Chapter 148
Chapter 148
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Veil's Proposal
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# 148
"Yes, it's been a while."
"I was just thinking of seeing you. How about we chat while they prepare the meal?"
Veil Monarch said that as he offered me the seat across from him.
Seeing that I was hesitating to respond, he added,
"I'm not trying to interrupt your long-overdue rest. If you'd prefer, we can arrange a separate meeting later—but I doubt you'd want that."
His tone pierced right through me in a strangely perceptive way.
"Who's that?"
"Someone from the family. Want to go ahead? I'll be right there."
"Let's go."
Roze blinked her big eyes before following Merdi to their assigned table.
As I sat down across from him, Veil lightly interlaced his fingers on the table and got straight to the point.
"No time to waste, so let's cut to the chase. Do you know about Anthologia?"
"Of course."
Anthologia—a planet whose name no one could ignore.
It was the region closest to the Styx Frontline, so an attack could have come at any moment. And two days ago, it finally happened: an Alien assault turned it into a war zone.
The raid wasn't particularly intense, but with insufficient defenses, the casualties kept mounting.
"Anthologia is rich in all sorts of rare resources. That's why resource companies are clustered there."
"That must be a headache for our family too."
No need to emphasize twice how crucial rare resources are.
Even for the Monarch family, where manufacturing dominates, a shortage would grind everything to a halt.
"Not just that."
But Veil shook his head.
"It's not only resource companies on Anthologia. There's also 'Blackyard.'"
"Blackyard..."
I remembered the name.
After the Monarch family fell behind, Blackyard was one of the shipbuilding companies that rose to fill the empty throne.
They'd relocated their headquarters to the rear to avoid Aliens—and now the Aliens had come knocking right there. Talk about bad luck.
"They're moving their facilities now, but..."
"Too late."
"Exactly."
Blackyard's facilities rivaled the Monarch family's in scale.
Meaning, enormous.
Could they really relocate something like that in a short time?
Even with long-term meticulous planning, it'd be a stretch.
"Some of it'll have to be abandoned."
"There's something I want you to do."
"You mean protect them and take some facilities in exchange?"
"No, nothing like that."
Veil leaned forward.
"I'm not interested in the trash they leave behind. We can scavenge that ourselves if we want."
"...I can't help with criminal activity."
"I know you follow the straight and narrow. And I'm not keen on taking risks myself. If the Golden Fleet's master gets tangled in scandal, it tarnishes the family's image."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Blackyard has resource warehouses scattered all over Anthologia. Mostly rare materials for spaceship construction. Vital stuff, but with so much to grab, it'll be low priority for them."
In shipbuilding, facilities always come first.
Just look at the Monarch family, still scrambling a hundred years after the disaster because they couldn't recover their lost ones.
'If that's true, those resources are finders keepers.'
On the frontlines, private property rights don't hold much water.
Why should the Alliance compensate for assets destroyed blocking Aliens?
Everything on the front—terrain, structures, resources—is fair game for the war effort, and no Alliance citizen can complain.
All they can do is grab what they can and run before things go south.
"I'll send you data on the locations and transport ships for recovery. Help out as much as you can manage."
"I can do that."
"Of course, I'm not expecting free labor. Not just anyone can roam the frontlines. I'll transfer ownership of all the transport ships used for the job to you. And issue certificates for 30% of the recovered resources."
"30%..."
In this era, rare ores are worth more than money.
Most don't trade on open markets; they're treated like strategic assets.
Companies stockpile what they need, and if demand spikes, they pay massive premiums.
"If 30% feels low, I can go up to 40%. What do you say?"
Veil assumed my hesitation was about the share and upped the offer.
"Sure."
I nodded.
It was obvious our loose independent unit would evolve into the superhuman force handling the rear and its subunits. Missions like this were par for the course.
No reason to complain when they were laying the groundwork and providing transports to boot.
"Here."
Veil nodded in satisfaction and handed over a memory stick.
"All the relevant data's on there. The transport fleet's coordinator will contact you soon—work out the details yourself."
"What if I recover more than what's listed here?"
Blackyard wasn't the only one handling resources on Anthologia.
And rare ores are heavy.
Even companies that treat assets like lifeblood can't carry it all.
So whose would the leftovers be?
Veil's eyes gleamed as he stroked his chin.
"If you gather info on others, I'll give you 20% including warehouse costs."
"No."
Veil sipped his tea and straightened up.
"Blackyard's doesn't matter. They're competitors. But the resource companies' stuff is different."
They'd surely notice what we're doing.
Even if it's discarded, it could bruise feelings.
Veil was concerned about that.
"Better to deal directly with those companies."
"Right. A little for them should keep the backlash down."
"Got it. If that's all, I'll head out."
"Wait."
As I rose, Veil stopped me and produced another memory stick.
