Here, two opposing forces were making their own plans and playing their own game. The First Battle Fleet was moving forward, intending to seize a few Dreadnought-class battleships to maximize resources and secure the star system once the fighting ended.

In contrast to the First Battle Fleet, which moved forward with unshakeable confidence and momentum, the Minotaurdefensive fleet was slowly crumbling from its core upon realizing the unfavorable situation. Their outer line was already collapsing under heavy fire, and losses were mounting.

The commander leading the Minotaurs had already given up hope and was secretly making his escape from the fortress, leaving only his clone for others to see.

Other high-level officers in the Minotaur forces were no different; they were all doing the same thing. They had forgotten the vows and pride they had sworn to uphold. The resolve that made them willing to die fighting was replaced by the need to escape. Like beasts, only survival now mattered to them.

Meanwhile, those who knew nothing of the betrayal were struggling to survive with each passing moment. Many were cowering on the side of their ship, praying to whatever entity they believed in, only to explode into space dust along with the ship they resided in.

Some survived barely, but for how long they didn't know, so they weren't relieved at all. Their hopes and resolve were crumbling with each passing moment as they witnessed the death of countless fellow clansmen while they clung to the clutches of death—for now.

They did not know that top commanders were already preparing their escape in the name of 'achieving something', while others lay down their lives. They did not know that another storm was brewing, that their prayers might not work, or that Lady Luck had already left the battlefield. All the luck a few of them had had run out, and now, they only had themselves to depend on.

Not knowing the plans and preparations their enemy had already made, ships in the Minotaur line fell back while others moved forward, taking their place and closing the gaps that had opened.

However, some gaps that had opened remained that way because there were no spare ships available that were completely functional to close them. It wasn't that there were no ships—there were many—but their hulls were already damaged, their shields had not yet recovered, and thus they weren't in a position to move up at all.

Though many had not realized it just yet, a command came directly from the Star Fortress: "Frigates and Destroyers of the third line! Two of you move at 35 degrees southward toward the first line and close the gap open at 40 degrees south upward."

Lieutenant Turog of the Destroyer-class ship, which was just ordered to move forward, replied to the command: "Our ship hull integrity is at 56 percent, with many major systems down. Our shields have not yet recovered and are at 51 percent strength. In this state, we cannot move to close the gap in the front line at all."

Vice Lieutenant Druven responded: "Our state is no different from the Lieutenant's Destroyer-class ship, if not worse. Our hull integrity is barely at 46 percent, and our shields are damaged to the point that they can't recover until they are manually repaired—a process that will take time we don't have."

"Command to Lieutenant Turog and Vice Lieutenant Druven! We understand your situation, but the battlefield and Command demand you move. You shall move! Or are both of you rebelling against the Clan?"

"It's not that we are rebelling," said Turog, "but we are not in a position to take on the task that is given to us, because that is you asking us to directly go and die, which we can't do."

"You! How dare you say this! Look at the big picture! Your sacrifice will protect others and buy more time for Command to come up with new strategies! You should, if anything, happily obey the command given to you and your crew.

After all, isn't it a merit to die fighting for us? It's an honor, and you all should accept it," the Command personnel said with a haughty voice, speaking as if to an inferior. He was, after all, one of the officers responsible for maintaining the battle formation.

"What time and what strategies do you speak of, Officer from Command? We don't understand any of it! To die in battle is an honor, yes, but this isn't a battle; this is a slaughter where we are helpless victims. This is not the honor we seek! If you want it, be my guest and go for it," said Druven.

Druven cut off his communication channel altogether. Turog did the same, having also had enough of how things were going. Command constantly spoke of buying time for a new strategy to be cooked, but were they truly doing that? He wouldn't believe it. Even if they were, he knew, like many others, it wouldn't work. After all, what is their power in front of overwhelming strength? Nothing.

"What they are likely doing is planning their escape! And they dare ask me to become a sacrifice while they try to safely exit this hell of a space? They think too much of themselves," Turog muttered loudly, letting his crew hear his thoughts.

Finally calming his nerves, he looked at the others and ordered with a sigh: "Prepare the propulsion engines, ready the FTL drive, and check on the shield generators—how are the repairs going, and when will the spare generator come online?"

"Yes, Commander," said one Minotaur, sitting in front of what looked like a command seat (like those in a shield carrier), and began typing.

Another replied: "Commander, FTL drives are already on standby. All we need is to exit this place, and we can utilize them instantly."

"Good," affirmed Turog. "What about the shield generators?"

Another Minotaur stepped forward and said: "Commander, getting the shield generators online will take a little more time, and even then, they will be unstable for the most part," he replied, looking down.