CHAPTER 243: CH 239 THE BOVARKA STAR -6

And many Minotaurs were destined to die there on Karox, just as they had on Brontar and Sula, just as they had on Bovarka.

They weren’t wrong.

Before their eyes, the enemy fleet opened fire. Streams of energy tore into the orbital station of the Karox star. As with Brontar, as with Sula, as with Bovarka itself, the station was instantly engulfed in fire and explosions. Then came the final strike—a single, strange missile.

The blast it released was blinding, a white detonation so intense it swallowed the entire station, erasing it from existence. When the light faded, there was nothing left. No wreckage. No fragments. Nothing to even mark that a station had ever been there.

The Minotaurs had seen this before, but this time, their reaction was different. This time, terror rooted itself deeper. Specialists and survivors who had endured the Void Fleet’s Third Task Force now trembled uncontrollably. Some lost control of themselves entirely, their bodies betraying the fear in ways they could no longer hide.

"That white blast... what kind of weapon is that?" voices whispered, quivering with horror. "It consumes everything it touches, even its own light devouring the world around it..."

"What... what if they use it on our planets?" another Minotaur choked out, his voice cracking. "Will... will the world itself vanish? Along with all of us?" His words spread fear like poison through the survivors around him.

High above, the holographic display shifted again—this time returning to Admiral Rose.

But the Minotaurs no longer looked up at her. Their heads bowed low, horns drooping, as if pressed down by the weight of despair itself. Across Bovarka, billions shared the same overwhelming emotions—fear, dread, panic, and terror—not just for their present, but for the dark future that loomed ahead.

Images of their fallen defense fleets, their obliterated fortress, their sister worlds burning one after another—these burned into their minds. Their blood raged with the instinct to fight, to resist, to strike back. But that rage was powerless before the far greater weight pressing into their hearts and minds: the weight of fear, inescapable and absolute.

They all knew there was no escape from their current situation... not unless the Council of Elders and the Super Elders

—the ruling core of the entire clan—intervened. Only they, with the might of the clan’s Main Fleet, could possibly stand against this new human enemy.

"How... how can they be so different from the other humans?" whispered one Minotaur, hiding in the basement of a ruined city. His voice shook with disbelief. "Those... those are slaves. Slaves!"

"Forget that!" another snapped, clutching both hands to his horns as if his mind was breaking. "Humans or whatever they are—that’s not what matters! What matters is... how do we escape? No—do we even have a chance? Is there any chance that all of us, everyone in the Granthor system, can escape this... this Void Fleet?" His words cracked, spilling dread into the thousands of Minotaurs who listened.

"There... there might be a chance," another voice rose, uncertain but desperate. "But not from within this star system. Our forces here are gone—all of them. Obliterated. You all saw it with your own eyes. This enemy is hell-bent on slaughtering us."

"Yes... yes, the Elder Council. The Main Fleet," cried the Minotaur who still clutched his tusks. "They must be able to save us. Right? Right?" His voice trembled with fear, seeking confirmation.

But another answered, bitter and grim. "That’s only daydreaming. Can’t you see the truth? This enemy is far too strong. Even though our forces here were fewer than usual... they were still powerful. More powerful than ever before."

The crowd stirred uneasily as he continued, fear sharpening every word.

"You might not know it, but I do. The forces stationed here were over ten times stronger than they used to be. Why? Because they were upgraded—upgraded with technology we recovered from the Star Empire itself. One of the most powerful Tier-One states in the entire galaxy! Just imagine how mighty that tech made our ships... And yet, despite all that, our fleets were destroyed. Not defeated—obliterated. Not a trace left in space."

The speaker’s voice cracked, half in anger, half in despair. "If that could be wiped away so easily... then what chance do we truly have?"

His anger came from the bitter truth—that their race was weak. Even with newly upgraded technology, they couldn’t stand against the enemy. His fear was heavier still, for he knew that he, and all his kin in this star system, were doomed. And as one of the governors, he could do nothing to save himself, much less his people.

"They... they can’t be that powerful, right?" a younger Minotaur stammered. His youth was obvious—his horns were smaller, the circles upon them fewer. In Minotaur culture, one’s age could be read in the growth of horn and ring, much like a tree gains rings with each passing year.

And he was not the only one. Many of the younger generation muttered the same disbelief, their eyes fixed on the elder who had spoken of their race’s weakness. They couldn’t accept it.

From childhood to warrior academies, to training missions on lesser worlds, they had always been taught to see themselves as strong. Some of them had even participated in practical campaigns, conquering weaker races—humans included. They remembered their assignments vividly: seizing a human world had been laughably easy. Too easy.

"Heh," the older Minotaur sneered, his voice cutting sharp. "What do you know? That was you playing war with humans who were weak. But these..." He jabbed a trembling claw toward the sky, where the enemy’s projection still lingered.

"These are humans too. Yet they are not weak. They are strong—strong beyond anything we’ve known. And you’ve all seen it with your own eyes. Their power crushed our defense fleet, destroyed our fortress, shattered our worlds. Even now, other stars in this system are being slaughtered, some in ways even worse than our own fate."

His voice grew rough, almost a growl. "They are a superpower compared to us, boy. Don’t you dare cause us more trouble with your ignorance. If you don’t want to die a fool, then keep your mouth shut."

"Tch." Another elder spat bitterly. "I knew this would happen. Look at their mentality—so weak. Trained only to prey on the weak and fear the stronger. And now, faced with true overwhelming might, they’re clueless. Blind. This... this disaster is the fruit of that weakness that steamed from it."

"We were never the strongest, but we were never this weak either... It’s this constant coddling of our youth that has rotted their minds. Look at them—blind, naive, brain-dead. And that so-called commander of our defenses?

I always knew he was a disaster waiting to happen. I even tried to have him transferred out of our system. But no—he stayed. And what did he do when the time came? Nothing. He had the chance to at least wound the enemy, to show them that Minotaur blood still carried weight—but no, he chose survival. Survival!"

His horns trembled with rage as he spat the word.

"Is this how our race lives now? Just clinging to life? What are we, if not warriors? We are born for the battlefield. We live and die there—that is our pride, our calling. We do not fear death. Yet look at you all—you are no different from him. What training have you done? Preying on the weak, crushing those beneath us.

That’s what you’ve learned, that’s all you’ve done. Nothing to be proud of. And now, when true strength is before you, you deny it? You whine that ’they can’t be that powerful’? Everything is right before your eyes, and still you refuse to accept it!"

His eyes swept over them, filled with disgust.

"There is no way out of this. Not unless our elders had chosen differently long ago. It is their failure that brought us here. Do you know what we sit upon? Our archives are filled with relics—treasures inherited from the Feathered Race, an ancient power whose technology eclipsed anything we hold now.

Even the technology the Star Empire ’granted’ us pales in comparison to what we already possess. We sit on diamonds while fighting like beggars."

He slammed a fist against the stone beside him, the sound echoing through the ruin.

"But what good are diamonds when no one can cut them? What use is knowledge when none among us can unlock it? That is why we are weak. That is why we cling to others, begging protection from so-called Tier One powers, instead of standing as one ourselves. And now look where it has led us—ruin, fire, slaughter.

This is the fault of the Supreme Elders and the Council they preside over. Their failure is the root of this disaster."

His voice lowered, a grim final note.

"And if these enemies tell us we are not the only ones of our clan being attacked, I would believe them. They have the power to burn our entire clan into ash—what is a single star system to them?"