Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: The Marshal's Return
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The next evening, at the Alliance Parliament's Aerial Grand Hall.
The massive hall, spanning dozens of square kilometers, hung in the air like a rainbow, supported at both ends by towering ring-shaped elevators that reached to the heavens. The entire structure was composed of countless cloud brocade crystals, which reflected dazzling lights from different angles as the sun dipped below the horizon, resembling a divine bridge spanning the sky from myth.
Several warships hovered above the hall, while over a hundred Dark Star Hall dragon riders circled the building relentlessly. Small shuttles carrying dignitaries and media streamed in like flocks of birds, entering through the entrance and ascending via elevators to the indoor landing pads beneath the hall.
Inside the grand hall, the air was thick with perfume, shadowed glances, and a cacophony of voices. Nearly every diplomatic delegation from non-Empire factions, star systems, and nations had arrived—and upon closer inspection, a few Empire notables were mixed in, keeping an extremely low profile in the corners by the walls.
Today was the day the exiled government would officially announce its alliance with Dark Star Hall.
Dark Star Hall, that distant star power that had once nearly devoured half the galaxy, had been completely forgotten over the long years—even many Empire admirals no longer remembered its name. Yet today, it would receive political recognition for the first time, appearing under the banner of aiding the Alliance and fighting for democracy, extending its blade once more to carve up power across the galaxy.
This was bound to send shockwaves through the universe, but that wasn't the point.
Many people here today had come for another piece of news.
Though the Alliance hadn't confirmed it yet, and the Empire hadn't commented, all signs pointed to the rumor being more than just a rumor—
Celia was back.
The Alliance commander who had died in battle at Red Soil Star fifty years ago, the supreme spiritual symbol of the Radiant Legion, the Empire-acknowledged invincible war god of his generation—Gavin Celia—had returned from the dead.
·
The top floor of the hall.
Speaker Makas hurried through the corridor, his polished dress shoes thudding against the gleaming floor. General Abel turned at the sound.
"Speaker."
"Why did you call me here? What do you mean the Marshal wants to talk to me? We both know that's just a clone!"
Abel said nothing. Makas glanced impatiently at his watch.
"Tell you what, I've only got a few minutes. You'd better not waste my time—Douglas Konsetlin's about to come looking for me—"
"He's not wasting your time."
A familiar voice suddenly came from behind Makas, calm and even.
"It's true. I do want to talk to you, esteemed Speaker Makas."
Makas whipped around, freezing in place.
In the empty corridor, a young man in a white military uniform leaned against the corner, hands casually tucked into his pockets. The sunset glow filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows at his feet, half his face shrouded in shadow—but the faint smile tugging at his lips was unmistakable and achingly familiar.
"Im... impossible..."
Makas staggered back in shock, stammering.
"You're dead. You—you're dead—"
"You know I'm not."
"But you couldn't possibly—"
"Nothing's impossible. The fact is, I did it."
Celia seemed amused, a slight smile playing on his lips as he asked,
"Do you still need to rush off to meet Douglas Konsetlin, Speaker Makas?"
The word "Speaker" carried a weighty undertone. Makas's mind buzzed in chaos. He shivered involuntarily, turning back toward Abel with a pleading look.
But Abel's face was impassive, unreadable, blocking the path like an iron tower.
Of course—the military was all in with Celia...
But how had he won Abel over so quickly? Had he planned this all along? No, no—this was too unbelievable, too absurd...
Wait—if he could come back to life, that meant the military had been preparing in secret. Had they already broken away from Parliament to form their own unknown faction?...
Makas's thoughts were a whirlwind. Fear surged through him. After a long moment, he dug his nails into his palm, forcing a twisted smile.
"This—this is perfect! We'll hold the press conference today and announce to the universe that you're back—"
"Not so perfect for you, is it, Mr. Speaker?"
Celia teased.
"The Konsetlin family wants to use me to attack the Empire, but your greatest wish isn't peace with the Empire?"
Though it was an open secret in Parliament, having it laid bare still embarrassed Makas.
"I—I never thought that! Restoring the Alliance is the duty and responsibility of every citizen. As Speaker, I keep that mission firmly..."
His voice trailed off under Celia's gaze, shrinking to a mumble.
But Celia's next words sent his heart into his throat.
"Don't worry, Speaker. I'm on your side."
Makas thought he'd misheard.
"What—what do you mean?!"
"The literal meaning."
"But you..."
"I agree to peace with the Empire. In fact, that's why I'm here."
Makas shook his head in bewilderment, his incredulous gaze darting between Celia and Abel, desperately searching for any hint of a joke—but finding none. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally squeezed out a hoarse sound.
"No... impossible. Anyone in the world might make peace with the Empire—but you—only you couldn't—"
"Times change, Speaker Makas."
Celia cut through his frantic babble. His calm voice echoed down the corridor, sharp and cold.
"The Alliance's greatest threat right now isn't the Empire—it's Dark Star Hall. Of course, that's from my perspective. From yours, the priority should be eliminating the Konsetlin family entirely. Otherwise, once they secure full Dark Star Hall support and declare war on the Empire, your power and position as the pro-peace faction will be sidelined. You'll become Douglas Konsetlin's puppet for good."
