Tytania :Volume 1

Main Characters of the Breeze Volume

☆ Tytania Faction

Ajman Tytania (40 years old)… Eighth-generation head of the Tytania household. Holder of the title “Landless Clanner”.

Ariabert Tytania (27 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.

Jouslain Tytania (27 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.

Zarlisch Tytania (26 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.

Idris Tytania (24 years old)… Head of one of the “Tytania’s Five Families”. Duke.

Theresa Tytania (50 years old)… Zarlisch’s mother.

Balamy Tytania (18 years old)… Estrade’s son. Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp. Viscount.

Francia… Jouslain’s lady-in-waiting.

Lydia (10 years old)… Princess of the Kingdom of Elbing.

Donald Farah… Counsellor of the Tytania principality. Election technician.

Theodora Tytania… Aspirant to the rank of Countess.

Radmoth Tytania (17 years old)… Idris’ younger brother. Baron.

Harsha VI (35 years old)… Emperor of the Vardana Empire. Nominal ruler.

Aisha (31 years old)… Empress of the Vardana Empire.

☆ Anti-Tytania Faction

Fan Hyulick (28 years old)… Former commander of the Euria City Fleet.

Lira Florentz… A girl who helped Hyulick during his escape.

Mikhail Walenkov (27 years old)… Fan Hyulick’s former subordinate. Former aide-de-camp. Sub-Lieutenant.

Louis Edmond Pagès (26 years old)… Fan Hyulick’s former subordinate. Former Intelligence Staff Officer. Sub-Lieutenant.

Compton Casimir… Captain of the Honest Old Man. Miranda’s husband.

Miranda (28 years old)… Former Princess of the Duchy of Casabianca.

Lee Shanchen (27 years old)… Commonly known as Doctor Lee. Holds a PhD from planet Bargash.

Alan Mahdi (22 years old)… Former lieutenant of the Vardanian Imperial Army.

Salam Amzekar (30 years old)… Former admiral of the Vardanian Imperial Army.

Prologue – The Rise of Tytania

Dividing history into periods is merely a convenient device for writing and reading history textbooks. Yet, it may well be said that it is the ultimate goal of historical research. For the manner in which eras are defined and the approach taken to define them directly reflect the fundamental historical perspective of an individual.

In the past, back when humanity’s activities were confined to a single planet, Earth, a very simple division in four was commonly employed. Antiquity, Mediaeval, Early Modern, and Modern, with sometimes a Contemporary period added.

On this fundamental division, specific circumstances for each field were added. For the history of the arts, of science and technology, of literature, of economics, and so on, the division in periods often diverges from the general chronological division. The collapse of a vast empire may sometimes hold no influence whatsoever on the techniques and concepts behind sculpture.

When applying this to military history, the greatest turning point could be seen as the use of gunpowder. However, when it comes to military thought, there exists a cynical viewpoint that “since Sun Tzu, nothing whatsoever has fundamentally changed.” Furthermore, in military thought, a certain perspective divides eras based on the emergence of two major currents: “mechanisation and mass production” vs “guerilla”, though it raises the question of which of these emerged first, which is not an easy question to answer.

In political and social history classifications, it is common practice based on the adoption of the Stellar Year (SY) calendar to divide history between the “Earth Era” and the “Post-Earth Era” based specifically on the year when humanity’s primary base shifted from Earth to other celestial bodies. This, coupled with the abandonment of the Anno Domini (AD) calendar in favour of the SY calendar, brought a clear and significant shift in consciousness.

The so-called “Gagarin era” takes the year 1961 as its base, when a man by the name of Yuri Gagarin became the first human being to travel into space. A similar concept would be the “Apollo Era”, beginning in the year 1969, the year mankind first left footprints on a celestial body other than Earth; however, it is probably correct to say that it was “merely the success of an accumulated system, and it did not represent any change at all in the state of humanity as a whole” (U. N. de Waal). After Gagarin and Apollo, space remained the preserve of specialised technicians and did not become humanity’s living space.

By exchanging superluminal particles (tachyons) with subluminal particles (tardyons), faster-than-light speeds could be attained. This system was completed in the year 2420, and its completion would serve as the catalyst for the explosive expansion of humanity into outer space. That realisation represented an exceedingly rare example of a point of facts and truth coinciding almost perfectly, arguably the first time since the “Industrial Revolution”.

That era of development was an era of optimism. Popular aphorisms from back then include “Fear not failure” and “Fly before you see”. The population also grew, forming a pyramid-shaped demography. Within the solar system, the population that had remained static at 50 billion exceeded 100 billion within sixty years. By the year 2500, it reached 150 billion. During that period, FTL flight and its associated technologies underwent constant improvement, increasing safety for the humans using it, which in turn spurred migration towards outer space, expanding continuously the domain of human society.

Looking back over history, the period when human society was politically unified, the Earth United Government, barely lasted a century. By the 23rd century, following turmoil and confrontation, Mars and Venus achieved independence and established a political status equal to Earth’s. From then on, territorial expansion only accelerated political fragmentation.

To put it in hyperbolic terms, by going to an uninhabited planet, planting a homemade flag, and declaring independence, one could establish a new nation. Thus, by 2488, the number of nations had exceeded 10,000, but these “bubble states” lasted at most less than a generation, and by 2509 that number had been reduced to 806, and by 2530 it had fallen to 338. That year, various legal systems were finally put in place, and the SY calendar replaced the AD calendar. Earth didn’t experience any dramatic conflicts, and as its economic dominance weakened, it also lost its political influence and, by the mid-2400s, had already become but “one among many”.

Around that time, the common language of mankind was known as “Public”. It was based on the English language of the AD era, but English had many inconsistencies in grammar and noticeable differences between writing and pronunciation. Consequently, improvements were made to bring spelling closer to pronunciation, which increased its prevalence, and it is sometimes referred to as “phonetic English”. In any case, the spreading of Public allowed humanity to achieve at least a minimum level of mutual understanding.

And then, the era of “Interstellar City League” commenced with the Stellar Year calendar.

This was the first period of the “Post-Earth era”.

The “Interstellar City League” is often simply referred to as the “League”. The transformation of a proper noun to a common noun, or the reverse, is often an indicator of how powerful and influential that existence is. This is no exception.

If we started to talk about the concept of a city, we would have to spend many more pages. As for the Interstellar City League specifically, it is an artificial celestial body with independent political functions that conducts economical activities mainly pertaining to commerce and industry. It isn’t a monarchy but a city-state joining the League by the will of the majority of its citizenship.

That League had been established precisely in the first year of the Stellar Year calendar, although at that time only fourteen city-states participated. The following year, that figure rose to sixty, and by the year SY 30, it had reached a hundred and fifty. The citizens of cities joining the League simultaneously acquired the status of “League citizen” that protected their rights.

Since the League isn’t a nation, it has no capital city. Once a year, a general meeting is held in one of the cities of the League, and during that period, that city becomes the “League Representative City”. The League would establish there a Secretariat to handle its various administrative duties, with a Secretary-General at its head. The appointment of the Secretary-General is decided by vote of the General Assembly.

The Secretary-General of the League was, strictly speaking, responsible only for administrative matters and was neither a representative of the League nor its head of state. His duties include preparing and conducting the League General Assembly, compiling and managing statistics and official records, operating the Secretariat, and maintaining various regulations. Among his most crucial duties was the collection of contributions from each League city, and should he fail at that task, his own salary wouldn’t be paid. In every city, the tendency to give unsolicited opinions while being reluctant to participate in the budget was something that had remained fundamentally unchanged since the AD era.

The League didn’t have a standing military force. Each League city possessed its own “City Fleet” that exercised its military administration and command, and several city fleets would unite when facing a formidable enemy force. A commander-in-chief of the “League Fleet” was selected upon receiving approval from the General Assembly, but once the fighting concluded and the fleet was disbanded, he would receive a commendation payment and retire. Therefore, there was no rank designation such as “League Vice-Admiral”, and Admiral Philip Oakshaw, who had served as commander-in-chief of the League Fleet six times during his lifetime, officially held the title of general of the Halpolis City Army. Generally, commanders of City Fleets held the rank of vice-admiral or rear-admiral, and in smaller cities it wasn’t uncommon for a field officer to serve as commander. It could be said that Admiral Oakshaw was honoured with the highest distinction.

Furthermore, the League maintained facilities known as “kontor” throughout the galaxy to protect the economical activities of their cities and citizens.

The four major kontors of the League were established on the planetary states of Kafir, Ementhal, Tyron, and Bargash. For the Interstellar City League, kontors served as embassies, consulates, and trade missions, as well as headquarters for the resident communities, and were indispensable for safeguarding the rights and interests of the entire League. Both information and goods were distributed and gathered through them.

Each of these four major kontors had their own distinct characteristics.

In the case of the Kafir kontor, while its director was a League merchant, its Chief Director was a native Kafiran. His professional duties involved serving as a conduit between the League and the Kafirans, as well as collecting business taxes and property taxes from the kontor. But from the League’s perspective, it was merely a matter of elevating a prominent Kafiran figure to the position of Chief Director, granting him various privileges, and moulding him into their own representative.

In the case of the Ementhal kontor, no building existed bearing such a sign. Merchants in the city could freely establish offices, business premises, or residences wherever they wanted within city limits and conduct their affairs and activities as they saw fit, unless it concerned a particularly significant assembly. Every three years the head of the kontor was elected by assembly, and that person’s office or residence would be designated as the kontor’s liaison office for the subsequent three-year period.

However, when the location changed, the communication channels remained fixed, and the contact details were always clear. Since Ementhal was a planet of considerable political and economical stability, it could maintain a free and autonomous regime, much like a miniature version of the League itself. As a consequence, the inhabitants of Ementhal enjoyed a refined and rich culture, although limited to a local scale. The Faculty of Commerce and the Department of Trade of the University of Ementhal were established through donations from the kontor, and quite a number of graduates left Ementhal to become space merchants and ultimately League citizens.

As for the third kontor, Tyron, the situation was entirely different. That kontor possessed vast grounds, and all League merchants were required by regulations to establish not only their offices but also their residences within these grounds. On these premises, a social infrastructure sufficient to constitute an entire city was established, and one could live comfortably within the kontor until death if they so desired. That is, if they can overcome the feeling of spiritual confinement.

Tyron was a planet rich in resources, but its inhabitants had a somewhat insular disposition, valuing their ways and not harbouring necessarily favourable sentiments towards the Interstellar City League. League merchants would realise that they were marginalised by that planetary society and would seek to quickly turn a profit and depart. Unlike in Ementhal, they made no effort to reinvest their profits in the planetary society, which further frustrated the Tyronians. Consequently, the Tyron kontor took on an atmosphere that resembled a concession. Still, given Tyron’s geographical constraints, the League had no choice but to maintain the kontor, while Tyron itself couldn’t ignore the League’s economic influence, and thus the contour persisted.

Finally, the fourth kontor, Bargash. Compared to the other kontors, it occupied the most remote sector of space. The frontier expanded as human activities advanced, so the sector under this kontor’s jurisdiction was constantly growing.

Twenty years after its establishment, the volume under its jurisdiction had reached ten billion cubic light-years, encompassing two hundred inhabited planets within its commercial sphere. The number of uninhabited planets likely numbered ten times that. That kontor perpetually stood at the foremost frontier of human society, and unlike the refined urban culture of Ementhal, it brimmed with raw vitality, ambition, and adventurous spirit, coupled with speculative tendencies, wildness, and independence. The kontor lent capital to countless “adventure merchants” and handled their legal formalities while maintaining a specialised team dedicated to locating missing persons.

Among the activities of this kontor, the occupation of “Locator” became particularly distinctive.

What’s a Locator? An individual entrusted with authority by the owner of a celestial body to attract immigrants to planets and moons to advance their development. While fundamentally civilians, they are, strictly speaking, an agent of a government or a feudal lord, not a representative of the planet’s inhabitants. Historically, planets with Locators didn’t have resident autonomy and were therefore regarded as underdeveloped regions.

The income of a Locator entirely depended on the tax revenue generated by the planet under his management. If he succeeds in developing the planet, he could secure substantial tax revenues and pocket ten percent of them, making his lifestyle rival that of royalty and nobility.

The relationship between a feudal lord or a government and a Locator was contractual. The terms, remuneration, authority granted, and status guarantees were stipulated in the presence of a Bargash kontor official. Should either party breach the contract, it would mean antagonising the Bargash kontor, and, by extension, the League itself.

Beyond the four major kontors, the League maintained numerous commercial and diplomatic outposts known as “factories”, but even the largest among them wasn’t allowed to bear the title of kontors. The status of the four kontor was just that high.

“Is the person at the top a president or a kontor chief?”

As this popular saying circulated, the position of kontor chief represented the pinnacle of civilian achievement.

Thus followed the “Interstellar City League Era”. That period spanned from SY 229 and was also known as the “Age of Space Opera”, as some commentators ironically called it. On the topic of Space Opera, I recommend a good reading of A. N. Menshutkin’s Future Tense in Creative Activities even though it was the product of an era when humanity was still confined to Earth’s surface and aspiring to the heavens. Once mankind finally began to operate on other celestial bodies, it became a general term for popular entertainment novels, but in the end it could be said that it was an era of great vitality and ambition. “Humanity’s moral evolution never materialised. It merely expanded its scope of action,” sarcastically remarked Lian Hoon Dao, thinking it wise to not expect any spiritual elevation from that species until 1000 or 2000 years. It seemed likely that the human species would require a much longer period of time to improve.

Historically, the League of city-states’ greatest rival was the Vardana Empire.

Through prolonged endeavour, unmeasurable passion, and exceptional spatial technology, the League’s merchant fleets had established economic supremacy in space over all, except for the Vardana Empire.

The two frequently clashed in wars, with victories alternating between both sides, although the League usually maintained a seven-to-three advantage. This was due to the League surpassing the Empire in “space combat capability”, which encompassed vessel functionalities, crew proficiency, communications, and logistics.

The Vardana Empire was formidable and resilient, but it fell extremely short of the League’s sophistication when it came to economic and militaristic matters, amounting to what M. Thornycroft called a “hillbilly with muscles”. While they would invariably prevail when drawing League forces into their own territory, the League understood this and had ceased to pursue Imperial Forces deep in their territory and had instead severed their trading routes with the Empire. The Empire would then quickly capitulate, gnashing its teeth out of frustration, and be left with little choice but to beg for the restoration of trade. Occasionally, they feigned isolationism, but in these periods, the League would improve its space navigation and communication capabilities, which widened the gap between them even further. Even though they were their greatest rival, they only amounted to that much, and the Interstellar City League Era seemed destined to endure.

However, in the year SY 2287, a disaster occurred. A clan known as Tytania seceded from the Interstellar City League.

The Tytania clan was originally one of the most powerful and distinguished clans among the city-state League. By SY 220, the positions of mayor in ten cities, of commander in fourteen city fleets, of chairman of the League’s General Assembly, and of commander-in-chief of the League Fleet were all occupied by members of the Tytania clan. Merely eight years later, the Tytania clan seceded from the League. The entire clan renounced their League citizenship and defected to the Vardana Empire, taking all their fleets and assets with them.

This act of betrayal sent shockwaves through all of human society. It meant the collapse of social, political, economic, and military balance. Aside from any precise figures,

“The League’s power halved while the Empire’s doubled” was the impression it gave to contemporaries of that time. The impact on the League was immense.

Thus, the Tytania clan was elevated to nobility in the Vardana Empire. They received the title of “Landless Clanner” because they had firmly declined to be granted a fief. Bearing a marshal’s baton, they settled in the Privy Council, and lavish honours were bestowed upon them, leaving the previous generations of established nobility utterly dumbfounded. Even more dumbfounding to them was the haughty attitude displayed by the Tytanians.

Neville Tytania, who was then the head of the Tytania clan, would always publicly proclaim the following:

“We are not the subjects of the emperor but his allies and equals. Without Tytania, there is no empire, but without the empire, Tytania remains an unshaken existence.”

That boast was filled with immense pride. And although it was a bit of an exaggeration, it was almost the truth. Thus, they were bound to inspire awe and hatred alike. For the Interstellar City League, Tytania was an unforgivable traitor, subservient to a tyrannical despot. For the Empire, Tytania was an insolent upstart that showed none of the deference due as a subject, and it was unthinkable to extend favourable treatment to such scoundrels.

“In my cup, the blood of my enemies. In my eyes, no authority for a lord. In my ears, the lament of the vanquished. To my lips, the wine of victory.”

These verses were also composed by Neville, the first Lord of Tytania, in accordance with ancient customs. It had no literary merit whatsoever, but Tytania was permitted to boast about herself with such haughty arrogance.

The phrase “In my eyes, no authority for a lord” angered the courtesans of the Vardana Empire, but Harsha II, who was the emperor back then, simply smiled bitterly and placated them.

“He speaks only the truth. There is no point in rebuking him. Let him speak.”

Had he rebuked him, Tytania would have calmly declared herself an enemy of the Empire. The courtesans understood this and fell silent.

Having thus established superiority over the Interstellar City League, the Emperor could but dismiss the matter with a bitter smile, but for the League forced into a position of inferiority, laughter was hardly an option. They couldn’t forgive Tytania’s betrayal, and to recover from the blow of losing Tytania, they had no choice but to inflict upon the Vardana Empire a blow of equal or greater magnitude.

Thus, both through reason and illogicality, the League fortified its resolve to strike at Tytania. Mobilising its full strength, the League made thorough preparations and opened hostilities against the Empire with the greatest military force they amassed in all their history. “It is not the Empire that we fight, but Tytania,” they declared, hoping to isolate them. That stratagem functioned, forcing Tytania into fighting alone against the League. For Emperor Harsha II, nothing could have been more welcome than witnessing both Tytania and the Interstellar City League destroying themselves.

Thus, the following year, SY 229, saw the “Battle of the Braunwald Sector”, where the League forces suffered a crushing defeat. Neville Tytania completely annihilated an army that outmatched his two to one, and the League’s authority was utterly squashed. That single battle drew a dark curtain over the “League Era” that had seemed to be enduring until then.

From then on, the history of space navigation became synonymous with the history of Tytania. It was the process of establishing the hegemony of Tytania, achieved through both peaceful and unpeaceful means. The brutality would have scared the faint of heart and was filled with the scent of blood. Neville Tytania, fearing neither bloodshed nor infamy, acted as the most capable egoist in human society and achieved immense success.

The Tytanians weren’t the representatives of humanity’s morals. They were a clan that defended their own rights and interests by force. Anything perceived as detrimental to Tytania’s interests was ruthlessly eliminated. Merchant fleets from the Interstellar City League were attacked and plundered. Within the Empire, anti-Tytania vassals were assassinated, exiled, and purged.

There were rumours about Emperor Harsha II’s sudden death in his mid-fifties as having been orchestrated by Tytania. The fact that these rumours had been spread by Tytania themselves meant that the gravity of the situation was beyond imagining.

Depending on the calibre of its successor, Tytania’s strength and glory might not endure indefinitely. But Nuri, the son of Neville Tytania, proved to be a man of even greater cunning than his father. Neville, who was a person that others thought of as a monster, remarked of his son:

“I can hardly believe that he is my child. He seems like a completely different kind of existence,” he spat out.

Neville had his human failings, such as a fondness for women, a taste for drink, and a tendency to show some remorse after executing his subordinates in a fit of rage, but Nuri was a grey businessman adept with numbers and laws. Whatever his inner thoughts were, he always appeared cool and rational and skilfully managed the misjudgements and blunders his father made in his later years, steadily enhancing Tytania’s power and influence. Neville disliked Nuri but couldn’t afford to ignore him as a successor. In the year SY 269, at the age of 76, after forty years as head of clan, Neville stepped down and installed Nuri as the second-generation head.

Neville lived yet another nine years, but his final days were spent in disappointment and solitude. To consolidate his own power, Nuri wielded the blade of inner purges, killed all three of his brothers and both of his sister’s husbands, and found pretexts to execute twenty-eight of the thirty-six officials who had assisted his father. Jean Ferral, who had served Neville for half a century, saw his entire family slaughtered. Ferral sent Neville a plea to spare at least his young grandchildren, but it fell into Nuri’s hands. Before his bedridden father, he tore the plea to shreds and announced Ferral’s execution. In a fit of rage, old Neville rose from his sickbed to seize his son and fell to the floor, dying from physical and mental shock.

What could have led Nuri to carry out such cruel deeds? That mystery would soon be revealed.

Even before the end of old Neville’s funeral, Nuri’s opponents to his tyranny began plotting to oust him from his position as head of the clan. Dissatisfied elements from within Tytania, aided by key figures from the Empire and the League, formed a large “Anti Nuri Front”. Then, the very next year, the very moment they were about to take concrete action, Nuri’s glistening sword flashed.

“This is what is called ‘catching the whole herd in a single throw’,” is what Nuri reportedly told his secretary.

This brutal purge, either directly or indirectly, claimed the lives of some 65,000 people.

Having purged both internal and external enemies in blood and mud, Nuri became a literal despot. His notoriety could rival that of a demon lord, and yet, he had never laid a finger on anyone outside the “Anti-Nuri Front”, so surprisingly, he wasn’t that hated by ordinary citizens. His objective was to establish order with his own hands.

Nuri had five sons, each of whom established a household.

They were known as “Tytania’s Five Families”, and only the descendants of these families could bear the surname Tytania. Furthermore, the chairman of the family council, in other words, the head of the clan, was elected from among the Five Families. He obtained the title of “Landless Clanner”, was addressed to reverently as “Your Clanner Highness”, and wielded absolute power, both within and beyond the realm.

Nuri made Tytania’s power unshakeable and placed its internal systems in order. Then, as the generations passed from the third generation, Chatelet, to the fourth generation, Var, to the fifth generation, Barneveld, their authority and prestige decisively settled, making it impossible to have any rivals.

“A single bloodline rules humanity and the cosmos. And yet, formally, this bloodline is but the subject of a single nation. Its military might, though a mere private army, surpasses all national forces. This, indeed, is Tytania.”

Thus declared the third-generation lord, Chatelet, before continuing as he puffed his chest out:

“The universe exists along with Tytania.”

It might seem at first glance like an offhand remark. And yet in truth, rare were statements brimming with such arrogance. He didn’t say, “Tytania exists along with the universe,” but the opposite. He was without a doubt the grandson of the mighty Neville Tytania.

Tytania was reviled, despised, and hated for various reasons as well as the current state of affairs, and yet it was also true that, without Tytania, cosmic order couldn’t be maintained.

Generation after generation, the heads of the Tytania clan were at the very least sufficiently capable individuals when they were not outstanding, and they governed their clan well and managed their organisation as well as maintained the power and influence inherited from their ancestors. Even when internal struggles or rivalries arose within the clan, they would unite outwardly to protect their common interests.

They didn’t desire the title of Emperor, nor the political union of the cosmos. What they aspired to, and achieved, was to parasitise on the entirety of human society while dominating its principal parts. And yet, on the other hand, they certainly held some pride as the holders of the title of “Landless Clanner”, with the conviction that their domain was outer space itself.

Tytania. Its name was made immortal in history as the Tytanian Age, or Pax Tytaniana. The year SY 229 marked the beginning of that era.

In the year SY 446, the Tytania Era seemed to endure unshaken. The current Landless Clanner was the eighth-generation lord of the clan, Ajman Tytania. He had held the position for five full years and had just turned 40. A man of sculptural features with silver-grey hair, he was said to be stern and shrewd, a reincarnation of the Second Lord of the clan, Nuri.

That year, Ajman made a demand on the city of Euria, one of the powerful city-states that formed the Interstellar City League. The demand consisted of Euria selling for a hundred million dakars its latest chemical semi-permeable membrane technology, which had been developed and refined for planetary ocean development. That technology was projected to yield Euria two hundred million dakars in annual profits for the next thirty years, which made Ajman’s demand seem like highway robbery. Euria rejected the demand. But rejecting a demand from Tytania could not go unpunished.

The Interstellar City League, which once ruled over the cosmic ocean, had declined along with Tytania’s rise to become a second-rate power. Even so, it remained a force that couldn’t be ignored as a counterweight to Tytania, and it often rallied anti-Tytanian factions, chipping away at its hegemony. Consequently, the city-state of Euria should have had the power to resist the power of Tytania, but for the past decade or so, Euria had acted as a non-mainstream faction within the League and had defaulted on its contribution payments, so the League remained unresponsive to Euria’s call for assistance and even refused to convene a general assembly.

Without a general assembly, a League Fleet could not be assembled. Therefore, the city-state of Euria had to confront the invasion from Tytania with nothing but their own city fleet.

For the city of Euria, this was a disaster of epic proportions, and yet, for the wider human society at large, it was an event barely worthy of attention. After all, Tytania’s victory was certain. And the future would see the Era of Tytania continue. A future so obvious that even a child could understand it seemed to loom for the city of Euria.

Thus was the state of affairs in the cosmos that preceded the “Battle of Cerberus Sector”.

Chapter 1 – The Hegemons

I

17th of May, SY 446. The Tytania clan meeting was being held in an atmosphere bereft of love and friendship. There was nothing strange about that. It was commonly known that in Tytania, there was unity, but no love. They were not so weak as to demand love or affection from their own kind. Weakness within Tytania was the most hated defect. At an ebony conference table, four men sat, wearing grey and gold military uniforms with grey half-coats, their grey military caps resting on the table. On the left of their chests, only their rank insignia was of a burning red.

All four of them held the surname Tytania. To be more precise, each was the head of one of the Five Families. The fifth person who was absent from the event was Ajman, the eighth Landless Clanner. All four were young. None of them had reached 30 yet. They were Tytania within Tytania, with noble blood and power befitting their station, from a lineage of cosmic hegemons.

At 27 years old, Ariabert Tytania was a handsome man, and yet, for some strange reason, his fine features failed to make a strong impression on people. “You have a face sculpted by an unknown artist fawning over a wealthy lady,” his father once praised. “Ariabert? Ah, that handsome fellow?” And yet there was a certain lack of individuality about him. One might also say that he was too conventional. He had shiny and whitish-blond hair, grey-blue eyes, a tall and well-proportioned build, and on this day he looked somewhat pale and depressed.

In contrast to Ariabert, Jouslain Tytania, who was also 27 years old, had a plain face, and there was nothing particularly noteworthy about his physique. However, his brown eyes, which were the same colour as his hair, had an oddly striking deep radiance that made him seem more handsome than Ariabert. Whenever he sat at a meeting, he had the habit of placing his right hand on his lap and his left on the table, quietly tapping his fingers. Some said that these movements were a response to the rhythm of his brain cells. He was said to be Ariabert’s cousin, but to tell the truth, their blood relationship was far more complex.

Zarlisch Tytania was a man of imposing stature and tremendous presence, and his rugged features and thick beard made him look much older than Ariabert and Jouslain. And yet, it was merely the effect of a successful disguise, since in truth, he was a year younger than them. His gaze and mouth were powerful, not showing a trace of weakness. In appearances alone, he had the qualities to become Tytania’s leader at a moment’s notice. His arms, which were fifty percent larger in diameter than Jouslain’s, were crossed over his broad chest.

Idris Tytania was the youngest of the four, having just turned 24. As far as features went, he was a nobleman of striking beauty that surpassed even that of Ariabert’s, but one couldn’t help but perceive a hint of hostility about him, likely due to his sharp and fiery spirit that tended to stand out and break the harmony of his entire personality. He was extremely self-conscious about being the youngest of the heads of the Five Families and couldn’t tolerate being made light of. He had two ways to overcome it. One was to improve himself, and the other was to drag others down. Today was an example of the latter.

“Lord Ariabert, you look rather pale. Is something troubling you?”

Hearing Idris’ voice, Ariabert’s brow seemed to twitch for half a second, but he remained silent.

“Of course he doesn’t look well. Lord Ariabert has achieved an unprecedented feat since the founding of the Tytania Principality. The great achievement of suffering a crushing defeat at the hands of a single City Fleet.”

Zarlisch’s reply came in a deep and resounding voice, which in this particular case was naturally tinged with derision. Jouslain remained silent, observing with a slightly sarcastic gaze as Ariabert’s well-formed ears flushed red. For Ariabert, Jouslain’s silence held a weight that was far more noticeable than the loud voices of the other two. Clicking his tongue with displeasure, he steadied his breath and turned his upper body towards Jouslain.

“Why are you so composed? Our Tytania’s prestige has been tarnished, and our ability to rule is being put into question.”

“Our?” repeated Jouslain deliberately as a gentle and ironic frown formed between his eyes. “It isn’t ours. It’s yours. It is you personally who have been defeated, Lord Ariabert. Use the singular. Tytania remains undefeated. Your defeat isn’t Tytania’s defeat.”

Jouslain’s declaration skilfully struck at Ariabert’s wound. Ariabert’s handsome features distorted as if he had tasted acid and salt.

Zarlisch Tytania laughed, his imposing frame shaking. A twisted smile formed from Idris Tytania’s bitterly contorted lips. Jouslain Tytania, the source of their amusement, gazed down at his grey military cap with an expression suggesting that he found nothing of this amusing. He seemed to regard his own actions and consequences as completely trivial. He was Tytanian and the only Tytanian who wasn’t particularly proud about that fact.

As Ariabert was about to retort something, his expression changed to one of reverence and tension. His gaze, fixed on the thick mahogany door, had caught the sight of a fifth figure.

“Your Clanner Highness…”

The four youth rose, careful to not make their chairs creak, and respectfully saluted their clan’s leader. The Tytanian salute consisted of straightening one’s back and placing one’s fist over the left shoulder.

The silver-haired Landless Clanner Ajman Tytania took place at the head of the table with an expression of effortless authority, his shoulders radiating with the unmistakable poise and dignity that befitted a cosmic overlord.

Over the last four years or so, the heads of the Five Families of Tytania had successively passed their role to the next generation, and with the exception of Ajman, the lord of the clan, all four were in their twenties. Conversely, back when their fathers were alive, Ajman had been the youngest among the heads of the Five Families and hadn’t enjoyed the full trust and respect of his elders. In order to command and intimidate his elders, Ajman had exerted considerable effort, though it didn’t take him a lot of time to do so. The succession of leadership within Tytania had occurred with such continuation and so superbly that many suspected the hand of some non-divine entity acting from the shadows. To the present day, the history of Tytania has stirred the imagination of the public. And yet, as long as Tytania held sway, the truth of the matter would never be publicly revealed.

Seated in the highest position reserved for the overlord, Ajman gave the first signal, and the four young noblemen dismissed their salute and took their seats. Greetings such as “I’m glad to see you are all well” were not customary in the Tytania clan. With a second signal, a rectangular white light appeared on the wall opposing him, forming a screen.

