Chapter 88
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 88
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Gambit
No sooner had Douglas finished speaking than the entire tribunal hall fell into dead silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
A few seconds later, it exploded with a deafening "boom!"
This bolt from the blue struck everyone right in the heart. People leaped to their feet in panic, shouting in shock. Even many of the hardline old senators could hardly believe their ears. The neutrals and pro-military faction were utterly incredulous. A few of the older ones couldn't take the blow—they stood up only to collapse back down, nearly passing out from the shock.
Through the seething crowd, Douglas fixed Celia with a cold stare, his gaze as chilling and predatory as a hawk's, filling people with dread. Karyan couldn't help turning to glance at Celia. The young Alliance Marshal met Douglas's eyes with the same intensity, his expression showing not the slightest hint of panic.
—It looked like he was prepared for this, but Karyan had clearly seen a flash of undisguised astonishment and surprise cross the Marshal's face the moment Douglas dropped that bombshell.
Thinking about it carefully, it made perfect sense: the soul projection sample was an Omega body, rapidly matured to adulthood under gene correction. There must have been at least one heat cycle in between. On Void Star, the only Alphas on the warship were Heinrich, Yunis, Osrold, and the like. If not marking with Heinrich, was it going to mark with those Dark Star warriors? Compared to them, the Empire's Emperor was actually a decent choice!
But what Karyan wanted to know was: how the hell did Douglas find out?
The marking had only happened recently. Even the military's diehard higher-ups had only vaguely guessed at it from traces on Void Star. So where the fuck did Douglas get his information?!
Celia remained silent for a long time, until the uproar in the tribunal finally died down. Then he spoke:
". . . Do you have proof?"
That was exactly what Karyan wanted to ask. He whipped his head toward Douglas, only to see a smug, triumphant smile curl on the politician's lips—
In that instant, an unbelievable suspicion flashed through Karyan's mind, and his face paled slightly!
"I do," Douglas said.
At that very moment, the communicator by Celia's hand beeped.
The Marshal glanced down at the red screen flashing with the military insignia. A flicker of realization—"So that's how it is"—crossed his face. He reached out and hit the connect button. Major General Mowen's tense face appeared in midair, the holographic image leaning close to the Marshal's ear to whisper:
"—Marshal, military sensors have detected three foreign fleet groups assembling on the outskirts of Andromeda... The Empire has declared war on us."
Celia arched a brow at Douglas. For a split second, his gaze held a mocking glint, but his words were for Major General Mowen:
"The declaration of war?"
Mowen shook his head:
"None sent."
"There must be some official document, right?"
"Nothing." Major General Mowen hesitated:
"But... Emperor Heinrich of Gemini has sent a video comm request."
. . .
The entire parliament plunged into an eerie silence.
The ordinary senators below might not have heard the exchange on stage, but the purple-robed senior senators had caught every word. They all wisely held their tongues in stunned shock—for the Empire declaring war on the Alliance was one thing, but Heinrich sending a comm request straight to the Alliance Parliament Building was even more astonishing.
After all, interstellar comms between nations were rare. For the Emperor to connect this call, it had to relay through at least a hundred space stations, layer upon layer, consuming untold manpower. His determination and decisiveness were plain to see.
Celia glanced at Douglas:
"This is your witness?"
"I have no private dealings with the Empire's Emperor. On the contrary, my people predicted the signs of imperial declaration of war and prepared military mobilization orders and supplies—while you were holed up in seclusion."
Celia ignored the obvious jab in his words:
"This is your witness?"
Douglas laughed, his eyes and expression plainly screaming "yes," but his words were pious and righteous:
"As I said, I have no private dealings with the Empire's Emperor. I always keep the Alliance's core interests at heart."
The two locked eyes for a moment. Celia nodded and said to Major General Mowen:
"—Connect it."
With that single word, he cut the comm.
. . .
A beam carrying the highest diplomatic signal between two nations wound its way through several space stations, refracting and relaying via the near-orbit launcher to Military HQ, Parliament, and the tribunal. Seconds later, the communicator by the Marshal's hand lit up again.