"Blackyard might hide facilities they can't take. There are a few suspected spots. Check them if you have time."
"This is?"
"Navigation logs near Anthologia."
An unexpected gift lit up my eyes.
The last navigation logs had been a huge help.
They refined AD Drive accuracy, optimized routes, and shaved time off transit to ops zones.
"Expected spots are marked too."
"I'll put it to good use."
"Mm."
I stood.
We'd had a decent talk today, but Veil was still someone I didn't care to spend time with.
As I turned to go, an out-of-left-field comment followed me.
"You two suit each other well."
"Pardon...?"
"Those two. Superhuman genes would benefit the bloodline."
My mood soured instantly.
Bloodline.
I'd almost forgotten, but the original owner's suffering tied deeply to the damned Monarch family notions about lineage.
"Please refrain from commenting on my comrades. It's none of your business."
My sharp tone didn't faze him.
But he didn't forget to leave one last remark.
"Fine. Just don't forget you're a Monarch too."
I left without arguing.
No matter how much it grated, clashing with a family-obsessed man on this topic wasn't smart.
*
Despite the awkward interlude, the day's rest was sweet.
We soaked up the city's culture till late, then returned to the annex.
The next day, it was back to work.
We handled backlog tasks and visited the Horizon Aerospace Academy.
"That's the one."
Frederick pointed to a young man who seemed more fittingly called a youth than a kid.
'Fifteen, right?'
His face still had that boyish softness, but his body was fully grown.
Inside the bustling classroom mid-lesson, he roamed freely, helping struggling trainees.
"He finished the theory courses ages ago. Top scores in sim-based virtual navigation too. If not for his age, we'd have graduated him."
"What's his name again?"
"Jim's his real name. But..."
"Problem?"
"No."
After a moment's thought, Frederick continued.
"Lately, he insists on Hayreddin. Gets upset if you don't use it..."
Calling himself after the great admiral of the Age of Sail.
At that age, the inevitable affliction had struck.
"It's fine. Bring him over—I'd like to see his face."
"Please wait a moment. I'll set up a spot."
Frederick called for Jim.
"Come here, Jim."
Jim checked Frederick's face, brightened even more, and hurried over.
But the name soured his expression instantly.
"It's Hayreddin! Jim the farm boy from the sticks is gone."
Frederick shot me a look that said it all.
But Jim followed his gaze, spotted me, and his eyes went wide.
"Huh!?"
Clapping a hand over his mouth, he yelled,
"Sir Leonardo!? Getting to see the Golden Fleet's radiant captain in person. Wow!"
"...As you can see."
"I get what you're worried about."
"I've been dying to meet you! Every time the principal shared news, my heart raced! I want to sail the vast cosmos with you, smashing insolent Aliens!"
The florid praise was suffocating.
"Your name's Jim?"
"I'm Hayreddin. Forget Jim."
"Alright, Hayreddin."
Whatever the title, fine by me.
His eyes sparkled brighter when I used it.
"I heard you're heading to the Styx Frontline. Take me with you."
"I know you're the top here. Frederick's mentioned you a few times."
"Then...!"
"But you're too young."
"Even so, I can match the principal!"
I shook my head.
"That's good—skill helps. But I can't trust you'd follow strict shipboard regs."
Skill is everything.
True.
But piloting a warship needs one more thing.
Leadership.
Jim might match Frederick's skill, but not his role as chief crew: divvying tasks, coordinating for peak teamwork.
Jim was still a green genius lost in his own talent.
"I can do it."
"Life onboard's got no freedom. At least three years as probationary crew. Taking orders from less skilled folks."
Confidence drained from Jim's face.
"I've got the skills, though..."
"Even skilled ones start at the bottom. If you're okay with that, you're in."
Conflict brewed.
Pride in skill clashed with ambition.
If an outsider this skilled applied, I'd slot them as senior crew age be damned.
But Jim was a prodigy.
To grow into the sharp, astute judge from the original story, he needed bedrock foundations.
I offered the hesitant Jim some honey.
"In return, rack up merits for early promotion. Perform well, evaluations soar. With your talent, it's doable. What do you say?"
"O-Of course!"
Jim nodded vigorously.
I extended a hand.
"Good. Probationary Crewman Hayreddin. Looking forward to it."
"Yes! Me too!"
Handshake done, Jim bolted off.
From his voice, he was already bragging.
"You sure about this?"
Frederick asked worriedly from the side.
His face said he was more concerned for himself.
Jim was only fifteen.
Average grad age here was twenty-two—he was starting seven years early.
I hadn't planned to take him till I saw him, but awakening talent young like this wasn't bad.
Turn him down, and who knows where he'd bolt.
"Of course. He aced the regular courses, right?"
"Still too young."
"That's why you'll keep him close and teach him well."
I hoped Jim would grow exactly as in the original.
Then the Golden Fleet could expand worry-free.