Chapter 66
Chapter 66
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: Revelations on Golden Water
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Three days later, on Andromeda's Golden Water Planet, the Radiant Legion slowly descended onto the massive landing pad.
Karyan led a group of adjutants off the bridge, with the expressionless "Experimental Subject GTX0012" trailing at his left. The crisp Alliance uniform neatly concealed the major general's figure—no one knew his calves were trembling nonstop beneath the military trousers.
Parliament representative Telva and Military Department representative General Abel were surrounded by attendants waiting at the foot of the bridge. The moment Karyan appeared, both men's expressions changed:
"A splendid victory, Major General Karyan!"
Representative Telva stepped forward enthusiastically yet with restraint, seizing Karyan's hand and pumping it vigorously.
"You've had a hard journey. Parliament will remember your contributions and achievements!"
Karyan forced a twisted smile, glancing shakily at General Abel.
"You're too kind..."
Abel's eyes flashed with menace, but he said nothing.
Telva paid it no mind.
"So this is Experimental Subject GTX0012? Why hasn't the gene stabilizer been administered yet? Must have been a rushed return trip. If the Military Department lacks manpower, I can have the research institute assist—they've always been very interested in experimental subjects..."
"No need, Representative." Abel finally spoke, his voice low and rumbling.
"The Military Department has it handled."
The two powerhouses locked eyes at last, sparks flying between them.
Karyan imperceptibly stepped back half a pace.
"In that case, I'll await your good news in Parliament."
A moment later, Telva said coldly, turning on his heel and striding toward his private shuttle.
The tension on the pad eased in an instant. Karyan let out a breath of relief—but today, escape was not in the cards. Telva hadn't gone far when Abel suddenly charged like a black bear, slapping Karyan across the face!
*Slap!*
Karyan hit the ground hard. Amid the daze, he heard Abel roar:
"Why didn't you take Fortress Star? Cowardly piece of trash! One more push and you could've wiped out the Empire's Ninth Fleet! Trash—you've ruined everything!"
Telva stumbled nearby, on the verge of rushing back for a reckoning, but his aides held him fast. Moments later, he boarded his shuttle in sullen defeat.
Karyan sat on the ground, head spinning, until his trembling adjutants helped him up. Abel's fury wasn't spent. His nearly two-meter frame loomed like an enraged black bear as he jabbed a finger at Karyan and bellowed:
"I'm talking about you too!"
Karyan's eyes spun in circles. Feebly, he replied:
"Yes... yes, you're right..."
"Why do you always pull back when Parliament drags its feet? Have you no spine as soldiers? What if you'd charged ahead? Take Fortress Star—would Parliament execute you upon return?!"
"Even if they tried, the Military Department would stand in front! Do you think we'd let them execute you?! Cowards! Selfish cowards! Those old foxes obsessed with high positions and fat salaries..."
General Abel spat as he ranted, drenching the surrounding adjutants. Karyan barely shielded his face, wearing an expression of utter misery. Only when Abel's spittle ran dry did he wipe his face with his sleeve and manage a bitter smile.
"You're right in theory, but capturing it just means handing it over anyway—either to the Empire or Dark Star Hall..."
Abel fell silent at once, reduced to dissatisfied grunts. His gaze wandered, landing on Gavin standing rigidly not far away.
"This is the experimental subject from Fortress Star? That thing Parliament's old fossils cooked up?"
Abel strode forward, eyeing Gavin with utter disgust before yanking his hair. Karyan caught sight and sensed trouble.
"Hey, wait—"
Before the words left his mouth, disaster struck. Abel instinctively raised his fan-like hand and swung down without thinking.
"This thing is disgusting!"
*—Slap!*
The massive palm halted firm ten centimeters from Gavin's head. Abel stared in shock as the "experimental subject" gazed at him coldly, a familiar icy glint in his eyes:
"Gentlemen use words, not fists. Didn't your mother teach you that as a kid?"
A thunderous thud followed. Abel's bearish bulk staggered back two steps before crashing butt-first to the ground!
"This... this... this isn't... this..."
Ten thousand galloping curses thundered through Abel's mind. He was utterly dumbfounded.
"What is this?!"
Karyan wore a ghastly expression. Only after a long pause did he lower his hand from his face.
"This is the failed experimental subject from Red Earth Star. The one from Fortress Star got tossed out of the ship by this one."
"But didn't this one go to White Heron Star?! Wasn't it missing from the Royal Military Academy?!"
"I don't know how he ended up on Fortress Star..."
"Why don't you know? Why did this one toss that one out of the ship? What do you mean 'this one tossed that one'? Parliament wants that experimental subject—"
Abel froze. Then his pupils contracted as he stared at Gavin in disbelief.
