Chapter 63
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: The Sharpened Blade
In the spring of Galactic Year 3148, the Alliance mobilized a million troops and boldly marched on Dark Star Hall.
The following year, Dark Star Hall suffered a crushing defeat and was sealed away into the vast expanse of five-dimensional space.
After the annihilation of Dark Star Hall, the galaxy truly entered an era of peace. Not only the Alliance, but even the hundreds of small nations surrounding it saw no wars whatsoever. Celia led his forces back to Blueshine Star, where he promoted the greatest contributor of the campaign, Karyan, to the rank of lieutenant general, and elevated a large batch of meritorious officers.
This was a blatant political signal—the senior officers who had fallen in that anti-corruption storm years ago were mostly still locked up, and the vacated positions had yet to be filled. In this round of promotions, Celia naturally placed his trusted subordinates in key roles, effectively placing the military firmly under his control.
There was nothing unreasonable about it. The military wasn't a parliament; it didn't need excessive democracy. If the military were riddled with factions, it would spell disaster for the nation. As the old saying goes, military power follows political power. In Celia's view, the army should be a blade in the hands of parliament—who ever heard of a blade having a mind of its own? It went wherever it was pointed from above.
That's why later historians praised Celia's decisiveness: before the higher-ups even gave the word, he had cleanly sharpened his blade, honed it to a razor's edge, and handed it over.
—The problem lay in the handing over.
At that time, parliament was far from equipped to command the military. If the military had matured into a well-oiled machine under Celia's decades of iron-fisted discipline, then parliament was an utter mess.
This was Celia's tragedy—he was born to be a war god. Though his growth path had some deviations, it had largely met expectations. Now he had ascended to godhood, but parliament hadn't evolved to the point where it could wield this war god freely. Political power was too weak before military might, unable to stand tall and speak its mind.
It wasn't as if the military could turn around and suppress parliament—in the Alliance's environment at the time, that was utterly impossible. The most likely outcome was that the military, as a mature adult, would have to obey parliament, that confused, edgy teenager. Anyone with eyes could see that disaster loomed.
With no other choice, Celia adjusted his role—he entered parliament.
Later historians had an amusing theory: if Heinrich had possessed Celia's military acumen, the Gemini Empire would have driven the Alliance out of the galaxy eight hundred years earlier; but if Celia had Heinrich's political genius, the Gemini Empire never would have existed in the first place.
Heinrich's political genius was strikingly evident, something Celia had noticed soon after they met. Perhaps bitten once by a snake and wary of ropes for ten years, Celia didn't much like Heinrich. Instead, Anders Aaron, who was slightly inferior in every aspect, found more favor with him.
Celia was a Beta, but in terms of ability, he was a Beta who towered over Alphas. Most Alpha pheromones could awaken a Beta's subconscious instinct to submit due to their unique hormonal effects, but they had zero impact on Celia. He thrived in the testosterone-charged environment of the military, where the vast majority of Alphas were actually suppressed by him.
That's why no one ever doubted his true gender. Phrases like "The Marshal is an Alpha among Alphas" were deeply ingrained. If not for Heinrich, Celia might never have felt the power of Alpha pheromones in his lifetime.
It happened not long after Heinrich became his guard, on a pleasant, sunny afternoon. Celia was in his office handling military reports when bursts of clamor drifted in from the half-open window. He rose to look and saw the guards gathered on the lawn, taking turns riding the unicorn.
The unicorn was a gift from the leader of a neighboring small nation—gifts these days had to follow protocol. Anything worth over five thousand Alliance credits had to be surrendered. So people got clever with dignified loopholes. Take this unicorn: it was a rare specialty of that nation, with fewer than a hundred exported annually. A mare of such pure bloodline and beauty was priceless, yet worthless as mere livestock. At worst, it was just a pet for the Marshal, and Celia couldn't very well turn it in.
