Chapter 92
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: The Sparring Exhibition
Karyan's first reaction was, *You're trying to screw me over.*
But right after that, he instinctively felt a twinge of suspicion—no way.
If he were still just Celia's deputy, they could throw whatever tricks they wanted at him; he was only a deputy, after all. But now he was the head of the Alliance delegation, with a status to match... To put it bluntly, even if everyone here was itching to beat him up and set up a ring for a 1v1 with the Alliance, no one except the emperor had the rank to call him up there.
As for whether the emperor would step up personally—don't be ridiculous. Had anyone ever seen a national leader roll up his sleeves mid-meeting and jump into a brawl?
"To commemorate the great moment of the Empire's army founding and to showcase the military's mighty prowess, the Ministry of War holds a sparring exhibition every year on this day," Aaron announced with a beaming smile, completely ignoring the twitching faces of the Alliance generals. "The victor receives a certificate of commendation and a diamond fruit branch personally awarded by His Majesty. Moreover, His Majesty sends invitations to the surrounding free star systems each year. The experts dispatched by our allied nations receive a grand welcome, and regardless of win or loss, they're treated as esteemed guests representing the friendly ties between our countries!"
The Empire's generals nodded in unison, their eyes glowing with a eerie green light.
Karyan's mouth twitched for a moment before he asked, "You're not about to say we're those esteemed guests this year, are you?"
"Yes!" Aaron lunged forward, slapping Karyan hard on the shoulder three times in a row. "What guest could be more esteemed than the Alliance delegation? We've been waiting right here for you!"
Karyan: "..."
Ten thousand grass-mud horses thundered through Karyan's mind as he instantly wanted to shout, *Fuck you!*
But just as the Alliance's new marshal was about to grab a plate and smash it into the Empire general's face, a steady voice sounded in his ear: "Accept."
Karyan's movement froze. *Marshal?*
Celia's voice came through the micro-communicator, audible only to him: "You can't dodge something like this. Even if you do, it'll come up again next time. Accept for now, and we'll settle the win or loss later."
"..." Karyan's tensed muscles relaxed slightly. He looked up at Aaron with a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes and finally uttered a single word after a long pause: "Fine!"
·
And so the grand state banquet swiftly concluded in an atmosphere of unity, harmony, and friendship. Both sides eagerly shoved their plates aside, and the attendants immediately cleared the tables away.
The Empire and Alliance split into two camps, taking seats on either side of the grand hall, each with a crystal platform at hand. No one bothered with delicate, expensive wine glasses anymore—they just hauled up bottles and chugged straight from them, facing each other. This had way more vibe than before. The Ministry of War folks shed their jackets, rolled up their sleeves, and chugged with throats bared, shouting: "Isaac! Isaac!"
The scarred man wore only a black tank top with uniform trousers, two electromagnetic daggers strapped across his waist, and heavy combat boots as he sauntered onto the platform. He looked plenty tough—his solid muscles gleamed with a sun-bronzed copper tone. Unexpectedly, the exposed skin on his back and arms was covered in old scars, crisscrossing in a ferocious web that added a sharp edge of menace.
Aaron tossed him a can of ice-cold booze and called out loudly, "You still got 'em?"
The scarred man threw his head back for a huge gulp and grinned. "Hell yeah! They're all my medals!"
The Alliance side found the guy unfamiliar. General Abel nudged Karyan and asked, "Who's this? What kinda wounds leave scars like that?"
"Lieutenant General Zakus Isaac, head of the Empire's military intelligence," Karyan murmured. Those nearby subtly leaned in as he continued: "He was a slave kid mining on Black Star back in the day. During the first Galactic War, the Empire hit their sector, so he killed the overseer and enlisted. Those scars are from his slave days, supposedly. Watch out—he's damn good in a fight."
As he spoke, the scarred man chucked the can aside, wiped his mouth with the base of his palm, and turned to the Alliance with a smile. "I'm Isaac, sporting the rank of lieutenant general and humbly taking a back seat in the Ministry of War. I always kick off the ring fights in past years—just for fun, so don't laugh!"
Most on the Alliance side gave only cool nods. Isaac didn't mind and asked, "So, which Alliance general would like to come up and exchange pointers?"
—This was tricky.
The delegation was mostly civilian officials, with only seven or eight military officers. Excluding the bedridden Celia and the unavailable Karyan, the rest were either commanders whose personal combat skills weren't standout or high-rankers like General Abel who didn't want to bully the lower ranks.