Karyan sighed inwardly.
"You sure you want to discuss this here, General?"
The bearish general snapped awake at last. With a gaze mixing shock, reverence, and doubt fixed on Gavin, he scrambled up and staggered back toward the shuttle.
"...And that's how it happened. Then we came back to Golden Water together."
Twenty minutes later, in the shuttle's rear cabin, Karyan ended his account with a helpless shrug.
Karyan and Abel crammed into the narrow front seats. Behind them stretched plush leather benches where Gavin lounged by the window, gazing out as if oblivious to the men's hushed talk.
Abel peeked over the seatback, glanced quickly, then whipped back around. His face twitched from excessive rigidity.
"Karyan, you have to answer one question honestly."
"...Yes."
"If he's really the experimental subject from Red Earth Star, why do you call him a failure?"
Karyan's heart skipped, but his face remained impassive.
"You think he's Marshal Celia? Impossible. Soul refraction theory projects the mind's frequency waves intact—no damage to memory. Blank memories mean the soul wasn't fully refracted, or it was just a fake mirror image. Whoever wakes up in that case is merely a copy."
Abel's bell-like eyes bored into him. After a long pause:
"Could it be possible..."
"Impossible. Fifty years of failure—think it'll suddenly succeed now?"
Abel went quiet, frowning at his hands on his knees. Much later, hesitantly:
"I've heard a rumor—don't know if it's true. They say soul refraction fails because Parliament tampered with the marshal's memories, mismatching the frequency waves... If the marshal ever wakes, it means the waves matched. Then whoever wakes would be—"
Abel paused.
"It's not just Parliament that needs Marshal Celia—the Military Department does too. You and I know the state we're in: morale shattered,人心 scattered. Major General Mo Wenzhong's j□j movement last year yielded nothing. Of course, our dozens of generals can keep things running day-to-day. But with or without that pillar... it's different."
Karyan's gaze darkened. He licked his lips before replying:
"But you can't force it to be real just because we need it, General."
"We can prove if it's real!"
Abel waved irritably, nearly clipping Karyan's nose.
"The key now is we need that man. Understand? The one on Fortress Star lacked independent thought. This one runs, jumps, mouths off at Parliament. How can we let him go?"
Karyan fell silent. Abel knew he was unhappy and unusually coaxed:
"I get it—you and the others were close to the marshal. You don't want this... failure or true body... dragged into this mess. But if it really is the marshal alive again, what would he choose? Stand by while the Alliance rots, or fly off? The marshal lived for the Alliance—it was his life. Where does your selfishness put his own will?"
"It's just a failure."
Karyan said coldly.
"You—"
Abel swallowed his retort, rolling his eyes and slapping the armrest.
"Bottom line: failure or not, we need him now! You make sure he gets the gene serum. Then we'll hold a press conference announcing the marshal's return!"
Karyan opened his mouth, but Abel stormed out to smoke on deck.
Abel stood before the deck lounge, exhaling a deep plume of white smoke.
Real tobacco prices these days were beyond imagination. Maybe some Empire nobles could afford it, but most used cheap electronic smokes. Youths favored electronic hallucinogens and aphrodisiacs—banned on ancient Earth, now dependency-free and wildly popular.
In Celia's day, top Military officials snuck electronic cigs in hiding. Just fifty years later, bizarre fads exploded. Without the mid-level generals' crackdown on soft drugs last year, who knows how rotten the rank-and-file would've become...
Abel sighed, tossing the butt to a cleaning bot. He turned to return and grill Karyan—then froze.
"You—"
Gavin stood at the lounge's far end, quietly watching the plains whip by below.
The shuttle hurtled toward Golden Water's capital. In the distance, sunset sank behind mountains, golden-red afterglow stretching a thousand-mile ribbon, all mirrored in Gavin's serene eyes. The sight was breathtaking. Abel stared half-stunned before blurting:
"You—"
Gavin turned to him.
In the empty lounge, their gazes met. After a long moment, Abel spoke, voice uncertain:
"—Do you remember me?"
Gavin looked away indifferently.
"Not clearly."
"No—wait, you have some impression?"
"Not sure."
"But Karyan said you have no memories at all?!"
"Clearly, he didn't tell the full truth."
Abel gaped at Gavin, expression a mix of shock and surprise, at a loss for words. Moments later, Gavin glanced at him via the glass, as if searching his mind:
"—You're Lev Abel, overall commander of the Alliance's Eighth Legion. After the Dark Star Hall battle, you burst into the marshal's office armed, defending Karyan's unauthorized actions... and dumped a pot of hot tea over me. That's all I recall. I'm curious too—how'd that end? Fine or jail?"
"...Fined five thousand Alliance credits for improper conduct."
Abel murmured.
