Editing Tytania:Volume 2 Chapter 6 (section)

=== IV ===
“Damn thieving rats. I’ll chop their flesh to pieces and mix it into the desert sand.”

Zarlisch rose from his command seat. Although the ground was being enveloped by the twilight, the screen clearly displayed the grey-brown terrain.

“The new dish Your Grace has devised is sure to become a Bargash speciality,” said Lieutenant-Commander Kaits, one of his staff officers, in order to flatter him.

Zarlisch was fond of this sort of boisterous, or perhaps crude joke. He opened his mouth wide, framed by his thick beard, and roared with laughter. The staff officers around him laughed in response to their commander’s laughter, but the one man who did not join in was his ''aide-de-camp'', Commander Granite.

If there was anyone aboard Zarlisch’s flagship, the ''Typhoon'', who prioritised reason over emotion, it was surely this man, who had served as Zarlisch’s ''aide-de-camp'' for three years. Shaking his brown head streaked with a few grey strands, Granite dared to dampen his master’s enthusiasm.

“I say this precisely because Your Grave refers to them as thieving rats. Is it really necessary for Your Grace to take it upon yourself to subdue such scum? You are a pillar of Tytania; I implore you to exercise restraint.”

Although Zarlisch gave a perfunctory nod in response to Commander Granite’s advice, he had no intention of heeding it. A born warrior who never shied from a fight, he had, moreover, once had a prisoner snatched from his grasp. He could find no peace of mind until he had once again taken Fan Hyulick prisoner, this time until death, and wiped out the pesky vermin swarming around him.

He was by no means incompetent, but at this moment, at the very least, he cast aside any effort to control his emotions with reason and charged forward, driven solely by his instincts as a warrior. Had this been a battle against a vast enemy fleet in outer space, Zarlisch would undoubtedly have utilised his formidable strength to shatter the enemy forces and achieved a spectacular military feat. But now he was swinging a club intended to slay a giant elephant, attempting to exterminate a swarm of flitting mosquitoes.

Zarlisch was unaware that vast amounts of energy were spinning uselessly, their radiant heat turning into turbulence that was being reflected back at him, gradually evaporating his reason. His staff had already been infected by this frenzy, and one of them, staring intently at the screen, cried out in excitement. It was Lieutenant-Commander Kaits.

“Shall we deploy an ultra-low-frequency missile and bury them alive, Your Grace?”

“Don’t. It would prevent me from dragging that Fan Hyulick before my mother.”

With that single remark, he dismissed his staff’s proposal. The one who had offered this advice was his ''aide-de-camp'', Commander Granite.

“Your Grace, surely it would suffice to simply report to your mother that Hyulick has been killed. Would it not be best to proceed as proposed?”

“Granite, do not interject for no reason!I have already made my decision.”

“M-my apologies.”

The reason Granite withdrew without protest was that he was becoming increasingly aware of his own lack of passion for his duties as an ''aide-de-camp''. What he was engaged in was not an official military operation, nor even a private war waged by the Zarlisch family; it was nothing more than a cruel hunting game. Granite recognised this fact with bitterness.

He was a military specialist in his mid-thirties who had graduated from the Vardana Imperial Space Force Academy. After completing secondary school, he had joined the crew of a Tytanian carrack, where his valour in combat against space pirates had earned him the captain’s recognition; it was on the captain’s recommendation that he had secured a Tytanian scholarship and been admitted to the Academy. Although he was a loyal soldier who had served the Tytania clan for twenty years, he was no mindless organic robot. He could not bring himself to support Zarlisch’s actions, which appeared to reveal personal feelings and undermine the interests and honour of Tytania as a whole.

One thing lead to another. This man would always prioritise emotion over reason. While that might be acceptable for an individual, it was fatal for the head of a vast organisation. Should this man become the Clanner, Tytania would be unable to avoid the peril of dancing on a pile of eggs. That was the conclusion Commander Granite was forced to reach in his heart. Even so, for the universe’s greatest ruthless general, whose name was adorned with countless military exploits, to become entangled in such a trivial matter and lay his weaknesses bare!