The Empire side clearly spotted the Alliance's dilemma, their eyes glinting with schadenfreude. Karyan silently cursed their ancestors under his breath, pondered for a moment with a straight face, and finally said gravely: "Mowen."
Lieutenant General Mowen rose at the call, shrugging off his uniform jacket to reveal bright eyes and an upright posture as he strode to the center with his blade.
"I'm Keene Mowen, Alliance lieutenant general," he said with a slight bow, neither humble nor arrogant. "Please advise me."
The scarred man sized him up impassively, recognizing Keene Mowen as Karyan's predecessor marshal's guard captain.
Mowen was a rare straight shooter in the Alliance—sharp and clear in style, utterly loyal to Celia, and with decades of service that outranked the Empire's Ministry crew by miles. He kept a low profile, with no notable tales of personal valor, but—coming from a proper marshal's guard unit, how could he be anything less than formidable?
The scarred man bowed solemnly. "Please advise me as well—" Before the words finished, he drew his twin daggers from behind. Blue lightning crackled as he exploded forward like a bolt!
In that instant, Mowen drew and the hilt snapped in two with a *click*. Then "*Clang!*"—it locked dead against the incoming electromagnetic dagger. Sparks erupted in a burst, and the scarred man swept his eyes over Mowen's twin blades, barking: "Nice!" He flipped his wrists, unleashing a dazzling storm of electric arcs!
—Electromagnetic cold weapons were all the rage among military elites, but the Alliance versions packed nowhere near this punch. The lightning surged like a flood of beasts, slamming toward Mowen's brow in a flash!
It happened too fast: Mowen arched backward, the lightning's tip shearing off his fringe in an instant, charring it to ash with a sizzle—But true to his intel roots, the scarred man struck viciously. Missing, he spun the dagger in a flashy sword flower, gripped the hilt with a *snap*, and thrust straight for Mowen's right eye!
Even a graze would've meant eye surgery back home for Mowen. No one on the Alliance expected such brutality. Everyone shot to their feet as Mowen roared suddenly: "Get out of the way—!"
*Clang!* A heavy crash—Mowen's reclined body twisted with explosive force, delivering a devastating kick!
That hammer-like power sent the unprepared Isaac flying!
Karyan bellowed: "Great!"
*Boom!* The scarred man hit the ground, rolled twice, and staggered up—only for a drop of blood to splatter from his blade tip. At the same time, Lieutenant General Mowen rose clutching his ear, blood gushing through his fingers.
"Nice weapon," Mowen said coldly, releasing his grip and twirling the blade. Blood streamed from his ear down his neck into his collar, soaking it red—you could tell the whole ear had been brutally torn open.
The scarred man caught the fury in his voice but winced as he felt two broken ribs, sucking in a sharp breath while clutching the spot and laughing: "Sorry, not on purpose! My hands are just that heavy normally!"
Mowen, ever the straight shooter, opened his mouth to retort—but then Celia's voice rang in Karyan's ear: "Tell Isaac that Mowen's not from their cohort. No point taking out grudges on innocents."
Karyan blinked. "What?"
Celia said flatly: "Just say it like that."
Karyan got it instantly, a weird smile tugging at his lips as he raised his voice to cut off the fuming Mowen: "Lieutenant General Isaac, Lieutenant General Mowen graduated two full cohorts ahead of them. No need to vent grudges on unrelated folks, right?"
The words landed, and silence gripped the hall. Then every Empire face changed!
—Isaac got the intelligence post to counter the founding generals from the Alliance faction. Aaron and his crew had risen high, but Isaac held his own. No open beef, but behind the scenes? Rivalries and fights were a given.
Karyan hadn't spelled it out, but everyone knew "two cohorts ahead" meant Mowen outranked Heinrich, Aaron, and the rest as guard captain. If Isaac couldn't beat them at court politics, fine—but why take it out on Mowen?
The line exposed the Ministry's infighting raw. Tension froze the room. After an age, Heinrich laughed: "Lieutenant General Mowen has impressive skill..."
He stood, and the Ministry crew followed suit. Isaac bowed and stepped down. The emperor clapped his shoulder in encouragement, then said: "Have the medics escort Lieutenant General Mowen for treatment—Isaac had the edge in weapons this round, so call it a draw. Sound good?"
He phrased it as a question, but it wasn't seeking input. So the first match ended in a draw. Empire went first; theory said Alliance next. Karyan barely glanced around before Aaron jumped up boisterously: "Finally round two? Alright! I'm up!"
Karyan: "..."
A general. A battle-hardened general. The number two on the Empire's most hated Alpha list for thirty straight years, dubbed a ruthless killer maniac by the public...
