Chapter 105
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: High Spirits Come and Go
The Empire's mech squad arrived brimming with heroic fervor and blazing passion—then left exactly the same way.
Why?
Because the emperor was heading to the Alliance for a stroll with Marshal Celia. Like most ordinary folks across the galaxy, these guys were still stuck in the era when "Marshal Celia is a Beta" was common knowledge. And the emperor? A hopeless bachelor who hadn't found an Omega in fifty years. Now, the two of them were embarking on a rare joint outing after a century, and it instantly sparked hope in these people for solving the Empire's biggest chronic headache!
At the same moment, in the New Kremlin Palace's grand hall—
"Reporting to Major General Isaac: Imperial Mech Squadron 876587 is about to return to base. His Majesty has gone to the Alliance with Marshal Celia." A lieutenant colonel from Military Intelligence snapped a crisp salute and continued, "His Majesty said it was Marshal Celia who personally invited him, and the Bian and Gryphon are escorting them. He asks all the generals and the Alliance delegation to keep discussing the joint military operations!"
"..."
Isaac's mouth twitched. After a long pause, he asked, "When is His Majesty coming back?"
"No idea! But His Majesty said all the generals can rest assured!"
Isaac: "..."
Aaron: "............"
Karyan: ".............."
The room fell into dead silence as ten thousand stampeding alpacas thundered through the conference room in their minds.
Ten minutes later, aboard the Gryphon in spaceship form.
Heinrich lazily cut off the comms. General Aaron's spittle-flying tirade vanished from the screen—in its final second, the Gryphon orb shot forward like it had spotted family, eyes brimming with tears and overflowing emotion as it cried, "When are you gonna find an Omega, you idiot—!!"
So the last frame froze on Aaron rearing back his communicator to smash it down.
Heinrich sneered and turned around. There sat Celia at an ornate metal tea table, cradling a cup of coffee while intently reading a novel. His own communicator lay quietly beside him, showing no sign of ringing.
A vague, inexplicable jealousy bubbled up from the emperor's heart. "Why didn't anyone from the Alliance call to chew you out?!"
"Because our management styles differ." Celia turned a page without looking up. "Of course... it might also be because I have no mother."
·
The crimson-gold spaceship drifted silently through space, with the vast, majestic Andromeda Galaxy looming ahead—grander even than the Milky Way itself.
Given that the emperor had tagged along at the last minute without a ticket or supplies, Marshal Celia declared he wasn't about to keep a pretty boy. Want food? Earn it.
Luckily, the trip to Void Star had already trained the emperor into a household whiz. Laundry, cooking, floor scrubbing—he handled it all, even making the bed without complaint. The Alpha male's superior physique shone here: the housekeeping bot needed minutes to cool after mopping the entire ship before tackling laundry, or its power system would overheat and fry. With the emperor? No such issue.
Celia marveled at the VIP treatment, lounging with tea in his downtime and munching handmade goat-milk cookies topped with the Empire's ornate golden imperial dragon emblem. The first time, he held one up to the light, inspecting it for ages. He had to admit, shaping dough like that proved Heinrich's manual dexterity was extraordinary—a true genius at mech micro-control. But after choking down two while pinching his nose, he decided plain, dry military rations were preferable.
That night, the emperor asked eagerly, "How're the goat-milk cookies?"
Celia pondered, then affirmed, "Beyond imagination!"
Delighted, the emperor headed back to the kitchen. Minutes later, he poked his head out, puzzled. "Beyond imagination how, exactly? Good or what?"
"..."
The guy wasn't easy to fool. Celia stared at a cookie in silence, then his mental lightbulb flashed. "—Exquisitely perfect!"
Satisfied, the emperor retreated, oblivious to the artful dodge.
Such exchanges happened with everything the emperor made, making the journey equally grueling for both. They finally endured three full days and multiple jumps, bringing Andromeda's immense galaxy into clear view.
Though Celia wouldn't spill every Alliance detail to an enemy emperor—despite their nations no longer being pure foes—Heinrich pieced together most events from Celia's stray remarks and his own deductions.