Projected on that screen was the portrait of a young man. He seemed to be the same age as Ariabert and Jouslain. He had a somewhat narrow face, carrot-coloured hair, and wore a leopard-print handkerchief wrapped as a bandana. He wore a black lightweight turtleneck sweater and a sepia-coloured military uniform. It was a common uniform of the Interstellar City League, and his city of affiliation was indicated by a number inscribed on his right breast. “0117” meant that he was a citizen of the city-state of Euria.

“He looks like a weak man.”

The one who voiced that opinion was Zarlisch Tytania. An atmosphere of wry amusement was hanging over his seat.

“It’s at the hands of that weak-looking greenhorn that Tytania suffered defeat. By the way, gentlemen, this man is 28 years old, which makes him older than any of you.”

The Landless Clanner Ajman nonchalantly admonished him for underestimating him. At the word “defeat”, Ariabert’s cheeks slightly paled. Before he could protest, the Landless Clanner silenced him with a glance and continued his admonition.

“Lord Ariabert, defeat is inevitable. Victory and defeat are inherent to war. But I hope you do not lose the courage to face defeat head-on.”

“I shall engrave this within me, Your Clanner Highness.”

Ariabert’s answer held palpable restraint. Losing one’s temper in front of the lord of the clan was a taboo in Tytania. While each lord through history had their distinct characteristics, a minimum standard of etiquette still had to be observed. Countless people had brought their downfall upon them through discourtesy born out of passion.

II

In April that year, Duke Ariabert Tytania was the commander of the Tytanian forces at the “Battle of Cerberus Sector”. He had assembled a fleet of such a magnitude one could hardly imagine that it was intended to oppose a single city fleet.

This fundamental strategy wasn’t flawed in any way. Even a close examination of Earth’s ancient history shows that military leaders such as Edward the Black Prince and Wallenstein had achieved victory by gathering large numbers, organising and structuring them, guaranteeing their supply lines, and deploying them through conventional tactics. In the first half of the 17th century AD, Wallenstein was capable of mobilising an army of 100,000 to 200,000 men, although no city in Germany at the time had a population exceeding 40,000.

Tytania would first overwhelm the enemy through the quality and quantity of its fleet. The fact that the primary purpose of military force was deterrence through intimidation was something that Tytania understood. Speed and firepower of the vessels, crew proficiency, and operational and command capabilities of the leadership. In both hardware and software, Tytania was far ahead of the rest.

As long as that superiority was maintained, Tytania’s defeat was inconceivable.

Ariabert himself had his first battle when he was 15 and was promoted to the rank of vice-admiral of the Vardana Imperial Army at 25 a few years ago. It seemed assured that he would be made full admiral by 30. For a head of one of the Five Families, this was a perfectly reasonable career progression. As a side note, the heads of the Five Families held the title of Imperial Duke, were members of the House of Peers, and possessed privileges such as tax exemption and immunity from arrest. Tytania was a de facto independent state within the Vardana Empire, and its private army was the most elite force within the Imperial military.

Ariabert Tytania, after meticulous preparation, moved his troops with majestic pomp. “A hiking trip, armed to the teeth” is what Ariabert himself described it, and he was confident of his complete victory. It would be harsh to call him negligent. Fan Hyulick, the appointed commander of the Euria City Fleet, would crush Tytania’s invincible armada using tactics that no one could have possibly imagined. It was a sleight of hand in the deployment of the Weigert canons.

The Weigert canon was named after its developer. It was a type of electromagnetic catapult, but it was difficult to reuse, making it a single-use weapon. A non-magnetic projectile was coated with a conductive metal in its rear, and a massive current was applied through it, causing the coating to vaporise instantaneously. This created an expanding magnetic field while simultaneously a powerful explosive charge instantly compressed a metal track, generating a magnetic field in the opposite direction in the accelerator. Thus, the two opposing magnetic fields were violently compressed, like two springs pushed together from opposite directions, propelling the projectile at terrifying speeds.

A standard Weigert cannon barrel measured ten metres in length for a calibre of 46.5 centimetres and could fire a massive uranium-238 projectile at a speed of 150 kilometres per second, which was equivalent to 540,000 kilometres per hour. It was virtually impossible to defend against it, and a single shot could destroy a battleship. However, the recoil from the firing energy rendered the barrel unusable, making it a one-shot certain-death weapon.

They were useless unless trying to finish off the enemy or for a desperate comeback when an artillery battle reached its final stage. A skilled commander would avoid using Weigert canons and secure victory at an earlier stage. A Weigert could damage not only the barrel but also, sometimes, the mount or even the ship carrying it, so it was, in a sense, like a family heirloom sword: not something to use lightly.

Fan Hyulick had employed them extensively. He had assembled a fleet of six hundred small gunboats, each armed with a single Weigert cannon, some newly built, some acquired secondhand, prioritising sheer numbers. Against the imposing and well-organised Tytanian invasion force, he had repeatedly feigned retreat before engaging in a close-range gun battle. The result of the battle was that in exchange for 600 small gunboats, Fan Hyulick had completely destroyed 119 battleships, 47 space carriers, 80 landing ships, 106 cruisers, 147 frigates, and 104 transport vessels.

From the outset he had intended not only for the Weigert cannons to be disposable but for the vessels carrying them as well. The gunboats would partially disintegrate upon firing, and the crew, already wearing airtight suits, would escape via capsules. The total crew for the 600 vessels was 7,200 men. This represented less than 1% of the entire Tytanian force. And among these 7,200, the number of casualties such as KIA, killed in accidents, prisoners, or MIA didn’t even reach a hundred. The Tytanian casualties amounted to over 100,000 men. Commander Ariabert Tytania was profoundly shocked, and while Zarlisch and Idris welcomed their kin’s woes, when they imagined themselves in his position, they harboured a winter in a corner of their minds.

“Fan Hyulick, huh? He strikes me as a rather intriguing individual, but what are your thoughts, gentlemen?”

In response to Ajman’s voice, Idris raised one hand to his shoulder height to request permission to speak.

“Your Clanner Highness, I, Idris, have undertaken some investigations into this Fan Hyulick.”

Eight pairs of eyes focused on the youngest. Idris slightly straightened his back under his grey military uniform and met the Landless Clanner’s gaze. When Ajman silently nodded, Idris rose from his seat and began to speak.

“Although Lord Ariabert was immature and careless, it remains a regrettable fact that this Fan Hyulick could strike a blow to the Tytanian army.”

Upon hearing these words, Ariabert, the defeated commander, fixed him with a gaze filled with loathing. He was doing this on purpose. Idris remained impassive.

“To ignore such a man and leave him unchecked would not serve Tytania’s interests. A city-state like Euria is too small a place to nurture such a military talent, so I therefore am of the opinion that we should set our grievances aside and welcome him into our ranks, or otherwise, eliminate him.”

“Which of these do you hope for, Lord Idris?”

“I shall answer upon your will, Your Clanner Highness.” With perfectly natural flattery, Idris proceeded to state his opinion: “If Your Highness permits me to offer my humble thoughts, I believe that we should first dispatch emissaries to call for submission, welcome generously those who respond, and severely punish for their discourtesy those who refuse. Tytania may value talent, but we show no mercy towards the arrogance and rudeness of others, and both these aspects must be made perfectly clear.”

Idris then began to describe the character of the enemy commander based on his investigations.

Fan Hyulick was not a famous military person. Far from it, he wasn’t even a soldier to begin with. At the age of 20, he graduated from Euria’s Merchant Marine University and became a clerk aboard a passenger ship, spending a year doing menial tasks. He then became a clerk at Kafir’s kontor, spending two years doing menial tasks. He then worked as a clerk for a cargo convoy, spending another year doing menial tasks, and after that was captured by a Tytanian warship and spent a year in a detention camp. By the time he returned home, he was already 25 years old, and far from making a name for himself, he hadn’t even secured a job that could put food on the table. He had a woman who seemed to be his lover, but while Fan Hyulick was lamenting his meagre soup rations in the detention camp, she went and married someone with a brighter future. Convinced that he was on friendly terms with misfortune, Fan Hyulick applied to join the City Fleet. He outrageously thought that he could take advance pay and desert, but he got the deadline wrong and ended up sleeping in the apartment of a woman he met at a bar when the military police raided the place to force him to enlist. Once conscripted, his talent as an artillery officer was revealed, and he rose through the ranks in short order…

“You did a good investigation, Lord Idris.”

Having received the magnanimous praise of his lord, Ajman, and thus saving face, Idris saluted and returned to his seat. Ariabert and Zarlisch looked at him, each with a different expression. Jouslain slightly closed his eyes and looked like he was conversing with his own inner universe. That man was the only one who resisted Idris’ attempts at psychological insight, which often irritated the youngest Tytanian.

“There is a fact here that even Lord Idris doesn’t know about.” The voice had flowed from the lips of the Landless Clanner Ajman. “Fan Hyulick has already been expelled from his mother city. His merit was rewarded with punishment. But I wonder if any of you knows why?”

After a moment of silence, Zarlisch slightly tilted his powerful neck.

“I presume that the citizens of Euria feared Your Clanner Highness’ wrath, took matters into their own hands and disposed of this meritorious man?”

“That’s a part of it. But it isn’t the whole story.”

A faint smile flickered at the corner of the Landless Clanner’s mouth. When his white teeth gleamed like blades, Ariabert, Zarlisch and Idris felt sharp waves of dread surging through their nervous systems. The silver-haired overlord’s demeanour was serene, but it only meant that even during the harshest winter there were mild days. They knew this very well.

“Gentlemen, let us consider this. Why did Euria send an unknown and inexperienced commander to oppose our Tytanian army? If they were expectant of Fan Hyulick’s exceptional talent, then they don’t seem to be satisfied with the outcome. How do you interpret this?”

As the overlord’s voice reached his ears, Jouslain Tytania finally opened his eyes, his gaze turning thoughtful.

“Your Clanner Highness, mayhap Euria deliberately appointed some obscure commander, thinking from the start that he would lose?”

“An apt observation, Lord Jouslain. You are correct,” nodded Ajman, speaking in the manner of a teacher. “Euria resorted to underhanded means. While secretly seeking reconciliation with Tytania, they had to maintain their appearances as a League city. They intended to fight a battle, lose it, and dismiss the entire situation as radical factions running amok, however…”

“Then Your Clanner Highness, if I may be so bold as to ask, had you already negotiated in advance an agreement with Euria?”

Jouslain Tytania’s expression and voice were nonchalant, but they had the effect of an invisible hand brushing over the assembled guests like static electricity. The one whose expression looked the most hurt was Ariabert, the defeated commander. He realised that far from a tragic hero, in the worst-case scenario, he might have been a mere supporting actor in a third-rate farce.

“Tytania fears not bloodshed. But she disdains pointless bloodshed. If our objectives are achieved and coexistence with the opponent is established, that is sufficient. Don’t you agree?”

The Landless Clanner Ajman had affirmed Jouslain’s question. In other words, the Battle of Cerberus Sector had been a staged performance from the outset. Secret negotiations had taken place, leading to an agreement being reached: the price for the chemical formula would be tripled, and ten percent of the royalties that Tytania would receive would be returned to Euria. In order to quell discontent within Euria, a token battle was necessary, so they deployed a small force with the intent to lose. They had even chosen an obscure commander and had meticulously staged the scene of their soldiers losing and fleeing, but that commander, who had no knowledge of the political agreement (or so it appeared), ended up winning. Euria had every reason to be panicking.

With these circumstances clarified, a decision was taken to extend an invitation to Fan Hyulick to go to Tytania. After discussing a few more routine agenda items, the meeting was adjourned thirty minutes later.

“This concludes our meeting. Gentlemen, thank you for your hard work.”

Such ordinary farewells held no place in Tytania. Without a word, Ajman Tytania, the Landless Clanner, rose from his seat, swung his sturdy tall frame, and left the conference room. Upon watching him, the four young Dukes, for some reason, took a breath.

III

On the beltway leading to the spaceport, two Tytanians, Ariabert and Jouslain, were walking side by side. Ariabert kept opening and closing his mouth, while Jouslain listened in silence to his cousin’s voice. Ariabert was clearly displeased with the role that had been thrust upon him at the Battle of Cerberus Sector. Finally, maybe irritated by Jouslain’s quasi-unresponsive attitude, he slightly rose his voice.

“Well, Lord Jouslain, are you saying you would have been able to claim victory in such a ludicrous battle?”

“Did it appear like I was making such a claim?”

As Jouslain answered for the first time, he appeared somewhat lost, as if his consciousness were drifting on the edge, but it seemed like his own voice was bringing him back to reality.

“You didn’t. But I was wondering whether you, Lord Jouslain, might have been able to do what I was unable to.”

“Lord Ariabert, it is from your defeat you should learn. There is nothing to learn from me. The thoughtless words that I said before the council began were due to my own rashness. I would be thankful if you forgave them.”

“Hum…” With an expression showing some dissatisfaction, Ariabert nevertheless nodded. “Well then, let us convene at the Celestial City. Until then, I shall take my leave.”

Nonchalantly raising one hand, Jouslain turned on his heel, and Ariabert followed suit, walking towards the direction where his own spacecraft awaited.

From the window of the VIP lounge in the Tytanian space station Trill IV, overlord Ajman gazed at the four spacecraft that were ascending one after the other into the dark void. An elderly steward carrying coffee respectfully addressed him from behind.

“Lord Ariabert appeared somewhat displeased, did he not?”

“Displeased indeed. But holding grudges would not be of any service to Ariabert himself.”

The will of the Landless Clanner, the commander-in-chief, was the very essence of justice in Tytania. One had to obey the overlord’s commands, even if it went against one’s wishes and bred discontent. From the moment they were born, those of Tytanian blood and who bore the name Tytania had a single set of values hammered into their very bones. The head of the clan, as overlord, was deeply revered and sacred. The interests of Tytania were supreme and took precedence over all existence in the cosmos. Ajman himself was taught that since he was old enough to understand. One wasn’t forbidden from harbouring dissatisfaction and grievances. But expressing them was a grave sin.

“Oblon, what do you make of the Four Dukes? You may speak freely. Who do you think possesses the mettle to lead the clan as the overlord?”

“In my humble view, Lord Jouslain would appear to possess the stature befitting of a commander-in-chief.”

“I also think so. Though, surprisingly, it might be that he is merely well gifted in the art of appearing so.”

“You are most prudent.”

“One might call it excessive suspicion.”

Ajman faintly smiled as he uttered words that seemed like self-criticism. Only the overlord could disparage the overlord. The steward merely bowed respectfully, avoiding either agreeing or disagreeing. Overlord Ajman paid no mind to his steward’s ambiguous reaction and pursued his train of thought.

None of the four were incompetent. Though they lacked experience due to their age, they had both talent, courage, and were capable of commanding subordinates. Once they accumulated experience, good advisers, and secured the unity of their clans, they could leave a legacy of governance that would not pale next to that of the past overlords.

And yet, none had the stature to serve as Tytania’s commander-in-chief. Jouslain appeared to be the most capable, but Ajman sensed something oddly inscrutable about him. It was neither a tyrannical streak, nor folly, nor some abnormality. Was Jouslain’s wisdom perhaps turning critical towards Tytania’s past and current state? That thought had no reason or evidence. If anything, it was inseparable from Ajman’s high regard for Jouslain. A capable man couldn’t lack critical awareness of the status quo. Ajman himself had been like that in his twenties.

Barring extraordinary circumstances, Ajman would likely maintain his position as Landless Clanner for another thirty or forty years. By then, both Jouslain and Ariabert would be in their twilight years. Ajman’s eldest son, Theophilus Tytania, was currently six years old and, in forty years, would be in his prime. Ajman’s seat would then be taken by his son Theophilus. However, should Theophilus’ ability and talent prove inferior to others within his family, it wouldn’t benefit Tytania to push his son as his successor. Ajman fully understood this. It was his duty as Tytania’s leader.

The lighting of the interior was dim, and beyond the transparent walls the stars twinkled with a pale blue. The spacecraft was heading towards the capital of the Vardana Empire, planet Ryutehi. A two-day voyage of eighty light-years. For Tytania, it was but a stroll in a back garden.

Jouslain Tytania sat cross-legged on the couch, his gaze fixated beyond the transparent wall, but he then shifted his glance towards a corner of his salon.

“Francia.”

“Yes, Lord Jouslain.”

“Tytania is powerful and proud.”

“Yes, it is as you say.”

“Hum. But what purpose does that power serve? What purpose does that pride serve? Sometimes I cannot help but wonder.”

Jouslain gazed at the starlit lake with a bitter smile. His eyes seemed very deep, seemingly concealing a wealth of almost frightening intelligence. As her master was addressing her, the young handmaid added ice to the freshly brewed sangria, her white cheeks slightly flushing beneath her dark hair. The ice clinked against the silver cup, sounding like a collision of pearls into their eardrums.

“But Clan Tytania contributed to making history.”

The 18-year-old young girl was also a member of the Tytania Clan.

“Tytania only contributes to Tytania.”

Jouslain’s answer was laconic and clear. For a moment, a bubble of silence floated around the room and burst near the ceiling.

“Not that you are wrong. Tytania did what only Tytania could do and shall continue to do so. But what purpose does it serve?”

Jouslain brushed back his brown hair.

If Tytania didn’t exist, history would simply be written without her. Humanity would not suffer from Tytania’s absence. Should enough of mankind realise this truth, Tytania’s might and glory would surely meet the same fate as a sandcastle built on the shore. He was a man ill-suited for Tytania. That he was born to one of the Five Families of Tytania could only be attributed to malice or a mistake from the Creator. Though he believed that, Jouslain knew that he could not escape from that malice.

Although they were rulers of the cosmos and wielded absolute power, Tytania was a heresy. And among them, Jouslain was an ever greater heretic. As a sagacious heretic, he had been aware of that fact since boyhood and had carefully concealed his true nature. For it was obvious that the abnormally proud Tytanian bloodline would not suffer those who doubted their very raison d’être.

Since the age of 16, Jouslain had assisted his father, a capable though frail military and administrative man, in commanding his fleet. His uncommon cool composure and broad perspective for someone of his young age had earned him praise from his father as well as the previous overlord. Though it was no choice of his own, the fact that he ended up in a position where he had to compete with Ariabert, Zarlisch, and Idris, his contemporaries, was an inescapable circumstance.

He vividly remembered the day when a younger Ajman who wasn’t yet the overlord patted him on the shoulder and told him with a smile: “Once I become the overlord, I want you to be my advisor”. Tytania. A fleet of 100,000 vessels. 300,000 carracks. Humanity’s largest power. Maintaining it required both cunning politics to prevent the unification of the anti-Tytania factions as well as relative military superiority achieved through a divide-and-conquer policy.

“Do you believe me to possess precognition abilities, Francia?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, the girl’s eyes slightly widened. Offering her master a silver cup of cold sangria, she replied in a low voice:

“If you say it is so, Lord Jouslain, then I shall believe it.”

Taking the silver cup, Jouslain murmured:

“In that case, remember this. One day, Tytania shall inevitably have to rely on me, Jouslain. However, that shall be when Tytania is faced with the direst of circumstances. Therefore, it would be better for Tytania if it were never my turn to shine.”

The coolness of the cup against his lips felt pleasant.

The history of Tytania was coloured with blood and gold. If one scratched beneath the surface, hues of conspiracy and treachery would appear. A boundless darkness. Jouslain never forgot the abyss that was opened beneath their very feet. He took no pride in his own perception. Compared to Ariabert, Zarlisch, and Idris, he believed his own mental stance to be regressive. It would be for the best if one of these three became Tytania’s commander-in-chief.

Yet, as he was entertaining this thought, a strangely compelling conviction took root in Jouslain’s heart. Someone is bound to realise. Once, the existence of Tytania didn’t exist in the universe. Once someone realises that truth, inevitably the concept of a “universe without Tytania” would be conceived.

IV

The Vardana Empire reigned over 148 inhabited planets across 90 star systems. It had a total population of six hundred billion people, making it the largest society in mankind, both in territory and population. Over 18 generations spanning 388 years since its foundation, its history was only second to the Kingdom of Angletur, establishing it as an unshakeable superpower.

However, beneath that surface lay another truth. In essence, Vardana was merely Tytania’s headquarters. Whether in terms of financial resources, military might, or scientific and technological advances, should Tytania be excluded, Vardana would amount to nothing more than a second-rate power.

“Tytania chose Vardana. Not the other way around.”

Boastful rhetoric was Tytania’s chronic flaw. It had been almost a tradition since Neville, the founder, and that remark was but another example of it. It showed no consideration for how a listener might perceive it. After all, the very essence of Tytania was its haughty spirit that was able to say things like “the lamentations of our defeated foes are a pleasure to our ears”. Such a thing as a timid Tytanian didn’t exist in the world of men. Should even a crack appear in their resolve, Tytanian supremacy would crumble without as much as a sound and be reduced to cosmic dust.

“Cruelty is preferable to weakness.” This one statement would soon find an opportunity to be proven true.

On the 27th of May of that year, an event took place that was impossible to overlook in the history of the Vardana Empire.

It was originally meant to be a celebration. It was Emperor Harsha VI’s birthday, and envoys from every planet within the empire and also other nations were sent to the court. Planet Ryutehi, the capital of Vardana, was filled with bustle, and Pavienne, the crystal mansion that served as an imperial palace, was swamped by waves of adorned crowds.

The military uniform of the Vardana Empire was a dull orange. Floating in this sea of orange like grey islands were, of course, the uniforms of Tytania. This distinction made Tytania’s presence in Vardana obvious, even to a child’s eye.

On that largest island were the heads of the Five Families of Tytania. Ariabert, Jouslain, Zarlisch, Idris, and Ajman the Landless Clanner. Even they, in such a time and place, observed the rituals of the subjects and stood to greet the emperor.

The title of Landless Clanner came precisely from the fact that he held no fief granted by the emperor. Of course, Tytania possessed numerous lands and estates, but no such thing as a “vassal kingdom” or a “vassal territory”.

Tytania’s sources of income were her own enterprises in spacefaring, commerce, security, planetary development, and so on, as well as tolls. The latter in particular was a demonstration of Tytania’s power and influence. Space wasn’t a free and ownerless expanse, but Tytania’s garden. When seen in this manner, one could understand the implication of the “Landless” title. It meant that Tytania had no need for land.

Tytania paid homage to the Vardanan Emperor, but it was purely a matter of form. For Tytania, formalities were trivialities.

“His Majesty Harsha II was far too indulgent. He should have crushed Tytania’s head from the beginning and never allowed them to run so rampant.”

The courtiers of the Vardana Empire were lamenting in secret. To them, their laments were perfectly justifiable, but in essence, they were but the pathetic exercise of reaffirming their own powerlessness. Their ancestors had defied Tytania’s despotism, forcing the second lord, Nuri, to drink blood from the cup of purge. They were now bound by Tytania’s chains, only permitted to whisper among themselves, jumping in fear that the object of their slander might hear them.

Clad in the shining military regalia of the Imperial Grand Marshal, Emperor Harsha VI appeared on the stairs. Following three paces behind the Emperor was his Prime Minister Salomon, dressed in the civil officer’s ceremonial robes. He was a man in his mid-sixties, lean, with hair streaked with grey.

As time passed in empty formalities, Ajman eventually stood directly below the stairs and presented to the Emperor a black pearl from planet Igipten.

“This is but a humble offering from Tytania that we present before Your Imperial Majesty. It would be an honour if you would accept it as a token of our loyalty.”

“Hum, declining the kindness of the overlord would be discourteous, so I shall gracefully accept it.”

It was an answer devoid of any personality, but it was the best the Emperor could muster.

There were gifts, in the literal sense, meant to curry favour, and mere appendages to the formalities of etiquette. The Emperor knew this quite well. Although he was five years younger than Ajman, he appeared to be the elder. Not because he had personality, but because he lacked lustre.

“To be truthful, I have also prepared another gift to present to Your Majesty that is far more substantial.”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“A century of peace and prosperity for the Empire.”

Upon these words, Ajman called for Idris Tytania. The young and handsome duke stepped forward on his invitation, followed by his subordinates, who advanced towards the stairs. Above, the Emperor seemed to hold his breath.

One of Tytania’s privileges was the right to bear arms within the palace. Sixteen guns, not rayguns, but heavy powder-charged guns, were drawn from their belts, their muzzles aiming at Prime Minister Salomon.

A series of gunshots filled the hall.

Ninety-four bullets were fired. Eighty-one struck the Prime Minister’s body, thirty-three passed through, and forty-eight remained lodged. As blood spurted from one hundred and fourteen wounds, the Prime Minister collapsed. His own blood embraced him upon the floor.

When the smoke and stunned silence subsided, the Emperor’s voice and body shook violently.

“What have you done, Oh Landless Clanner? You have harmed my Prime Minister!”

“For the sake of the Empire and Your Imperial Majesty, though unworthy, I have executed a traitor. While my methods might be somewhat lacking in poetry, I consider it to be the greatest gift for the Empire’s tranquillity.”

Ajman proceeded with composure to give an explanation to the pale emperor. The Vardana Empire and Tytania were akin to two inseparable twins. Prime Minister Salomon, driven by selfish ambition, sought to seize power for himself and to drive a wedge between them. The evidence and the witnesses made his guilt obvious, hence his execution.

“But, but why not issue a warrant for his arrest, prosecute him, and put him on trial? Shooting him dead without even a warning shows contempt for law and order… nay, it shows an impatience that is unbecoming of an overlord.”

“To prosecute and put on trial a person whose guilt is obvious would be a waste of time and money.”

Without any mercy, Ajman’s brief remark pulverised the Emperor’s bravery without a noise.

The Emperor collapsed on his throne. He appeared drained and exhausted, like a portrait painted in faded and discoloured pigments.

“I understand your words very well, overlord. You made Salomon pay for his crimes. But it is a lamentable fact that the seat of the prime minister, pillar of the Empire, now stands vacant. I do trust you, overlord, to offer me beneficial counsel regarding whom I should appoint to this heavy responsibility, so what say you?”

“Then I shall offer my advice. I believe that Marquis Clearchus is the most suited man for the position of Prime Minister.”

Clearchus was a person under Tytania’s influence, a fact that was well known to Harsha VI. But if he rejected the new Prime Minister’s appointment on that basis, the Emperor would be risking his own life.

Tytania’s intentions were all too clear. They came here right after their unexpected defeat in the Cerberus Sector at the hands of Euria, a weak enemy. Tytania knew that Prime Minister Salomon was harbouring anti-Tytania sentiments, so they seized their own defeat in Cerberus as an opportunity to pre-empt any anti-Tytania action from Salomon and demonstrate their ability to intimidate all opposition. No, maybe their intentions were even more ruthless than that. Maybe Salomon, who harboured resentment towards Tytania, had been kept alive until now precisely to serve as a sacrificial goat for such a situation?

Whatever the case was, one thing was certain. Even if Salomon’s death was a crime, no punishment for it would ever be given. Punishment was something the strong inflicted on the weak, and no one stronger than Tytania existed within the human realm.

Harsha VI nodded. He erased his facial expression and kept nodding at the overlord’s voice like a perfect puppet. Ajman threw a glance at his kinsmen with a wry gleam in his eyes.

“Lord Idris, His Imperial Majesty has given his graceful command. You have been appointed as Commander of the Imperial Guard. Humbly accept this honour, and serve His Majesty with your uttermost devotion.”

Thus addressed, Idris Tytania solemnly bowed to the Landless Clanner before proceeding to carry out his first duty. Snapping his fingers, he commanded his men to carry Salomon’s corpse out of the palace.

Yet another gram of hatred and resentment was added to Tytania’s annals. Jouslain slightly closed his eyes as he thought about the future. A day would come when the weight of a single straw would break the giant elephant’s back. That day might be tomorrow, he thought.

Chapter 2 – Misfortune and Calamity are Parents of Defiance

I

Mr Fan Hyulick, “the most heroic unemployed person in the universe”, was dining alone at a cheap restaurant in the central spaceport of planet Ementhal. It was the 29th of May, 446 SY.

He wore a carrot-coloured hairband, a khaki combination suit, a jumper draped over his shoulders, and a rucksack at his feet. No one would have guessed that he was the famous commander who had defeated the Tytanian great armada at the Battle of Cerberus.

Generously sprinkling the seasoning called misfortune, Fan Hyulick alternatively shovelled hash browns and ham steak into his mouth. He chewed with his white and healthy-looking teeth through the unpleasant memories as well as the ham steak.

“Good grief, that son of a bitch of a mayor…” he muttered bitterly.

Fan Hyulick wasn’t the kind to crave medals, but he had expected at least some words of praise as well as a pay rise. But upon returning to his home city, Euria, after defeating the undefeatable and ever-victorious Tytania, all that awaited him was the murderous glance of the mayor who had combed his sparse remaining hair backwards.

“You bloody fool! Who told you to win?”

“Huh…?”

Fan Hyulick blinked. He couldn’t instantly grasp the meaning behind the mayor’s words. Was he joking? Confused, he lowered his voice.

“Er, was I supposed to not win at all?”

“Exactly!”

Fan Hyulick was rendered speechless with this assertion. While he stood frozen, the mayor unleashed a rapid-fire barrage of angry shouts, sarcastic remarks, and complaints. Fan Hyulick had apparently ruined the mayor’s painfully devised political tactics. The short-statured mayor, who reached about Fan Hyulick’s mouth, aimed thousands of barbed insults straight at his heart.

“Telling me to wage war but not to win, that’s just heartless.”

Fan Hyulick thought to himself without saying it out loud as he reflected on the recent events.

Indeed, he now suddenly understood. Had the command core been formed of only inexperienced youngsters like himself, only being a ploy to give a “youth running amok” feeling and make their actions easier to justify both to Tytania and the other interstellar cities? It turned out that they hadn’t discerned and plucked Fan Hyulick’s military talent from among a crowd of ordinary commanders.

“For crying out loud, you should have just raised both hands and fled immediately, but you engaged an enemy who had numerical superiority. Furthermore, you won. What the hell were you thinking?”

Fan Hyulick thought that few men had ever endured so unjust a rebuke, but that fact gave him no comfort. The mayor demanded that he leave the city before Tytania’s arrival.

“But you know, our city Euria is not ungrateful.” The fact that he could even say that was a testament to how wretched their relationship was. “We don’t intend to let you starve. We’ve prepared cash and credit cards. It should let you live comfortably for three years or so.”

“I am most thankful.”

That wasn’t gratitude but sarcasm. And yet, the mayor nodded solemnly as if he were determined to receive nothing but thanks from the young tactician. As he prepared to dismiss the Cerberus battle victor, the mayor acted as if he forgot something important.

“Oh, hey, you. Don’t sign any receipt. We need to handle this properly to avoid any trouble later on.”

“Would you prefer a fingerprint?”

That second bout of sarcasm proved just as inefficient.

And thus, after shattering the myth of Tytania’s invincibility during the Battle of Cerberus Sector and achieving a monumental feat as a tactician, Mr Fan Hyulick found himself driven out of his home city, bearing the hatred of the Tytanians, and forced into exile in frontier sectors.