A red line swiftly constructed a 3D holographic image in the air. Heinrich's towering figure materialized inch by inch above the tribunal hall, clad in a black cape over his military uniform, silver national emblem pinned to his chest. His deep ice-blue eyes swept over the senators' seats before he said:
"What a distant memory, Celia. Did I interrupt something?"
Unlike Douglas's air of assured victory and threat, the Emperor seemed almost casual. But Celia's gaze at him carried undisguised mockery:
"No, perfect timing. Mr. Consertlin here has some questions for you."
Heinrich's eyes flicked to Douglas. Their gazes clashed like lightning in midair for an instant before he turned back and said gravely:
"I'm here to deliver the declaration of war, Celia. The Empire's four hundred thousand troops are already massing not far from Alliance space. The next step is an assault on Andromeda—or rather, 'assault' isn't quite right. The planets you're on belong to the Empire already. We're just reclaiming lost territory."
"Reclaiming lost territory..." Celia said mockingly.
"Yes. Per the Empire's founding declaration fifty years ago, all known star systems in the galaxy and parts of extragalactic ones fall under imperial jurisdiction—including portions of Andromeda. The Alliance exile government clings to Aquarius only because the Empire's vast territory makes frontier campaigns difficult. It doesn't mean we've forgotten. We've just yet to reclaim it."
It was utter bullshit with eyes wide open—but in this era of grand galactic development, conflicts between nations boiled down to raw power. Diplomatic rhetoric was just two sides competing to bullshit more convincingly.
Celia knew this full well, so he asked:
"Is that so? I seem to recall the imperial Royal Military Academy's territorial starmap doesn't include the Andromeda system."
The question cut sharp, but Heinrich's retort was equally vicious:
"The map hadn't been updated when you studied at the Royal Military Academy. Planning to come back for a look anytime soon, Marshal Celia?"
A smile rose in Douglas's eyes.
As expected, a murmur rippled through the trial dais. The purple-robed senators exchanged stunned glances.
"When the Alliance legions take Egret Star, I'll drop by to have a look—and pick up the Phoenix mech the Empire impounded while I'm at it." Celia seemed oblivious to the stir around him and suddenly smiled again:
"Oh, and Miss Edna Consertlin, Dean of Research at the Royal Military Academy. Though I imagine she has other channels to contact her family..."
Douglas blurted out, but Heinrich cut him off:
"Edna Consertlin has been held as a POW on Egret Star since the founding. She was officially detained before the war declaration. That said, if she's willing to act as envoy and urge the Alliance to surrender, the Empire would be happy to facilitate contact—you need that, Marshal Celia?"
The tension in Douglas's jaw eased slightly—he knew the Emperor had turned the tables.
They stared each other down: Heinrich calm and steady, Celia's expression carrying an indescribable nuance. If you looked closely, it wasn't pure mockery on the Alliance Marshal's face—more a subtle pity.
Such pity seemed out of place here, since by all measures, he was the one on the back foot.
Heinrich's stern brow furrowed slightly. Wondering if he'd misread it, he heard Celia ask:
"You really want the Alliance to surrender?"
The Emperor paused, then nodded:
"Yes. I believe in subduing the enemy without fighting. Victory without bloodshed is ideal... If the Alliance surrenders proactively, I promise to designate Andromeda a Special Administrative Province—one country, two systems—incorporating the Alliance government into the Empire while royal house funds Alliance development."
The words sent shockwaves through the chamber. The senators below erupted in chatter. Even several purple-robed seniors couldn't hide their surprise—one country, two systems!
"Your Majesty!" An elderly senator shot to his feet:
"The Alliance is a civilized regime with a thousand years of history, advanced in every way. We cannot stoop to a mere administrative province!"
"Or Special Administrative System, Free Administrative System—call yourselves anything but 'Alliance.'"
The senator froze.
The Emperor was clearly prepared, courteous:
"As I said at the founding, the Empire's rise won't come at the expense of exterminating the Alliance. Preferential treatment of Alliance holdouts over the years proves it—gentlemen, have no fear. If the Alliance government surrenders, you'll be exempt from direct imperial royal or systemic oversight, retaining your own government organs and garrisons. You can even keep your current script, currency, and elections. The royal house will pour massive funds annually to boost the local economy, all handed to Parliament for free disposal."