The guards adored it and took it out for rides daily. Under the sunlight, the unicorn gleamed like it was plated in white gold, its silky snow-white mane fluttering in the wind. The crowd ringed the lawn, shouting and cheering:
“Aaron, get down!”
“Come on, Aaron, down!”
“It's my turn, my turn—!”
Then someone spotted Celia leaning by the window with his tea and yelled,
“Marshal, come join us for a ride!”
Celia took a sip of tea and waved them off with a smile.
“Come on down!”
The group of mischief-loving young guards immediately clamored:
“The weather's perfect!”
“Rare chance to get some fresh air!”
“Yeah, yeah!”
Even Lieutenant General Karyan sneaked into the mix:
“You won't fall, Marshal! Don't be scared!”
Celia chuckled. Moments later, he came downstairs and asked,
“You're tormenting it again?”
Aaron reined in the unicorn, which neighed and halted before Celia, docilely nuzzling his hand with its nose. Aaron dismounted with a laugh:
“This beast grows faster if you let it run! Marshal, take a couple laps?”
It had indeed grown fast—when it first arrived, Celia could step up easily, but now a quick glance showed that wasn't happening. Celia stepped back half a pace, gesturing at his height with a smile:
“This is a challenge.”
The Marshal's height was only average; he couldn't compare to these towering guards. He didn't shy from it, and his close guards knew his temperament, so they burst into laughter, teasing and jeering as they turned to fetch a mounting block.
The newer guards, however, were tense—especially Aaron, who had started it all, now awkward:
“Marshal...”
“Hm?”
Celia replied absentmindedly.
The group exchanged glances. Heinrich, standing just behind the Marshal, hesitated, then reached out tentatively, wrapping an arm around Celia's waist. With a swift hoist, he lifted him effortlessly onto the saddle!
Celia: “......!”
Celia barely had time to react before his nose brushed the young guard's neck: fresh from the ride, the sweat carried a rich Alpha hormone scent, thick and domineering, flooding his brain through his nostrils.
In that instant, every nerve in Celia's body went taut, alarms blaring in his mind—threat!
A thorough, utter threat!
Celia gripped the reins, his icy gaze meeting Heinrich's for a split second before darting away.
Perhaps the wariness and hostility in his eyes were too obvious; the young, robust guard froze.
The surrounding clamor faded in a heartbeat, the air turning deathly still. The world narrowed to just the two of them, staring across the distance. Then Celia turned away sharply and snapped the reins—
“Yah—!”
The unicorn reared with a long whinny and shot off like an arrow.
After that incident, Heinrich worried for a long time, but the Marshal's attitude toward him didn't change a bit.
Celia's fondness for his subordinates varied, but on the surface, there was no favoritism. Heinrich continued serving steadily as his guard, reporting for duty on time, saluting smartly when seeing the Marshal, who would nod politely in return.
If not for that one unforgettable moment, Heinrich might have convinced himself the look had been an illusion.
—Yet surface calm didn't last long. A Beta who lorded over countless Alphas and an unprecedentedly powerful Alpha were like natural enemies, doomed not to get along for long.
The year Heinrich became captain of the guard detail, Celia was dispatched to Borg Star to negotiate the joint construction of an interstellar fortress.
The talks involved sensitive secrets; only a few Alliance brass were present, with other attendants waiting outside. After the meeting, the hosts threw a banquet for Marshal Celia. Heinrich and the security team waited at the banquet hall door until late into the night when suddenly the doors burst open with a bang. Celia stormed out, face dark.
The guards jumped up; Heinrich hurried forward:
“Marshal...”
But as the words left his mouth, he noticed Celia's faint anger, flushed cheeks, eyes gleaming like they held water. He ignored them all, grabbing Heinrich's outstretched hand for support as he headed to the shuttle below the steps.
The Borg foreign minister rushed out in a panic, about to speak, but glanced at the guards and swallowed his words:
“Marshal, please wait. Perhaps next time...”
Celia didn't turn, diving into the shuttle and slamming the hatch shut with a whoosh!