...
"I'm already a puppet," Makas muttered, laced with anger and resentment.
"The difference is, Douglas has no reason to oust you completely right now—Alliance citizens don't support him. They still remember him as the Speaker who surrendered the Alliance."
Celia paused, then shifted tack.
"But once war starts? With Dark Star Hall's backing, the pro-war Douglas will quickly reshape his image in the public's eyes. He'll have the credentials, the prestige, the Konsetlins' centuries-deep political foundation. And what will you do then?"
This hit home with inflammatory precision, nailing Makas's weakness.
Celia's political skills were average—he acted more than he talked, no match for silver-tongued career politicians. But that didn't mean he couldn't speak when needed. Four hundred years ago, when he'd surrendered to Dark Star Hall as Marshal, hardly anyone believed it was a ruse. Yunnes had pushed the elders to execute him, but Celia talked them down one by one.
If he could sway those fox-like Dark Star elders back then, he could sway this greed-driven Speaker Makas now.
Silence hung in the corridor for a moment. Sure enough, Makas slowly said,
"I agree with you, but... why should I trust you to help me?"
Celia stepped from the shadows, facing Makas. His gaze carried immense, oppressive force.
"I'm not helping you—I'm helping myself."
"You want to be the real Speaker, and I have no desire to be the Konsetlin family's puppet. Everyone knows the old grudge between me and Douglas Konsetlin—and Dark Star Hall is my blood enemy. Imagine if they control Parliament: you might just step down, but would I even survive?"
It was airtight logic.
Makas's eyes lit up.
Right—Celia was the one who'd sealed Dark Star Hall into five-dimensional space. He'd represented the military in battling the Konsetlins for over a century. And his death at Red Soil Star fifty years ago? That was thanks to their betrayal...
He should hate seeing the Konsetlins in power even more than I do!
Especially now that Parliament was under Dark Star Hall's thumb—no other galactic power besides the Empire could challenge them. Celia knew that too. If he defected to the Empire, those Imperial elites from his old guard wouldn't mistreat him. And if he wanted someone in Parliament to negotiate with the Empire, who else but me?
"All this assumes the Alliance doesn't go to war with the Empire."
Celia glanced at Makas's face—he'd already come around—and pivoted.
"But today, Parliament will announce an alliance with Dark Star Hall to attack Ophiuchus. Once that's out, any hope of peace with the Empire is dead. The moment Dark Star Hall fires the first shot with Alliance forces, your tenure as Speaker ends..."
Makas jolted.
"But how do I stop them?"
Celia's lips curved slightly—he'd anticipated the question.
"Just do as I say."
Makas was fully convinced now, but his inherent indecisiveness made him hesitate to commit. It fit his character perfectly—if he weren't so weak-willed and controllable, the Konsetlins wouldn't have propped him up as puppet Speaker.
Those dozen seconds of hesitation dragged like centuries. Behind him, Abel's face darkened, fists clenched, barely restraining himself.
Celia remained utterly composed, expressionless.
...
"I don't know."
Finally, Makas murmured.
"I don't know... why should I believe you?"
Celia smirked, drawing a crimson dagger from his waist and slicing his hand.
Blood welled up instantly, releasing the alluring, sweet tang unique to Omega pheromones. Makas froze—but then the pheromones' intensely powerful, aggressively dominant Alpha aura forced him back half a step. In panic, his voice cracked.
"What is this—a mark?! Whose?!"
"Set Heinrich."
Celia said flatly, his gaze steady and unchanged.
"The details can wait. But now, you should believe me."
·
After Speaker Makas left in a daze, Celia stood still, slowly licking the blood from his arm.
In that moment, his bangs veiled his eyes. Crimson traces stained his lips, stark against his icy-pale cheeks—shockingly vivid.
Abel watched stunned from the side, throat choked with unspoken words. Finally, he forced one out.
"You're... joking, right? Actually..."
Celia raised a hand, cutting him off.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Abel fell silent. Celia's authority weighed heavy; he wanted to press but didn't dare. After a pause, his thoughts shifted.
"Will Makas follow your plan?"
"Yes."
"Then... are we really making peace with the Empire?"
The press conference had begun downstairs. They descended the corridor as Celia replied evenly,
"What do you think?"
Abel couldn't answer—but deep down, he sensed truth in Celia's words to Makas. Back when the Alliance first surrendered, the military burned for revenge against the Empire—peace was a pipe dream. But fifty years of exile across star systems had slashed the population and crippled the economy. Revenge rang hollow now—never mind winning; what would they even fight Empire's sturdy ships and heavy guns with?
"Peace... isn't impossible..."
Abel caught Celia's expression and swallowed the rest.
"Not impossible."
Celia repeated coolly, word by word.
"Absolutely not."
The tone was ironclad. Abel blinked.
"Peace only happens when forces are equal, or one side's too tough to crush. The Alliance can't even muster a decent army—there's no value in negotiating for the Empire. We'd sit down and get wiped out."