Murmurs rose on the trial dais. Moments later, another senior senator stood:
"In what form must the funds be repaid?"
"No need," the Emperor said flatly.
"As a Special Administrative System, you're already part of the Empire. Why would we ask our own to repay?"
—Harsh as it sounded, a rebranded "Special Administrative System" Alliance was just a wardrobe change—no core alterations needed. Surface integration into the Empire, but no direct imperial oversight, retaining Parliament and troops, culture, economy, politics unchanged. What was the difference from now?
A new coat for massive free funds? The Gemini Emperor's generosity was unprecedented—the Alliance desperately needed cash now. No money meant no army buildup, no territory expansion. Restoring past glory hinged on that one word: money.
And the unspoken truth: once military and economy recovered, they could ditch the Empire and fight on equal footing. Years of exile had drained the Alliance dry. Without imperial aid to catch a breath, war now was suicide!
The dais buzzed with whispers for ages. The eldest seniors seemed to reach consensus. The first senator spoke:
"Your terms are exceedingly generous, Emperor Heinrich. But we must ask: what is your purpose in all this?"
Bargaining between heads of state couldn't reveal true hands, but dodging entirely wouldn't do. Claiming eternal imperial concern for friendly development would make him a galactic joke; yet no other platitude could sugarcoat this naked negotiation.
All purple-robed seniors fixed on the Emperor's face, only for him to curve his lips in a wicked smile:
"I'm doing all this for you—"
He turned to the Alliance Marshal:
"You know that, right, Celia?"
That instant, even Karyan behind Celia thought: if it were him, he'd lunge and strangle the Emperor right now!
—What grudge could make someone this venomous?!
If he'd declared the marking the moment comms connected, everyone would think he was colluding with Douglas. If after the war declaration, half would doubt it. If he ignored it and fought honorably, he'd be the gentleman.
But now, after dangling sweet terms, this ambiguous line in front of everyone... Wasn't that overcompensating?
How much more filth did he plan to dump on Celia's head?!
"For me? I don't accept."
Unexpectedly, Celia was utterly calm. His voice unchanged, he stared at Heinrich:
"Thanks, but no. The Alliance won't abandon its name. Go prepare for war."
A louder buzz exploded from the senators. Heinrich looked mildly surprised:
"Don't accept? Why? The Alliance changes nothing but the shell—its democratic core and spirit remain intact?"
He paused, feigning puzzlement:
"I recall you saying the Alliance's essence isn't the name, but the spirit... Now I scrap the name, preserve the spirit, and pour everything into better lives for Alliance people. Why refuse?"
Celia said nothing, his profile like a handsome, icy marble statue.
The Emperor's gaze pinned to his face. Moments later, he laughed oddly:
"Or is it—deep down, the name matters more to you than millions of people's real interests? For so-called 'soldier's honor'—or bluntly, your honor—you'd disregard thousands of troops' lives and blood?"
Rage surged in Karyan. He opened his mouth, but Celia blocked him with a raised hand.
"You misunderstand, Heinrich." Whether from a chill or something, the Alliance Marshal covered his mouth and coughed a few times before waving it off:
"I told you to prepare for war because you can't wage it even if you try. Clever scheme, but wrong target."
—The words dripped with meaning. Heinrich paused, then smiled faintly:
"Why not? The Empire's fleet has a hundred thousand star-class missiles locked on your defense fortresses. One order from me—"
Then he glanced down. From the hologram's motion, he seemed to take a call. Seconds later, his face twisted indescribably:
"What did you say?"
"When?... How far have they gotten?... Understood."
The Emperor muted the line. Celia gave him an unmasked pitying smile.
"How'd you convince Yunis?" Heinrich asked coldly.
"—'I have no private dealings with Dark Star Hall. I always keep the Alliance's core interests at heart.'" The Alliance Marshal's voice dripped sarcasm:
"What is it, esteemed Emperor?"