"My god, who are you?"
Karyan had emerged from the rear cabin unnoticed, leaning at the lounge door with a complicated look. Gavin stayed calm.
"I don't know. But without my memories, the past holds no meaning."
Abel shook his head, breathing raggedly as he sized up the Omega youth with Celia's face, struggling to accept it. At last, he clenched his jaw, resolute.
"Real marshal or not, you must become the marshal. The Alliance needs you—even as a figurehead with no real power. That's what we need most now."
"What if I say no?"
"...What do you mean?"
Gavin crossed his arms, leaning against the glow-drenched floor-to-ceiling glass. One cheek vanished in shadow; Abel saw only a mocking curl at his lips.
"—What is the Alliance?"
"The Alliance is..."
"The Alliance is a regime: hawks, doves, and neutrals forming its political parties. The Alliance's full name is the Galactic and Partial Extragalactic Alliance Republic, comprising 5,720 governing provinces and 17,646 Alliance planets. At its peak, its population hit 24.68 trillion. Now tell me—do those people represent the Alliance?"
Abel faltered.
"They... do, I guess..."
"Then you say the Alliance needs me."
Gavin's lips quirked up.
"Do they need me?"
Abel froze.
"These people could live in the Alliance or the Empire—and at this stage, the Empire might be happier. As for your 'Alliance,' it's really Parliament—or more broadly, the regime. It's just something replaceable anytime. What matters is what it represents: something more ethereal, intangible."
Gavin paused.
"—The Alliance spirit."
Karyan seemed to grasp it, but Abel stood呆呆.
"Parliament secures the people's immediate freedoms; the Alliance spirit secures their eternal ones. The former needs no 'spiritual representative.' The latter needs a facade to mask their un-Alliance essence—so you revived me."
Gavin's smile deepened. Abel shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, stammering after a beat:
"So you mean you don't want to..."
"That's not what he means."
Karyan said gravely.
Abel shot Gavin a pleading look.
"After waking on Red Earth Star..."
Gavin said casually,
"...due to some mishaps, I ended up at White Heron Star's Royal Military Academy, where I recovered some memories."
Abel had dismissed Parliament's report as Konsetlin family trickery; now knowing it true, he was stunned.
"Then from White Heron to Fortress Star, Fortress Star to here—every step was fate's coincidences. Nothing was ever my conscious choice. But not seeking 'why was I created' doesn't mean I don't want to know."
"I want to know who I was, what dreams I held, what faith made me embrace death. What right things I did, if wrongs can be undone, if missed chances can be mended. For those answers, I'll cooperate—not for Parliament's so-called needs."
Abel took a moment to process, then protested:
"But Marshal Celia never pursued anything for himself. Everything was for the Alliance—it was his life—"
Karyan moved to argue, but Gavin cut in:
"No, Celia wasn't that noble."
Abel felt wronged, but Gavin continued coldly:
"He died for personal faith alone. No debts owed him, nothing admirable."
In the end, Karyan's objections failed. Upon reaching Golden Water's capital, Abel's men took Gavin for the gene evolution serum injection.
The first shot took minutes, but the ongoing infusions and corrections were a long, grueling ordeal. It compressed Gavin's White Heron changes into seventy-two hours: bones elongated, cell division accelerated, secondary sex traits forcibly matured to ancient Earth's twenty-four-to-twenty-six-year-old peak.
That era marked peak male vitality—Celia's public image stayed there throughout his two centuries-plus as marshal.
For optimal optics, both Parliament and Military agreed the current "marshal" must appear that age. Luckily, Gavin's body was near-adult; corrections were minimal, the searing growth pains lasting just three days.
He was confined to a sealed lab to prevent gene contamination—even Karyan couldn't visit. Good thing for Gavin, per Gryphon's later description: the incomplete corrections made him look bizarre. "First two days, your left hand was five centimeters longer than your right, and one eye bigger than the other hahahaha—!!"
On the fourth morning, Gavin jolted awake from a sweat-soaked bed. The blistering heat and aches that plagued seventy-two hours were gone. He flexed his fingers—weak, but normal post-exhaustion recovery.
"—It's done."
Gryphon confirmed, bobbing like a plump orb in midair.
"Come take a look."
Gavin tentatively touched the floor, stepped forward, then approached the glass mirror.
It reflected a stern young man: deep black hair, pale skin, lean yet ramrod-straight build—from shoulders to waist to legs, exuding habitual rigor.
His features were sharply etched, nose straight, lips thin and pressed, jaw-to-neck line sleek and precise. His face held refined austerity—inhumanly aloof, the mark of iron will, hard to sway.
—This was Celia.
The Alliance commander adored by trillions of troops, who dominated the military for centuries: Gavin Celia.