The foreign minister's face cycled through shades of blue and red, clearly humiliated. Heinrich glanced back, then turned fearfully:
“Marshal—”
“Turn off the lights.”
Heinrich hesitated, then switched off the cabin lights.
Now alone in the cabin, the silence was so profound even breaths were audible. Heinrich didn't dare make a sound. Celia huddled deep in the back seat, his profile handsome yet strained, cold sweat beading at his temples, brows furrowed tightly as if fighting something desperately.
What had happened?
Peering through the porthole, Heinrich saw the Alliance generals emerging from the hall, all wearing angry expressions. The foreign minister tried to speak, but they brushed him off curtly and hurried away.
...Had something gone wrong at the banquet...? As Heinrich wondered, Celia suddenly asked in surprise,
“Why are you still here?”
“Huh—um?”
“Why are you still here?”
“...”
Heinrich stared blankly, utterly baffled. After a long moment, Celia waved him off sharply:
“Get out for a bit!”
Heinrich, like a large dog scolded for no reason, stood puzzled, then noticed Celia trembling faintly!
In the dimness, it was well-hidden: eyes faintly wet, lips swollen, sideburns soaked with sweat, a unnatural flush from face to neck. At first glance, it looked like illness, but Heinrich's heart jolted—this was heat!
An Alpha's passive rut triggered by an Omega's heat pheromones!
Heinrich instantly pieced it together: what had happened at the banquet, why Celia was so furious, why everyone left embarrassed—the Borg delegation must have prepared some "special gifts," most likely Omegas in full heat!
“Out...” Celia gasped, his tone trembling uncontrollably,
“Out!”
Heinrich hesitated, then leaned in softly:
“Marshal, you might need...”
But Celia shook harder, his voice even sharpening:
“Get out now!”
In that moment, Heinrich was at a loss.
Out? No, an Alpha's rut was hard to stop or soothe. Even without claiming the triggering Omega right away, he should take suppressants quickly. Heinrich had never seen Celia in heat before. If he hadn't relieved himself in a long time, forcing it down now could cause severe physiological damage, possibly requiring treatment back at the Alliance.
Heinrich backed toward the hatch, clinging to one last hope:
“Shall I get your meds? The team doctor should have—”
“No!”
“Then find the Borg foreign minister. Holding out like this will—”
“I said no!”
Celia gasped sharply, clutching the front seatback so hard veins bulged on his hands.
At that moment, his face angled toward the porthole, dim light tracing his agonized profile. Heinrich's eyelids twitched—he sensed something off...
What was off?
The overly flushed cheeks, or the excessively ragged breaths?
Heinrich's eyes widened slowly—Celia in heat didn't look much like an Alpha; if anything, he resembled... an Omega!
“Set Heinrich!” Celia's voice quivered as he enunciated,
“I'll count to three. If you're not out immediately, it'll be treated as disobeying orders. One—two—”
With a loud clang, Heinrich bolted from the cabin, stumbling away in panic.
That was the first time Heinrich saw Celia's vulnerable side.
At the time, he was filled with confusion, wondering repeatedly if he'd misread something to provoke such fury. Only later, when Celia admitted he was a Beta, did he understand that midnight shuttle scene.
Most Betas couldn't sense A or O pheromones, but a tiny fraction could be affected by an Omega in heat, experiencing pseudo-heat.
In the early stages of pseudo-heat, if a particularly dominant, robust Alpha nearby used pheromones to suppress it, the Beta might shift into craving possession like an Omega. But this was exceedingly rare—fewer than twenty cases out of a hundred developed this way. Most resolved with a cold shower.
For Betas, this was a profound humiliation, especially for one like Celia who had long suppressed countless Alphas in the military—it was utterly intolerable. In a sense, though the Omega pheromones had induced his heat, what truly made him crave marking and possession was Heinrich, a subordinate he deeply distrusted.
His centuries unchallenged authority and dignity had, from that moment, been profoundly threatened by a young guard.