“What a marvellous calamity. Why must I suffer such misfortune?” he muttered.

It was the course of events that led Mr Fan Hyulick to bear aimless freedom and heartbreak as he became a passenger aboard the carrack Try Your Luck. He had originally intended to go to Kafir, not Ementhal, and had declared as much before departure but changed his mind. He realised that the mayor might sell him off to Tytania. After changing ships three times, he finally set foot on Ementhal’s soil.

For now, Fan Hyulick didn’t have any trouble putting food on the table, but he wasn’t yet mature enough in character to add some depth and substance to his spirit during these idle days. In the first place, he couldn’t accept his current situation. Shouldn’t words like “victory” and “endeavour” correspond to terms like “reward” and “gratitude”? “Exile” and “consolation money” were somewhat unsatisfactory, and above all, contrary to social norms. If success isn’t properly recognised, wouldn’t it be detrimental to education?

Fan Hyulick skipped his coffee, which was tasting increasingly appalling as it was cooling. Putting social and educational theories aside, what should he now do? In his home city, Euria, the possibility of being promoted to commander of the city fleet had vanished.

That was fine. He had enough of being some palace attendant. As a civilian he was chasing around menial tasks as a clerk, but as a soldier he had found unexpected talents only to be driven out from his home city with nothing but his clothes on his back. Without a job, a lover, or even a permanent home, and seeing already the twilight of his life on the horizon at the age of 28, even Fan Hyulick could feel a touch of melancholy.

How about starting up a business of his own? If he did that, Fan Hyulick would go from being employed by others to employing others. During the Battle of the Cerberus System, he had commanded more than ten thousand soldiers as a commander-in-chief. It had been a matter of life and death, and the military hierarchy proved invaluable. “Obey my orders if you don't want to die” settled it all.

Recalling a few fellow officers of his own age who had assisted him, Fan Hyulick sighed. There had been no time for farewells; were they safe? They might as well have been sacrifices to Tytania, but since he, Fan Hyulick, the commander-in-chief, had somehow survived, surely they should be able to escape execution. Still, it was deeply regrettable that Fan Hyulick’s tactics, which would surely go down in military history as defining a new era, would likely never receive proper recognition.

His own life seemed destined to be neither golden nor rosy. Fan Hyulick swallowed that thought along with his last potato. As he reached for his cup of coffee, a voice called him out from behind.

“Hey, you carrot-head young man over there, could you move a bit? I can’t reach the counter.”

With his cup still in hand, Fan Hyulick turned his head over his shoulder to see who had spoken.

The figure materialising before him was a girl who was 17 or 18 and who bore neither angel wings on her back nor devil horns on her head. Her hair was a subtle shade of dark, but not pure dark, her green eyes were framed on an oval face, and she haphazardly wore a worn white and orange attire that evoked the uniform of a spaceport labourer. Her head didn’t quite reach Fan Hyulick’s shoulders, although his was mainly because the heartbroken youth himself was quite tall.

Fan Hyulick shifted his tall frame to clear the counter for her. His facial cells didn’t move a hundred times faster than his brain cells, so he must have looked confused. “Thank you” said the girl with a wink before leaning into the counter to ask if they had iced mate tea. When told that they didn’t, she clicked her tongue and brushed past Fan Hyulick, her well-proportioned body almost rubbing against him as she left.

Then, once in the streets about twenty paces from the restaurant, she had a mischievous smile and tossed an object lightly into the air when her victim grabbed her wrist.

“You were almost there, young girl.”

Fan Hyulick’s voice carried a hint of suppressed amusement.

Mr Fan Hyulick’s wallet slipped from the girl’s hand to settle into its owner’s palm. Fan Hyulick carelessly stuffed it into his back pocket. He looked back at the pickpocket with an expression that seemed to say, “Well, what should I do now?” With embarrassment, the girl asked with curiosity:

“How could you tell? Seriously, you don’t seem like the type to figure me out.”

“I’m the type to get easily worried, and I don’t trust luck or beautiful women.”

An expression of annoyance brushed over the young man’s face.

“What an extremely unhappy way of thinking.”

“Experience has made me wiser.”

“You poor thing, dumped by a woman, were you?”

“No… that’s not… Shut up, you have no right to criticise me!”

Struck where it hurt, Fan Hyulick was flushed crimson with indignation. The pickpocket lifted her chin haughtily and gazed up at the young man who had thwarted her plans.

“So, what are you going to do? Take me to the police? Go ahead. I’m not scared of the police.”

Ignoring the girl’s words, Fan Hyulick nonchalantly said something unexpected.

“More importantly than that, could you take me to the employment centre? I need a stable source of income.”

II

The unemployed young man on the run and the pickpocket girl walked side by side along the street going from the spaceport to the employment centre.

“What’s your name? I’m Lira Florentz.”

“I’m Fan Hyulick.”

“Sounds like a name I’ve heard somewhere. You don’t look like someone famous, though.”

“It’s a pretty common name.”

“It’s the first time I hear a name like that, though.”

“My father and grandfather both bore that name.”

Speechless, the girl studied the tall carrot-top youth with interest. Calculations and plans seemed to dance in rhythm in her mind. Lira changed the subject.

“So Fan, where are you staying tonight?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Ementhal is a nice planet, but the hotels are expensive.”

“I’ll look for a cheap place.”

Fan Hyulick shook the rucksack on his left shoulder. In a tone meant to sound casual, Lira suggested.

“If you’re fine with it, how about crashing at my flat?”

Fan Hyulick silently stared at the girl’s face, looking at her cheeks flushing beneath the streetlights.

“Don’t get it twisted. We’ll be in separate beds. I live with my grandmother, and she dislikes dissolute morals. A woman must take care of her body when it comes to men.”

“… Good point.”

With a rather serious expression, Fan Hyulick agreed with the girl’s grandmother.

“A shabby but spacious sofa bed, a shower, and a hot breakfast. I don’t think fifty dakars is too much to ask for in exchange.”

“Would you add some eggs to the breakfast?”

“Fried? Boiled? Scrambled?”

“I’m partial to an omelette with herbs.”

“That would be fifty-five dakars.”

After replying “Fine”, the unlucky tactician had a look of wariness in both eyes.

“Now, just to confirm, you aren’t charging fifty-five dakars just for the omelet, are you?’

“I wouldn’t do something that scammy. Customers need to be treated well. There is such a thing as business ethics in this world, right?”

Though Fan Hyulick felt like asking why this girl who made such sound reasonings had pursued a socially disapproved profession like pickpocketing, he decided against it. He had something else on his mind.

The letters ‘Tytania’ were written in large in various places along the street. While Fan Hyulick’s gaze lingered on them,

“Around here, the most powerful person is someone from the Tytania clan,” the young girl explained. “He isn’t an underling either. He bears the actual Tytania surname. How can I put it? His station is different from ours. Looks like he’s living in extravagant luxury.”

“A million years ago, we were all upright apes. Station and status are nonsense.”

The most primitive form of egalitarism rolled off Fan Hyulick’s tongue. He had no reason to feel kindly towards Tytania. Four years ago he had been forced to live with lice in a Tytanian detention camp, and once he was finally released and returned home, his lover had married another man. Just last month, he had destroyed a Tytanian fleet in a battle with dismal odds of success, only for that very victory to be the reason he was driven out of his home city. Between that and the fact that Fan Hyulick didn’t possess an ounce of masochism, there was no way he could be favourably disposed towards Tytania. This was quite distinct from any objective evaluation or judgement of value.

Tytania wasn’t excessively cruel as a ruler. Not even Tytania could extract wealth from the desert or draw water from a dried-up pond. By enriching their citizens to some degree, they could syphon more wealth through crafty commercial activities while minimising the psychological backlash.

Hostility towards Tytania stemmed mainly from two types of people. The first were those who suffered tangible harm, mainly neglected royals and ruling classes from various nations, and the second were those who had a strong desire for freedom and independence and didn’t tolerate domination from any entity.

Those who were reasonably well-off and had no need to deeply scrutinise matters were likely to accept Tytania’s rule and superiority and live peacefully. Tytanian rule had existed since even before their birth, and as long as they didn’t resist it, they could live modestly without suffering any particular hardship. Considering the great costs that came with resistance, it was only natural that they would seek to maintain the status quo through compromise. Even livestock seemed to possess their own measure of contentment.

While on their way to the employment centre, the pickpocket pressed Fan Hyulick for details about his background.

“So, what exactly have you done?”

She assumed that he must have committed some kind of misdemeanour that made it impossible for him to live on his homeworld.

“I won a battle I shouldn’t have won; that’s it. And now that I’ve upset my sponsors, here I am.”

“So you’re on the run? Are you some kind of gambler? You’re more skilled than you look…”

“A gambler, huh? Well, yes, I guess you could say that.”

He couldn’t bring himself to correct the girl’s misunderstandings. In a sense, war was speculation and gambling. Oddly enough, no matter how horrific a conflict, someone always stood to profit. Tytania, of course, was such a party.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Yeah, well, to protect myself, I guess.”

“How many did you kill?”

“Well, about a hundred thousand or so.”

He answered honestly, but the girl questioning him couldn’t believe it. She looked up at him with an expression of exasperation as if he were suffering from megalomania and shrugged. As if to say he was hopeless. On that point, Fan Hyulick was of the same opinion as her.

The Ementhal employment centre was opened 24 hours a day. He had thought that it was rather commendable for a government office until he learned that they outsourced their operations to the private sector.

“Any special skill? Something that can be useful?”

“Special skills? Special skills, huh?” Fan Hyulick was genuinely struggling with the question. “I’m good at running backwards on the beltway, but I don’t suppose one would call it a special skill.”

The girl was more serious and angry than the one who said these words.

“A special skill is meaningless if you can’t earn your keep with it. Running backwards on the beltway, can you even put food on the table with that?”

It would have been foolish of him to insist that he could, so Fan Hyulick remained silent. The girl placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“To keep on living is serious business, right? It’s not sweet or fun. If you don’t earnestly fulfil your role, you’ll surely get your just deserts!”

Why must I be lectured by some pickpocket? thought Fan Hyulick, and yet he obediently nodded. He somehow was inclined to believe that she wished him well.

Eventually, they arrived at the employment centre. Like the Interstellar City League’s kontors, such centres bore the unique characteristic of their planet. In Bargash, which Fan Hyulick had once visited on a business trip, men in grimy overalls would line up, usually with moustaches. Here, in Ementhal, a gentlemanly clerk wearing a bow and tie greeted the young man and asked:

“Do you hold a certification for planetary engineering?”

Fan Hyulick shook his head, remaining silent. Had he possessed such a qualification, he would never have been reduced to the drudgery of clerical work back in his civilian days.

“If you have a qualification, you won’t be short of work. Would you happen to have one?”

“I hold a spaceship pilot’s licence. Only an interstellar class B, though.”

“B class isn’t enough. Even A class is commonplace. If you had a special A class, I would have a dozen job openings to offer.”

If only I had an A class military strategist licence, mused Fan Hyulick as he indulged in an irrelevant fantasy. They could compile data on the number of wars fought, win rates, enemies killed, and allies lost, and then issue licences by grade. Kill more allies than enemies, and your licence gets revoked. That might be actually quite interesting. It would weed out incompetent soldiers and turn the competent ones against one another until the profession of soldier dies out. How great.

“I heard the economy was booming in Ementhal, but it appears it isn’t the case.”

“I don’t know who told you that, but I won’t take any responsibility for such irresponsible claims.”

After this rather cold response, the clerk asked him a rather odd question. If he had any knowledge of arts. Arts, of course, encompassed a wide domain, but in any case Fan Hyulick had no connection to it. He was good at whistling and making kites, but it couldn’t be called art. Similar to running backwards on a beltway.

“Never mind, it’s not as if I absolutely needed to find employment in Ementhal. I’ll be back some other day.”

Let’s decide on everything tomorrow morning after eating an herb omelette. Right as he turned to leave the reception counter, a grey shadow moved within his field of vision. Two persons wearing Tytanian uniforms stood there.

“Admiral Fan Hyulick?”

When he was addressed thus, the pickpocket girl started the young man with a frown and asked in a suspicious tone,

“Admiral? What's that? Your nickname?”

“It's the essence of my misfortune,” murmured Fan Hyulick, not entirely evasive.

It was indeed precisely because he had been blind-sided by the title of “admiral” that he ended up performing this burlesque farce. Bad choices lead to bad outcomes.

III

Count Arses Tytania, the younger brother of Zarlisch Tytania, was 23 years old with sapphire hair, pale turquoise eyes, and skin as white as chalk. The word “melancholy” seemed written on his face in invisible ink.

It could be said that among those who bore the name Tytania, there wasn’t anyone incompetent. Arses was no exception, as he had a sharp intellect, and his culture surpassed that of his elder brother. He was handsome in appearance, rivalling that of Ariabert Tytania and Idris Tytania.

While he was still alive, his father seemed to hesitate about whether to choose between Zarlisch or Arses to succeed him. But Arses’s intelligence and sensitivity were mainly dominant during twilight and night. He also lacked the willpower to master his own talents. So his father had no choice but to entrust his family’s future to the sturdy Zarlisch. And also because above all else, Zarlisch was his eldest son.

It is said that originally, the surname Tytania didn’t exist in human society. It was a name that was bestowed upon the Queen of Fairies, and word has it that an ancestor some ten generations before Neville Tytania had abandoned his surname for this one, aristocratic in tone, and yet strangely pagan.

Anyhow, Tytania’s central power slipped from Arses’ grasp. Zarlisch had no desire to keep his younger brother close, nor did he place any real faith in his worldly talents. He granted him a pension sufficient for a lifetime in extravagant luxury and banished him to Ementhal. It was said that the pension amounted to 50 million dakars. Moreover, Tytanian assets were exempted from taxation.

On a side note, on the affluent planet Ementhal, the average annual income of middle-class citizens was around 40 thousand dakars, including taxes. With 50 million dakar, Fan Hyulick could have eaten omelettes at Lisa’s home around 900,900 times.

The fragrance of subtropical flowers seemed to thicken the salon’s atmosphere. Arses’ hand grasped a guinea pig from a golden cage and dropped it into a hardened glass tank.

“They are carnivorous fishes.”

Murmured Arses with a touch of tropical melancholy. Without a word, Fan Hyulick averted his gaze from the tank. The water had turned a murky dark red, with ripples and bubbles rising to the surface. Entranced Tytanian eyes were fixed on it.

Fan Hyulick had averted his gaze towards a statue. It was carved from Ementhal marble and depicted two figures embracing. Sensing that something was amiss, Fan Hyulick observed the statue one more. Once he realised what the source of his unease was, he grew gloomy. The two figures embracing were both male.

Turning his sight back at Arses Tytania, he saw the young nobleman was laughing in silence and wriggling the cushions.

That guy must be some self-proclaimed aesthetic pervert, concluded Fan Hyulick. After living some twenty-eight years, he understood that it was impossible to comprehend every soul in this world. To Fan Hyulick, Arses was a man for beyond the other shore.

From that other shore, Arses turned towards his guest and spoke in an offhand voice.

“I heard you defeated the Tytanian armada. In some battle in a star system called ‘Cerberus’ or something. We recognise that talent, and Tytania wishes to welcome you as an admiral.”

Tytania valued talent. Useful and capable individuals would either feed on Tytanian grain or be erased from society and die in freedom. Tytania seemed to think more highly of Fan Hyulick than the Ementhal employment centre. He was very grateful for that, but in the end, no matter how grand, it was but a palace.

“So, how about it? As hard as it is to believe, you won, didn’t you? Against Tytania.”

“It was a mere blunder. I would be unable to do it a second time.”

“So by blunder you won, did you? Against Tytania.”

Abusing the inverted syntax, Arses had a thin smile and looked at Fan Hyulick with a strange glance. Though it was warm enough to make him sweat, the victor of the battle of Cerberus felt a chill.

“Tytania may forgive being defeated by a genius, but she won’t suffer losing from a blunder.”

Isn’t that your own preference? Retorted Fan Hyulick inwardly. A discordant sound echoed from the tank.

The carnivorous fish had finished devouring the guinea pig and were leaping to the surface to signify to their keeper that their appetite was not fully satiated. Throwing an affectionate look towards the aquarium, Arses continued:

“You are going to have to choose a privilege. A life with Tytania, or a death apart from Tytania.

The expression that was lingering on the Tytanian youth could be described as bewitchingly beautiful, but Fan Hyulick lacked any aesthetic sensibility and didn’t feel the slightest emotion from it.

Arses’ voice grew more emphatic.

“Should you choose the former, Tytania shall bestow upon you a portion of her abundant wealth and power. Should you choose the latter, your death shall be inevitably adorned with splendour, and you shall be buried in jewelled tears. Now, which shall you choose?”

Though he wished to decline both, Fan Hyulick didn’t immediately voice his thoughts. He feigned indecision as he surveyed the chamber covered in lace, flowers, and precious metals. If he thought that it must have cost a fortune, Arses would have retorted that it was the thought of a wretched philistine.

“As the old saying goes, men are divided into two types. Those who rule, and those who are ruled. Would you not prefer to be among the rulers, even if at the bottom?”

Fan Hyulick clicked his tongue.

“This view of humanity is far too shallow. Beyond the rulers and the ruled is a third type.”

“And what is that?”

“Those who dislike being ruled.”

He had intended it as a clever line, but it didn’t seem to weigh even half a gram of impression on the Tytanian scion. With an exaggerated shrug, he resat himself on his cushion.

“Fan Hyuren, I think that…”

“I don’t recall changing my name to Hyuren.”

Fan Hyulick was greatly annoyed. And yet that anger seemed to go past the nobleman’s ear. Such people existed. People for whom illusion mattered more than facts.

“So, in the end, what do you desire?”

“Life apart from Tytania.”

He didn’t voice it out loud. The moment he would have done so, Arses Tytania would have surely forced upon Fan Hyulick a death tailored to his own tastes.

Fan Hyulick sensed that Arses was secretly wishing for him to reject the offer. It’s as if the impurity of Tytania’s blood had accumulated over generations into this young scion. He didn’t particularly hate Arses. He just wanted for him to be happy somewhere far away. He didn’t want him close or to get close to him.

Fan Hyulick was deeply regretting his decision to come to planet Ementhal rather than Kafir.

Perhaps not noticing his state of emotional turmoil, Arses Tytania rose to his feet with a vicious smile at the corner of his lips. Fan Hyulick had heard about the Five Families of Tytania and how they incorporated the blood of exceptionally beautiful women into their lineage over the generations, producing handsome men and beautiful women. It appeared that it was true. Of course, sculptural beauty and inner beauty were completely unrelated.

He had fed a guinea pig to carnivorous fishes right in front of his guest. That was some twisted taste, though it might have been partly for show. Fan Hyulick contemplated a way to avoid becoming the carnivorous fish's meal. It seemed like there was only one possible method.

An old saying stated that “an alliance under duress needs not be honoured”. Promises between equals must be kept, but there was no obligation to uphold agreements forced on others through threats or coercion. For example, if a kidnapper demanded to “not say anything to the police”, there was no moral duty to comply with him.

Fan Hyulick resolved to engrave this old saying upon his heart. In the circumstances he found himself in, false promises were unavoidable.

“Very well, I’ll take the opportunity. I shall accept Tytania’s offer to scout my talents. We’ll discuss salary and paid leave more properly at a later date.”

Arses narrowed both eyes. He pierced Fan Hyulick with a gaze that was like a thorn dipped in salt water and scorched over a flame before muttering.

“Are you being sincere?”

What an annoying bastard, thought Fan Hyulick once more, saved by his acquired trait of not voicing his thoughts immediately.

At best, while looking back at the young noble, he could only muster the expression of a shallow sycophant. It reminded him of precisely the kind of expression he wore during his days as a fledgling clerk when he reported failures to his superiors. That only made him more disgusted with it.

“Your features aren’t too bad, but they aren’t to my tastes.”

Arses’ comment was focused on his guest’s face. Fan Hyulick found it to be entirely none of his business.

“My palate leans towards more refined tastes, such as the subtly alluring, the richly shadowed, or otherworldly beauty. You are quite crude. At the very best, you are some borderland kind of handsome.”

Arses’s assessment was probably accurate, but it didn’t mean that Fan Hyulick could pat his head and say, “Yes! Good girl!” When it came to sex, Fan Hyulick was an uninteresting man with healthy and simple tastes.

Holding his silver cup, Arses noticed that it no longer contained any wine and rang a bell to summon an attendant. That silver cup was no mere ornament for Arses but followed an ancient royal custom of using silverware to guard against poisoning. Although Fan Hyulick knew nothing of this, he once again felt a sense of unease when the attendant entered the room.

He appeared to be male, and yet his features and voice carried an unnerving feminine quality. Seemingly sensing Fan Hyulick’s suspicions, Count Arses Tytania explained with a rather smug expression.

“We’ve destroyed his pineal gland with chemicals to prevent the development of secondary sexual characteristics. Since he can no longer secrete male hormones, he’ll remain a young boy forever. This makes him perfectly suited as a royal attendant.”

Basically, the equivalent of the eunuchs of the ancient Eastern civilisations. Every second in this mansion raised Fan Hyulick’s disgust for its master by one extra centimetre. His chest was already brimming with the urge to beat him up.

Fan Hyulick started calculating the odds of successfully knocking him out and escaping safely but abandoned solving that equation midway. He had noticed the presence of laser guns linked to surveillance cameras. There were many of them. Fan Hyulick had no intentions of becoming so self-absorbed in the aesthetics of destroying Arses Tytania that it would lead to his own destruction.

Unaware of the imminent danger of being knocked out, Arses had his attendant pour him a drink and turned his back to Fan Hyulick. He raised his silver cup to his lips. Whether intentional or not, until now he had offered neither a beverage nor a seat to Fan Hyulick and left him standing there.

“In any case, Tytania must comply with His Clanner Highness’ wishes. Lord Fan Hyuren, I shall greet you as my guest of honour. I guess I should say that I look forward to working with you.”

Fan Hyulick ironically wondered when he became a lord. He hadn’t been particularly fond of Tytania to begin with and was growing increasingly disgusted with the decadence oozing from Arses Tytania. Though he didn’t feel directly concerned about it, Fan Hyulick felt uneasy about the current state of Tytania, who would grant such excessive power to such a man.

“Well, since these matters are settled, I shall take my leave. Tonight I hope to have the same dream as the beauties of Ementhal. Should you require my presence, just summon me and I shall appear.”

“By beauty, you mean women, right?”

Obviously you pervert! is what Fan Hyulick restrained the urge to shout, simply nodding silently.

If one followed the principle of seeking shelter under a mighty tree, there could be no tree more dependable than Tytania. But if Fan Hyulick had ever harboured such opportunism, at that very moment it flew some 145 light-years away. His personality as an adult was surely distorted due to never having joy in being employed by others, and he intended to settle things for the time being with, “The circumstances aren’t right!”.

“Then have that beauty brought here. While it is beyond my comprehension, tolerance is a virtue of Tytania. You may stay here and drink. I shall send a subordinate, so inform me about the address of that beauty.”

“Ah, no, that won’t be needed.”

Fan Hyulick waved his hands, somewhat flustered.

“I’m a poor man by nature; how can I settle in such a grandiose mansion? I am more at ease in a cheap lodging house. I can’t leave Ementhal anyway, so may I be allowed to do as I please until things are properly settled?”

His loquaciousness was that of a swindler scheming, but Arses Tytania only responded with a small yawn.

“You are more at ease in a cheap lodging house? I see, I can understand this well. Quite reasonable.”

I’m gonna strangle that bastard, thought Fan Hyulick, picturing that scene in his mind. Anyway, they had reached a compromise, and Fan Hyulick decided to leave the residence of Count Arses Tytania for the time being. However, he could not travel alone, for two Tytania soldiers clad in grey military uniforms had to accompany him, which was a matter of course.

Now presumably a member of Tytania’s retinue, he left the salon escorted by the two soldiers. Without seeing him off, Arses Tytania tilted his silver cup as his attendant poured some wine and puffed on his opium pipe.

“Not yet? Contrary to expectations, he’s quite slow on the uptake,” he murmured some thirty minutes later, as he glanced at his watch.

Then came hurried footsteps as his butler came to report. The two soldiers had been found unconscious in the streets, and Fan Hyulick was nowhere to be found.

“Excellent, the chase is only more enjoyable if he flees.”

Arses Tytania waved dismissively as he laughed. His expression and the tone of his voice were bordering on malice.

Everything was going on as he planned. Now, he was freed from his obligation to show favour to this disagreeable Fan Hyulick. Fan Hyulick wasn’t the only one who had found the other to be unpleasant. With his morbid sensitivity, he had sensed that they were fundamentally incomprehensible to the other.

At any rate, one could not stand against Tytania with nothing but his bare hands. Did Fan Hyulick escape due to the help of some comrades? If Arses managed to capture not only him but also his accomplices, who were likely an anti-Tytania faction, it would surely earn him the praise of the overlord Ajman. And his elder brother, Zarlisch, who had banished him to Ementhal, would no longer be able to remain complacent.

Arses hated his brother. Once, his elder brother had told him these words:

“Aestheticism is just your self-justification as a pervert. You are a disgrace to Tytania. Without Tytania’s backing, you’d be nothing but a social vermin.”

The elder brother despised the younger brother’s aesthetic sensibilities, and the younger brother despised the elder brother’s sense of values. Arses knew that his tastes were a minority within society, as well as Tytania itself. His hatred for Fan Hyulick was in the same circle as his hatred for his elder brother. The very idea of his elder brother being one of the Four Dukes was laughable, and Arses would hate the entire world and deem it good for destruction if his brother ever became the next overlord.

Having escaped Arses’ mansion, Fan Hyulick met the girl named Lira on a backstreet road some two kilometres away. In Lira’s hand was a needle gun, and it had been a needle fired from its barrel that had set Fan Hyulick free. The needle was a frozen-solid, fast-acting anaesthetic that vaporised almost instantly from body heat upon piercing flesh, only leaving a trace mark on the skin’s surface that was barely larger than an injection needle.

“I’m grateful for your help, but I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be going to your flat.”

“Why not!?”

“I told you that I didn’t trust luck or beautiful women, didn’t I? Coincidences fall in that category.”

Fan Hyulick was plainly declaring his mischievousness. Lira fell silent, unable to protest. To sum it up, the young man with carrot-coloured hair had known all along. That she wasn’t a pickpocket.

“I don’t know who it is, but tell this to the guy who wrote the script. He needs to work on the details a little more or he won’t be able to compete with Tytania.”

He was putting on airs as if he were a critic. Fan Hyulick had been considering taking Lira up on her invitation but changed his mind. As much as he despised Arses Tytania, he didn’t underestimate his abilities and considered that it all might be a part of his plan. If he went to Lira’s flat, her companions might all be wiped out by Arses.

“Very well. As expected from the man who defeated Tytania, you’re a clever one. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Lira told him that she and her group, as well as her “grandmother”, were the remnant loyalists of the Principality of Casabianca that had been destroyed by Tytania some thirty years ago. “Was there even a country by that name?”, he wondered. There were at least thirty nations, both large and small, that had been destroyed by Tytania and a similar number of royal families overthrown, so he honestly couldn’t remember every single one.

“That’s why we wanted you to help us. We didn’t mean to deceive you. I know that expecting you to trust us would be asking for a lot.”

“Indeed, you’re quite a single-minded person.”

The name Fan Hyulick had cast the flash of a supernova into the hearts that hated Tytania. His military genius and the unity of anti-Tytanian forces made it seem that the prospect of overthrowing Tytania was possible. The information had been secretly relayed, which is why he had been discovered in Ementhal.

“We aren’t aiming to restore our Principality. We are striving for a universe without Tytania.”

“A universe without Tytania is all fine and dandy, but shouldn’t you be thinking of what might replace it?”

Fan Hyulick’s words were undeniably reasonable, though he wasn’t the kind of person who’d lecture others on such matters. He had spent a year in a Tytanian detention centre with nothing to occupy himself but deep reflection, although to be fair he thought more about women and food than politics and history.

“Wanting revenge is fine. But the majority of people live rather comfortably under Tytania’s rule. Should you turn them into your enemies, or should you rather take some time to push for a change in their minds? Well, I think you should rethink the whole plan.”

For Fan Hyulick, being elevated to an idol of the anti-Tytania faction was the last thing he wanted.

Tytania itself probably wasn’t unified by a singular will down to the molecular level. Even within their highest level of leadership there must be some hidden struggles over who would take the lead. There had to be. He wanted to believe so. It wasn’t because of some profound historical insight that Fan Hyulick thought that, but because the notion of a monolithic organisation made him feel uncomfortable.

These minor discordances and tiny fissures might expand and shatter the colossal diamond that is Tytania. But even if that were to happen, it seemed like it would be in the distant future, possibly decades after Fan Hyulick would have died of old age.

Chapter 3 – The Strong and the Weak

I

Evaluating Tytania’s power, military might, and wealth was no easy task. While her armada of 100,000 vessels was unmatched by any single power, combining the 9 empires, 38 kingdoms, 8 grand duchies, 40 duchies, 151 republics, and 449 interstellar cities in the universe would exceed a million vessels.

And yet, these entities have never united to form a coalition that could stand against Tytania. Some small-scale pacts and short-lived alliances did form but suffered repeated defeats and disintegrated in the face of Tytania’s military might and diplomatic manoeuvres.

It could be said that Tytania’s real strength was in her unity and cohesion. This held true not only in the spiritual realm but also in the physical dimension. Tytania displayed her masterful hand in dividing potential and real hostile forces and instigated conflict between them.

“Uraniborg”, the Celestial City. It was the stronghold of clan Tytania, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it the centre of the universe from a human geographical standpoint. It was a vast artificial city orbiting around planet Ryutehi, the capital of the Vardana Empire. Its construction had started during the days of Neville Tytania and was completed in those of Nuri.

Nuri had coldly dismissed his father’s project as “a mere paper tiger floating around in space”, but he didn’t abandon it and, in fact, completed it upon inheriting it because he knew well that in human affairs, such paper tigers could exert some influence.

And thus, the “Celestial City” that was constructed became a symbol of Tytania’s power as ruler of the entire universe. Nuri probably was smirking as he oversaw the armaments of the “Celestial City”. It was a wet dream for any weapon enthusiast. A city built as an artificial disc with a diameter of 52.5 kilometres, covered with 12 layers of transparent domes. Equipped with 4,000 electromagnetic catapults, 2,860 large-calibre laser cannons, and 14 military satellites, it looked down from above upon the capital of the Vardana Empire.

1st of June. The four Dukes of Tytania were relaxing in the private salon, gazing down at the blue light of the planet below. Ariabert spoke to Jouslain.

“It appears that Fan Hyulick has escaped from Lord Arses and gone into hiding.”