Dark Star Hall had anticipated an Alliance-Empire alliance from the start of their Empire invasion, so Yunes had long stationed trusted subordinate Conrad near Goldwater to monitor Alliance brass. When word of smooth New Kremlin talks spread, high-ranking warrior Conrad deemed the moment ripe. He emerged from hiding, landed on Goldwater, and demanded renewed joint assault on the Empire.
It wasn't surprising. Even before Celia's revival, during the Konseltin family's rule, Dark Star Hall had plotted with the Alliance to hit the Empire's Ophiuchus Sector. Celia's stunt in Goldwater's grand hall had derailed that, pulling the Alliance to the Empire's side—but it hadn't erased Yunes's designs on them or Celia himself.
High warrior Conrad arrived on Goldwater with so-called "sincerity pledges," half-tricking and half-bullying Speaker Makas into agreeing, even dragging the long-defunct Alliance parliament back for a vote. But things didn't go smoothly. Makas was spineless and persuadable, sure, but a famed pacifist whose dream was whisking the Alliance far from the Milky Way for unchallenged, isolationist rule. Celia's war with the Empire's joint forces already had him fuming in impotent rage—let alone Dark Star Hall's insincere demand to send troops right away?
Makas's foot-dragging was so blatant that Conrad lost his temper. Dark Star warriors promptly dispatched a crack mini-fleet to Goldwater's doorstep, blaring: "If parliament can't avenge the First Galactic War's shame, we'll purge these weak, useless parasites for the Alliance!"
The crisis escalated. Speaker Makas panicked instantly. His first instinct: compromise with Conrad, hastily accepting Dark Star Hall's outrageous terms. But before he could act, someone objected—mid-level parliamentarian Fabian Beckenfel.
Beckenfel hailed from a senior officer family and even attended military academy as a youth, but fearing the rigors, he faked an injury for early discharge, then leveraged connections into government for a political career. By all accounts, just another mediocre opportunist. Yet deep down, he harbored a subtle fondness for the military and little patience for parliament's upper-crust chaos.
Celia hadn't noticed him during the purge; decades in politics yielded no standout feats—just steady climbs, petty graft, paperwork drudgery. Nothing exceptional or heinous. Like most mid-tier reps, he was booted from office and sent home—until warrior Conrad forcibly reconvened parliament for the vote, yanking him back in.
Unexpectedly, this overlooked mid-level rep couldn't stomach Makas's capitulation. "Agreeing to Conrad means declaring war on the Empire now—what about our delegation in New Kremlin?"
Makas's deepest fear, one he'd dodged all along. "We can send word for them to return..."
"How? They're the Empire's top prizes—prime hostages. Forcing them out sparks bloody clashes!"
"Soldiers are meant to bleed for the nation..."
"Then if blood must flow, why not hold out a bit longer? Until they slip away peacefully under 'aid to homeworld' pretext, return, and help us repel Conrad?" Beckenfel refused to yield, even raising his voice slightly. "All we need is time—days at least, weeks at most. Once the marshals and legion commanders in New Kremlin get word and rush back, the Empire alliance stays intact, and Dark Star Hall's threats dissolve!"
Fabian Beckenfel stood, sweeping the chamber with uncharacteristic aggression. "Think, gentlemen: what if the delegation's marshals and commanders fall to the Empire? What if the public learns? We'd be traitors—gold and spin can't erase this cowardice and shame! We're at history's pivot—days will decide our nation's fate!"
Silence gripped the room; most reeled from his sharp, blunt, naked words. Even Speaker Makas gaped speechlessly, feebly muttering, "I'm thinking of the nation's future too..."
But it was no fig leaf. Everyone sat in prolonged hush.
Under Beckenfel's push, mid- and low-tier reps swung toward holding firm. Surrender vs. resist polarized evenly, while purple-robed grand reps opted for cautious silence. Laughable by Empire standards—more proof of Alliance parliamentary weakness—but at this crux, it bought crucial delay.
From another angle, this was democracy's edge: if Makas wielded absolute power like Emperor Heinrich, ten Beckenfels wouldn't matter. Nor would public pressure surface as a holdouts' weapon against him.
Facts proved far-roaming Celia didn't betray Beckenfel's hope—
Day one in Andromeda: the legion commander—with an emperor in tow—rallied over a hundred warships from dozens of space stations, massing tens of thousands of troops, and launched a bold strike on Goldwater!