“Your Grace, that Bargash fly that has been hovering about for some time has begun to buzz again. What should we do?”

The communications officer’s report, as befitted a subordinate of Zarlisch, was brimming with contempt for a weak enemy. They were a group in grey military uniforms who worshipped the power of Tytania in its most physical form.

Zarlisch shook his fine beard with an exasperated expression and, without so much as a moment’s thought, issued a casual order.

“Attack it.”

“Yes, but it is an official vessel of the Bargash government; if we attack it, it will be a hostile action against them…”

“I told you to attack it. We’ll sort things out with the Bargash government in due course. Do those fools really have the guts to go head-to-head with Tytania?”

Commander Granite opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, so there was no one left to stop his master. They were, after all, the most belligerent group in Tytania. No one took offence at being ordered to attack.

Even so, they did, of course, refrain from hitting their target with the very first shot. As two energy beams burst from the gun barrels and pierced the air at close range, the patrol vessel reacted like a small animal terrified of a thunderclap, tracing a chaotic wake across the dark sky as it fled at top speed.

The Tytanian fleet watched it depart with renewed derision, then turned their guns towards the ground. A dilapidated vessel lay crumpled upon the dark Tarhari Desert. Soon, those inside the cave witnessed several streams of fire converging on a single point.

“The ''Honest Old Man''…” sighed Miranda, her ample bosom quivering.

The dilapidated vessel, abandoned on the ground, was being cremated, its yellow and orange flames illuminating a corner of the twilight. The wind carried the flickering of the flames and the sound of burning deep into the underground cavern. This was the funeral of the ''Honest Old Man''.

Miranda placed a comforting hand on Captain Casimir’s arm as he stood there in silence. Though not quite to the same extent as the couple, the anti-Tytania ruffians who had made the ''Honest Old Man'' their home for several months gazed at the reflection of the flames with an uncharacteristic solemnity. Some muttered that it was a shame to waste such a vessel, even if it was a ramshackle old ship. There was no need to name them.

“Night has fallen before we expected, but we ought to be seeing some movement by now.”

Shaking off the grains of sentimentality or whatever emotional state lay close to it, Doctor Lee voiced a practical concern: The man he was attempting to elevate as the leader of the anti-Tytania faction had been silent for some time, deep in thought.

“It is a sorry state of affairs for someone who’s supposed to be vying with Tytania for supremacy in space to find himself being chased through an underground passage on a remote planet like this.”

As Doctor Lee muttered this, Miranda exhaled a large amount of carbon dioxide from her lungs.

“If we were just being chased, it wouldn’t be that bad. I wouldn’t mind dying out in space, but I’ve no desire to die underground.”

For everyone except Fan Hyulick, their current situation was but a hair’s breadth from certain death. Tytania had not a single milligram of reason or necessity to keep them alive. Even if they were to surrender, the only possible outcome would be to be lined up before Hyulick and shot.

“I have an idea.”

With those words, Fan Hyulick spoke up, and the group fixed their gaze on him, listening intently to his proposal. The sole exception was the ninety-something-year-old chief steward of the ''Honest Old Man'', who, ignoring both the flames and the commotion, leaned against the rock face and continued his solo performance of snoring, rising and falling in pitch.

Duke Zarlisch’s intention to take Fan Hyulick prisoner and keeping him alive was not born of compassion. Nor was it out of any intention to subject him to a fair trial. Nor was it out of any magnanimity to win over and appoint such a valuable talent to his side. It was solely to have Fan Hyulick brutally murdered by his own mother’s hand.

Now that this was clear, Hyulick had absolutely no need to show any deference to his opponent. And, as if in response to his combative resolve, the situation on the ground and in the air was beginning to shift one more time that day.

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