CHAPTER 225: 221 BATTLE _2

{Macron pov}

After returning to his flagship, the White Frost—an Oblivion-class warship—Fleet Admiral Macron settled into the high command seat, overlooking the bridge where his crew worked with disciplined precision.

"Fire up the propulsion engines to maximum," he ordered. Since the moment the fleet had exited the quantum tunnel, they were still crawling forward at a sluggish pace—an inevitable effect of transitioning from the tunnel’s reality to the laws of normal space and motion.

His voice carried a sharp edge of anticipation as he rubbed his hands together, much like Grand Admiral Kael Throne. "It’s time we wave into action and test these beauties—see if they’re as strong as the Imperial Research and Development Department claims."

His gaze shifted toward the tactical display. "Our target is the Star Fortress and the fleet surrounding it. Though their ships are smaller, it makes no difference—if anything, it simplifies matters for us, and we should take full advantage."

Macron leaned forward slightly, activating the fleetwide communication channel."Admiral Nathan, you there?"

"Yes, Grand Admiral. Do you have orders for me?" Nathan’s holographic figure appeared before him.

"Indeed, there is something," Macron said with a sharp nod. "Have your subdivision maneuver around and encircle the Star Fortress and the fleet from the opposite side. In case they survive our initial strike, you’ll finish them off."

"Yes, Grand Admiral," Nathan replied firmly.

"Admiral Valerian," Macron called next, "you heard that as well, correct?"

"Yes, Grand Admiral," Valerian’s voice responded, her figure materializing beside Nathan’s.

"Good. Have your Phantom Subdivision break off and eliminate the other defensive groups scattered around the system. Make sure none of them escape."

"Understood, Grand Admiral," she nodded crisply.

"Then hurry, both of you," Macron finished, dismissing them.

[Note: Each fleet consists of three divisions—one main division commanded by the Grand Admiral (in this case, Kael), and two flanking divisions led by his left and right hands, who serve as Fleet Admirals. Each division contains several smaller subdivisions, tasked with independent or specialized missions. In this case, Macron, commanding the Left Division, has detached Nathan and Valerian’s subdivisions to support the assault.]

Turning back toward the weapons operations officer, Macron’s eyes gleamed with cold resolve."Charge the secondary batteries. Fire once we’re close enough. The Minotaurs won’t even get the chance to think about resisting."

{Melon POV}

On the far side of the Right Division, inside one of the Oblivion-class warships named Eclipse One, Fleet Admiral Melon had returned to her flagship. From her elevated command seat on the bridge, she immediately began issuing orders tied to her assigned mission.

"Let’s move, everyone. We have several planets to cleanse and capture," she declared, her voice calm but edged with competitive fire. "We can’t let the Left Division claim the upper hand, even if their task is somewhat easier than ours. We still have to prove ourselves."

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the holo-map of the system. "This is our game. Our focus, for now, is on four key planets."

Her gaze shifted to the first name on her list. "Admiral Thompson, you and your subdivision will focus on capturing Planet Sula. Do it in record time—and remember, the planet itself is valuable. Do not damage it. As for everything else, you already know what must be done."

She paused, then added sharply, "You understand what I’m getting at, don’t you?"

Before her, a towering holographic figure appeared—the lionlike man saluted firmly. "Yes, Fleet Admiral."

"Good." Melon’s lips curled faintly, then she called out the next names. "Admiral Antari, Admiral Rose, Admiral Vivian—you will do the same as Thompson. Your targets are Karox, Bovarka, and Brontar, respectively."

Her tone grew even sharper. "I have high expectations of all of you. Do not disappoint me. Now—hurry, move out."

"As you command, Fleet Admiral. You will not be disappointed," the four Admirals answered in unison. Their holographic figures flickered and vanished, returning to their ships to execute her orders.

"Now, fire up the propulsion engines of our Right Division ships and set course for the target planets. Even if there’s little for us to do immediately, we can at least provide support where needed," Melon commanded, her voice carrying across the bridge to the officers stationed on either side below her command seat.