He probably had no intention of advancing his career under Tytanian command. They had no choice but to interpret his actions as a declaration of intent.

“How regrettable. While there are geniuses among military strategists, there are no prodigies. It is the same for the arts. Natural talent takes precedence over effort. I had thought that Fan Hyulick was close to being a genius.”

Although it was Ariabert Tytania who was saying these words, there was no hypocrisy coming out of his mouth. His handsome face, though lacking in individuality, wore a composed expression. Though the youth seemed somewhat nervous, it was apparent that he had recovered mentally from his defeat in Cerberus.

“I was amused by the thought of ordering around the man who defeated me, but I guess it is not to be.”

His wry smile was aimed at Idris Tytania. His eyes gleamed with a merciless and bitter sparkle.

“Given the situation, it seems that we cannot avoid having this Fan Hyulick become our enemy. We must ensure that his existence becomes a thing of the past before it encourages the forces that are hostile to Tytania.

He likes to be fixated on things, thought Jouslain. He wasn’t underestimating Idris’s abilities by any means, but Idris’ eagerness to bridge the two- to three-year age gap was sometimes excessive, which left a troubling feeling.

There would be plenty of opportunities in Idris’ life to refine his character, but he would likely clash with Jouslain along the way. Paying no heed to these needless worries, Idris continued to speak about the extermination of anti-Tytania forces through the cosmos.

A world divided in two camps, the Tytania faction and the anti-Tytania faction, seemed a bit too dull. The world was better off being diverse, so the existence of “anti-Tytania” should be allowed to exist. If Tytania were to categorically reject them, then her own capacity would be neither broad nor deep. If Tytania’s capacity was broad and deep, her lifespan might increase in proportion.

“The sun is at its zenith; it must not set.”

It was an Earthling of ancient times who left this maxim. Isn’t that an apt remark? wondered Jouslain. Decline and destruction shall inevitably befall Tytania. Those who didn’t believe this would surely believe that the Roman Empire and the Mongol Empire were still currently in existence.

That being said, there was, of course, no certainty that Tytania’s downfall would occur during Jouslain’s lifetime or that he had any intention of contributing to it. He was a Tytanian and held fast to the values of serving Tytania’s interests. This didn’t contradict the slightest his ability to foresee Tytania’s downfall within the scope of a historical point of view. It was only through such foresight that measures could be taken to avoid such a fate.

Jouslain Tytania was pondering the psychology of Clanner Ajman. Did he possess the heart of steel of the Second Clanner Nuri, or did he not?

Through history, very few pessimistic prophets had been welcome. They were often subject to scorn and could even suffer persecution and oppression. Jouslain was one of the Four Dukes of Tytania and, depending on the circumstances, could become the ninth Landless Clanner.

His freedom of speech and action may seem to be protected by his power and influence, but in reality, it might not be the case. If Jouslain frankly spoke his mind, he would no doubt incur the displeasure of Clanner Ajman and the other Three Dukes, and would surely be stripped of his position. The blood in their veins might be the same, but their mental lineage wasn’t.

Jouslain spoke up. Ariabert, who was once more returning to the front lines, had sought his cousin’s advice on military strategy. This is what Juslain had replied:

“How about employing the tactic used by Fan Hyulick in Cerberus Sector?”

Ariabert’s shoulders slightly shifted. The young Tytanian looked at his cousin with a faint spark of sharpness in his gaze. He didn’t scream “Don’t be ridiculous”.

“What is your reason for recommending this?”

“First, it is an effective tactical approach. Second, by properly recognising your rival’s tactics, your own abilities will also be properly recognised.”

Ariabert’s gaze softened. He was, by no means, a narrow-minded person.

“I see, that opinion is worthy of being heeded.”

“As sinister as it sounds, even if it fails, it would still be fine. No one would try to surprise Tytania with this tactic ever again. It is a trick that can only be used once.”

“Lord Jouslain, you are quite the tactician.”

It was with a tinge of mockery lingering in his voice that Idris offered this assessment. He was the commander of the Imperial Guard of the Vardana Empire, and his duty didn’t simply lie in guarding Emperor Harsha VI, but especially in keeping an eye on him. And yet, he left the surface to come to the “Celestial City” because of a single motive.

While many speak of military rule and righteous government, how many rulers throughout history didn’t tread upon the Path of the Hegemon? If one were to remove the paving of the Path of the King, it would reveal the muddy Path of the Hegemon. By choosing not to rule over a single nation, Tytania became the ruler of tens of nations and dominated the universe. Since there is no actual Path of the King, events had to be measured by the point of view of the Path of the Hegemon, and since Tytania’s Path of the Hegemon is the greatest of all, then isn’t Tytania the greatest entity in history? Such was Idris’ line of thought.

Zarlisch, who had maintained a solemn silence until then, shifted his stiff beard and spoke.

“Have you not yet married, Lord Jouslain?”

Suddenly confronted with a mundane topic, Jouslain blinked.

“What about you, Lord Zarlisch? Is there no one in your beautiful flower garden?”

“I am unable to decide. Even the flower that comprehends can be both greedy and poisonous. From what I’ve heard, Lord Jouslain, your favourite lady-in-waiting is a demure young woman, though.”

“Well, I wonder about that.”

Francia’s smile appeared faintly across Jouslain’s mind. He certainly thought her to be a decent and honest girl, but it was also true that he found her somewhat lacking something. “Could this be the arrogance of a man who obtained influence at a young age?” he reflected, but he had no intentions to tie himself to a family life.

“Lord Jouslain, as surprising as it may seem, you appear to be living in luxury.”

Zarlisch laughed heartily. One wouldn’t expect him to have a brother like Arses. As he made that observation, Jouslain was curious about which of the two brothers felt the strongest aversion for the other.

II

A month later, on the 10th of June that same year, Ariabert Tytania saw action in an engagement as fleet commandant. The duchy of Turanzia, which had some distant ties to the Vardana Empire, had mobilised their forces. Of course, they didn’t do it out of concern for the Vardanan plight but rather over disputes concerning shipping rights.

Normally, the commander in charge should have been Zarlisch, but Ariabert had strongly requested to lead the troops himself, seeking to avenge the humiliating defeat he had suffered the previous month at the hands of some obscure commander called Fan Hyulick.

If depicted in an uncharitable manner, he was obsessed with restoring his personal honour, but should he suffer another defeat, Ariabert’s standing among the Four Dukes would plummet at the lowest. Fully aware of his conundrum, Ariabert went to the battlefield, determined to both restore his honour and defend Tytania’s interests. Among Tytania’s Four Dukes, there were no cowards.

The 10th of June, Syracusa Star System. Having already left Turanzian space, this star system could be called Tytania’s zone of space control. The 3,300-vessel fleet of Turanzia in inertial flight maintained a state of combat readiness when they received intelligence from their reconnaissance satellites.

“It’s Tytania!”

The word raced through communication channels with the same meaning as “disaster”. An extreme tension ran through the entire fleet. Soon, on the screens of each ship appeared what appeared to be a string of pale blue sparkles forming a gigantic necklace of light.

It was Tytania that controlled the mainstay of transport and communications in space. This meant that from a military perspective, they were well-positioned to launch surprise attacks. Still, they were, of course, not infallible. The 3,300-vessel Turanzian fleet didn’t neglect their duties of searching and detecting. Thus, at a distance of five or six light-seconds, they managed to detect the Tytanian fleet pouring on them at 10 o’clock. The commander, Rear-Admiral Connaught, swallowed hard as he ordered to intercept it. The Tytanian fleet numbered 3,600 ships, so their combat strength could be estimated to be roughly on par. The 10th of June, 14:30. The battle of Syracusa Sector began. As one could expect, the fight started with artillery fire, but the Turanzian barrage overwhelmed the Tytanian force, and the battle was folding to their advantage.

“Fire! Destroy them!”

Screamed Connaught. It wasn’t as much a command as an exclamation of excitement, but driven by their momentum, the Turanzian fleet advanced as it rained down fire, shattering the Tytanian fleet which had been caught off guard before it could complete its formation.

The Tytanian fleet retreated. It seemed they had lost their nerve under the heavy barrage. Their manoeuvring was a far cry from the usual Tytanian élan. It was as if Ariabert Tytania, a seasoned though young veteran, had lost his confidence since his defeat at the “Battle of Cerberus” and could have veiled his tactical acumen. Believing this to be the case and prioritising his wishful thinking over observation, Connaught pressed on with his aggressive advance.

Connaught’s feeling of victory lasted less than two hours before being shattered forever. Just as the Tytanian fleet seemed to have dispersed while disorderly retreating, broken by the Turanzian charge, over a thousand gunboats deployed in a line across the width of the fleet and fired a volley of Weigert cannons at the charging Turanzian army.

It was none other than Fan Hyulick’s tactic of using gunboats to deploy Weigert cannons.

Connaught wasn’t unaware of the existence of that tactic. But he never could have imagined that Tytania would have employed a tactic that their enemies had used against them. Moreover, the very notion of using gunboats to destroy giant warships was the mindset of a pauper, something that was entirely at odds with Tytania. This preconception had led Connaught astray. Tytania overwhelmed its enemies through numeric superiority and conventional tactics and crushed them with all her might. Who could have thought she’d use such a stratagem, and one that was taught by an enemy, no less?

And yet, reality exceeded the limits of Connaught’s imagination. Within 30 seconds, the Turanzian had lost 30% of their forces and been rendered unable to continue the battle.

“Tytanian bastards…”

With rage and despair pounding at his optical nerves and vestibular system, Connaught almost fell to his knees. His chief of staff, Rear-Admiral Hafez, steadied him as he ordered to retreat.

As Tytania launched their counter-offensive, a barrage of flashes and fireballs, Connaught’s flagship, the Marius, sustained damage to four sections of its hull, barely managing to shake off their pursuers. But with that single engagement, the Turanzia had lost 70% of their stellar forces, leaving them with no other choice than to completely abandon any resistance against Tytania. A one-sided unequal treaty would sooner or later be concluded between the two belligerents.

In a single month, Ariabert Tytania had avenged his recent defeat. Moreover, he did so by employing the very tactics of the enemy commander who had defeated him. Tytania never resigns herself to defeat but turns it into an advantage to bolster her glory. This very flexibility was utterly terrifying.

“Did you see the terror of Tytania? They never lose their innovation spirit. This is the very reason our empire, clinging to its old ways, fell behind them!”

The one who shouted these words as he hurled his cup on the deck of his starship was Salam Amzekar, a young admiral of the Vardanan Imperial Fleet.

He was a tall young man with straw-coloured hair and amber eyes who had been staying in the duchy of Turanzia as a military advisor when he found himself drawn into this battle, and like Commander Connaught, he had barely escaped death. He could no longer return to his homeland. His only option to ensure his safety was to find a place to seek asylum.

Those who lacked strength could only rely on tradition and style. Back in the past, the Vardanan Empire, through its own power, stood on equal footing with the Interstellar City League. Though they were at a general disadvantage and gave the impression of serving as a foil to the League’s superiority, they nevertheless stood on their own two feet.

When Tytania had left the City-state League and thrown her lot with the Vardanan Empire, the emperor and his subjects applauded with joy. They felt as if Vardanan supremacy over the galaxy was about to be established, and an infinite future was lying spread before the Empire like a fertile plain.

The conclusion was the current situation. For Tytania, the Vardanan Empire was nothing more than a tool to dominate the universe. It was a historical fact that Tytania didn’t simply mock Vardana but the very concept of any national dignity. Tytania’s philosophy was that if something grew old, it should be simply demolished and rebuilt, just like a house.

The Vardanan Empire’s government consisted of twelve members, which included the Prime Minister, Vice-Prime Minister, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Minister of Finance. For over a century, the role of Minister of Military Affairs had invariably been held by a member or senior official of the Tytania clan. The current incumbent was Marquis Estrade Tytania, Clanner Ajman’s half-brother from a different mother.

In theory, the Empire had a constitution and a parliament, but they were virtually defunct. While there were 1,660 seats in parliament, its members served for life, and vacancies were rarely filled, so there were currently only 907 members with an average age of 72.9 years.

In the past, Neville Tytania had once offered a scathing critique of the democratic society in which he was raised.

“Democracy and such are but a craft for political veneer. In this universe, how are humans truly worthy of a democracy?”

What can be expected from those who merely scavenge the scraps of the spoils of corrupt politicians? Thus spat out Neville Tytania. It was probably not unrelated to the fact that his father had sought to promote stronger political integration with the Interstellar City League, only to face opposition and be ousted through underhanded methods, dying in despair.

Anyhow, Vardana’s state, court, and government were in a pathetic state even before Tytania began meddling. They merely handled administrative tasks that Tytania couldn’t be bothered with and collected taxes. But even in a pathetic state, they weren’t without feelings.

“The Tytanian tyranny can no longer be tolerated.”

Needless to say, this was a conviction shared among many courtiers. But a conviction that was not backed by any action could only gnaw at them from within.

“In the first place, what exactly is Tytania! Barely two hundred years ago, they were just some powerful figure in the City League. It was thanks to the benevolence of His Majesty Harsha II that they could rise to power, and they now act with such arrogance.”

It was a forceful statement, but it increased their sense of emptiness proportionally. Tytania, just some powerful force in the City League, became over the generations a dynasty that trampled all nations. The passage of time was the same for all. So while Tytania was climbing ambitious stairs, what were the rulers and subjects of the Vardanan Empire doing?

On the evening of the 12th of June, after receiving news of Ariabert Tytania’s victory, fourteen high-ranking officials of Vardana’s Imperial Court gathered in the residence of Zagden, the Minister of the Interior. The gathering was done under the pretence of celebrating Zagden’s second-year anniversary since his appointment as a minister, but all those present were anti-Tytania. Among those present were the Minister of Justice Herawa, the Minister of Civil Affairs Nunes, and the Imperial Head Secretary Defontaine. The meeting was taking place in the billiard room in the basement, the billiard table having been removed and replaced with rows of tables.

Guards stood watch outside the door, and once everyone was sure enough that the premises were secure, the drinking and conversation were in full swing.

“Tytania is not invincible. Wasn’t that indeed proven some days ago at the battle of Cerberus? Defeating Tytania isn’t a pipe dream by any means.”

“But in only a matter of days Ariabert Tytania avenged his defeat. Didn’t he, conversely, just demonstrate Tytania’s true might to the world?”

“Correct. Dreadful indeed. As long as she has flexibility and resilience, we must not underestimate Tytania.”

It was rare to find a banquet where the atmosphere grew darker as drinks were poured. Since it was, after all, a gathering of political losers voicing grievances against victors, there wasn’t any reason the mood would be cheerful, but since the majority of those present were former nobles who lacked courage to defy Tytania, the best they could manage to do was to gather in secret and vent at those absent, emboldened by alcohol.

Occasionally, conspiracies were proposed but never took any concrete form, and they were forced to admit that they produced nothing but idle talk. But this evening was somewhat different. Someone said the following.

“Couldn’t we make use of the Minister of Military Affairs?”

As the voice rolled, a wave of metallic tension rippled through the gathering. Their eyes clouded by alcohol seemed to glimmer with a light resembling hope.

III

The Marquis Estrade Tytania, Minister of Military Affairs of the Vardanan Empire, was the half-brother of the Landless Clanner Ajman. He was 42. He wasn’t born of a legitimate marriage, but the same could be said of Ajman, and it wasn’t his maternal lineage that prevented him from reaching the top. To put it bluntly, he was judged to lack the talents of his younger half-brother.

He wasn’t mediocre, by any means. Whether as the commander of a fleet, an ambassador in diplomatic missions, or managing administrative affairs as Minister of the Interior, he could fulfil these responsibilities to the full. Which was precisely why his disappointment was so great.

“Why was Ajman appointed as the Landless Clanner and not me? I can’t believe that my achievements are any inferior to my brother’s.”

No matter how deeply Tytanian values and loyalty to the unity of the clan had been imbued in him, Estrade couldn’t accept his circumstances. Though he was elevated from count to marquis following his half-brother’s ascension, he remained inconsolable. If anything, it felt as if his half-brother were trying to curry favour with him, and having nowhere to turn his discontent and self-derision, they turned inwards.

As the Minister of Military Affairs and a Tytanian, he couldn’t show that discontent. But the fact that it was his younger brother Ajman who was promoted spoke volumes, and the court was sensitive to negative sentiments such as jealousy and resentment. Marquis Estrade Tytania’s discontent was, so to speak, an open secret.

The idea that he could be turned into an enemy of Tytania seemed natural, but Tytania was Tytania. The unity of the clan trumped personal grievances.

Anyhow, it was nothing more than idle chatter among the nobility in a drinking party. Court nobles were always keen to have others take on the dangerous task of tying a bell around the cat’s neck. Indeed, their discussion drifted more and more from any concrete plan, and when one of them rose to leave, the gathering came to an end.

Once the congregation had dispersed, Zagden, the Minister of the Interior, who was the host of the party, ordered his servants to clean the room. He went to the restroom to splash some cold water on his face, rinse his mouth, and remove the intoxication from his system.

With an expression serious and somewhat sinister, he kept people at a distance and shut himself in his study.

In his private office deep within the Celestial City, Landless Clanner Ajman was signing several documents. Lord Gramont, the Chief Secretary of the Clanner, entered and respectfully announced a visitor. He led in the guest, who was Duke Idris, the young Tytanian.

“Your Clanner Highness, I have a report to make. According to a message from Zagden, the Minister of the Interior, a group of high-ranking officials with dissenting views gathered at his residence not long ago and blurted out a load of nonsense.”

The Clanner remained silent. Taking this as an invitation to continue, Idris carried on.

“It’s the kind of thing one can expect of small fries. The moment they hear of my absence, discontented youngsters gather and begin to plot mischief. They haven’t even suspected that it could be a trap, so whatever they try is nothing by reckless folly.”

He also reported that the Minister of Military Affairs, the Clanner’s elder brother, was mentioned during that discussion. Both the reporter and listener kept a nonchalant demeanour.

“They can’t even imagine that the host of the meeting was in league with us. For dignitaries, they are unbelievably candid.”

The scornful remark ended the report. For the first time, Ajman nodded and thanked the reporter for his efforts.

“Well done, Lord Idris. It appears that appointing you to the Royal Guard was a wise decision.”

“You honour me. By the way, what are your intentions regarding the Minister of Military Affairs?”

These words had been prompted by Idris’ youthful impetuosity. Clanner Ajman barely moved his vigorous eyebrows, letting a moment of silence precede his reply.

“Making a move against the Minister of Military Affairs will prevent us from using him as bait. Let us take a moment to enjoy the spectacle of this reckless folly, as you called it.”

“As you wish, Your Clanner Highness.”

“Lord Idris, return to Ryutehi tomorrow. Keep a close watch on the movements of the court nobles. And above all, keep feigning complacency for now, and let them grow arrogant. No need to rush things for now. Do you understand?”

“As you wish…”

Bowing respectfully, Duke Idris Tytania took his leave, leaving the Landless Clanner Ajman leaning on his desk, deep in thought. His expression was not one of delight. That ashen expression that he never showed to others vanished when Lord Gramont, his Chief Secretary, entered once more to announce that it was time to greet the residents of the “Celestial City” from his balcony. At midnight, Ajman, accompanied by Duke Jouslain Tytania climbed to the balcony on the outermost part of the Clanner’s office, greeted by the cheers of a crowd of tens of thousands.

“Hail Tytania!”

Acclamations meaning ‘Long Live Tytania’ gushed and sent ripples through the vast but enclosed space. With an air of calm and majesty, the Clanner acknowledged the cheers, but as he took a step back from the edge of the balcony, he glanced over his broad shoulder at Ducke Jouslain Tytania, who was standing behind him.

“Remember these cheers clearly, Lord Jouslain. The crowd that is shouting ‘Long Live Tytania’ may one day cry ‘Down with Tytania’ out of these very mouths. Some three hundred years ago, their ancestors were shouting ‘Long Live the Interstellar City League’, and ‘Long Live the Vardanan Empire’.”

As Clanner Ajman was talking, Jouslain cast a slightly questioning glance at him.

He couldn’t just brush aside such a remark from the Clanner. Unable to immediately grasp why the sturdy Clanner would utter words that seemed to deny his own authority, Jouslain listened carefully to him.

“Some speak lightly about Tytania ruling over the people, but that is because they do not understand how the world works. Since time immemorial, no one has ever truly ruled over the people. The people are the bedrock of a river. The rulers are the flowing water. The water flows away, but the riverbed remains. Only the surface is carried away by the water.”

A silence fell, and the young Tytanian could eventually no longer bear its weight.

“Why are you telling me this, Your Clanner Highness?”

The Clanner appeared to be curling his lips. It was difficult to tell whether he was smiling or expressing disappointment at Jouslain’s question.

“Do you think this is unlike me, Lord Jouslain?”

“No, it is just that as ignorant as I am, I cannot fathom why you would say such things to me. If Your Highness would enlighten me as to your intentions, I would be most grateful.”

A few moments of silence passed before the Clanner spoke again.

“Ariabert, Zarlisch, and Idris are all capable and know no fear. And this is exactly their problem.”

The expression on the Clanner’s face as he watched Jouslain was a complex puzzle of self-derision and scorn, bitter realisation, and penetrating insight. Jouslain opened his mouth to speak but restrained himself and gathered all his senses to not miss a single word the Clanner might utter.

“Ever since the days of the second Clanner, His Clanner Highness Nuri, every Clanner of Tytania has been a coward, Lord Jouslain. While they were defeating mighty ennemies and trampling on the weak, they were trembling inside. They knew that the day would come when they too would fall. Which is why they sought to postpone that day, even for just a bit. This struggle is the history of Tytania. Her true nature.”

Jouslain held his breath and swallowed hard. The question he had long harboured had been answered with a considerable frankness.

The Clanner continued. He explained that the struggles of the successive Clanners had driven them to seek out enemies they could see and become obsessed with defeating them.

“To tell the truth, I had thought that this man, this Fan Hyulick, might be of use to us. But it appears he isn’t the kind of person who would easily let himself be used as our tool.”

What tool? Jouslain realised that it meant serving as the central figure of the anti-Tytanian united forces. Had this not been their standard tactic ever since the Second Clanner, Nuri?

“This is what is called ‘catching the whole herd in a single throw’” is what Nuri was said to have remarked after the success of his great purge. It was thought to be a statement of triumph. But could the truth be that he was trying to convince himself, in the face of his own fear, that no enemy had escaped his grasp?

“During my reign I must annihilate Tytania’s enemies. And I shall pass Tytania over to the next Clanner. And along with Tytania, I shall hand over her new enemies as well.”

Beneath the balcony, the crowd continued to cheer, and Ajman responded in kind.

“A Clanner must be a coward. This is precisely what will ultimately ensure the transmission of Tytania’s blood and authority. The other three lack this quality. Do you understand, Lord Jouslain?”

Under the Clanner’s gaze, Jouslain deeply bowed. His gesture suggested that he understood the meaning of the Clanner’s words, but at the same time, he couldn’t suppress a sense of revulsion. Could it be that the source of Tytania’s power was the fear of decline?

Clanner Ajman changed the subject and started to talk about the brothers Zarlisch and Arses. The topic had arisen from the latest developments regarding Fan Hyulick, who was currently being pursued by Arses.

“Arses covets his elder brother’s position. This is a certainty. It isn’t the work of his Tytanian blood but a natural occurrence in this world.”

Though he didn’t necessarily agree, Jouslain didn’t contradict the Clanner. He remembered how, as a boy, he had felt lonely without any brothers of his own. Driven by a sudden impulse, he asked:

“Will you not warn Zarlisch, Your Clanner Highness?”

The question drew a slight chuckle from the Clanner.

“If someone like Arses manages to usurp the duchy, then Zarlisch only amounted to that much. Thinking he could inherit Tytania’s legitimate heirship would be nothing more than a drunkard’s dream.”

The Tytania clan stood on its own two feet in the depths of the universe. Within the clan, every individual must likewise stand their own two feet. That was the ring of fierce flames that controlled Tytania. Should one fall, all would be consumed by fire.

“Lord Jouslain, if I were in your position, I would secretly incite Arses to overthrow Zarlisch. I would like you to answer honestly if you would do so.”

“I would do no such thing.”

“Hum…”

Ajman was asking “why not?” with his eyes. With a slight hesitation, Jouslain felt compelled to answer. Choosing his words carefully, he explained to the Clanner.

If he were to incite Arces against Zarlisch and then accuse Arses of the crime of overthrowing Zarlisch and purge him, Jouslain’s position would appear secure by eliminating both Zarlisch and Arses. But in reality, it wouldn’t be the case. Ariabert and Idris would still be alive and would feel uneasy at the fate of Zarlisch and his brother. Even if they were unable to have conclusive proof that Jouslain was behind the plot, they would be suspicious and strike first before Jouslain could strike them. As a result, Tytania would be split in two camps and plunge into civil war, leading to mutual destruction. Even if it wasn’t the conclusion, the victor’s strength would be severely weakened, and the anti-Tytanian factions would reap the benefits. While he didn’t deny the efficiency of this machination, bringing down a household in this manner would come back to strike him like a boomerang of destruction. Therefore, he wouldn’t resort to such a means.

That was Jouslain’s explanation.

“… Hail Tytania! Tytania, may you live eternally!”

Hearing the cheer, Ajman shook his hand in the air with an expression of annoyance and fixed his gaze straight at Jouslain. The intensity of that stare was enough to overwhelm the young Tytanian.

After a few moments during which the air seemed to liquefy, Ajman’s mouth turned into a distinct smile. But it was a smile of frozen soil, as he made no sound and his gaze didn’t soften the slightest. Jouslain remained rooted on the spot as he endured the shudder that was running through his entire body.

IV

The Minister of Military Affairs, Estrade Tytania, was on planet Ryutehi. He was raising his glass, sitting alone in the common room of his magnificent mansion, located barely 500 metres from the main gates of the Imperial Palace.

Though he looked slightly older than his 42 years, his handsome features and imposing stature gave him a bearing that surpassed that of most court nobles. His appearance was befitting of a Tytanian leading figure. His career was equally impressive, and the only thing he lacked compared to the four younger Dukes was their title.

But for him at this moment, honours and prestige were a source of discomfort. From the Minister of Military Affairs’ mouth flowed an endless stream of alcohol scent and low curses directed at Idris Tytania.

Idris was made commander of the Imperial Guard and held the rank of vice-admiral. Estrade was a full admiral and therefore higher than Idris in the military hierarchy. However, the Empire’s ranks took precedence over Tytania’s inner hierarchy. Within Tytania, he was a mere outsider and wasn’t allowed to attend the Supreme Council. But upstarts who were inferior to him in both reputation and experience were seated at the same council table as the Clanner.

In truth, Idris was a greenhorn who had never been of any concern to the Minister of Military Affairs. Whenever he met Estrade, he would stiffen and pay his respects to his senior. And yet, the moment he became a head of one of the Five Families, he grew arrogant and behaved in a manner that spurned the Minister of Military Affairs.

“Damn greenhorn, how dare he…!”

“Is it me whom you call a greenhorn, Father?”

A youthful voice with vitality and cool composure drifted from the doorway. Lifting his gaze from his cup, the Minister of Military Affairs looked at the person who spoke.

His eldest son, Viscount Balamy Tytania stood there holding a bottle of fresh wine. Dressed in a high-class Tytanian military uniform, he was 18 years old and already a commodore. With his golden-brown hair and pale violet eyes, his father believed him to be more intelligent than Jouslain, more handsome than Idris, and took great pride in him.

“I’m obviously not talking about you, but about our most welcome Duke.”

“Speaking of Dukes, hasn’t Duke Ariabert been campaigning for months in a row? While you were in the capital.”

“I am the Minister of Military Affairs. My duty keeps me in the capital to oversee the entire military. Leading fleets into battle is a task best left to mere admirals.”

“Father, do you truly believe what you have just said?”

His son’s voice was gentle but contained something more. A strange glimmer was dancing in his pale violet eyes. The father felt some of his intoxication leaving him, and he cleared his throat.

“What do you want to say? Are you insinuating something?”

Without directly answering his father, Balamy poured a liquid that was the colour of the blood pouring in his veins into a silver goblet. Once he was done pouring, he turned his violet gaze towards his father.

As half-manipulated, the Minister of Military Affairs reached out to take the silver goblet in his hand. A voice rich in rhythm flowed from his son’s lips.

“Five years ago, I believed that I was going to be the Landless Clanner’s son, and my heart was trembling with joy. But that position slipped out of your grasp and fell into the hands of Uncle Ajman. To me, there was no greater disappointment.”

The father groaned. He gulped down from his silver cup.

“Speak no more; it is a done deed.”

“Father, do you not feel a sense of emptiness in your hand?”

“… Balamy!”

“Why are you so startled? It is just something that wasn’t apparent until now. The blood of Tytania favours the blood of the clan. Such it has always been since the second generation’s head, His Highness Nuri.”

This fact that his father was well aware of, Balamy stated with deliberate gravitas.

“It is impossible for a holy person to rule over the universe. The abyss of the stars can only flatter the strong. As for the goddess of fate, she is but a whore.”

The father poured another crimson cascade into his silver goblet, where his son’s gaze fell. With a soft sigh, Balamy continued.

“The one I truly revere is the second-generation head, His Highness Nuri. With all due respect, the first-generation head, His Highness Neville, only knew how to subjugate the masses by force. The true foundation was laid by His Highness Nuri’s hands. And to pursue prosperity and the unity of the clan, he showed no mercy, not even to his own blood relatives…”

Suddenly, the Minister of Military Affairs let out a forced laugh, cutting his son’s eloquent speech. He hurled on the carpet the silver goblet and its half-empty content.

“How strange, Balamy. You never touch a drop of alcohol, but his evening you seem to be even drunker than I am.”

“It is a special skill of mine. Weren’t you aware of it, Father?”

With a calm expression, the son picked up the silver goblet his father had thrown. Casting a cold glance at the nebula-like stain that was spreading across the carpet, he returned the goblet to his father with a smile. As if he were rolling in the palm of his hands like a ball, his father’s state of mind, he whispered with even more fervour.

“If you are at peace with the fact that you didn’t become the Clanner, then there is no need for me to say anything. But Father, are you truly at peace with that? From the bottom, do you truly believe that your abilities are inferior to those of your younger brother?”

“I told you to shut up.”

Though he was giving an order, the voice of Estrade Tytania was feeble. He was no coward. Either in the usual meaning of the word or in the one given by Clanner Ajman to Jouslain. And yet, though he didn’t want to admit it, at that moment cold sweat was trickling down the walls of his heart.

There was a deep and vast chasm between discontent and rebellion. Leaping across it required no small amount of mental energy, and it was precisely what the court nobles of the Vardana Empire lacked. And even for the Minister of Military Affairs, the Marquis Estrade Tytania, the leap was by no means easy.