Karyan wanted nothing more than to smash a bottle over his head, fingers whitening on the neck as he barely restrained the urge to commit murder on the spot. He nodded stiffly at Lev Abel: "General Abel, if you would."
Abel shot him a look of inquiry: *Marshal didn't say anything?*
Karyan shook his head.
No. And at a time like this, there probably wasn't much to say. Raw power crushed all schemes. Abel nodded gravely, his tower-like frame striding forward as he drew a deep breath and said coldly: "I'm Lieutenant General Lev Abel—No need for intros with you, Aaron?"
Old acquaintances on the Alliance side skipped the formalities. Aaron grinned, snatching his broadsword from behind, and boomed: "Nope! Here I come!"
Abel was ready, but the strike was blindingly fast, chopping down before his eyes in a blink! He dodged sideways, yanking his greatsword up to block—*Clang!* Metal screamed, deafening, and the thick scabbard shattered!
—So heavy!
Abel stood two meters tall, built like an ox, with a voice like thunder and freakish strength. Back in training, he'd grab disobedient rookies one-handed—like chicks—and hurl them. Celia even nicknamed him Black Bear for it.
—Yet now, under Aaron's barrage of blows, he felt *heavy*!
"You've improved—" Abel gritted out through clenched teeth, blocking the blade with all his might, then roared: "Yield!"
*Clang!* Aaron's blade bounced off, sparks flying as edges ground in a blaze that blinded! In that split second, Abel slammed his sword toward Aaron's chest—the blue-glowing greatsword whistled in—then "*Clang!*" An ear-splitting ring!
Aaron gripped his broadsword two-handed like a boulder, arm muscles bulging as he bellowed: "Get—outta—my—way—"
*Clang!*
The electromagnetic greatsword flew aside from the broadsword's raw force, the edge grazing Abel's nose tip! They traded dozens of blows in a flash, metal clashes roaring like a storm, shaking the booze on tables till it sloshed!
Aaron roared: "It's over!"
Abel staggered back several steps, too slow to block—then Aaron pounced like a cheetah, smashing the greatsword flying!
The blue-lit blade spun through the air—*Thud!* Burying deep in the wall up to the hilt. Abel whipped around in shock to see Aaron's blade descending: "You've lost—!"
The edge carried thunderous weight, aimed at Abel's forehead!
One chop would cleave him in two; the electromagnetics would char the rest. Abel's heart stopped, the blade looming closer, skin prickling with current—then the emperor shot up: "Bian'an!"
The black-gold bracelet shattered, reforming midair into a spear that blocked the blade at the last instant!
*Boom!* The broadsword quaked, rebounding so hard Aaron's palms bled!
"What the hell? Fooling around!" The emperor stormed down the steps, the black-gold spear flying to his hand as he gripped it steady: "It's just play-fighting. You going all out like that'll kill someone! Apologize to Abel now!—General Abel, you alright?"
Abel's face flushed pale then red. After a beat, he yanked his greatsword from the wall with effort and said heavily: "I lost. Not General Aaron's fault."
He bowed slightly, then strode back to the Alliance seats, exchanging a worried glance with Karyan.
The Alliance faces were grim; the Empire side smug. First round draw, but Alliance got the bloody trip to medbay. Second: no blood, but disarmed defeat for Alliance. Down 0-1-1 in best-of-three.
Personal duels weren't battlefield command, but diplomacy brooked no shame like this.
Karyan scanned his team, scheming to pivot the third round from fights to something intellectual—when Aaron bellowed over Heinrich: "Why you always yelling at me, Your Majesty? Enough already! Everyone's waiting for the next round!"
Heinrich: "Oh, fine. Who wants to go next..."
Aaron cut him off convincingly: "Go what? You're standing there with that spear. Why not you for round three!"
Karyan: "............"
Karyan finally grasped just how thick-skinned and bottomless the Empire crew was.
"How could I join in?" The emperor put on a show of refusal. "I'm the banquet host today. Hosts don't draw blades on guests. Send whoever from the Ministry... General Dresay, General Fuller! Didn't you always want to spar with the Alliance? Where are you?"
Those named waved hands and shrank back, turning from rugged Empire generals into bashful shrinking violets. The others chimed in: "Your Majesty spars with us every year!" "Yeah, why not with the Alliance this time?" "We'll always back you, Your Majesty!"...
Heinrich turned helplessly, spear in hand: "Who'll face me?—Aaron, how about y..."
Mid-sentence, he spotted Karyan—and his eyes lit up like he'd found the perfect idea!