Chapter 54
Chapter 54
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Karayan's Rise and Feint
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Anatoly Don Karayan was born in the year 3000 of the Galactic Era. In his early years, he served as the captain of Marshal Celia's personal guard detachment. After successfully graduating from that post, he took command of the Radiant Legion's Eighth Division and was awarded the rank of major.
Marshal Celia had a unique approach to promoting talent. Anyone he wanted to advance would first serve as his personal guard—though they were called guards, they didn't really do much actual work. They certainly didn't need to be ready at all times to charge forward and act as human shields for the marshal. After all, Celia's own combat ability was strong enough to cover a huge area by himself.
The guards' daily duties mainly involved shadowing the marshal to learn military affairs, command troops in battle, or even accompany him to Alliance Council sessions to listen to those sly old politicians bicker.
After graduating from the marshal's side, they would enter the lower ranks of the Radiant Legion, starting as junior officers. By convention, it wouldn't take them long to rack up enough battle merits for a promotion to mid-level officer—a meteoric rise compared to regular Alliance soldiers.
As guard captain, Karayan had a clear head start over the ordinary guards. Shortly after graduating, he was already hailed as the "second young Celia." Edna and the others remarked that his personality and speech were like they were carved from the same mold as Celia's in his youth. This earned him widespread favor among the Alliance elite, and in just a few years, he jumped two ranks to colonel.
In Celia's own view, Karayan had one major shortcoming: his mental threshold was too low, meaning he could never become a top-tier mech pilot. But he was calm and meticulous in his thinking, with an exceptional grasp of the big picture that ranked among the best in the military—perfect material for a battleship commander.
In the same year he became a colonel, Celia transferred Karayan back to Radiant Legion headquarters, putting him in charge of several small-scale campaigns. He won them all in succession. The following spring, Karayan was promoted to brigadier general and formally appointed as the Radiant Legion's deputy commander, earning universal acclaim in the Alliance as a brilliant and exceptionally strategic talent.
The year Set Heinrich became the marshal's guard captain, Karayan took temporary command in a major campaign for the first time, leading a force of twenty million to thoroughly drive the interstellar separatist forces—the precursors to the Empire—out of the galaxy. This battle cemented Karayan's status as the "second man in the Alliance military." Upon his return, he was promoted to lieutenant general, his prestige soaring to new heights.
For Karayan, nearly everything was going perfectly at the time—except for the two thorns in his side beside Celia: Anders Aaron and Set Heinrich.
Karayan was definitely sharp-tongued and a bit cutting, but on a smart person, those traits never came off as excessive. He had a solid reputation within the Alliance; everyone found him approachable and without airs. He was always cordial with his colleagues.
But with Heinrich and Aaron, they were absolute eyesores, thorns in his flesh—he couldn't rest easy until they were gone.
The day Karayan returned victorious as a newly minted lieutenant general, Marshal Celia personally went to meet him, with Heinrich trailing behind. As Karayan stepped down from the battleship in front of countless politicians and soldiers, his first words were:
"Hey! Pretty boy! You still alive?"
Heinrich: "..."
Afterward, the marshal undoubtedly punished Karayan and soothed Heinrich, but the nickname "pretty boy" spread like wildfire from then on—faster than a rocket.
Incidents like this were countless. However long Heinrich served as guard captain was how long he endured Karayan's jabs. Celia tried to mediate, but with one side deliberately picking fights and the other refusing to back down, in the end, he could only turn a blind eye: Do whatever you want.
So on Heinrich's hate list, Karayan firmly held the top spot—even Yunes had to take a back seat. The emperor had felt a twinge of emotion when the Radiant Legion descended from the skies, but the moment Karayan opened his mouth, that emotion turned to pure rage.
"Karayan! You dare show up with these scraps to die?"
Bi'an's earth-shaking roar boomed out.
"Ninth Fleet, prepare—"
Countless military codes formed streams of orders, broadcasting across the Ninth Fleet's internal comms. This battle-hardened elite unit showed no panic even under surprise attack. Their movements were swift and unstoppable—they rose into the sky almost instantly, merging into a torrent charging at the Radiant Legion!
"Tsk tsk, impressive."
Karayan eyed the countless blips on the main display, drawling lazily.
"Order the whole army to split left and right. Everyone, prepare—"
The acting commander raised his hand.
"—to run!"