One of the senior officers looked up and replied firmly, "Yes, Admiral. We’ve relayed your orders to the other ships. The fleet is now moving toward the designated targets."

"Good. And have our sub-light systems prepped in case of emergencies," she added, her tone cool and deliberate.

With her orders carried out, Melon leaned back in her command chair, yawning lightly as her thoughts drifted. This is just too easy. And that makes me wonder... why did these foolish creatures withdraw most of their forces from here? Are they not afraid of their neighbors? Leaving their star system so unguarded should have been unthinkable. Curious... very curious.

Now, the Third Fleet was fully divided into three main parts, each moving in different directions with separate objectives.

The Left Division advanced toward the Star Fortress and its defensive ships stationed near the system’s entry point.

The Right Division pressed deeper, heading toward the habitable planets.

The Main Division, led by Kael, cruised idly through space—for the moment, there was no immediate mission requiring their hand.

Meanwhile, at the Star Fortress near the system’s edge, unease simmered. Within one of its massive control halls—a vast chamber alive with glowing displays and tactical arrays—Minotaur operators, smaller in frame than their hulking frontline warriors, sat in ordered rows at their stations. They chatted idly among themselves, oblivious to the threat creeping ever closer, unaware that this might be the last conversation they would ever share.

This was the command deck of the Star Fortress—though it hardly resembled the heart of a military installation. Where one might expect sharp discipline, strict order, and the constant hum of vigilance, there was instead a chaos more akin to a marketplace. The only difference was that here nothing was being sold—only ignored. Rows of consoles and monitoring equipment, tools meant for war and defense, were drowned out by idle chatter.

Even the low hum of the systems, which should have filled the hall with a steady reminder of duty, was smothered beneath the noise of Minotaur voices. Supervisors, who should have enforced order, were themselves leaning on consoles, casually gossiping with their colleagues.

One particular Minotaur leaned far back in his chair, tusks twitching lazily as he stretched his legs out across the display in front of him. He scrolled idly through a sensor feed, but his eyes weren’t on the data. They drifted elsewhere, following thoughts only he knew.

Beside him, another operator tapped his claws irritably against his console, the gesture more restless than attentive. He let out a low growl before grumbling, "Strange, isn’t it? The Elder Council suddenly pulled out nearly eighty percent of our fleet, and even moved two of the three Star Fortresses just days ago. Now look at us—stuck here with scraps. This broken fleet can’t even fend off raiders, and they’re already giving us headaches as it is."

His reclining companion snorted, finally letting his gaze drop to the radar sweep on his display. With a slow, dismissive tone, he replied, "Word is there’s movement down south, not far from our borders. Something’s stirring there... something drawing attention from across the galaxy. They say it’s tied to that Star Empire fleet that arrived here a few dozen days ago."

A smirk tugged at his lips as he added, "Maybe a war will break out soon."

It was as if he grew more excited at the very mention of war itself, forgetting everything else in the process. But that was simply his race’s tendency—for theirs was a race that craved blood and war above all else.

"War," said the second colleague who had started this talk, scoffing as he stretched out in his chair, letting out a yawn. Shaking his head, he continued, "War is unlikely to happen—and even if it does, it won’t be our war. So you shouldn’t be getting excited. Besides, with our physique, we can’t even participate.

And another thing—this situation involves powers like the Star Empire. In front of them, our clan is nothing more than an ant. We’ll be used as cannon fodder... like we already are. If my information is right, that’s exactly what our race has become in times like this."

His words carried a note of depression, and the other Minotaur’s excitement was crushed—especially when reminded of their weak physiques and the limits of their already weak bodies compared to other of there race.

And this person continued, "As for being invaded—that won’t be happening, at least not by the Genome race. As for the Asura... that’s something we might have to watch out for. But the more interesting thing is that our people aren’t happy about being tossed around like this, reduced to nothing more than pawns of some other race."