The son observed his father’s internal conflict with detachment but eventually resumed his dreadful persuasion. He did not appeal to his father’s courage but to his fear.

“Are you content to grow old like this?”

That question was a terrifying pronouncement.

“If I may be bold to say so, Father, you are already over forty and well into the second half of your life. You cannot possibly compete with the next generation’s Four Dukes to become the Clanner. In twenty years, the Four Dukes will still be in their forties, while you will be in your sixties, and it is unheard of in our history for the successor to be older than the current head of the family. No one would support it.”

The Minister of Military Affairs felt his deepest convictions being laid bare by his son. He took a deep breath and attempted a cunning-sounding reply.

“To begin with, why do you think that I desire the title of Clanner?”

But that was not enough to intimidate his son.

“Tytanian blood taught me that much. It tells me that rather than stand by and watch, I should take it by force. That blood comes from you, Father. How could I fail to understand your heart?”

Estrade felt defeat. It wasn’t accompanied by a sense of humiliation but a lightness as if he had removed some armour of Antiquity.

“Being ambitious is good. But achieving it is not easy. It requires extraordinary resolve. Do you understand?”

His voice sounded like the creaks of an armour being cast aside.

“I’ll tell you this: the courtiers of Vardana cannot be trusted. I suspect they are trying to use me, but the moment things become dangerous, they will betray me in an instant. I need to find other allies than these guys.”

“Yes, Father, I am well aware.”

“None of the Four Dukes are ordinary men. Never underestimate them. Especially not Duke Jouslain. He is a man of curious depth.”

“Since you are talking in this fashion, Father, can I assume that we are of the same mind? I can take it to mean so, can’t I?”

The demand was clear. Or rather, though phrased as a question, it was a statement of fact. At that juncture, Estrade seemed to falter for a moment, but it was just a moment. With dignity, the Minister of Military Affairs nodded.

“Even if I tried to restrain you, you wouldn’t stay still. I shall go with you. But let me say this again. This is no easy path. Even if you start having regrets, you can’t go back midway.”

Thus, Marquis Estrade Tytania, the Minister of Military Affairs of the Vardana Empire, was dragged along by his son as he set foot on a bloody path.

Chapter 4 – Leaping from a Dead End

I

There was in fact absolutely no reason to overestimate Fan Hyulick’s political convictions. It wasn’t for the sake of principles or ideas that he was brought to rebel against Tytania’s oppressive rule but because of his temperament. This was, of course, a rather simplified way of putting it, but one cannot ignore the impact on history that Fan Hyulick’s temperament had, namely his aversion to subordination.

Until his mid-twenties, there was no trace of such a temperament in Fan Hyulick. He was a perfectly ordinary clerk that served on merchant ships or kontors, doing desk work or attending after travellers in the way his superiors had instructed. It was evident from his life’s trajectory that he wasn’t biding his time with grand ambitions after his return from the Tytanian detention centre and his enlistment in the City Fleet. He had no intentions of actually becoming a soldier.

Military talent is maybe one of the hardest of human talents to uncover. An artist may leave behind him tangible works of creativity and gain posthumous fame that eluded him in life. But what about military talent? A man who was hailed in times of war as a peerless general might in times of peace end up as an incompetent, mediocre official. An outstanding person who could have become a fleet admiral might end up earning a meagre pittance selling hot dogs in the back streets.

In that sense, Fan Hyulick might be called a fortunate man. His talent lay in military affairs, and he indeed had no other talent of note. He didn’t harbour any ideals about alternative ways of life or professions either. If he hadn’t failed in his attempt to desert and hadn’t been thrown into his homecity’s army, it is highly likely that he would have led an unproductive life. Obviously, whether it would have been a source of happiness or misfortune from his perspective is an entirely different matter.

It was true that Fan Hyulick always had a natural tendency to rebel against overwhelming authority, which was fuelled further by bitter experiences that led him to develop a thoroughly contrarian attitude by the age of 28. That was evident from the way he used Weigert cannons, which was simply impossible for someone with conventional thinking and lacked the critical thought to assess the status quo and bring reform.

At the Battle of Cerberus, Fan Hyulick dealt a defeat to the previously undefeated Tytania. The victorious city of Euria utterly failed to realise that this act had “kicked away the pillow of a sleeping history” and was instead consumed by fear of Tytania’s strength and banished Fan Hyulick who had been the architect of their victory. Far from leading to a strategic victory for Euria, the colourful triumph of the carrot-headed young man had, in fact, the opposite effect.

Had the city of Euria appointed Fan Hyulick with the intention of defeating Tytania and tried to capitalise on that tactical victory to achieve diplomatic strategy, it would have played a significant role in the subsequent course of space history. But the reality is that the name of the city of Euria would be buried in the sands of history only to be marginally remembered as Fan Hyulick’s birthplace.

Well now, Mr Fan Hyulick, an unemployed person on the run, spent the first half of June on planet Ementhal. That wasn’t because he had taken a fancy to the place, but because of His Grace Count Arses Tytania, a powerful figure on that planet, who had stationed men in grey uniforms at key locations, including the spaceport, to ensure he couldn’t leave the planet.

In the end, it was a young woman by the name of Lira Florentz who took in this homeless and unemployed carrot-headed youth. Having realised that she was backed by an anti-Tytania underground movement, Fan Hyulick tried to distance himself from her, but once photos of the tall carrot-head youth had been distributed to hotels and appeared on TV screens, he found himself a sudden celebrity with nowhere to go.

Furthermore, and importantly, Lira’s talent lay in making omelettes. The herb omelette he tasted in the morning after his first overnight stay was absolutely fabulous. More precisely, it suited Fan Hyulick’s palate perfectly. And so, it was her omelettes that ultimately persuaded him to stay.

Lira’s grandmother was said to have once served the Princess of Casabianca as her lady-in-waiting. Though she may once have been a graceful courtier, today she was an old woman with lifeless skin and weathered like old oil paper and appeared to be half-fossilised.

She tried to produce to her guest a stereograph of her in her youth, but Fan Hyulick politely declined. If she looked in that photo exactly as Lira did now, it would remove any dreams and hopes he had.

The old woman then tried to appeal to his ears rather than his eyes. She tried to capture his interest with tales of the days of yore.

“Back when I was a lady-in-waiting, you know, …”

“Sorry, but I’m not interested in things that date back to the time dinosaurs were alive.”

Fan Hyulick wasn’t entirely devoid of the common virtue of respecting the elders, but he had no interest at all in the courtiers' life on what he arbitrarily decided was some small frontier principality. His interests only lay in two things: the taste of Lira’s omelettes and when he might be able to leave this unpleasant planet arrogantly ruled by Arses Tytania. He wasn’t really in the mood to make the best of living reluctantly in hiding.

He considered Lira to be a diamond in the rough that would shine if polished, as her rhythmic movements and lively facial expressions were extremely attractive, but she kind of lacked a certain allure. As for her grandmother, it was just unthinkable.

In other words, Fan Hyulick’s life in hiding was lacking emotional depth, though he wasn’t sure if such a thing as an emotionally filled life in hiding even existed. Still better than life in the Tytanian detention camp, he thought. Food was good, and he could stretch on the sofa bed. He could take a shower and stay clean. At first, he was reasonably satisfied, but he lately began to feel that his sense of confinement from a mental point of view might actually be more severe than during his time in the detention camp.

Ementhal was a wealthy place, and outside, there were women and drinks fluttering their wings to entice men. If he were inclined to do so, he would have no problems finding pleasures. Fan Hyulick was more than willing, had funds to buy these pleasures, and yet was locked in a shabby apartment in the lower districts, unable to go out. Arses Tytania was certainly no miser, since he had placed a bounty of 100,000 dakars on the unemployed youth’s head and was on the lookout for him.

Fan Hyulick felt like holding himself by the scruff of the neck and walking towards Tytania, demanding, “Here, hand over the 100,000 dakars.” It wasn’t even a great joke, but what shocked Fan Hyulick was the reaction of Lira’s grandmother when she heard about the sun of 100,000 dakars. The half-fossilised-looking old woman looked like her eyes buried in wrinkles were glistening like fake jewels. However, the glimmer immediately faded, leaving him to wonder if it had been a mere illusion.

He also met Lira’s acquaintance. Or would it be more accurate to call him a comrade? He was told that he was the child of the orphaned son of the former Minister of Finance and Economy of the Principality of Casabianca.

In other words, Fan Hyulick concluded that they were simply the second-generation children of those who used to live in the principality, who were now fancying themselves as revolutionaries. He could think of no other explanation.

This second-generation child, Florimond de Boer, was a man in his early thirties and the very stereotype of a scholar in the bad sense of the word. He prioritised theory over reality and refused to acknowledge the existence of vested interests. Since his theory wasn’t about humans but only the restoration of the Principality of Casabianca, Fan Hyulick wanted to sneer at him. He himself was a clear-cut advocate of quantitative vitality whenever it came to nations and organisations and believed that rebuilding a fallen country was going against the flow of history.

“Still, the Tytania clan has quite the line-up of handsome men. I wonder if good looks are a prerequisite to being a ruler?”

Considering this to be the root of evil in Tytania, Fan Hyulick glared intently at the three-dimensional photographs of the Clanner and the Four Dukes that de Boer had brought with him.

Among them, Jouslain Tytania gave less of an impression, though he certainly could be considered a handsome man. He wasn’t comparable to Fan Hyulick, who is bordering on the line. Still, Fan Hyulick’s tastes differed entirely from those of Count Arses Tytania, and the presence of many handsome men didn’t particularly please him. He voiced his concerns aloud.

“So, any three-dimensional pictures of Tytanian ladies?”

‘None’ was the unequivocal answer. The reason, he was told, was that not even the Tytania clan would target women in terror acts. Fan Hyulick could only mutter, “Ha, I see.” While he shared the views of his discussion partner that women shouldn’t be the target of terrorism, he was still interested in them as objects of aesthetic appreciation or physical contact.

De Boer launched a passionate speech while Fan Hyulick looked at the stereoscopic picture. Over 99% went through one ear and left through the other, completely bypassing Fan Hyulick’s brain, but in a nutshell, he was requesting Fan Hyulick’s assistance to restore his principality. Though he had a reservation or two, Fan Hyulick remained silent, not wishing to be mistaken for showing interest.

De Boer seemed to be the kind of man who spoke his mind without hesitation. Or maybe it was all an act. There was fact, perception of fact, and how to express that perception. It was rare for the three to coincide perfectly without any discrepancy.

Pretending to gaze at the stereoscopic picture, Fan Hyulick was observing de Boer while examining his thoughts in his mind. He had already reached something resembling a conclusion. Fan Hyulick couldn’t bring himself to trust as a comrade a person who, on their first meeting, would launch a five-page monologue like the character of some cheap novel. If it were an act, he couldn’t trust him emotionally, and if it were his true nature, he couldn’t trust his capabilities. There were probably a hundred million times more revolutions in rhetoric than there were actual revolutions.

Eventually, de Boer’s tongue, which had boasted of its driving force, grew weary and ceased to wave, so Fan Hyulick calmly informed him that he had no interest in restoring a principality. Upon that, de Boer’s tongue started moving again:

“But if we stand idle and let Tytania’s rise pass us by, we’d be nothing but imbeciles.”

“Nothing but imbeciles. Still better than harmful imbeciles.”

It goes without saying that it was sarcasm. But Fan Hyulick was exasperated to see de Boer lost in deep thought, as if he had been presented with a deep philosophical declaration. His following advice was, as far as he was concerned, motivated by nothing but good intentions.

“You guys aren’t cut out for revolution or rebellion. It’s not as if you were living in poverty, right? Stop dreaming about principalities and ministers, and just get on with your lives. This planet is, after all, one of the most comfortable in the universe.”

That sermon was out of character for him. But his conversation partner remained entirely unconvinced.

II

A kind of turning point occurred in the monotonous life of the young unemployed Mr Fan Hyulick on the 16th of June.

He couldn’t remain trapped forever in the low district of Ementhal. He decided to approach small- and medium-size shipping companies that weren’t under the influence of Tytania to ask them to take him somewhere.

For now he thought about going to Bargash, the transport hub start system of the frontier, and then decided what to do next.

Fan Hyulick had told de Boer that Ementhal was a comfortable planet to live on, but it was only true when one’s freedom of movement was guaranteed. When confined to a room, there was little difference between Ementhal and the hold of a cargo ship.

“Thanks for all. I’m leaving,” declared Fan Hyulick to the young landlady in a matter-of-fact tone, seeing no point in pretending to be a poet at that point.

He handed over 2,000 dakars to Lira as payment for accommodation for the last sixteen nights, including three meals a day and a shower. He wondered whether it wasn’t too much, but decided it would be alright if it went towards the young girl’s make-up. Lira started intently at the carrot-top young man without even attempting to take the four large banknotes.

“What do you intend to do from now on? Do you have some place you need to go?”

“There has to be some room in this universe for an extra unemployed person. Anyway, there is nothing left for me to do on Ementhal.”

Since Fan Hyulick was originally from the Interstellar City League, he might be able to reach a kontor and sort things out. Assuming he paid a proper fare, he was likely to find a ship willing to take him aboard.

Even if he didn’t travel as a passenger, he could, for instance, be hired as a clerk on a cargo ship. Although he was the commander of the Euria City for about three months, he hadn’t exactly been basking in glory and splendour, so going back to being a mere clerk didn’t bother him the slightest. Anyway, he couldn’t have endured a long period of court service, and once he reached a suitable planet, he would simply jump ship.

It looked like the number of people who were chasing the dream of his 100,000 dakar bounty was swindling. It was time to attempt running away. He would stay the night and slip away the next morning, blending in with a crowd of commuters. That was what Fan Hyulick declared.

“I won’t forget the taste of your omelettes. You’re a very good cook, so you should give up on that backwards dream about rebuilding that Principality of yours and find yourself a decent man to marry, ok?”

“Decent” was an embarrassing word to use, but since he had no intention of elaborating, it should suffice.

Thus, Fan Hyulick intended to spend his last night in Ementhal in peace. It was his intention, but events wouldn’t unfold according only to his wishes.

That night Fan Hyulick arranged his entire set of travelling gear at the foot of the sofa bed, displaying every part of his nature as a miser, and wrapped himself in a blanket and lay down in a peaceful garden of dreams. His consciousness drifted along the boundary between dream and reality and eventually sank and swayed beneath the surface of his dreams. It should have continued to sink but instead rose rapidly as warm, elastic, and plentiful organic matter leant against him.

Fan Hyulick blinked as he placed his palm on the form next to him and hastily withdrew it. It was a young woman’s breast, wrapped in the thin fabric of a négligé. In the dim light, the unemployed youth recognised Lira’s features. In contrast to the softness of her body, he was met with her stern expression and firm voice.

“Fan, do with me as you please.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Calm down. What’s going on?”

Though Fan Hyulick was no saint, as he previously mentioned, he didn’t trust blindly in luck or beautiful women. And when both occurred simultaneously, his suspicions clad in vivid colours began to dance as he wondered what was lying beneath the surface.

“I like you. That’s all.”

“That’s the kind of line that makes one drown in tears of gratitude. You’re a lovely girl, but you have no talent as an actress. Your grandma put that idea in your head, didn’t she?”

“…”

“Go on, tell me. What comes next depends on this. I don’t want to be poisoned just because I’m hungry.”

With a sigh, Lira stepped back and muttered:

“It’s the princess’ orders.”

That alone didn’t make much sense. As Fan Hyulick frowned, Lira began to give a quick explanation.

The sole heir to the Principality of Casabianca was Her Highness Princess Miranda, and a few days ago, de Boer paid her a visit to report on the current state of the Principality’s restoration movement. That being said, he could only report on his unconvincing attempts at trying to persuade Fan Hyulick to join their side. Upon hearing that Fan Hyulick remained completely unmoved by their plight and would leave Ementhal the next day, Her Highness Princess Miranda instructed Lira to attempt a last resort to win him over.

“So, in order to win over the perverted bastard Fan Hyulick, that princess of yours told you to sacrifice your virginity?”

“She didn’t call you perverted, though.”

“All the same. She thinks I’m an idiot.”

Fan Hyulick was infuriated in many ways. It annoyed him to be seen as a man whose resolve could be shaken by feminine charms, though it was half-true. And there was another reason that was more important.

“You know, Lira, loyalty is all fine and dandy, but you need to discern the principle of the thing. If your princess wants to win me over with charm, she should sacrifice her own chastity. She’s offering you as a human sacrifice in her stead.”

“That’s…”

“I like women. And money too, and alcohol even more. And if some bad guy suffers some misfortune, even better.”

Realising he was getting off track, he steered the conversation back on course.

“Anyway, I’m not so boorish that I’d mess with other people’s love affairs.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re seeing de Boer, aren’t you? I can’t say I’m fond of that guy, but I’m not trying to actively harm him either. You don’t need to do this for him; just look after yourself for your own sake, ok?”

Under the dim light, Lira was visibly blushing. After a few seconds of silence, as the two were about to speak at the same time, a sound came from outside the room. The floor creaked, and then the door creaked, and light and shadow burst into their view.

Just as Lira leapt back and Fan Hyulick sprang to his feet, a sharp command echoed through the room. What froze the unemployed youth in his tracks wasn’t as much the voice itself as the metallic clang of what looked like firearms. In the orange glow of the lighting, shadows of men from Tytania who should have been here were cast across the room.

“Good, they are here as the old woman said.”

As the men in grey military uniforms nodded to one another, another figure, that of a former lady-in-waiting of the Principality of Casabianca, spoke with a voice hoarse with greed.

“Dear soldiers of Tytania, I can expect my reward, right?”

“Come tomorrow to the residence of His Grace the Count Arses Tytania. You shall be paid 100,000 dakars in full.”

Having spoken these words with an expression of irritation, the eyes of the man who appeared to be the leader glimmered with sarcasm.

“So, would you want to know the circumstances behind the current situation, Admiral Fan Hyulick?”

“No, I understand well enough. I’m not interested in what’s going on behind the scenes,” replied Fan Hyulick with a sour expression on his face, changing his clothes after getting permission to do so.

The old woman spoke to him with condescension:

“Sorry. Youngster. I know this is a bitter pill to swallow, but take some comfort in knowing that you made the happiness of an old woman.”

“Go get eaten by a stegosaurus, you heartless old woman who can’t understand your granddaughter’s feelings.”

“Nice offer, but it’s not going to happen.”

“Why is that?”

“Stegosaurus are herbivores, youngster. Your tongue is sharp, but you’re no scholar, are you?”

“Your tongue and personality are the worst!”

A Tytanian officer gave a theatrical pat on the shoulder of the fuming Fan Hyulick.

“Well, just leave it at that. Admiral Fan Hyulick. I’d like you to quietly follow us. This commotion is disturbing the neighbourhood.”

Fan Hyulick glanced quickly left and right but, noticing half a dozen figures in grey military uniforms, abandoned any thought of making a run for it. With an expression of disgust, he brought his hands together and held them out in front of him.

“You aren’t going to put me in handcuffs?”

“Nah, you’re not a prisoner. We’ll do our best to maintain a semblance of courtesy. As much as we can.”

Just as the men in grey uniforms began surrounding Fan Hyulick and moving towards the entrance, Lira broke the long silence.

“Fan…!”

“Lira, bake him some good omelette, will you? I don’t think his palate is as refined as mine, but he should be able to taste the love in it.”

Despite the inappropriateness of the situation, Fan Hyulick uttered that pretentious line and began to walk away when Lira rushed towards him. The Tytanian soldiers tensed for a moment, but Lira, who was only dressed in a négligé wrapped an arm around Fan Hyulick’s neck and pressed her lips against his.

Her négligé fluttered dramatically, and the soldiers’ gazes were attracted to her shapely and bare legs.

“Goodbye, Fan.”

As Lira was separating herself from him after bidding him farewell, Fan Hyulick silently nodded and turned his back.

He was shoved in the back seat of a vehicle. Three soldiers remained at Lira’s house to deal with the aftermath. A soldier sat on his right, another on his left, while the third took the driver’s seat.

The vehicle began to move. After barely three minutes, the soldier who was sitting on Fan Hyulick’s left suddenly groaned. All strength drained from his body, and he slumped into his seat.

“You bastard…”

The soldier on his right was speechless, and his head dropped forward. He had been shot in his side by a needle gun. Earlier, while embracing and kissing him, Lira had slipped the needle gun in his pocket.

The soldier in the driver’s seat had also been shot in the nape of his neck when he tried to turn around, his expression blank. Stretching his tall frame, Fan Hyulick pushed the driver’s body sideways. He tossed onto the floor of the vehicle the empty needle gun.

“Lira, you’re way too fine of a girl for someone like de Boer. If he ever forgets his place and cheats on you, you can come running into my arms any time.”

Managing somehow to move from the back seat to the driver’s seat, Fan Hyulick tapped the key of the inertial navigation system and set a course for the spaceport. The vehicle carried the hijacking youth at a comfy speed, and about 1001 seconds later, the pale and hyper-modern silhouette of the nightless city came into Fan Hyulick’s view.

The area surrounding the spaceport was a jumble of dilapidated warehouses and canals that served as city walls separating the residential area from the spaceport. Abandoning the vehicle in a corner, the young carrot-top set off along the nightly road.

Mr Fan Hyulick, who should have been successful in his escape, walked for some five minutes before stopping, let out a sigh to empty his lungs, and ran his fingers through his ginger hair. He had forgotten his wallet at Lira’s house.

III

Throwing curses at himself, the hapless and bankrupt Mr Hyulick tried to run back towards the vehicle he had left behind. His only option now was to sell it cheaply to levy some immediate funds.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but there were many people in this world whose minds were quicker and shrewder than his. He spotted five or six figures swarming around the vehicle, already starting to strip it of its parts. Apparently, they were an organised gang of thieves.

“Hey, you unbelievable jackasses, how dare you dispose of someone’s property without their permission? How about you listen to the scolding of your consciences, you small-time cooks?”

Right as Fan Hyulick roared this and hurled himself on a shell some three light-years away, a pale yellow flash swept across his field of vision. The screech of bikes echoed gratingly. About five vehicles sporting Tytania’s coat of arms came to a sudden halt, and a group clad in grey military uniforms leapt out.

The thief gang screamed and fled, but the Tytanian soldiers paid no heed to these petty criminals and rushed straight towards Fan Hyulick. The unemployed youth fugitive pivoted on his right heel to make a 180-degree turn, entrusting his fate in the leg strength he inherited from his parents.

“Son of a bitch, why must a decent guy like me have to suffer through such hardship? Next time I meet the goddess of fate, I’m slapping her in the face!”

Swearing a vow he could never keep, Fan Hyulick pushed his long legs and raced through the night streets. With no luggage and empty pockets (though that was not the only reason), his swift feet were fully flowing, and the Tytanian soldiers were unable to catch up with him at once.

But right as Fan Hyulick’s breathing was starting to falter, the sound of light and precise footsteps was closing behind him. Turning around would only be a waste of time and distance, so Fan Hyulick didn’t commit that mistake. Instead, he committed another kind of mistake. By running through the labyrinth-like warehouse district around the spaceport, he had managed to shake off most of his pursuers, but the mass-produced ceramic walls of a massive warehouse soon loomed in front of him.

The sound of the footsteps behind him echoed closer, and Fan Hyulick clocked his tongue as he sprang towards the handrail-less staircase running along the wall. After bending his knees some forty times, he emerged onto the railed rooftop and appeared to have reached a dead end. Some five seconds later, a pursuer dressed in grey clothing reached the same level.

“How about giving up, Admiral Hyulick?”

“Shut up! What’s so amusing about chasing after an unemployed bankrupt man? Are the perverted Count’s henchmen as perverted as he is?”

“I’m not chasing you because I find it amusing. And I’m not serving the Count because I like it either. Everything is determined by destiny.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty when messing up your choice of words, you illiterate!”

His pursuer snorted derisively and glared back at Fan Hyulick. He was young both in voice and in build. The two small moons of Ementhal were casting a pale bluish glow upon the hunter and the prey.

“It’s time for a promotion and a pay rise. Your destiny is to surrender gracefully.”

“On this planet, destiny tumbles about more cheaply than an empty cola can.”

“Indeed, destiny is tawdry. Just as the lives of those controlled by it are, for the most part, mass-produced baubles of poor quality.”

The change from stillness to motion was fast as lightning. A black shadow flashed in the hand of the Tytanian officer. Fan Hyulick leaped backwards and narrowly avoided the swift blow. A light-metal baton shot out from the pursuer’s outstretched hand like the tongue of a reptile, aiming at the fugitive’s neck. Had he not dodged with a once-in-a-lifetime speed, Fan Hyulick would have taken the fierce blow in the neck and fallen unconscious.

“Oh, you dodged that? As expected, I won’t be able to take you down if I go easy on you.”

There was a lot of composure in the muttered voice. Words muttered from beneath the roof and above the ground reached the two men.

“What the hell are you playing at, Lieutenant Mahdi! Hurry up and capture that fugitive and hand him over to His Grace the Count.”

“Ah well, my superior is such a pain, but I must obey orders. That’s the destiny of a soldier.”

Without a shred of respect for his superior, the Tytanian officer gripped with more firmness the special baton in his right hand. He was slightly shorter than Fan Hyulick. His physique was well-balanced and toned like a spring. Though it was difficult to make out his facial features, he appeared to be completely unfamiliar with the notion of tension. With smooth and fluid movements, he cornered the fugitive at an edge of the roof.

The runaway pressed his back against the old rooftop railing. He looked down over his shoulder at the dark world below. Noticing a split-second opening, Lieutenant Mahdi closed in and seized his right elbow with his left hand while preparing to bring down his baton with his right hand. At that very moment, Fan Hyulick shifted his entire weight onto the railing behind him, deliberately throwing himself off balance.

“…!”

It was unclear who screamed, as the bodies and voices entangled and flew. Both the pursuer and the pursued tumbled along the broken railing, plummeting to the ground.

He felt water around him. Fan Hyulick’s last-minute calculations had yielded results within the margin of error. He had fallen onto the black surface of the canal that was flowing behind the warehouse. His vertical fall had been ten metres.

He surfaced. Oxygen poured into his mouth and nose. After exchanging the air in his lungs for fresh air, Fan Hyulick cut through the water and rode with the current.

From beyond the darkness of the night echoed the confused voices of the Tytanians. Knowing they couldn’t see him, the carrot-top youth waved a hand in a mocking gesture before climbing onto the concrete embankment. Just then, a figure could be seen nearby in the water, screaming and churning up waves.

“Hey, help me, Admiral Hyulick…!”

“Any obligation to save you was lost in some corner of the universe.”

“I can’t swim!”

“That’s your problem. Not mine.”

“Are you going to stray from the path of righteousness when it’s expedient?! Come on, can you even consider yourself a warrior of justice after that?”

He hurled abuse at him, using a title Fan Hyulick didn’t recall ever claiming.

“Isn’t it because you are still clutching your baton that you are unable to swim?”

Faced with this bitterly sarcastic remark, the Tytanian mumbled something under his breath and threw away his precious baton onto the surface of the water. Upon seeing this, Fan Hyulick reached out and pulled Lieutenant Mahdi to safety. There was an immediate sound. It wasn’t a word of thanks, but metal clanging.

“What’s that!?”

“Can’t you see, Admiral Hyulick? Handcuffs.”

“I saved you from drowning! And that’s how you repay me? Aren’t you the one straying from the path of righteousness?”

The lieutenant swept his wet hair back while making a pose.

“Ah, the grumblings of a loser are such a pain to listen to.”

“You ungrateful bastard…!”

Gazing at Fan Hyulick’s face, which had gone white with fury, Lieutenant Mahdi suddenly broke out in a familiar smile.

“Let’s think of a way to reconcile moral principles with worldly success. I’ll take you to the Count’s mansion. Then I’ll receive the reward money and let you escape. How about that, Admiral Fan Hyulick?”

“Who would fall for such a scheme?”

“You’re a man without any trust. Look into my eyes. Do they look like those of a person who would deceive others?”

“Don’t go around telling jokes from the Stone Age as if you were boasting about it!”

Was there not a single decent person on Ementhal? As he pictured Lira’s grandmother’s face, Fan Hyulick groaned. That he described as “comfortable” such a depraved planet with such a problematic human environment was proof that his naiveté was sweeter than cheap artificial sweetener. He couldn’t help but blame himself.

“Well, if you can’t trust me, I don’t have a choice. As reluctant as I am, I’ll have to do what you can imagine.”

Speaking with brazen insolence, Lieutenant Mahdi tugged at the handcuffs’ wire. It was thin but sturdy, and as Fan Hyulick was dragged along, he had no choice but to walk along as he felt the bitter frustration of being unable to curse his nemesis to death.

Lieutenant Mahdi made no attempt to call his colleagues. It appeared he intended to claim the bounty and all the glory for himself. Right as he began striding triumphantly along the canal, something stirred in the shadow of the warehouse.

A sharp thud echoed, and Lieutenant Mahdi’s body was sent flying into the air. As the young, unconscious officer hit the ground, the figure in white clothes that had knocked him down with a single punch hoisted him effortlessly onto their left shoulder. It urged Fan Hyulick, who was standing there dumbfounded, to come forward, as if scolding him.

“Hurry and follow me. It will be a pain if the Tytanians find us. I’ll take off your handcuffs later.”

The figure was almost as tall as Fan Hyulick but broader and more substantially built. It was a woman. She had two enormous mounds on her chest and short chestnut-coloured hair. She could hardly be called a beauty, but her face, illuminated by the street lamps, had a lustrous and strange quality that gave her an almost endearing charm.

Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him, Fan Hyulick followed her when he suddenly realised something as he asked the most basic question.

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t Lira tell you? I’m Miranda. I used to be the princess of the Principality of Casabianca.”

The giant woman laughed heartily, and for some time, Fan Hyulick was unable to close his gaping mouth.

IV

The figure of someone referred to as a princess, be she royal or imperial, ought to be of delicate and ethereal beauty and radiate a dainty grace. Though this was merely his delusion as a man and a belief held without any basis whatsoever, Fan Hyulick felt compelled to revise the dictionary definition of the word in his mind. As he continued to walk as if pulled by an invisible rope, he delved into a single memory. His voice grew somewhat tighter.

“So, you’re the one who instructed Lira to sleep with me, aren’t you? What were you intending to do by making this girl do such a thing?”

“Oh? If I had been the one to offer my chastity instead of Lira, would you have eagerly agreed to a night of passion?”

Fan Hyulick tried to shake his head with the speed of a slow-motion film but stopped himself midway. Though she wasn’t his type, it was no reason to hurt her feelings. Her Highness Princess Miranda of the Principality of Casabianca showed no sign of being offended and simply laughed once more with a hearty “Ha ha ha ha!”.

“Don’t fret it. I know very well that I’m no beauty. And yet, there is still a man who told me I was fine, and I’ve been living with him in Ementhal for the last three years.”