This was perhaps the most ridiculous moment in the history of head-on battles. Just as the Ninth Fleet rushed toward the enemy, the Radiant Legion's two hundred warships split left and right in perfect unison, forming two columns that fled at full speed east and west!
They moved faster than shooting stars—even the Empire's vanguard assault teams couldn't catch a single hair of them. Then, the Dark Star Hall warships trailing behind the Radiant Legion were fully exposed, coming face-to-face with the oncoming Empire fleet in the vast sky!
Heinrich: "..."
Yunes: "..."
"Allies! You're on your own!"
Karayan called out sincerely before vanishing over the horizon in an instant.
Utterly shameless! Incredibly despicable! Heinrich wanted to gut Karayan, but the situation left no room to divert his main force in pursuit.
"Flank left and right to chase the Radiant Legion! Main force straight ahead—engage the enemy and concentrate fire on the ghost flagship!"
No sooner had Heinrich spoken than the flanks peeled off toward where the Radiant Legion had vanished—followed by countless light shells exploding in the sky. The Empire's Ninth Fleet and the Dark Star Hall ghost warships had no choice but to clash head-on!
Heinrich spun around, searching everywhere, and unsurprisingly found the Lion Griffin gone without a trace.
Was Gavin the type to sit and wait for death? As soon as the interstellar nukes started flying and everyone else was dodging, he decisively disassembled and condensed the Lion Griffin into a red-gold earring, which he wore, then dashed out amid the aftermath of the nuclear blasts.
The streets were now deserted. Collapsed buildings formed little mountains, and the air—scorching at over 130-140 degrees Fahrenheit—was thick with static that stung like knives across the skin. Gavin gritted his teeth and ran down the main street until he spotted an Empire fighter parked not far away. The pilot was yelling down to comrades on the ground:
"Get up here quick! We're heading out to chase the exiles!"
It was a fighter meant for picking up pilots rescued from crash landings on the battlefield... An audacious idea flashed in Gavin's mind. He grabbed a sharp chunk of rubble.
"My fighter's smashed to bits..."
The crash-landed pilot grumbled as he started climbing the ramp, but suddenly he sniffed the air sensitively.
"Hm? What's that smell?"
Both men turned to look. At the street corner, a raggedly dressed youth was clutching a bleeding arm, peering at them timidly.
"..."
After a long silence of a dozen seconds, the pilot asked incredulously:
"That's an Ome... an Omega?!"
The Imperial Omega Protection Act laid out detailed protocols for handling injured Omegas in various situations. One clause specified that on a battlefield, a non-Imperial Omega should be treated the same as an Imperial one—prioritizing medical care and protection.
Of course, if you could propagandize the Empire's strength and benefits along the way, that was even better. Convincing the Omega to take Imperial citizenship? That was the jackpot, and soldiers got commendations for it.
The two pilots immediately pulled out medical gear. They started off a bit wary, but when they saw how much more scared and alert the Omega was than they were, they relaxed. The redhead even cautiously approached, asking amiably:
"Hey, kid, what's your name?"
Gavin's face was pale, his expression full of wariness as he shrank back into the corner against the wall.
"Don't be scared. We're from the Empire—we're here to beat the bad guys... Your arm's hurt? Does it hurt bad?"
The redhead had rarely encountered Omegas in his life. Mustering his courage, he squatted down and tentatively extended a hand. Perhaps because of his friendly face, a few seconds later, Gavin finally sniffled and cautiously offered his injured arm.
The scent of Omega pheromones made the redhead a little dizzy. He quickly turned and shouted to his buddy:
"Grab the medkit!"
The other pilot stepped away from the fighter, carrying the device over. Credit where due—the Imperials had sharp combat instincts. Both kept their guns at the ready and gave Gavin a thorough once-over before approaching.
"Local kid?"
Gavin trembled, nodding shakily after a moment.
His act must have been too convincing, and in his thin clothes, he clearly couldn't be hiding weapons. The pilot's tone softened.
"No need to be afraid. We'll get you to a shelter... Stick out your hand—let me see. Still hurt? It'll be better in no time..."
The two tended to Gavin's wound with tense care, even healing the scrapes from his earlier scuffle with Heinrich. They had him press a thumbprint on the medkit's log as well. It was a wartime resource-tracking measure—if their superiors later questioned why they hadn't rejoined the unit immediately, they could explain with this.
