
The Kesh Arma space fortress was one such shadow of its radiant past.
This fortress, whose name translated from Mega Corp tongue meant 'Wealthy King,' had been stationed to guard a mining planet.
In the empire's heyday, mining ships from diverse races docked here. True to its name, it was a hub where the empire's riches converged.
Had the planet's minerals not run dry, it might still be that way.
Once the planet's resources—its very reason for being—were depleted, Kesh Arma's importance plummeted. The crumbling empire, unlike in its prime, lacked the means to sustain a money-losing outpost. What had been a key stronghold just a century ago was now a total liability.
When maintenance costs far outstripped profits, the empire's decision was simple.
Abandon the fortress that crowned its golden age.
With the withdrawal of its garrisoned Cult warships, Kesh Arma became a no-man's-land. In theory, it belonged to the Cult Empire, but in reality, it had neither administrators nor defenses.
The abandoned megastructure was left to merchants peddling to miners for survival and outsiders seeking empty squats. An ownerless city inevitably devolves into a slum.
Kesh Arma sank into the cosmic abyss.
Those who seized the fallen king of wealth were the Marcio Cartel.
One of the top five most formidable cartels among all Space Dogs.
Typically, Space Dogs cartels avoid settling on planets or space cities. With so many enemies, a purge fleet could strike anytime. Instead, they focus on arming ships fit for their crews.
Marcio Cartel bosses, however, charted a radically different course.
They profited by brokering other pirates' crimes. Setting up black markets for smuggling cartels, or linking flesh-trading outfits to Mega Corp elites, and so on.
Just as Kesh Arma once made its fortune mediating mining planets and ore haulers, the cartel thrived by mediating pirates and crime.
Paradoxically, this approach ensured Kesh Arma's—and Marcio's—survival. Even Mega Corp and Star Union, who gritted their teeth at Space Dogs, were their clients.
A lawless zone tolerated by the galaxy's powers. That was modern Kesh Arma.
And today, as ever, crime festered in every corner of the pirate fortress.
"Fuck! Crush his skull! The head! You fucking bitch!"
"I-I'm counting on you! I bet everything on you!"
"Gaaah! You fucking whore! Why cut the arm there?!"
A place once called the Fifth Armory.
Now, it brimmed not with weapons, but with a furious mob.
Humans, cyborgs, wolves, cold-bloods. Beings from disparate cultures fixated on one thing, roaring in unison.
Inside the iron cage their gazes locked on, two naked men battled.
They differed in looks, skin, and weapons, but shared two traits: heavy collars around their necks, and bodies drenched in blood.
This was a pirate-run fighting pit. Just one of the city's myriad abysses.
"Yes! Put some more into it! You can do it, you punk!"
"Wh-what the?! Why's that guy...? Aaagh! Fuck!"
"Wooooah! He won! We won!"
"Uwaaaah! My credits! Nooooo!"
The brutal bout ended with the axeman beheading the spearman.
Life and death's clashing emotions didn't stay caged. The crowd writhed in ecstasy or despair.
Gid-Q, a cyborg freshly joined to the Marcio Cartel, reveled in the former.
"Heh, jackpot."
He rarely bet against the odds, but this payout was massive.
Gid-Q slotted his terminal into the pit's payout machine. Seeing two extra zeros in his credits balance, his lips curled involuntarily.
"Damn. Reverse bet, fuck yeah."
"...Fucking lucky bastard."
Envious glares bored into him, but none dared challenge. Everyone knew he was Marcio Cartel.
Savoring the mix of hate and jealousy, he strode out.
Blinding light assaulted the half-machine man.
A neon frenzy from pleasure dens: red, blue, yellow, green flooding the streets. Pedestrians' clothes were indistinguishable in the chaos.
Billboards weren't the only jumble. Buildings too: the pit, steeped in Cult style; others, shoddily slapped together by immigrants.
Before shops teetering on collapse thronged pirates, vagrants, slaves, mercenaries—a motley crew.
In this slum of mismatches, glimpse the past by looking skyward.
Above hung 'another earth,' gazing down.
Kesh Arma was a space fortress orbiting a planet. Through its transparent hull, the ruined world stared back at residents everywhere.
Gid-Q felt nothing before the Cult pinnacle. He'd seen it plenty; his terminal's credits mattered more.