“What about this principality restoration nonsense?”

As Fan Hyulick finally seized an opportunity to ask a question, Her Highness Princess Miranda sighed. It was a tremendous sigh that rippled through the night air.

“De Boer isn’t a bad guy by any means, but he’s like a legendary creature who lives off eating dreams. Meaningless dreams like the restoration of the principality.”

“So it’s just some delusion of his, then?”

“While I feel sorry for him, to me, it is misplaced kindness. I’m perfectly satisfied with my husband, my work, and my life. There is no point in excessively trying to restore my principality.”

Her Highness, who was a woman of remarkable strength, paused for a moment and then shook Lieutenant Mahdi, who was slung over her shoulder.

“So, should we head for the spaceport?”

“The spaceport?”

“You want to leave Ementhal, right? I’ll get you on a spaceship.”

Princess Miranda told him that she and her husband owned an interstellar merchant vessel and that her husband was currently making preparations for departure while waiting for them.

“I’m thankful for that, but wait a bit. I don’t quite understand your intentions.”

“You’re talking about Lira? Sorry about that; I was testing you. If you were the kind of man who’d throw himself on Lira, I would have really sold you off to Tytania. You got a sharp tongue, but at least you look like you’re a decent man.”

Hung over the princess’ shoulder, Lieutenant Mahdi let out a groan. Mahdi struck the prisoner’s temple with her large right fist with a thud, and Lieutenant Mahdi let out a soft sigh before passing out once more.

Feeling a touch of sympathy for Lieutenant Mahdi’s “destiny”, Fan Hyulick became conscious of his financial situation.

“Just to be clear: I’m completely penniless right now. I can’t pay transportation costs.”

“We have a vacancy for the position of vice-chief clerk on our spaceship. I’d like you to take the job.”

“Don’t you already have a chief clerk?”

“Sure, but give it nine years and he would have lived a century, so he needs an assistant.”

Miranda’s powerful yet supple stride came to a halt as they stood before an egg-shaped cargo ship that glimmered with a dull silver-grey sheen.

Miranda’s voice echoed.

“I’ve brought a man called Fan Hyulick. As well as a little extra, too.”

Fan Hyulick waited to meet Her Highness’ husband with undisguised curiosity. Could he be someone as imposing, large, and square-built as Miranda? Or conversely, a small man who could fit in the palm of a hand? Fan Hyulick had anticipated both extremes, but the man who appeared as the door opened was of average height.

It was a middle-aged man with semi-grey hair, gentle brown eyes, and a smile on his face. As he met Miranda’s gaze, his smile broadened, and he gave Fan Hyulick a slight bow. Since he didn’t introduce himself and merely smiled, Fan Hyulick had no idea how to respond.

“He’d like to greet you, but he cannot speak. Please bear with it,” said Miranda on her husband’s behalf.

She told him his name: Captain Compton Casimir.

“It’s not something he was born with, nor a disease. He was arrested for criticising Tytania, and they destroyed his vocal cords.”

Fan Hyulick fell silent as if his own vocal cords had been destroyed. The captain’s smile seemed deep.

“Was it that perverted count who did it?”

“He’s the one who gave the order, all right.”

Miranda gave a precise account. While she was consumed by a desire for revenge and pursued the man who had destroyed her husband’s vocal chords, he went into hiding. Naturally, to this day, Miranda was still looking for the one who harmed her husband. She also intended to one day claim vengeance on Count Arses.

He felt a cold sweat running down the nape of his neck. Had he been captured by Count Arses Tytania, Fan Hyulick might have suffered a similar fate. He extended a hand towards Captain Casimir and clasped his hand firmly.

“Thanks, I owe you.”

He could say nothing more.

At that moment, burdened by his ill-fated destiny, Lieutenant Mahdi stirred on the floor. His black eyes opened and focused while his body, clad in a grey military uniform, sprang up like a grain of popcorn bursting.

“Mi, Miranda! Captain Casimir!”

“Long time no see, Lieutenant Mahdi.”

While Miranda gave the impression of a mountain, Mahdi looked like a reed swaying in the wind.

“Well then, Lieutenant, shall we depart?”

“Depart? What do you mean?”

“I’ve already obtained permission to set sail by using your name. There’s no problem with you coming along with us. Come now, let’s leave this dreadful planet and set out in the vastness of space.”

Captain Casimir met Miranda’s gaze and nodded with his usual gentle smile. Mahdi let out something that sounded like a shriek.

“I, I can’t! Tytania will hunt me down as a traitor too!”

“Really? I don’t think so, although Count Arses Tytania might not see it that way.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me!?”

“Absolutely not; I’m just looking out for you as a friend. They say that the perverted count adores torturing handsome sickly men. You aren’t sickly, but you’re still quite a handsome chap, and you certainly look healthy enough to handle the torture.”

Mahdi was about to shout something but stopped at the last second as he quickly glanced around. But when he noticed the short-barrelled gun casually held in Captain Casimir’s hand, his expression turned truly pitiful.

“It’s your destiny. Just give up,” roared Miranda with a laughter befitting her massive frame, shaking the air in the ship.

However, Lieutenant Mahdi seemed utterly unable to join in and laugh about his own destiny. Pulling out his black hair, he sank to the floor as he rued his destiny and that of mankind. As Fan Hyulick gazed at the black-haired, copper-skinned, and green-eyed young officer, he felt both a sense of sympathy and superiority, and purely subjective words of consolation came out of his lips.

“As you like saying, this is destiny. What a lucky guy you are to have such friends, huh?”

“You know nothing!”

Furious, Mahdi leaped to his feet with a booming voice. He glared at the captain and his wife and stumped his military boots on the floor.

“These guys are notorious smugglers. They are vicious blokes, and their criminal record could fill 200 pages. If there is evidence of their crimes, they’d be lucky to just get off with their vocal cords destroyed.”

“Now don’t be ungrateful, Mahdi boy.”

Her Highness Princess Miranda suppressed her laughter as she narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. Startled, Mahdi stiffened.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how many times we’ve filled that thin wallet of yours. By Tytanian private laws, by now you should have been sentenced to a firing squad five or six times, right? If we face the death penalty, you’ll be joining us for the ride.”

““What are you talking about?””

These words were pronounced by two people, Mahdi and Fan Hyulick, each with a different tone. Ignoring the one who was playing dumb, Miranda replied to the one who was asking with keen interest:

“Well, you see, Admiral Hyulick, this lieutenant here is a habitual offender when it comes to misappropriating goods. While the fact that Count Arses is a poor administrator probably played a role, for the last two years, he funnelled straight to us enough supplies to equip an entire regiment. Having him in the army is such a waste; he was born to be a black marketeer.”

“What are you yapping about? It’s you guys who pocketed most of the profits!”

“If we had divided the profits fairly, you would have received far less. You were paid three times the standard rate, right? So, what are you going to do? Maybe you could try that excuse on Count Arses and see if it convinces him.”

While Miranda was making a fine suggestion, it was unlikely to come to fruition any time soon. Lieutenant Mahdi sat down on the floor once more, and after a long tirade about his destiny, finally accepted defeat as he slumped his shoulders.

Thus, with a cargo of various ores and a diverse crew, the interstellar freighter Honest Old Man left the surface of planet Ementhal, leaving behind the exasperated clicks of the tongue of Count Arses who had left his prey slip away.

Chapter 5 – The Horde of Enemies Inside

I

The high officials of Tytania were far busier than the courtiers of the Vardana Empire. With status and power came responsibilities and duties. Those who failed to fulfil their duties were deemed unworthy of bearing the name Tytania.

Duke Zarlisch Tytania was standing on the bridge of his flagship, the Typhoon, clad in his grey and gold military uniform. Had he worn mediaeval armour, his imposing presence would have been even more striking. It was said that his appearance and commanding presence evoked memories of the early days of Neville Tytania, the First Landless Clanner. For Zarlisch, this was the highest praise he could hope to receive and the very proof that his worth was acknowledged.

Zarlisch’s tactics were characterised by their rigour and sheer strength. He was the one who employed Tytania’s strategy of overwhelming force to the greatest extent. He would charge his enemies head-on, crushing them, sweeping them away, and overrunning them. Or he would completely encircle them to shatter them with concentrated fire. His military tactics were worthy of the title of “ruthless general”, he had accumulated many military victories, and it was said that whenever his figure could be seen at the head of the ranks, the morale of Tytanians would double, officers and rank and file alike.

Zarlisch was also a master of close combat and martial arts who could manoeuvre his rock-like colossal frame with ease and could take on ten battle-hardened armoured men at once. The other Dukes, Ariabert, Jouslain, and Idris, had also learnt close combat as a pastime befitting the Tytanian nobility and were, respectively, skilled, but none could match Zarlisch.

He was currently heading for the Blaze System while keeping contact with Jouslain, who was following behind. A coalition of space pirates of 5000 vessels called the “Blaze Flag” fleet had been attacking and plundering Tytania’s supply centres in that star system.

“These annoying rat-thieves are trying to step on Tytania’s tail without knowing their place. Even buffoons would understand that they risk their lives doing it.”

After briefly smiling, his expression turned bitter and stern. His interstellar communication channel switched, and the face of a young Tytanian scion appeared on the screen. He wasn’t wearing the grey military uniform but an overly ornate silk robe.

With an expression that was half fearful, half sulky, Count Arses informed his elder brother of Fan Hyulick’s escape.

“You’re damn worthless. Can’t you even manage to arrest a single unemployed person? And in spite of that, you won’t even abandon your title of count? That’s some serious nerve you have.”

Faced with this blunt rebuke, Arses Tytania, some twenty light-years away, paled and could only manage a forced smile.

“I’m apparently not cut out for work involving chasing criminals.”

“Hmm, well then, how about commanding a great fleet to battle the enemy then? If you so wish, we could exchange our places. After all, I’d rather spend my time lounging in the depths of my mansion, indulging in women and wine.”

This wasn’t necessarily his real sentiment. As one of Tytania’s Four Dukes, Zarlisch was someone who valued fortitude over weakness and preferred the bridge of a spaceship to a luxurious mansion. He believed that Tytania’s worth lay in its military might rather than its wealth or influence.

Though his values were somewhat simplistic, he was no fool. He had a grasp of its vast organisation and could manoeuvre it as an extension of his own body. He could discern the skills and abilities of numerous officers and place the right people in the right positions. He was fair to his subordinates, and his judgements were swift and accurate. He was the young man who embodied the expression “strong and fierce Tytania” the most.

Once the unpleasant exchange with his brother had concluded without any tangible outcome, Zarlisch shouted out to his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite:

“How vexing! The very thought that the same blood flows in my veins makes me want to exsanguinate every drop of it and replace it with a transfusion.”

The aide-de-camp Granite pointed out calmly:

“Still, he is Your Grace’s younger brother.”

“That’s precisely why he was granted a pension and allowed to live on a fine planet like Ementhal. If it were up to me, I would have sent him to struggle on the border regions around Bargash, but Mother…”

The strapping young noble looked disgruntled. Zarlisch and Arses’s mother was Theresa, a woman who was now 50 years old. Her former beauty had been buried beneath layers of fat due to her lack of restraint in eating and her love for fine foods, and yet, her favouritism towards her second son in contrast to her eldest was extreme. Since the eldest was robust and dependable, she doted excessively on her frail second son. It appeared that whether one was from Tytania or a commoner, there was no difference in such proclivities.

Though Zarlisch, even as an adult, was somewhat reserved towards his mother; as the head of a duchy, he couldn’t treat her with contempt. For her sake, he couldn’t banish Arses completely, and it was precisely the reason why his anger towards him grew.

As the month of July started, Zarlisch commenced his entry into his destination star system. Upon receiving the news that Tytania was approaching, the enemy commanders literally jumped out of their seats.

“The fleet is led by Duke Zarlisch Tytania in person…!”

The fact that they were thrown in such a panic even though the situation was entirely plausible was quite telling of the “Blaze Flag” fleet’s poor judgement. A member of the senior officers’ council, a man by the name of Lee Shanchen, advised an early withdrawal, but his proposal was outright rejected. As he witnessed his comrades frantically dividing their looted goods and fighting among themselves, Lee Shanchen lost any faith in them. Unless he remained in the Blaze Sector and participated in the distribution meeting until the very end, he would not receive a share of the spoils. Lee Shanchen renounced his claim to the loot and led his own fleet away from his comrades’. His subordinates complained, but he managed to secure their departure by promising them a share of his own personal wealth, and once he reached the Turkaia System, he picked up a communication signal from the Tytanian fleet.

The Tytanian fleet was 12,000 vessels strong, while Lee’s convoy was only a mere 13 ships, a figure so pitiful it was almost laughable. And yet, it was this meagre fleet that ultimately saved Lee and his men. As they attempted to escape by hiding themselves in the asteroid belt, they were spotted by the Tytanians. However, Zarlisch had prioritised the launch of a surprise attack against the enemy’s main force. If he attempted to pursue Lee, the “Blaze Flag” fleet might have been aware of Tytania’s presence. As a military strategist, this was a perfectly correct judgement, although if there had been an omniscient prophet who could see the future, he would have likely advised Zarlisch to instead annihilate this insignificant force.

Thus, Zarlisch Tytania ignored Lee Shanchen’s fleet and launched a surprise attack on the enemy’s main force and, in a two-hour one-sided battle, annihilated 94% of them.

“Too easy,” muttered Zarlisch, sounding more like he was disappointed rather than sneering.

As a brave warrior, he had the psychological quirk of craving formidable enemies.

The few survivors of the “Blaze Flag” fleet issued a surrender. Zarlisch accepted their terms but only spared the rank-and-file and executed the 830 officers by a firing squad. While this fell well within his authority, he could have also chosen to spare them. What made Zarlisch carry out this seemingly merciless action was his anger at such a feeble enemy.

As a privilege reserved only for those bearing the name Tytania, Zarlisch had brought his mistresses along with the expedition. Compared to his younger brother, who would prattle about aestheticism, Zarlisch’s sexual preferences were far more conventional, although as a man of great vigour, he couldn’t be satisfied with just one woman.

For the expedition, he had assembled two women for each of the four hair colours: black, chestnut, red, and brown. These women were only there to serve Zarlisch by their beauty and sexual favours, and a total of thirty female soldiers attended to their every need, such as clothing, food, and the rest. The person in charge was a 38-year-old lieutenant who had been Zarlisch’s first lover some ten years ago and now managed and coordinated his relationships with women.

As he saw Zarlisch’s sturdy figure retreat into his private quarters, a member of his staff let out a sigh of envy.

“To lead a vast fleet, roam the universe, defeat the enemy, and embrace women after victory? This is what anyone born as a man aspires to.”

“If one is not of Tytania, one is not a human, huh?”

On Earth, in the 2nd century BC, a man named Liu Bang of the Chinese Empire had boasted about his clan’s prosperity and rise by declaring: “If one is not of the Liu clan, one is not a human.” Some 1400 years later, a powerful figure from a neighbouring nation was said to have emulated that statement. And then, Neville, the first ruler of Tytania, had then boasted with unbridled ambition at the height of his power:

“If one is not of Tytania, one is not a human!”

Eight generations later, Zarlisch now secluded himself in the luxurious private quarters of his flagship with a similar aura about him. But his officers weren’t criticising him for it; if anything, they admired him.

In some sense, Zarlisch only treated women as objects of indulgence, and yet, most men, in the most primal and savage recesses of their minds, couldn’t help but envy him. Naturally, had Zarlisch been a mere lecherous and incompetent commander, his subordinates would likely not have been in such a forgiving mood.

Fourteen hours after the battle had ended, Zarlisch emerged from his private quarters, adjusting his uniform. He opened a communication channel with Lord Jouslain, who was in his rear, to report his victory and cracked a joke as he did so:

“Well now, Lord Jouslain, if you feel your bed is a little dull, should I send you a flower or two?”

“No thank you, but I appreciate the kindness.”

Jouslain gave a faint and wry smile. Unlike Zarlisch, he was no womaniser and didn’t have dozens of concubines to serve him in his bedchamber. The reason he kept Francia by his side on his flagship was mainly so she could attend to him, and not necessarily so he could have a woman to embrace every night.

Should Francia grow accustomed to his favour and become presumptuous, he intended to remove her at once from his service, but she behaved modestly and seemed content to simply be in Jouslain’s company, maybe because she had few worldly desires by nature or perhaps because she was wise enough to know her place. Jouslain found this adorable, but at the same time, a part of him yearned for a woman of fiery temperament. That was largely an abstract notion, and he had no specific object of passion in his mind.

“It only means that no such woman has appeared before me so far. No need to rush or grow impatient.”

Jouslain was still only 27 years old. As the head of a ducal household, he was bound to eventually marry, but he believed that taking a wife once at the age of 40 should suffice. Not that he attached any particular meaning to the number 40, but it just happens to be the current age of Ajman, the current Landless Clanner.

As he set out from “Uraniborg”, Jouslain had been entrusted with a mission of great secrecy by Clanner Ajman himself. He had learnt that Ajman’s half-brother, Marquis Estrade Tytania, who served as Minister of Military Affairs of the Vardana Empire, was conspiring with a group of Vardanan noble courtiers to depose Ajman from his position as Clanner.

Jouslain was stunned to learn this and yet was unable to dismiss the notion outright, so he sought clarification from the Clanner.

“Is it possible that it is a rumour that aims at sowing discord in the clan?”

“That is, of course, a possibility.”

Frankly acknowledged Ajman as he answered Jouslain’s question.

“But we cannot ignore this information. Lord Idris was quite certain about it.”

“Lord Idris?…”

That young man has a knack for stirring up trouble on the plains, thought Jouslain, without being able to say it out loud.

The clan’s leader let out a low and short chuckle as he glanced at the Tytanian youth’s face. He had read Jouslain’s mind. His following words proved it:

“Lord Idris wouldn’t claim that something exists when it does not. As for me, I believe that clouds gather before a rainfall. If these complacent Vardanan courtiers wanted to sow internal division within Tytania, they would definitely incite my half-brother.”

Feeling the full weight of the Clanner’s authority in multiple manners, Jouslain weighed his thoughts carefully, taking care not to step out of bounds while he offered his personal opinion:

“But if you suddenly ordered the execution of the Minister of Military Affairs, would that not delight the noble courtiers of Vardana? Wouldn’t they dance in joy, claiming that Tytania had torn off its important wing?”

“I suppose we can let them rejoice for a while.”

Declared the Clanner in a naturally low voice.

That remark sent shivers down his spine. Should Marquis Estrade be executed by the Clanner, the court nobles of Vardana would indeed applaud. But Ajman’s retaliatory strike would then send all the nobles’ heads flying one after the other. In the end, the number of Ajman’s enemies would have dwindled, regardless of the colour of their robes.

“However, Lord Jouslain, you are certainly right. There is no need to take immediate action against the Minister of Military Affairs. For now, let us just apply a light dressing to ensure the wound doesn’t reopen.”

With this preamble, Ajman gave his orders. Viscount Balamy, the son of the Minister of Military Affairs, was to accompany Jouslain on the battlefield as his senior aide-de-camp. I see… so he is holding the son hostage to put pressure on the father? Jouslain immediately grasped the main implications, while the Clanner’s eyes glinted as they appeared as deep as an abyss.

“Even the most toxic poison cannot emit fumes without a catalyst. It is just a temporary measure, but hardly a bad one.”

“Very well. I shall appoint Viscount Balamy as my senior aide-de-camp.”

Jouslain bowed. He had grown suddenly weary of engaging in this political charade with the Landless Clanner, a man of unfathomable and inscrutable scheming. Thus, as part of a highly strategic move, Commodore Balamy Tytania became Vice-Admiral Jouslain Tytania’s senior aide-de-camp.

II

With innumerable venomous stingers in his gaze, Balamy was looking at Jouslain. Jouslain was his cousin. To be more accurate, they were tied through a far more complicated family bond, but within the Tytania clan, those of the same generation were referred to as cousins. The Four Dukes were a good example of this.

“Should I address you as Your Grace the Duke or as Lord Vice-Admiral?”

“What about you, Milord Viscount? Or if you prefer, Sir Commodore?”

“Could you please refrain from addressing me in that manner?”

“Well then, simply address me as Lord Jouslain. Let us cease using formal titles to address each other. Aren’t we after all descendants of the same founder?”

Jouslain smiled, and as he bowed, Balamy inwardly clicked his tongue in annoyance. He found that this “cousin” of his, who was nine years his elder, was oddly difficult to deal with. His father had warned him in advance, although there was no need for it, for Balamy was already quite wary of Jouslain. Rather, for Balamy, the only member of the Tytania clan that he felt he should be wary of besides Clanner Ajman was Duke Jouslain.

The rest of the Four Dukes, namely Ariabert, Zarlisch, and Idris, weren’t even on his radar. He might be overestimating himself, but he had the brightly shining ambition of an eighteen-year-old.

“Zarlisch is strong. He might as well be called Tytania’s guardian deity. It would be no exaggeration to say he is the reincarnation of our founder, His Highness Neville.”

“But Lord Zarlisch always wages war and causes destruction. From what I understand, Lord Jouslain, you are the one responsible for properly handling the aftermath. In some sense, isn’t Lord Zarlisch but a curtain-raiser act for you?”

“Being praised is nice, but it ultimately comes down to personal preference.”

Jouslain subtly dampened Balamy’s incitement. Balami was left speechless, and right as he was about to get angry at himself for being speechless, Jouslain casually asked another question:

“By the way, Lord Balamy, which one would you prefer to be?”

“Err, which one?”

“If you had to choose between being a ruthless general like Zarlisch or someone like me who handles the aftermath, which one would you prefer?”

This time, Jouslain was being mischievous. To him, asking this question to Balamy was mere child’s play, a way of mocking Balamy’s humility.

But Balamy didn’t seem to think of it as a game. Suspecting some political meaning behind the question, he tried to divert any suspicion by keeping a straight face and took a fraction of a second to decide what to answer while gauging the other side’s intentions, only to answer something like “Either is fine”. He was really annoyed at the fact that he found himself at a loss as to what to respond.

After dismissing Balamy, Jouslain shrugged and called for his lady-in-waiting:

“Francia.”

“Yes, Lord Jouslain.”

“It appears that many overestimate me. Enemies and allies alike.”

Francia couldn’t understand the meaning behind Jouslain’s wry smile. But she liked it whenever Jouslain made that kind of expression where light and shadow subtly wavered. Feeling a faint sense of happiness, Francia made preparations to brew coffee for the man.

The military standard of Tytania featured a golden border, the right half red, the left half black, with the Cosmic Tree radiating in the centre. It also happened to be the family crest of the Tytania clan. The clan that ruled the universe. It was a testament in the human realm to the haughty presence of the clan that was both the most revered and respected, as well as feared and hated.

Before this military standard displayed on the wall, Viscount Balamy Tytania was standing, his arms folded. In that corner of the flagship, military personnel came and went behind him. Both officers and soldiers were casting curious glances at Balamy, but none dared to talk to him. Balamy had no acquaintances on board, but it was common knowledge that he was a high-ranking Tytanian noble, and the sharp features of the handsome youth made people hesitant to approach him.

Balamy didn’t view the conspiracy as an end in itself. It was but a simple means to an end, namely, to seize the highest authority in Tytania.

That being said, it would be impossible to reach that objective without resorting to intrigue. Only once Clanner Ajman is killed and the Four Dukes, Jouslain included, are vanquished, will it be time for Balamy’s father, Marquis Estrade, to make his move. If the process up to that point were accompanied by destruction and bloodshed, it would weaken Tytania as a whole and cause much mirth among their external enemies.

Moreover, Balamy wasn’t so conceited as to believe that he could easily secure victory in a decisive battle when facing enemies such as the brave Ariabert or the ruthless Zarlisch. Not only were their tactical abilities formidable, but their military strength was immense, so it was unlikely that they could be trivially defeated.

“But wait, not even Ariabert Tytania is unbeatable. Was there not someone who defeated him at the Battle of Cerberus? What was that person’s name?…”

Reaching into his memories with an imaginary hand, Balamy finally pulled out the name Fan Hyulick. What kind of man was he? Remaining as immobile as a statue, Balamy kept his gaze fixed upon the proud military standard while his mind was looking far beyond the boundaries of space and time.

Could Balamy use Fan Hyulick as a pawn in his schemes?

In reality, Balamy had not yet even secured hegemony within Tytania. So his generosity could only remain abstract. But if he could win over a man like Fan Hyulick and use him for his military expertise, he would not stop at any expense of riches or honours. Let’s offer him a position of commandment over the entire Tytanian fleet. Would he then gladly join Balamy’s service?

As he was thinking this over, Balamy suddenly cast a scornful smile at himself. He wasn’t in any position to mock the foolish Vardanan courtiers. Seeking to seize all of Tytania by relying on other people’s talents and abilities – was that not the height of dependency? It was only with his own intelligence and talent that he, Balamy Tytania, could achieve his ambition of supremacy. How could he rely on some drifter like Fan Hyulick?

Lifting proudly his head, Balamy turned his back on Tytania’s banner. Jouslain watched that scene as it unfolded on his monitor screen.

More than the court nobles of Vardana, maybe the most dangerous instigator of Marquis Estrade Tytania was his sharp-witted son. Thought Jouslain. Was his thirst for domination over the cosmos fuelled by the scent of Tytania’s blood? Jouslain silently watched the figure of this new ambitious man stepping on the scene.

III

On the 10th of July, Duke Jouslain Tytania led his fleet to planet Kafir.

It wasn’t military occupation but a port call that had been agreed upon by both sides. Tytania would pay the fees, send their sick and wounded to the hospitals, replenish their food and energy supplies, and carry out ship maintenance and repairs. The crews were granted 48 hours of free time distributed in shifts. The ladies of the night applied their make-up with care as they waited for soldiers to pour into the streets.

As the commander, Jouslain himself didn’t have much time to rest. Hundreds of people sought an audience with him as a head figure of the Tytania clan. While he politely turned away businessmen with purely commercial motives, he couldn’t avoid meeting with the Prime Minister of the Republic of Kafir, the President of the Assembly, and the Chief of Police. As haughty as Tytania was, they understood that such formalities were sometimes important.

And then, there was the leader of the Interstellar City League’s kontor. The Interstellar City League was, of course, an enemy of Tytania, both open and covert. Two centuries of the history of space travel was the history of Tytania and its conflict with the Interstellar City League.

Should Tytania be destroyed, the executives of the Interstellar City League would be moved to tears and raise a toast to celebrate the occasion. Should the Interstellar City League meet its downfall, the Tytanian leaders would have their orchestras play funeral dirges with exaggerated solemnity. There was no pretence in the hatred either side felt for the other.

But it was precisely because they were enemies that they couldn’t afford to miss an opportunity at diplomacy. On that aspect, both Tytania and the Interstellar City League had mature political sensibilities, and neither had been foolish enough to narrow their scope of intelligence gathering and strategic planning by espousing dogmatic principles. Jouslain Tytania in particular was regarded as mild-mannered and discerning, and even the anti-Tytania factions saw him with some degree of goodwill.

“I am once again being overestimated,” is surely what Jouslain would have said with a wry smile had Francia been here.

Jouslain wasn’t always moderate, and at times he could take decisions so draconian that they would shock even Zarlisch and Idris. If one were to put it bluntly, the reason he was regarded as mild-mannered was simply because he conducted himself properly during ceremonies and would greet others with gentle manners.

The fact that Balamy remained constantly by Jouslain’s side during this expedition was a given considering his position as senior aide-de-camp, but the psychological relationship between them was by no means straightforward.

During the welcome party hosted by the Prime Minister, Balamy stood by Jouslain’s left rear, and yet the gazes of the ladies attending the event tended to drift more towards the senior aide-de-camp rather than the Tytanian leader. The proud Tytanian youth ignored the women’s glances and remained still with a cold expression. Jouslain cast a glance in his direction with his eyes resembling a wry smile.

The part that was lacking in Balamy’s intellect compared to Jouslain was clear. It was his sense of history and perspective on the position of Tytania’s existence within historical currents from past to future. For Balamy, Tytania was everything. Everything in time, everything in space, everything in the world of thought. That was the origin of Balamy’s desire to control Tytania using his father as a proxy. It was quite literally about having the entire cosmos in his hands.

As for Jouslain, he had the qualities of a teacher. He had a keen eye for Balamy’s strengths and weaknesses and felt an odd passion in him as he sought to nurture these talents. That was something he had never felt for Idris. Maybe their difference in age, Idris being 24 and Balamy 18, played a role in it. Furthermore, his awareness of Balamy being in a weaker position than Idris may have been a factor.

“Isn’t Tytania a small thing?” is what Jouslain felt like saying to his cousin, who looked strikingly young. “What is even Tytania!” would exclaim the opposing faction. Whether they themselves were large or not, Tytania itself was certainly small. It wielded power, basked in glory, roamed in the vast expanse of the stars and planets, fought, conquered, and ruled. The successive Clanners had dominated the politics of entire nations, patronised the culture and the arts, furthered the colonisation of the outer worlds, and held in the palm of their hand every part of space inhabited by mankind.

Jouslain didn’t believe that their journey and achievements were meaningless. But he didn’t believe, either, that Tytania’s power was so vast compared to those below it that it could afford to be arrogant. Nothing in the human world lasts forever. The day of destruction would surely come. Would Tytania turn to ashes carried away by the winds? Would it shatter to pieces in a roar and a flash of light?

While it was unbecoming of a Tytanian leading figure, Jouslain felt a nightmarish craving to witness such events. That desire was quite different from the qualities of a Clanner described by Ajman the Landless Clanner. But running in parallel, his reason and sense of responsibility were exceptionally lucid and profound, and the coexistence of these two qualities and his awareness of them gave to Duke Jouslain Tytania a depth and complexity that could not be found in the rest of the clan.

At the party of the Prime Minister of Kafir, after conversing with a few VIPs, Jouslain was greeted by a certain lady. After paying her respects to Duke Jouslain, she turned her attention to Balamy, but the youngster’s attitude remained cold.

“Would you happen to be Lord Jouslain’s subordinate?”

“I am his senior aide-de-camp.”

“What does this occupation involve? What kind of things do you do?”

“In civilian terms, I guess you could call it being a secretary, but going into detail would breach military secrecy, so I cannot say more.”

Holding a glass of whisky in his hand, Jouslain almost chuckled.

“It might be so. But unless you reveal specific details about your duties, it shouldn’t be an issue. Tytania is small. No need to put on such a bold front.”

Jouslain smiled again, and upon seeing it, Balamy suddenly blushed. Compared to his cousin’s magnanimity, he felt truly like an insignificant creature.

As the lady walked away looking somewhat disappointed, Balamy stepped out on the balcony to breathe the night air after obtaining Jouslain’s permission.