"We'll take you to the shelter, but after the battle, someone might come pick you up. Wanna apply for Imperial citizenship? Great benefits, top pay... Eh, whatever—after the fight, this place'll be Empire territory anyway."
The redhead stowed the medkit and gestured for Gavin to follow, but the frail Omega wobbled and started to collapse the moment he stood.
"—Watch out!"
The redhead reached to steady him, but suddenly—
*Crack!*
His wrist was snapped in an iron grip.
The redhead blinked in stun. Gavin winked mischievously at him before striking down with his palm, dropping him flat!
"What happened? Stand down!"
His partner whipped around at the noise, too late to intervene. Gavin lightning-fast snatched the particle gun from the redhead's body, didn't even flick off the safety, and hurled it spinning!
With a dull *thunk*, the partner dropped without even a scream, same as the redhead—the heavy gun butt nearly caved his skull in.
"Poor guys,"
Gavin patted his face sympathetically.
The redhead was still dazed when Gavin swung the gun barrel and smashed him quiet. Gavin dragged both to a hidden street corner, making sure even Dark Star Hall patrols would miss them, then climbed aboard the fighter.
"Lion Griffin? You okay, Lion Griffin?"
"...Abusing your mech..."
Gavin called several times before hearing Lion Griffin's weak voice.
"You're way too much—you actually treat an innocent, pitiful little mech like this..."
"Aren't I getting you fuel?"
Gavin unlocked the fighter, rummaged for tools, and climbed under the ramp to expertly dismantle the fuel cell. Though the fighter's fuel purity was far below a mech's, it would do in a pinch. Lion Griffin finally managed to revert from earring to optical computer.
"Half a year... Finally got some fuel oil again. I'm the most pitiful mech in the world..."
Lion Griffin wailed tearfully.
"Give me some blood, quick! I can't wait anymore!"
Gavin twitched as he sliced his wrist, draining a hundred milliliters for it.
An S-grade mech's power came from two sources: high-purity fuel oil and neural fluid. Normally, fuel oil was easy to get, but neural fluid was rare and precious—extracted from the pilot's brain.
Lion Griffin had long noticed Gavin was different from others. Not just his brain—his entire body's fluids contained substances that could make neural fluid. To a high-end mech, Gavin was an untapped gold mine. The problem? He had neural fluid but no fuel oil—using neural fluid alone as fuel was insanely wasteful, like tossing gold bars when you could buy it for pocket change!
Sure, the gold mine was inexhaustible, but you couldn't keep hacking off gold bars forever. Bi'an could stretch a bit of neural fluid with fuel oil for half a month; Lion Griffin had painstakingly saved a whole barrel, only for it to burn up in one fight!
"For prepping fuel oil for me, I won't tell General Aaron you prostituted yourself to seduce those pilots."
Lion Griffin, stuffed and content, grumbled.
"And when are you planning to go back and marry Aaron? The emperor's great but no good match. Once you enter the duke's mansion, it's deeper than the sea—your beauty fades before the royal favor does—"
"Stop! What are you babbling about?"
"I'm just saying the truth! What's wrong with Aaron? Power, money, status—huge equipment, great in bed, killer body. Universe-famous diamond bachelor! Last time A&J Entertainment offered big bucks for him to star in a porn flick... Heh heh, our General Aaron nearly conquered the entertainment industry..."
Gavin's mouth twitched. After a moment, he said awkwardly:
"I don't see anything proud about that kind of 'conquest.'"
Gavin climbed back into the fighter cockpit along the ramp, buckled in, and pondered his next move. Lion Griffin's optical computer floated around him, nattering on about how if Aaron had taken that porn gig, those now-red-hot third-tier male models would've been nothing compared to him—why didn't the emperor let active-duty officers do porn...
Gavin wanted to grab and stomp it flat. As he reached out, a voice suddenly crackled from the fighter's comms:
"Ninth Fleet port flank Squadron A, stand by! Ninth Fleet port flank Squadron A, stand by! Vanguard has confirmed target location—coordinates sending to all terminals. Proceed to target immediately! Repeat: Prepare for level-one combat, depart for target now!"
The nav system auto-set. Gavin stared at the blinking dot, suddenly recalling this fighter was meant to chase the exiles.
The Alliance exiles who had revived him on Red Soil Star, then vanished without a trace...
Gavin made his decision in an instant.