Abel started to object, but Celia cut him off mercilessly.
"Even if the Empire agreed for political reasons, it wouldn't help us. The Alliance is corrupt and unstable—let the Empire infiltrate from within, and the whole regime collapses in an instant. The fallout would be unthinkable!"
"But you promised Makas peace..."
"Only against Dark Star Hall. The rest was to fool him."
Celia frowned.
"You didn't take it seriously too, did you?"
Abel's mouth twitched, speechless.
·
Per Parliament's original plan, the backstage area was swarming with military police under heavy guard. The "test subject" would wait here quietly until the curtain rose and lights blazed—then it would step out like a marionette under the spotlight.
Celia's revival would spread across the universe, shocking the Empire, boosting Alliance morale, and firing the first anti-dictatorship shot at Ophiuchus...
If the test subject hadn't become the real thing, it'd have been a flawless political spectacle.
Celia pushed open the backstage door. First thing he saw: a dozen military police bound and dumped against the wall. Karyan stood in the middle, cracking his knuckles with a smug grin.
"All taken care of, Marshal. What's next?"
"..."
Celia paused.
"Tell your aides they did well."
"Hey, this was really me! How can you say it like that? You don't believe me?!"
Karyan's ears flushed red. Celia ignored him, walking to the unconscious MPs and picking up a helmet. He turned it over in his hands. It was thick and heavy, with electrodes at the temples—metal probes three or four inches long. He swung it toward Karyan.
"Know what this is for?"
"I—I'm a lieutenant general, at least! Don't underestimate me! ...Isn't it for controlling the test subject?"
Celia nodded.
"Dark Star tech."
It stimulated the brain, inputting pre-programmed commands to puppet the subject. The Konsetlins, via Edna's intel, thought the real revived Celia had vanished at the mech tournament—Duron Star's find was just a mindless shell. So they resorted to Dark Star Hall tech to make it look real at the conference.
Celia tossed the helmet into Karyan's arms and headed for the side door. Karyan followed instinctively.
"You're really going out there?"
Celia paused, pushing open the door to the wings. The fervent speech from the stage filtered through the thick curtain, echoing in the silent backstage—it was unmistakably Douglas Konsetlin.
"...
The light from the curtain gap lit Celia's face. His lips curved faintly—like a smile.
"A play that's run half a century without curtain call deserves an appearance."
He stepped into the passage and shut the door behind him.
The passage was separated from the hall by just the curtain. Through the gaps, he saw the venue packed with dignitaries.
The Alliance had fallen this far, yet many star systems sent delegations—star systems typically pledged to neither Empire nor Alliance, but the two powers' strife affected them deeply. War would make them key third parties in the galaxy.
Dark Star warriors stood loosely around the VIP seats, eyes locked on the room.
Celia swept his gaze across the hall. As expected, Osroed and his men were absent. Yunnes, in black armor and robes, face stiff and pallid, sat stone-faced behind the podium—like a heavy shadow behind Douglas Konsetlin.
No one remembered Dark Star Hall's name anymore. Centuries ago, sharing a room with these black-armored warriors would've emptied the place at the mere mention.
"...
Even battered repeatedly, the Alliance never abandoned spilling blood on democracy's path. For fifty years, we've striven unceasingly...
upholding humanity's fundamental freedoms and rights, earning support and inspiration from galactic peoples everywhere..."
Douglas Konsetlin's voice boomed from the stage. The white-haired elder gestured passionately, thrusting his hand skyward.
"Fifty years ago, the Radiant Legion fell to the Empire's shameless sneak attack at Red Soil Star in Ophiuchus! Half a century later, that shame burns in every Alliance citizen's heart. We'll never forget our homeland! Our homes! Restoring the Alliance is our lifelong creed—we vow to fight to the end!"
Thunderous applause erupted, shaking the hall.
Celia watched silently from behind the curtain.
After a moment:
"Gryphon."
The gryphon buckle flew to his ear. Seconds later, the interface glowed green.
"Bian reports: His Majesty has led the Ninth Fleet through the final warp gate."
Celia nodded slightly.
Onstage, Douglas swept his hand dramatically.
"Today, on behalf of the Alliance, I announce two vital pieces of news!"
"First: The Dark Star government from the outer systems allies with us against the Empire's barbaric, anti-human dictatorship!"
Applause faltered. Many exchanged puzzled glances: Dark Star government?
Yunnes eyed them coldly, serpentine pupils flashing contempt.
"Second—"
Douglas paused, voice surging.
"Fifty years ago, Marshal Gavin Celia vanished at Red Soil Star. He has finally returned to the Alliance—to the human cause of democracy he's fought for a century!"
"Alliance soldiers scattered across the stars—with Marshal Celia's name, take up arms for the Alliance once more!"
With the final word, the curtain parted slowly. Gavin Celia, in white uniform with golden insignia gleaming on his chest, stood exposed to every gaze.
The venue plunged into dead silence—
Then, like water hitting boiling oil, it exploded!