"Time for a drink."
Ogle time done, stomach needed filling. He headed to his usual bar.
Inside, similar souls nursed synthetic booze.
"Round of synth-liquor here."
Gid-Q slid into their table. The pirates eyed him surprised.
"Yo, Tin Can, what's up?"
"Bastard's struck gold. Finally hit a reverse after all those colds?"
"...Shit, was gonna say that."
A few rounds in, the pirates—Gid-Q included—were smashed.
"Tin Can, one thing. Star Union really bans solo fun?"
"Yeah. Some population or production policy makes it illegal. Yearly memory scans—if you fail..."
Gid-Q scissored two fingers. The others recoiled.
"Oof, scariest shit I've heard."
"Can't even fuck freely. Decades in that hell? Nightmare. Fuck."
"Speaking of scary, heard about Sathua Cartel lately?"
"Sathua? Those psychos? What about 'em?"
"Friend knew some. Radio silence two months now."
"Ugh, fuck. More shocked you're pals with Sathua scum. Get out."
The fox-wolf pirate drew jeers. A scarred human cut in.
"Heard something similar."
"What?"
"Sathua's slave market vanished without a trace. Cartel wiped out over it."
Gid-Q blinked at the human pirate's words.
Sathua was notorious. They snatched primitives from uncharted worlds for slave trade. Rivals to Marcio, with a massive market on an unclaimed planet rivaling this fortress.
"Don't care if those Sathua fucks bit it, but shit's been weird lately."
"Yeah. T&C space city blew— no play spot."
"Dumbass, that was ages ago—still bitching?"
"Outspacers acting up again."
"Merc gigs everywhere—fat credits."
"Idiot hasn't fought Outspacers, talking shit."
"Outspacers taste good?"
"Your mom's tastier."
"Tch. Galaxy going to shit?"
The scarred pirate's murmur soured the mood.
Star-hopping pirates sensed cosmic shifts first.
He was right. The universe churned in unprecedented chaos.
Gid-Q scowled at the vibe-killing talk. Not on a lucky day like this.
But his crew found the random ghost story intriguing, swapping tales.
"Know why Dbara Cartel fell? Ghost ship got 'em..."
"Worse, heard from Humanity folks..."
Ship-eating black ghost ships, space city downfalls' secrets, demons wearing flayed human skins...
Gid-Q grew exasperated listening.
Forgot where they were? A fortress amid the stars, pinnacle of tech—superstition?
Mystery monsters? Half the docking pirates hunted and sold those 'monsters'.
He couldn't fathom what thrilled them.
"Heading out."
He paid the android and left.
'Monsters my ass.'
In space age, monsters weren't mystery beasts or ghost ships.
Human to Star Union cyborg to pirate—he knew the real monsters.
"...Bedtime."
Work beckons in hours.
The cyborg melted into the crowd.
While Gid-Q wasted life in the bar, the fortress's military port welcomed new guests.
True to the chaotic Space Dogs domain, visitors lacked uniformity.
Pirate assault craft emblazoned with cartel marks, sleek efficient Mega Corp warships, rugged Star Union freighters, civilian vessels galore.
Ships flowed freely. Motives obvious—no need for strict checks. Criminals policing crime? Absurd.
Among hundreds docking, one stood out glaringly.
"Hey. That Sathua bastards' ship?"
"Weren't they ghosted? Why here?"
Sathua assault ships were famous: elongated hulls, flared rears from refitted decommissioned Mega Corp hulls—rare sight.
The anchor-like craft just berthed. A few pirates disembarked, chatting guards.
Onlookers from afar tilted heads.
"Huh. Sathua with a wolf?"
Sathua was all-human. Non-humans? Kidnap fodder. Outcasts even among Space Dogs.
Yet a white raptor's head, amber-eyed wolf led the pack, barking orders.
Defied pirate logic.
Guards seemed wary too. Routine check escalated to boarding.
Pirates figured: fake Sathua ship, booted out.
But guards emerged empty-handed. No action—instead, treating the wolf like a cartel boss. Bribes?
Even helped unload two containers before resuming duties.
"...What the hell?"
"What's in there for that treatment?"
First time seeing guards like that. Eyes turned to the ship.
Mostly curiosity. Some pondered deeper.
Peek inside. If valuables, snag some.