“Tytania is small, huh?…” muttered Balamy as he bathed in a shower of blue starlight, suddenly bearing a bitter expression. “No, she isn’t small. She is too big. Far too big for my hands to handle…”

IV

Once the extravagant party ended at dawn, Duke Jouslain Tytania set about his various duties. They included launching an investigation into the activities of the “Blaze Flag” fleet.

The space pirate band known as the “Blaze Flag” fleet was not a permanent presence. It first appeared in 360 SY, motivated by resentment towards Tytanian control over interstellar shipping routes.

They included small and medium ship owners put under pressure by Tytania. Local lords who were forced to purchase supplies from Tytanian merchant ships at exorbitant prices. Mine owners whose promising mines were bought out by Tytania at low prices when still under development. The families of officials murdered for prosecuting Tytanian crimes. And even the families of soldiers who died fighting against Tytania’s fleet. And the families of those who were purged by Tytania. Their only commonality was their “anti-Tytania resentment” that gave to that group an impression of being a “list of Tytania’s criminal records”. Tytania wasn’t a criminal syndicate, but it never hesitated to commit political and legal crimes to protect its interests.

Thus, the “Blaze Flag” became a symbol of the anti-Tytanian. Gathered under that flag, they were connected by emotions rather than as a cohesive organisation, and their influence greatly depended on the capabilities of their leaders. Their authority wasn’t clearly defined, and disputes and conflicts over leading rights and obedience duties were constant. They didn’t have a permanent pool of funds, and, of course, no established command structure.

To put it bluntly, their struggle was merely acts of individual defiance against Tytania, such as raids, plunder, and vandalism. Ironically, that’s what made them virtually impossible to eradicate.

The reason Zarlisch Tytania was able to achieve such a resounding victory this time was because the “Blaze Flag” fleet had grouped and launched a large-scale attack for the first time in a long while. While in small groups the “Blaze Flag” fleet excelled in rapid guerrilla warfare, they were poor when it came to unified action as part of a large force and therefore didn’t stand a chance against Zarlisch’s prowess.

When facing unfavourable odds, the “Blaze Flag” fleet tended to disperse due to individual skill and judgement instead of offering a futile resistance, which resulted in low casualties despite crushing defeats. But this time the outcome was different. Zarlisch had ordered his main force to attack the centre of the “Blaze Flag” fleet while simultaneously cutting off their retreat with a separate detachment to outflank them, launching a fierce assault both from the front and the rear that annihilated them.

This victory satisfied Zarlisch in various ways. First, because victory was always a joyous thing. Second, because while Ariabert had gained notoriety by triumphing after a defeat, Zarlisch had achieved a military feat that equalled or even surpassed this, which satiated his competitive spirit.

Tytania was the largest and most powerful military force in the universe. According to the Vardana Empire laws, it was merely the private army of the Tytania clan, and yet, no national army could match its strength and achievements. This had been the case ever since the founder, Neville Tytania, steadfastly upheld his stance: “Who cares about nations? Who cares about national sovereignty? Only Tytania may govern Tytania.” For those who held nations as holding supreme authority, it was a bout of unforgivable arrogance, but when they were told, “If you don’t like it, come at us with true strength,” they could do nothing but grit their teeth and back down.

Furthermore, small and remote nations were not even capable of waging interstellar warfare or even decent civilian interstellar travel, and it wasn’t rare that their very survival depended on trade with Tytanian merchant ships. Such nations feared to displease Tytania and diligently bestowed medals and ranks upon Tytanian leaders. It cost them virtually nothing to do so. It was the painful wisdom of poor countries.

Jouslain himself, besides his rank as vice-admiral of the Vardana Empire, held numerous other ranks from various countries, such as fleet admiral, admiral, and vice-chancellor, “as many as there were on the legs of a centipede”. He felt somewhat pressured but accepted them silently as a token of friendly relations. Of course, it went against the order of nations for a courtier of one country to accept an official rank in another country, but in the case of Tytania, no one dared to openly criticise them for it.

“Does having power mean that it is fine to violate national laws?”

The response to that argument was:

“National laws and such are but a means to oppress the weak. If you believe that national laws represent ultimate justice, then why don’t you go ahead and show us that you can uphold that justice?”

It is said that a Tytanian declared these words. Who exactly is unknown. Since it sounds like something a Tytanian would have said at any point in history, it might be an apocryphal quote.

Once settled in one of the finest hotels in Kafir, Jouslain was immediately surrounded by petitions of people who wished for an audience with him, and among them, a card that read “Special Envoy of the Kingdom of Elbing” caught his attention.

Jouslain tilted his head as he looked through his memories the way Balamy did a few days earlier in front of the military standard of Tytania. He nodded as he recalled the small kingdom that has bestowed the three titles of vice-chancellor, duke, and full admiral upon him.

Last year, in that small country, a dispute over the royal succession had been resolved through Jouslain’s mediation and intimidation. The envoy had come here travelling on a foreign official ship to offer his gratitude. Jouslain dismissed his staff’s opinion that there was no need to see him.

“No, he took the trouble to come visit me. I shall at least meet with him and accept his greetings; it shouldn’t take long.”

Hearing that the envoy had to hitchhike all the way here by travelling on another country’s official ship, he couldn’t help but feel amused and sympathetic. Perhaps as some gesture of defiance, Jouslain decided to prioritise the envoy of that poor and small country over the delegations of wealthy merchants and envoys from larger nations who were waiting in the hotel’s VIP suite.

That being said, he didn’t go as far as to personally greet him at the entrance. Having various documents to approve, Jouslain remained seated at his desk in the study room, signing and making corrections, when the silence was shattered by the voice of a child:

“How disrespectful can one be in front of royalty! Stand up and bow!”

The Tytanian looked up in surprise and saw a child of about 10 years old glaring at him behind his desk. Though small in stature, it seemed unyielding in spirit. Its chestnut hair was short, but its clothing was that of a girl.

Jouslain let down his pen and exchanged glances with Balamy, who was standing before him as part of his senior aide-de-camp duties. When he asked for the child’s name, he received an indignant reply:

“I am Lydia, second princess of the kingdom of Elbing. Is this the kind of courtesy that Tytania shows to an international envoy? I am most disappointed.”

“… I apologise. Please have a seat, Your Highness.”

Jouslain stood up and offered the chair himself. Balamy seemed to mutter something to himself as a way to express that there was no need for that. The princess sat down, but only her eyes were visible above the desk. And yet her demeanour was truly dignified.

“I have always wanted to meet with Duke Jouslain Tytania. I have heard that he is the most reasonable person in the Tytania clan.”

“I am gratified, Your Highness.”

“But contrary to my expectations, you are quite inconsiderate. One should at least offer tea when a guest visits. As small and remote my country is, we understand even that level of courtesy.”

“I apologise. Adjutant, bring tea to Her Highness at once.”

Balamy suppressed an expression of displeasure, bowed, and began to walk away. Suddenly realising he was forgetting something, Jouslain called him back and, with a suppressed smile, asked the princess:

“Your Highness, what kind of pastries would suit your palate? If there is anything you desire, I can have it prepared.”

“A royal must not express likes and dislikes when they are offered food.”

“Most splendid. However, since we haven’t prepared anything yet, feel free to order whatever you wish.”

“I see, in that case a cream puff and an orange bavarois would be fine.”

“Very well. Adjutant, Her Highness made her order; bring it here as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, at once.”

With what sounded like a grunt, Vardana Balamy Tytania, commodore of the Vardana Empire, left the room. Dangling her legs energetically in the air, the princess realised it was impolite, quickly stopped, and asked the following:

“Is that person also a member of the Tytania clan?”

“Indeed he is, Your Highness. He is a cousin of mine, and I have great hopes for his future.”

“He’s a handsome man.”

“He would have been most pleased to hear this.”

“However, his expression lacks composure. His manner of speaking is stiff and lacks ease. He won’t be popular with women like that. A man’s worth goes beyond his looks.”

In spite of his efforts to maintain composure, Jouslain’s lips involuntarily curved into a smile.

“Well then, Princess, may I ask what business made you take the trouble to come all the way here in person?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Taking her mind temporarily away from the handsome man and the pastries, the princess sat up straight in her chair.

To sum it up, the state-owned vanadium mine, which was the country’s only source of revenue, had depleted, and they had suffered from three years of poor wheat and crop harvests, so they had accumulated a huge debt towards Tytania. The resolution of their succession dispute last year had yet increased that debt. They now had no other choice but to have their entire country placed under Tytanian administration, but how could they secure Tytania’s trust?

“Thus, it was decided that I would become a hostage and be sent to Uraniborg. I came here with my lady-in-waiting and don’t have enough money for the trip back, so I can’t leave. Sending me back is useless!”

Far from being remorseful, she was boasting.

“Very well. Then I, Jouslain, shall take responsibility for Your Highness’ care. Do not worry,” replied Jouslain as Francia’s face came to his mind.

Even if Francia were to become jealous of such a young girl, she would never be cruel to her. It would be even better if they could become good friends. Jouslain’s personal wealth could well cover the debts of one small country. He didn’t want to dampen the spirits of this lively little princess.

At that moment, the door opened, and a young man who was far too handsome and refined to be a waiter brought a tray in. He had brought a cup of honeyed tea and some snacks for their little guest.

“Your eyes are scary. It’s a shame to ruin such good looks like that.”

There was probably no one in the universe who would dare speak to a Tytanian in this manner. But even Balamy could only respond, “Thanks”, with a wry smile.

“It’s the kind of eyes that are plotting treason. Even though his features were completely different from yours, my uncle, who coveted my father’s throne, had eyes just like these.”

The princess took a spoonful of whipped cream. She was unaware that she had left the two Tytanians speechless.

Chapter 6 – The Ballad of Uneasy Allies

I

The spaceship Honest Old Man, abbreviated to OO, was continuing its journey from planet Ementhal to planet Bargash. Due to being pursued by Tytania, it unavoidably had to occasionally deviate from the official routes and follow unofficial paths.

These unofficial paths were sometimes controlled by local semi-pirate groups, and in such cases tolls had to be paid to ensure safety. When combined with the tolls levied by Tytania, navigation through the supposedly uninhabited void was an expensive activity.

Vice-chief clerk Fan Hyulick only dedicated four hours a day to work and enjoyed his life on board the rest of the time. Thanks to his efficiency, he could properly handle his job. The 91-year-old chief clerk Rodriguez was noisy whenever he was awake but slept through most of the day, so he didn’t pose much of a problem.

In contrast, the 22-year-old Lieutenant Mahdi was a rebellious being who clutched his displeasure and bad temper in both hands and a bottle of alcohol in his mouth.

Having finished his work, Fan Hyulick went to the lounge and called him:

“Hey, black marketeer, still sulking? Why don’t you just reconcile with your destiny already?”

“Stop calling me a black marketeer,” grumbled Mahdi, his voice accompanied by a heavily alcoholic breath.

“It would be fun to light it on fire” was a dangerous thought that Fan Hyulick was often tempted by.

Apparently, Mahdi had a high tolerance for alcohol that was now a disadvantage: no matter how much he drank, intoxication wouldn’t wash reality away. As he heard Mahdi’s lamentations about the burdens of his unhappy fate, he was more worried about the savings he had left behind in Ementhal.

While Fan Hyulick was relieved to have escaped the clutches of that perverted count, he still felt a thorn in his heart. As he shook it off, he offered a piece of advice:

“Once we’re in Bargash, we should go to the bank and empty our accounts. It is useless to worry about stuff now.”

“My bank account was probably frozen a long time ago. I have honestly worked my whole life and finally managed to save enough for a modest retirement, but alas, it has disappeared in the darkness.”

“I’m amazed you can talk about honesty. Doesn’t it make you feel bad for actual honest workers?”

It was Miranda, the captain’s wife as well as the chief navigator, who offered that merciless critique. Taken aback for a moment, Mahdi gave a retaliation fuelled by alcohol:

“Compared to the likes of Tytania, my methods are most modest. I see no reason to retract what I said.”

“But don’t they say that happiness can’t be bought with money?”

“Having money is my happiness! Don’t mess around with people’s values.”

“Well, I’ll just leave it at that. Arguing in a cramped ship is useless.”

Uncharacteristically for him, Fan Hyulick had stepped in as a mediator, but not out of good will or generosity. It was because he felt uncomfortable about the fact that Lieutenant Mahdi’s set of values resonated to some extent with his own.

“Me too, I lost all my possessions in Ementhal. You’re not the only one who’s unhappy, Mahdi.”

“Hey, don’t be overly familiar with me. When unhappy poor people comfort each other, it only makes them look even poorer.”

His argument was so true that neither Miranda nor Fan Hyulick would argue with it, and they gave up on the idea of consoling the young money grabber and sat at a distance from him.

Miranda disappeared briefly in the kitchen, came back with a huge plate of pancakes, and shouted, “Let’s snack.” Every pancake was the size of a child’s cushion. Answering “just a bit”, Fan Hyulick’s mind raced back to Lira. Her omelettes were a masterpiece.

“How stupid of me, she’s someone else’s woman. She’s probably having a good time with that wimpy bastard De Boer right now. She’s none of my business.”

As if she would sense Fan Hyulick’s thoughts, Miranda solemnly served him a pancake with a generous serving of syrup poured over it. That was more than the entire stomach capacity of the young carrot-top.

“If you can’t finish it, just leave it.”

“I’ll do that.”

“But for the youth of the Blaze Flag, it’s barely an hors d’oeuvre.”

“Were you an ally of the Blaze Flag?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Whoever opposes Tytania is ultimately my ally. Mahdi might scoff at this, but there is no shame in the weak joining their hands.”

It was a perfectly reasonable reply. While Fan Hyulick was poking at the giant pancake with his fork, Miranda told him about the recent crushing defeat of the “Blaze Flag” fleet at the hands of Zarlisch Tytania.

“From what I heard, only Lee Shanchen’s fleet is undamaged. That guy is quite clever, which is why he managed to avoid disaster.”

“Is he that clever?”

“He has a PhD in philosophy. We call him Doctor Lee.”

From what Miranda told him, Lee Shanchen was a brilliant student who obtained his bachelor’s degree at the age of 20, and his doctorate in philosophy at 24 from the National University of Bargash. He became an assistant professor at his alma mater but caused some trouble and couldn’t keep his position. While he was travelling on a passenger ship to transfer to a university in Kafir, he was attacked by the “Blaze Flag” fleet and taken prisoner. But the captain happened to be his uncle and, impressed by his nephew’s knowledge and education, offered him a job as a secretary.

It appeared that his uncle had intended to recruit him from the beginning and attacked that ship on purpose. He gradually accustomed himself to his circumstances and, when the captain died, took over his position.

“In that case, wouldn’t the ‘Blaze Flag’ fleet become a much more solid anti-Tytania organisation if they rallied under that Doctor Lee as their commander?”

“That’s the difficult part.”

Miranda put on a serious expression that was somewhat at odds with her cheerful and boisterous face and build.

“The Blaze Flag fleet had a grandiose name, but it is just a motley crew that only groups if they are after a big prey. Truly uniting them is impossible.”

Doctor Lee was intelligent but had a short temper and a bad habit of yelling, “Do what you want, you idiots!” and storming off whenever his strategies and plans weren’t accepted. Truth be told, many painful defeats were suffered from ignoring him, but no one likes to be called an idiot, even if true, so Doctor Lee never managed to become part of the mainstream. He himself was well aware of his shortcomings and would say, “I have talent, but not virtue, and have no intention of being above others.”

In spite of his academic background, Doctor Lee was also skilled in handling weapons. Tytania, ever so greedy for talent, once offered him a high position to recruit him. Doctor Lee declined, which put him in a unique position among ruffians, as it earned him respect while still being shunned.

Captain Casimir’s image appeared on the ship’s communication screen. He and Miranda used sign language and lip-reading. Fan Hyulick had thought that there were limitations to sign language, but it was probably prejudice on his part. The captain and his wife seemed to communicate perfectly well through facial expressions and, above all, some kind of spiritual resonance.

Miranda was 28 years old, the same age as Fan Hyulick. If he were to be honest, he didn’t find her to be a particularly attractive woman, but she seemed trustworthy as a friend. She was also quite capable. She turned towards her host:

“Admiral, something interesting is about to happen.”

Although she called Fan Hyulick “admiral”, it was a title that came from his position as “City Fleet civil commander”, his actual rank being colonel. Of course, rising from sergeant to colonel in a mere three years at the age of 25 was no ordinary feat. In reality, in his home city of Euria, colonels and majors received the same salary as any commissioned officer, which made the transition from colonel to brigadier general extremely easy.

The rank had been originally held by a near-elderly major general, but he had been hospitalised due to a hypertension stroke, and Fan Hyulick was named in his place. It was a battle he was destined to lose from the start. He was but a clown dancing on a stage smeared with blood.

“What is interesting?”

“I heard a rumour that Doctor Lee is on a nearby route. He’s bound for Bargash, so it wouldn’t be odd to run into him.”

Eight hours after that communication, Doctor Lee’s fleet, which comprised 13 vessels of varying sizes, or rather a mix of small- and medium-sized ships, met with the Honest Old Man.

On the communication screen, the man who appeared seemed to be around Fan Hyulick’s age. He had long, straight black hair tied with a white string at the nape of his neck. Both his eyes had a tinge of blue in them. He had a handsome face that could have been described as Tytania-class, but there was a sharp feeling of irony devoid of any naivety in his eyes.

“Doctor Lee, looks like you’re in trouble again, aren’t you?”

“Ms Miranda, is that you? It’s just the usual. This is what always happens when these idiots don’t listen to me. The universe is filled with absurdity and stupidity, and I can’t handle it on my own.”

It was quite the arrogant statement, but for some strange reason, when this man told it, it sounded like a cold and unvarnished truth. For no particular reason, Fan Hyulick felt like scratching his ear as he stood behind Miranda’s massive frame.

II

From the perspective of future cosmic history, this would be the first meeting between two young men who would become the brains behind the anti-Tytania forces. However, no one aboard the Honest Old Man, not even the lip-service fatalist Lieutenant Mahdi, considered this day to be of any particular historical significance.

Doctor Lee came aboard the Honest Old Man in a shuttle accompanied by five men. He wore a beige coat over his silver-white crew suit. He was shorter than Fan Hyulick but still above average height.

When he shook hands with Captain Casimir, his scholar-like expression softened, and it softened yet further to a student-like appearance when he shared a light and friendly embrace with Miranda. But as soon as he sat down at the tea table, he reverted to his scholar-like air, his tone consistently as if he were giving a lecture. After the initial exchange of greetings, Fan Hyulick casually asked, “Do you hate Tytania?” and the answer was:

“Tytania is the strongest force in the universe. So I don’t like it. That’s all there is to it; it’s not Tytania’s fault.”

An unappealing over-logical person, huh? thought Fan Hyulick while sizing his character. Still gauging him, he asked one more question:

“I wonder about that. Do you think that the anti-Tytanian forces could unite to destroy Tytania?”

“That would be difficult,” answered Doctor Lee whithout explaining why, before sipping his herbal tea.

Fan Hyulick also sipped his herbal tea without pressing further. Miranda looked at the two of them as if to ask what they meant, so Fan Hyulick spoke up:

Even if Tytania were to experience internal division and an external force tried to exploit it, it would inevitably unite Tytania against the external force. Provoking it needlessly would only serve to strengthen Tytania’s unity, which would ultimately work to the detriment of the external force. And it would be that external force that would end up breaking, splitting, and being destroyed.

“Is that what you meant, Doctor?”

“More or less, Ms Miranda.”

With a nod, Doctor Lee put back his white cup of herbal tea into its saucer. The way he looked at Fan Hyulick was reminiscent of a teacher examining a poorly performing student, but maybe it was Fan Hyulick who was being bitter about it.

“However, things might change in the future. A few things have recently happened that were unprecedented in history.”

“For example?” asked Miranda, her eyes lighting in curiosity.

“For example, it would have been unthinkable for a fleet commanded by one of Tytania’s Four Dukes to be defeated by a single City Fleet. And the one who accomplished this was this gentleman here.”

The doctor shifted his gaze, making the young carrot-top shrug.

“Am I to take this as a compliment, Doctor?”

“No, it was merely a criticism of Tytania.”

Miranda laughed heartedly, and her husband also smiled. The other two didn’t even crack a smile.

“Let’s think about it more seriously. Earlier, I stated that a period of change might be approaching the history of Tytania and the universe. But my main point is that this change might also be temporary. That’s what I mean.”

The doctor explained the following:

The Battle of Cerberus could have been the trigger of a major upheaval if it had been planned from the beginning as part of a strategy to bring about change. The defeat of Ariabert Tytania was an unprecedented shock in 200 years, and had the Interstellar City League and anti-Tytania nations risen in conjunction with that event, even Tytania would have been obligated to disperse its forces. But that didn’t come to pass. The victory of the Battle of Cerberus was buried as an isolated tactical miracle.

More frighteningly, it was Tytania who incorporated and systematised that miracle as a battle strategy of their own. As long as this difference in mental energy persisted, Tytania’s hegemony would remain unshaken. Tytania had prevented the change from affecting the whole and instead fragmented it and assimilated it themselves.

“Admiral Fan Hyulick is a genius. I’ll recognise that much.”

This assertion left Fan Hyulick confused. Should I simply accept the compliment or retort with some clever sarcasm? he wondered.

“But while geniuses can bring about change, it is upon the anonymous masses to ensure that the change persists. If we cannot form this majority in society, the idea of changing history is just a pie in the sky.”

While not as sarcastic as before, his tone was still undeniably lecture-like. No wonder the members of the “Blaze Flag” fleet were angry at him. They weren’t the kind of bunch that would quietly let themselves be lectured at.

Surprisingly, Miranda happened to be that kind of person and nodded as she intently listened to the lecture.

“Were I Tytania’s Clanner, I would turn over every asteroid in the entire Cosmos to find Admiral Fan Hyulick. I would offer him a position and authority comparable to one of the Four Dukes, and if I had a daughter, I’d marry her off to him.”

“Amazing. Is Fan Hyulick really worth that much?”

Miranda’s eyes literally widened as she looked at the young carrot-top.

“I’ve just found out that myself,” muttered Fan Hyulick without any sarcasm.

Just as he was thinking about thanking Doctor Lee for the compliment, the latter spoke again:

“It’s not that Admiral Fan Hyulick is worth anything himself. What is valuable is the potential for change that he symbolises,” he said as casually as smashing an egg. “Unfortunately, ordinary eyes can’t see that. If the city of Euria had even a shred of historical awareness, they wouldn’t have banished him so willingly.”

“If they had this historical awareness, what would they have done?”

“Kill him,” stated Doctor Lee calmly as Miranda crushed her syrup contained in her hand.

The golden clear liquid formed a sticky puddle on the table, and Captain Casimir shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. Miranda wiped the table in a hurry. Watching that scene unfold in a corner of his eye, Doctor Lee continued his “lecture”:

“It might seem odd, but they would have had to kill him. Euria City is unable to use him, and handing him over to Tytania would be a disaster for Euria City. There is no way he would have any favour for Euria City.”

“Hum, so what about the possibility of Fan becoming the leader of the anti-Tytania movement then, Doctor?”

“It would depend on what Admiral Fan Hyulick thinks about it. So I’d like to ask you, Admiral, do you harbour any anger towards Tytania?”

When asked that question, Fan Hyulick found himself at a loss for words. While he certainly had no affection for Tytania, he wasn’t driven to the point of genuine hatred against it. He wasn’t anti-Tytania, but rather non-Tytania. He found no compelling reason to willingly engage in a conflict with Tytania.

“Where there is no anger, there can be no change. Even if it’s only at an individual level, if there is intense anger or hatred, it can be a catalyst for change. But even that can only occur when the time is ripe.”

Doctor Lee lightly waived his hand. The lecture was apparently over. Miranda stood up with a thud on the floor and invited him to stay for dinner, and the Doctor smiled and thanked her:

“I gladly accept your offer. But alas, whenever I taste Ms Miranda’s cooking, it makes me lose any appetite for my ship’s food for a while, which is a bit of a problem.”

“You’re such a sweet talker. I love you only second to my husband. You should find and marry a good woman like me soon.”

Maybe Miranda was laughing aloud to laugh for her husband, whose vocal cords had been destroyed. Captain Casimir kept smiling gently. Though he had lost his voice, had his life been compensated by this cheerful and boisterous wife? If there were such a thing as equilibrium in life, would Fan Hyulick’s life be in the black or in the red at the moment of his death?

She was undeniably the princess of a nation, small as it may be, while he was but the captain of a modest interstellar cargo ship. One could say that it was Tytania that brought them together. Through an accumulation of countless wills, actions, and coincidences. Even though it swallowed them all, the universe still had space to spare.

Fan Hyulick recalled the dazzling colours and brilliance of the starbow he saw as a boy from the rear window of a passenger ship. He had then resolved to sail a ship by himself to navigate the sea of stars, and twenty years have passed since then. Suddenly, Fan Hyulick sighed. Surely, he couldn’t be so old that he’d let himself drift along with the crowd?

III

20th of July. Fan Hyulick and his companions landed on the surface of planet Bargash.

Even back when he was a respectable merchant sailor, Fan Hyulick had never set foot on a planet. That was why he was feeling childlike curiosity about this unfamiliar land. But from the beginning, had he not stopped by Ementhal, he might have already been breathing this planet’s atmosphere.

Although this planet’s colonisation started five centuries ago, it still had a strong feeling of a newly opened land. Calling it the “capital of the star frontier” would be an overstatement, but it was still a place rough and yet brimming with vitality, a maelstrom where investment and speculation, adventure and exploration, success and failure, triumph and ruin, hope and despair, all swirled together.

This planet was Doctor Lee’s birthplace.

“I have a house. I don’t have any family in it.”

Doctor Lee somewhat worded it in a strange way, but he probably meant that while the house belonged to him, its occupants didn’t. Fan Hyulick guessed that maybe his house where he was born and raised had passed into someone else’s hands. Or maybe the circumstances were slightly different, but it wasn’t worth prying into them.

Procedures at the spaceport were quite formal and superficial. With a crew card for the Honest Old Man and a 100 dakar bill, Fan Hyulick was easily granted free entry. Half of the 100 dakar would be returned upon departure. It was apparently a guarantee against causing trouble, but it probably allowed some small official to make some extra cash.

However, Fan Hyulick’s movements weren’t that free. First, Tytania’s influence, or rather its fingertips, naturally extended to planet Bargash. Second, he had left behind on planet Ementhal what could have granted him material freedom. Miranda had given him 1,000 dakar as an advance on his salary, but if he spent it on alcohol and women to accompany his bed, it would be gone in three days. At the basis of Fan Hyulick’s mind was a faint, undercover bourgeois mentality that he should “use it wisely”, prickling at the collar of his desires.

But since Ementhal, he had lived a life bereft of women’s company, and he hadn’t had that kind of experience since his days in Tytania’s prison camp.

“Bah, money is meant to be spent; I’ll leave saving it to the miserly Mahdi.”

As he muttered that to himself, he headed towards the Latour district, famous for being an entertainment district.

While it was certainly crude and uncouth by Ementhal’s standards, Latour was supposed to be the most refined entertainment district in Bargash. Women, alcohol, gambling, drugs, and various street performers. Whatever human primal desires existed were unleashed together within the densely packed houses over a three-kilometre radius. It was said that some people would never leave, but that was hardly a problem. Someone who would enter such a place of his free will to seek pleasure should not expect absolute safety.

But the self-governing body of Latour understood well that customer safety was essential for their prosperity, and the actual crime rate in Latour was very low. Being stripped of one’s possessions was a matter of an individual’s lack of self-control and wasn’t considered a crime.

Having passed the gates of the Latour district and standing in the corner of a square, the young carrot-top was pondering which direction he should take. Suddenly, Fan Hyulick was grabbed by his right elbow, and his body and mind immediately tensed. “A Tytanian agent?” he wondered, which wouldn’t be impossible here. When he heard a voice calling out, “Admiral Fan Hyulick!” he turned his tall frame and swiftly and firmly thrust his free left hand out.

Had his opponent been of the same height as him, he would have been knocked back by a blow to the jaw. However, his attack was repelled by a bundle of thick muscles. A young and boyish giant looked at him with surprise. For a moment, as if to jog his memories, another man shouted:

“Admiral, that’s not how you’re supposed to greet someone upon reuniting, right?”

“What are you two doing here!?”

Fan Hyulick was unable to resist asking this very unoriginal question. The two men in front of him had been his staff officers back when he was part of the Euria City Fleet.

They were Lieutenant Mikhail Walenkov, who had been his aide-de-camp and bodyguard, and Lieutenant Louis Edmond Pagès, his intelligence officer. Walenkov was almost two metres tall, weighed 0.1 ton, and was like a kind teddy bear. Pagès was of medium height and agile, giving the impression of a cunning fox. The former was 27 years old. The latter, 26. They were almost friends with Fan Hyulick.

This is what they told him: After their unexpected victory at Cerberus, they returned home in triumph, drank heavily, and indulged in boisterous revelry. Then the next morning, as they were clutching their heads with a hangover, they got out of bed to watch the morning news, only to learn that Fan Hyulick, the hero of the Battle of Cerberus, was on the run.

“But we couldn’t believe it. Admiral Fan Hyulick, on the run? Was there any reason to be on the run to begin with?”

“Pagès is right. All we could conclude was that you hadn’t escaped but been forced to leave. A house arrest was immediately issued, and we ended up locked in our quarters.”

“What followed is a heartbreaking story that is heartbreaking to recount…”

After carefully crafting this sentence, Lieutenant Louis Edmond Pagès began to tell the subsequent events with remarkable ease. He gathered information, analysed it, selected what was useful, and submitted it to his commander. He was an exceptional intelligence officer, and it was said that he knew the contents of the love letters of the mayor to his mistress and even the size of the underwear of the city council’s chairman’s second daughter. Maybe he had the instincts of a journalist within him.

While he spoke, Walenkov, on the other hand, said very little, only nodding and making brief corrections when asked for confirmation. They had different personalities.

While the victors were confined to their quarters and forced to live on bread, water and sausages made from scraps of meat three times a day, the Tytanian fleet came into the port of Euria. There had apparently been a treaty of friendship and peace signed between Tytania and Euria. In itself, it was a very good thing. But they couldn’t understand why they were being confined to their quarters.

What the young officers could understand were the unbearable scenes of the celebratory party shown on TV, with foie gras, roast beef, and lobster, filling the screen with vibrant colours. Historically, resentment over food had always been the shortest path to revolution.

Right as they were about to explode with discontent, more oil was poured on the fire. Sixty officers who had participated in the Battle of Cerberus were declared to be war criminals and to be sent to a Tytanian prison camp. Pagès and Walenkov were among these sixty officers. At that point, the situation was quite clear. To sum it up, Fan Hyulick and his men had become the victims of their mother city’s diplomatic strategy. So there was no guarantee they’d ever come back alive from that Tytanian prison camp. Since they wouldn’t come back alive, they planned an escape.

Walenkov often sneaked into the food storage to distribute food for his comrades. In spite of his massive frame, he was agile and had a talent for thievery. One night, he stole a bag of flour from the storage, scattered it through a ventilation shaft, and threw in a makeshift match. It provoked a dust explosion that engulfed the barracks in flames and black smoke. Once their escape was successful, and their companions scattered, Walenkov and Pagès hid in an ore transportation ship and fled their mother city. With a thought process that was similar to that of Fan Hyulick’s, they headed for planet Bargash.

In the end, they managed to arrive on Bargash before him. Though Bargash was a vast planet, they didn’t go wandering around aimlessly and settled instead in a cheap inn in the Latour district. They believed in the fact that their commander would arrive here eventually. They carried on a penniless existence until they finally had an emotional reunion with their former commander.

“I see. Looks like I caused you a lot of trouble. I’m sorry.”

Fan Hyulick was nodding with a thoughtful expression, his arms crossed, but he inwardly felt the urge to click his tongue. Why did these guys spend their time hanging around the entertainment district rather than universities or libraries? Anyway, their judgement was certainly correct, and it was all fine and dandy that he would reunite with his comrades, but something didn’t quite sit right with him. If it were Doctor Lee’s men, they wouldn’t have come to a place like that to search for him. Maybe he was feeling jealous about that?

“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Walenkov and Pagès had no choice but to accompany Fan Hyulick. He couldn’t abandon them. All he could do was to ask the princess if they could come aboard the Honest Old Man.

“But we won’t head immediately for the ship. I came all the way to the Latour district. It would be an insult to this town’s history to back out now.”

“Well then, leave it to us. We can introduce you to cheap restaurants with good service.”

Pagès snapped his fingers and winked. He had become one of the most informed people about the Latour district in a very short period of time. Fan Hyulick shrugged and began to walk with his two former staff officers.

IV

Feeling refreshed after accomplishing his objectives, Fan Hyulick returned to the spaceship some twelve hours later. He and his former staff officers were in a pretty good mood, having refreshed their minds and bodies to their satisfaction in exchange for about 1,000 dakars.

Once they saw the egg-shaped hull of the Honest Old Man, the two former staff officers whispered with unease, “That thing depreciated a long time ago,” but Fan Hyulick urged them inside cheerfully. Once he entered the room that served as a lounge, dining room, and conference room, they saw the faces of his comrades, and his vision suddenly went dark.

“I heard that Lira is dead.”

It took more than ten seconds for Miranda’s words to register in Fan Hyulick’s mind. The young carrot-top finally became conscious of his own mouth, uttering the words:

“What happened to Lira?”

It was a question devoid of any intellect or reason. Miranda’s thick hands gripped Fan Hyulick by the shoulders, and he slumped into a chair.

Devoid of her cheerfulness and boldness, the Princess of Casabianca looked at the young carrot-top, hesitated, looked up to the sky, and, after making up her mind, repeated:

“I heard that Lira is dead. I got this information through two sources, one being Doctor Lee’s subordinates and the other our own group.”

Another silence fell until it was broken by Fan Hyulick’s voice:

“Was it that perverted count? I doubt that she died from a sickness or an accident. She was radiant with vitality. It has to be that count’s doing!”

“Yes, you are correct. Lira was… Count Arses did something terrible to her.”

The moment the woman said “something terrible”, the situation was clear. Fan Hyulick groaned in anger and confusion.

“But isn’t that pervert count supposed to be gay? What, so he’s bisexual after all?”

“The count is gay, but his subordinates aren’t. He ordered Lira to sleep with them in exchange for sparing his man. More than thirty in one night.”

Miranda’s voice was trembling with anger and disgust. Captain Casimir, beside his wife whose large frame was shaking, remained silently sombre. The one who broke the silence was Lieutenant Mahdi, a black marketeer at heart who was part of Tytania’s Ementhal forces.

“Count Arses uses that tactic from time to time. Since he is unable to defile women in person, he uses his subordinates to do so.”

He spat it out with a hatred that ran deeper than his aversion to poverty, which was extremely unusual for that man. Unable to say a word, Fan Hyulick turned his gaze to Miranda. The princess seemed to be devastated.

“We were too naive. We thought that Count Arses would give up on us once we escaped and quickly return to his dissolute life.”

Combining information from two sources, it appeared that Count Arses Tytania had sent his men to capture Lira and her grandmother and, through her grandmother’s confession, also captured De Boer. As her grandmother was making a scandal about not being paid the reward money she was promised, she was slapped by a soldier and died from the shock. It appeared her body was more fragile than her spirit.

The one who was mentally frail was De Boer. When asked about the whereabouts of the Honest Old Man, he answered that he didn’t know. He really didn’t know. With a sneer, Count Arses ordered De Boer to be tortured. Being forced to wear headphones, after some 40 hours of sleep deprivation, De Boer “confessed”. His “confession” was that Lira knew everything.

Count Arses Tytania began interrogating Lira and flew in rage when she called him a “pervert”. Since he was unable to rape Lira himself, he gathered his most brutal soldiers, and, with an eerie grin, declared to Lira: “Well then, if you are still alive after sleeping with 30 of my men, I shall let you and your lover go.”

“Very well,” replied Lira. She knew De Boer had yielded and was already prepared for that. “What a fine resolve,” sneered the count once more, although he meant something quite different by “resolve”. By their side was a huge tank of predatory fish. Lira erased every expression as she began to undress. She took off her jacket and her shirt. She flung her skirt in the air, and as the soldiers’ gazes shifted for a second… a shriek echoed. Lira had lunged at the count, and they had both fallen in the tank.

“… From what I heard, the count survived, but Lira didn’t make it. And apparently, the count has gone half mad from having his pets devouring his face.”

After Miranda finished speaking, there was a silence of several seconds until Fan Hyulick let out a pained sigh.

“That girl was a good girl. The best girl in Ementhal. At the very least, she didn’t deserve to die like that.”

No one replied. Obviously, Fan Hyulick wasn’t expecting an answer. He ran his hands through his carrot-coloured hair, stopped, and fell deep in thought while his posture was that of a cheap statue.

When he finally looked up, there was an expression on his face that his acquaintances had never seen before. Though he would have hated to admit it, Mahdi couldn’t help but tremble at the sight of it.

“I’ll avenge Lira. I don’t care if De Boer ends up as food for carnivorous fish, but I will avenge Lira. I’ll strangle that perverted Arses Tytania with my very hands.”

His declaration was quiet. His tone was almost flat, as if reading something someone else had written, and that was precisely what showed Fan Hyulick’s resolve. Doctor Lee, who had been perfectly still like a painting until now, moved for the first time.

“You are facing a Tytanian. He might be considered an outcast within the Tytania clan, but he is a Tytania nevertheless. Are you ready to become an enemy of Tytania in order to get your revenge?”

“Whether it is Tytania or Zeus, I don’t care!”

Who was Zeus exactly? He didn’t really know, though he remembered hearing the name – probably some politician or a space pirate. In any case, Fan Hyulick was only interested in Tytania. He glared at everyone in the room, his carrot-coloured hair dishevelled, and walked off to his quarters with heavy footsteps.

Walenkov and Pagès exchanged glances and cautiously followed their former commander. Lieutenant Mahdi clicked his tongue and slumped in his chair.

“He’s going to get revenge on Tytania for a woman he never even slept with? He’s completely unhinged.”

“That’s not for us to judge.”

Doctor Lee pinched his chin with one hand as he fell deep in thought. His expression was ambiguous, making it difficult for others to guess what he was pondering. Maybe he was contemplating his own past and future.

After a while, some expression returned to his eyes. He glanced around at the men and women around him and took an academic tone.

“Tytania’s fleet is 100,000 vessels strong. To defeat it, we would need to gather almost the same amount of forces and establish a complete command structure. Well then, how many years will that take?”

Once he was done talking, Doctor Lee quietly rose to his feet, contacted his meagre fleet, and ordered them to set off for planet Ementhal.

Chapter 7 – The One Catastrophe

I

“A circle has no corners, but it doesn’t mean it has no personality.”

These were the words of the mathematician and essayist R. R. Poeman, and if one were to find such a figure in the Tytania clan, it would have likely been Duke Ariabert Tytania.

He lacked the contradictory nuances of Jouslain and the remarkable physique and mental robustness of Zarlisch. In the same way that his appearance was described as handsome but lacking individuality, his character and abilities were well-balanced and harmonious, and there wasn’t the sharp-edged quality that one could find in Idris.

If his rapid recovery after his defeat at the Battle of Cerberus was the result of Jouslain’s suggestion to adopt Fan Hyulick’s strategy, one could conclude that he ultimately had no originality of his own. Even as a military strategist, he was described as rather dull, and it was often said that he “lacked the brains of Lord Jouslain and the bravery of Lord Zarlisch”.

And yet, he was always the first among the Four Dukes of Tytania to make a name for himself, and his military achievements surpassed those of the other three. Even Zarlisch fell short compared to him. His acceptance of Jouslain’s suggestion to completely change the way a Weigert canon should be used proved that Ariabert was flexible, magnanimous, and not hindered by unnecessary competitiveness.

As a frontline warrior and a rear manager, his talents and achievements showed no signs of faltering. Even the Landless Clanner Ajman, while confiding his innermost thoughts to Jouslain, placed his trust in Ariabert’s abilities and character and didn’t punish him severely for his defeat at the Battle of Cerberus and offered him instead an opportunity to redeem himself.

Ariabert fully lived up to these expectations, and maybe Ajman valued him the most, not as the next Clanner, but as one of the Four Dukes. The relationship between one’s character and one’s position was a delicate thing, and a person who was competent in one position may not necessarily be competent in another.

Ariabert spent the month of July inspecting the Tytanian branches in each star system and returned to Uraniborg in August. It was in order to attend the monthly Supreme Council. While the entire organisation of Tytania was in reality under the dictatorship of the Landless Clanner Ajman, as one of the Four Dukes he couldn’t disregard formalities and ceremonies. Those who failed at fulfilling their obligations had to relinquish their privileges as well.

Some ten days before Ariabert, Duke Jouslain Tytania had already returned to Uraniborg.

He was accompanied by Princess Lydia of the kingdom of Elbing, who was astonished by the magnificence of the Celestial Castle. Looking up at Jouslain, whose eyes were far above her own, she offered her observations:

“Our country is poor, but it just means that Tytania is all the richer; isn’t that the case?”

Jouslain was often stung by what the young girl said. But while it stung, it was at the same time pleasurable, maybe due to some masochist tendency in him, and he sometimes found himself amused by it.

“A universe of Tytania, by Tytania, for Tytania.”

It was a famous quote to express Tytania’s wealth and power, although it was definitely plagiarised. Along with “If one is not of Tytania, one is not a human”, the prototype for such quotes could be found in past history. But while the original “government of the people, by the people, for the people” celebrated an ideal, this one described reality.

Even Jouslain felt that Tytania’s wealth was but a matter of course, given its responsibilities and capabilities. also didn’t feel like they were engaging in particularly unfair exploitation. But when a child spoke so bluntly about the situation, he couldn’t help but feel daunted.

His senior aide-de-camp, Balamy, hated the “girl’s attendant” role that had somehow been assigned to him but somehow got used to her pace and, in spite of his complaints, showed her around the Celestial City. It seemed like even conspirators who were plotting to usurp all of Tytania were powerless before her.

Francia had also prepared a room for the princess and looked after her and kept her company. Upon returning to Uraniborg, Jouslain became focused on his official duties, approved several matters entrusted to him by Clanner Ajman, and prepared reports, leaving Francia alone, as was always the case. Keeping Princess Lydia company provided her with some comfort.

Thus did the 10-year-old princess gradually become a prominent figure in Jouslain’s life. And then, His Grace the Duke Ariabert Tytania, vice-admiral of the Vardana Empire, returned to Uraniborg and was utterly astonished to find a child in his cousin’s vast condominium who was supposed to be single like himself.

Entrusting the care of the princess to Francia, Jouslain greeted his cousin and ushered him into the reception room. Of course, Ariabert wanted to know what that was all about.

“Lord Jouslain, if I were to ask if she were your illegitimate child, would you punch me?”

“I would also kick you. I’ve been asked that question countless times.”

“So, who is she?”

“Lord Balamy’s fiancée.”

Ariabert looked genuinely surprised by this answer, and Jouslain smiled and waived his hand to clarify that he was only jesting. They were close enough for that kind of humour. Realising that, Ariabert also smiled.

“I see. I’m looking forward to the next ten years.”

In ten years, Balamy would be 28 and Princess Lydia 20, and it wouldn’t be a bad match, even though it was for now just a joke.

“By the way, how fares Balamy’s father? Is he in good health?”

Ariabert was referring to the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade Tytania. Jouslain gave a somewhat indirect answer.

“I haven’t heard anything about him being ill, but is there a reason you are asking this question?”

Ariabert hesitated for a moment but eventually answered Jouslain’s counter-question. Ariabert was apparently not good at reading people’s intentions, and Jouslain couldn’t help but realise that he was the one who was being manipulative.

That aside, Ariabert told him that the future of the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade Tytania, was the subject of much concern and discussion. Maybe it was that Balamy held the position of Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp that made Ariabert inclined to tell him that. For Jouslain, this was a subject he wanted to avoid.

“Isn’t that just a rumour?”

“If it were the case, it would be fine, but it would be a pity if it made Marquis Estrade feel cornered.”

Ariabert had an inherent kindness, or maybe leniency, which might have been a source of dissatisfaction for Clanner Ajman. It was also probably what made Idris think that Ariabert was easy to manipulate.

In any case, it appeared that the first topic of discussion at this family meeting would be a matter concerning someone else. Count Arses, Duke Zarlisch’s brother, had let Fan Hyulick escape after seemingly having him under his control and, worse yet, had suffered an assault while trying to torture a woman. The woman had died, and Count Arses had suffered a terrible injury to his face, which he had been so proud of.

Upon hearing this, his brother became furious.

“He may be my brother, but there is no thought or pride in his actions. He is a disgrace to Tytania. How can I show my face to you all?”

Considering his upright character, these words that Zarlisch uttered when the Four Dukes gathered in the Clanner’s lounge were undoubtedly his genuine feelings, but they also likely came from a desire to avoid looking weak in front of the other four dukes. In any case, Arses wasn’t the kind of person who would stir a feeling of familial affection in his brother. If anything, it was quite the opposite.

At that point, Zarlisch probably wanted to have his brother confined, which would remove him from the shackles that were binding him in his public and private life. He wouldn’t go so far as to kill him. He also couldn’t ignore his mother’s blind love for her second son. But Zarlisch’s expression was resolute, as if to contradict his cousins’ speculation.

“Only Tytania may punish Tytania. A brother has to take responsibility for a brother’s misdeed. I shall deal with Arses. I hope you gentlemen shall all bear this in mind.”

After exchanging glances with Jouslain, Ariabert replied. It was as if he wanted to quell the wrath of the mighty man.

“Duke Zarlisch, you might call it a misdeed, but it is not something that warrants punishment. Me too; I was also outmanoeuvred by that Fan Hyulick. Compared to that, Count Arses’ blunder is but child’s play.”

“It may be child’s play, but even adults can die from children’s games. Wouldn’t it be too late to regret it afterwards?”

His point was valid, and neither Ariabert nor Jouslain had the opportunity to refute it.

“What is His Clanner Highness’ will on the matter?”

The final question was asked. A sharp and biting glint glimmered in Idris’ eyes as he threw it.

Among the Four Dukes, he was likely the most competitive, and he saw the recent scandal concerning Count Arses as an opportunity to surpass Zarlisch. For the time being, Idris didn’t intend to deliberately sabotage the other three dukes, but he also didn’t intend to prevent them from digging their own grave.

The one who answered was Ariabert.

“The Clanner is, obviously, unlikely to be pleased, but he is a man of inscrutable nature. It would be a disservice for us to jump to conclusions. I believe we must wait for his Highness’ judgement.”

To Idris, Ariabert’s moderation often appeared as being passive. Right as he was about to open his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, a louder voice pre-empted him by a split second. Zarlisch had let out a sigh that seemed to pierce his entire chest.

“There is no way that His Clanner Highness would forgive that damned Arses’ perversion. I feel so ashamed.”

“Whether it is aestheticism or perversion is up to one’s personal tastes. But when combined with power, one might well become a Nero or a Caligula.”

What Jouslain had mentioned were the names of tyrants from ancient Earth. Historically, when a void appeared between the immense power of a ruler and his pettiness, it would always be filled with brutality, lust, and extravagance. Arses was likely no exception.

Oddly enough, Nero, Caligula, and the like were utterly devoid of originality, either in thought or action. One might wonder why they were so similar, as if one individual had been cloned and scattered across different eras?

His thought process had shifted. In short, the power of Tytania could not be entrusted to Count Arses. He decided that it should be better to agree with the elder brother, Zarlisch, on this matter. Thus, Jouslain settled on a course of action.

II

The Four Dukes moved from the lounge to the formal conference room. Following proper form, they each placed their military caps on the table facing their seats.

While waiting for the arrival of Clanner Ajman, they conversed in low tones. Ariabert whispered to Jouslain. Talking about Arses’ blunder, he said, “Tytania’s fleet numbers 100,000 vessels and 10 million soldiers. Is there anyone who would dare oppose it?”

There was. Indeed, the courtiers of Vardana, the armed force that called itself the “Blaze Flag” fleet, and what happened a few days ago in Ementhal City. There were many who opposed Tytania. But it was only equivalent to the fact that even a strong person couldn’t avoid catching a cold or getting a cut on his fingertip.

Was it possible for the various forces hostile to Tytania to unite and form a unified army under a powerful leader to challenge Tytania? Even for Jouslain this was merely an interesting hypothesis to consider and not an immediate threat.

Eventually, in the presence of Clanner Ajman, the formal meeting began. Of course, the scandal concerning Count Arses was on the agenda, and the Four Dukes learned an extra piece of information from the Clanner. Apparently, the companions of the woman who had been killed by Count Arses’ carnivorous fish were heading to Ementhal to exact their revenge.

“Well then, Your Highness, are we to remain idle as observers?”

If Count Arses were the kind of person who’d let himself be assassinated by knaves, then so be it. It was a common argument in Tytania. Even when dealing with talented and promising individuals. If Count Arses were useless, the Clanner would be all the more inclined to be rid of him. However, the Clanner made a gesture to dismiss Idris’ question.

“I didn’t say that. A hostile action against a member of Tytania is a challenge to all of Tytania. Anyone is free to challenge us, but their arrogance must be punished, or it would undermine Tytania’s authority.”

The Clanner’s gaze swept across the faces of the Four Dukes and stopped upon Zarlisch. The muscular frame of the mighty Tytanian warrior, renowned for his prowess, stiffened as if he were transfixed.

“Duke Zarlisch, there is no end to your woes, is there?”

“I’m afraid not…”

“Never fear. Not even in Tytania does one need to share his brother’s sins and responsibilities as an adult. If anything, it is all those who bear the surname Tytania who should share them. In that sense, Lord Zarlisch, you are not the only one to whom this matter is of concern.”

Idris slightly shifted, looking somewhat uncomfortable, probably because his youthful ardour had been shut down. Looking at him from the corner of his eye, Clanner Ajman fell silent and flipped through the documents he held in his hand. He quietly flicked a few pages with his fingers, and his sight settled on one particular page, and, remaining in that posture, he declared:

“Concerning this matter, Count Arses has requested to leave planet Ementhal and remain in Uraniborg for the time being. I have no reason to refuse, so I will agree to it, but any of you gentlemen have any objections?”

Upon hearing his decision, expressions of displeasure fluctuated on the faces of the Four Dukes with differences reflecting their personalities. It was all too clear that Count Arses dreaded being the target of revenge and wanted to move to a safer place.

Among the four, Zarlisch in particular was infuriated, his broad shoulders trembling beneath his grey military uniform. Even though the Clanner had tried to console him, he was the one amongst them who shared the closest family ties with Arses, and it was a great humiliation for him to know that the same decadent blood as his brother was running through his own veins. He had objections but couldn’t voice them. He was not so insensitive as to not understand the Clanner’s intentions. The Clanner was planning on the fact that Count Arses would be attacked while en route to Uraniborg by those who sought revenge against him.

Once the formal meeting was concluded, Jouslain was summoned once more by the Clanner. He was in the Clanner’s private observation room. There, Jouslain would confirm the Clanner’s intentions.

“Well then, do you intend to appoint someone to eliminate the rebels if Count Arses were to be attacked?”

“Who do you have in mind?” answered the Clanner in the form of a question. Jouslain responded almost immediately:

“Among the Four Dukes, I would pick Lord Idris.”

“Hum…” The Clanner didn’t answer immediately. “Lord Jouslain, isn’t the initial trigger of Lord Arses’ woes the very person he was supposed to capture?”

“Yes. That Fan Hyulick. He had him in his grasp but let him escape, and that’s how things have turned out since then.”

“There seems to be some strange connection between that man and our clan.”

“Is is as you say…”

“But ultimately, it is just our paths intersecting briefly. A man who rejected Tytania’s offers must be eliminated with all our might, no matter how insignificant he is. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes…”

The floor they were standing on was made of layers of translucid ceramic that separated their atmosphere from the vacuum. Beyond that vacuum stood planet Ryutehi, the capital of the Vardana Empire, adorned in blue-green and white stripes.

True to its name, the Celestial City resided in the heavens, trampling from above the throne of the Emperor of Vardana, who ruled over the land. That spatial relationship was in essence a social one.

“By the way, Lord Jouslain, I would like to ask why you specifically recommended Lord Idris to protect Count Arses.”

Jouslain didn’t immediately answer, and Ajman’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at him with a gaze as sharp as the tip of a sword and pressed him further. Jouslain had no choice but to answer:

“Lord Idris, as commander of the Imperial Guard of the Vardana Empire, represents Tytania’s interests and keeps his eye on the anti-Tytania factions.”

“So?”

“If the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade, harbours seditious intentions, he will see Idris’ absence as an opportunity.”

He didn’t believe that he would make an immediate move, but he would probably try to take contact with the courtiers and devise a plan to neutralise the Imperial Guard.

“Hum, so Lord Jouslain, you are claiming that Marquis Estraden, my half-brother, might act on ideas in line with the Vardanan courtiers?”

“…”

“How disappointing for my half-brother. To be perceived at the same level as those courtiers.”

“I’m not saying that Marquis Estrade himself will act. Rather, it is the courtiers who will act. They will interpret the situation to their own convenience. I have no doubt they will act rashly.”

Narrowing his eyes yet further as he concealed his expression, the Landless Clanner Ajman looked at Jouslain. Jouslain felt like his nerves were being scratched.

“I see, so these courtiers who lack foresight and scepticism might dance to our tune. But even if they dance to our tune, will my half-brother dance to theirs?”

Marquis Estrade Tytania wasn’t thoughtless. Even if the Vardanan courtiers tried to incite him to rebel against the Landless Clanner, he wouldn’t carelessly fall for such a scheme. The conversation shifted rapidly to how to deal with Marquis Estrade.

“I believe he would. May I explain my reasoning, Your Highness?”

“Hum, you may speak.”

Prompted by the Clanner, Jouslain replied:

First, regardless of Marquis Estrade’s reaction, if the courtiers incite him to rebel, it would give an excuse to purge them. Second, if Marquis Estrade attempts to conceal the fact that the courtiers had incited him to rebel, he could be held accountable for it. Third, if Marquis Estrade reports to the Clanner that the courtiers are trying to incite him to rebel, they can conclude that for the time being he has no intention to rebel. In any case, there was nothing to lose for Tytania. Except for the burden placed on Lord Idris.

Jouslain fell silent, and Clanner Ajman diverted his powerful gaze to the floor as he fell in thought. Jouslain, on the other hand, cast his gaze upwards and steadied his breathing to avoid being noticed.

“Very well, Lord Jouslain, I shall take your opinion into consideration.”

Clanner Ajman had made his decision in a short moment. Jouslain mechanically bowed. The grey hue of his own military uniform came into his field of vision.

“However, I believe that Marquis Estrade will resort to a fourth possibility.”

“A fourth possibility, you say?”

“I find it odd that you, Lord Jouslain, haven’t noticed it, but… well, never mind, there is no other course of action. You made a good analysis.”

Bowing once more to the Clanner, Jouslain realised why he found that princess from that small country so appealing. Her frankness was refreshing and devoid of any political calculation. For someone who needed to engage in conversations with the Clanner that were filled with calculations and suspicions, such frankness acted as a necessary mental antidote.

Jouslain reflected on his own life when he was 10 years old. Even back then, the mindset of being a part of the mainstream Tytania clan had been instilled into him. Loyalty to the Clanner. Being a valuable asset to the Clanner. Everything was for Tytania, even as a child. He had to not act rashly to avoid harming the clan. He could not talk without thinking. Thinking carefully. Thinking deeply and thoroughly before speaking. If he were to be rejected, his entire life and family would be over.

Jouslain seized the opportunity to make a request to the Clanner. It concerned the lively princess who came from the small and remote kingdom of Elbing.

Even the ever-so-meticulous Ajman had forgotten about her and tilted his head in confusion at Jouslain’s request. It went to show how insignificant the matter was to Tytania.

“Your Clanner Highness, if her country is unable to pay its debts…”

“Lord Jouslain, are you saying that you will take on that debt?”

“Depending on the circumstances, I might.”

“Lord Jouslain, you are quite the eccentric.”

The Landless Clanner faintly smiled. That smile wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, but to Jouslain, the smiles of the Clanner always weighed heavily.

“Lord Jouslain, no matter how I look at it, I think she is too young for your bedchamber, but if she happens to suit your tastes, then even as the clan leader, it isn’t my place to interfere. Isn’t the courage to persevere in love also a necessary quality for Tytania?”

Jouslain politely ignored the Clanner’s provocation and reported that he had listed a few ideas and sought the Clanner’s approval. First, he wanted to provide Princess Lydia with an education. Second, he wanted her to be placed under his protection. Furthermore, he wanted to take on the debts of the kingdom of Elbing in ten annual instalments so they could repay Tytania. And he would take all official duties concerning the kingdom of Elbing.

“In some 15 years, we might be able to introduce some new and good blood into Tytania. Keeping our bloodline confined can murk our lineage.”

Jouslain didn’t explicitly mention Count Arses as a prime example, but Clanner Ajman perfectly understood who he was alluding to. Or, to be more precise, he believed he did. From Jouslain’s perspective, he had succeeded in subtly influencing the Clanner’s thoughts. The self-loathing he felt that accompanied this success was an unavoidable side effect.

If the Clanner refused, the fate of that small frontier nation and its young princess would have been akin to a small spaceship coming too close to a black hole. He needed to obtain the Clanner’s approbation, even if it meant manipulating him.

“Very well, Lord Jouslain, I’ll let you deal with it.”

With the Clanner’s words, Jouslain felt true joy for the first time that day. To sum it up, he ended up with a country and a 10-year-old princess. Of course, no matter what others, Clanner included, might think, he didn’t choose this 10-year-old princess with romance in mind. He saw Princess Lydia as a future that he was unable to foresee for himself.

III

When he was summoned by Clanner Ajman, the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade Tytania, looked at his discoloured expression in the mirror. He distrusted the Clanner, and his own heart was far from innocent. He didn’t recall giving his half-brother any excuse that could be used as a pretext for a purge, but it offered him no comfort.

Clanner Ajman, who had ordered the assassination of the Prime Minister in front of the Emperor, wouldn’t show any more mercy towards the Minister of Military Affairs. They may be brothers, but in Tytania, the greater good always meant sacrificing a member of one’s own family. The second Clanner, Nuri, had caused his father to die from a fit of rage, and since then, Tytania has shown the same ruthlessness to deal with both internal and external enemies. Nevertheless, the internal cohesion and unity within the clan were considered to be of utmost importance, and Estrade himself had never questioned that belief. Until now.

But the fact that he was discarded as a choice to become the Clanner caused a schism in his values. In spite of diligently serving Tytania and all his achievements, he had to stand below the status of his half-brother, Ajman. How absurd was that? His resentment towards Ajman stemmed from his ire towards that injustice. And now, ambition has been thrown in the mix. Ambition that had been fuelled by his son, Balamy. He had only been aware of this ambition for a short period of time. Could it be that Ajman had sensed it already?

As he suppressed his inner turmoil, Estrade presented himself before his half-brother, the Clanner. His son Balamy was being held hostage in Uraniborg under the guise of serving as Duke Jouslain’s senior aide-de-camp. He had no possibility of resistance or defiance. However, it turned out that the Minister of Military Affairs didn’t need to show either resolve or panic. He had been informed that Duke Idris left the capital, that Marquis Estrade would be entrusted with the surveillance of the courtiers, and that Balamy was granted leave and given permission to accompany him. That was all there was to it.

Duke Idris Tytania, commander of the Imperial Guard, was to leave the capital and go to the distant planet Ementhal. During his absence, the command of the Imperial Guard would be entrusted to the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade.

When this was proclaimed to the Vardanan court and government, it stirred some people’s hearts like wind rustling the grass. It seemed like a golden opportunity for them. They were never aware that they were dancing to someone’s tune.

Thus, one night, four nobles of the Vardanan court who were staunch anti-Tytanian went to visit the residence of Marquis Estrade. They believed that they had taken enough precautions and had devised a pretext to visit him. They claimed that one of their sons worked for the Ministry of Military Affairs and wanted to petition a promotion for him. It wasn’t particularly unusual in the Vardana Empire, and the son in question did indeed aspire to rise in his career.

Upon receiving them, they attempted to persuade and entice Marquis Estrade. That group of nobles told him that as a Tytanian leader, he should assume the position of Landless Clanner. With devices of their own and concealing their true intentions of overthrowing Tytania, they spoke in this manner:

“Under the rule of the current Clanner, there is no hope for progress. Though we humbly pledge our loyalties to His Majesty the Emperor, it is all in vain. Unless we place our trust in Your Excellency the Marquis Estrade, there is no future for us. For the sake of our common interests, we are willing to do anything.”

After letting them deliver their passionate speech with voices trembling with emotion, Estrade dismissed them without a single word of commitment.

When the uninvited guests took their leave, his son, Balamy, who had been waiting in the room next to where the reception took place, was unable to hide his disappointment and criticised the way his father handled the situation.

“Just sending them away wasn’t enough, Father.”

Balamy’s voice and expression were filled with a sense of overwhelming crisis. Estrade frowned. The Minister of Military Affairs had drunk with his guests and was under the influence of alcohol. After exhaling a large breath laced with alcohol, the Minister of Military Affairs listened with irritation to his son’s words.

“It’s a trap. Can’t you see it, Father? You yourself admitted that the Vardanan courtiers were unreliable. Have you forgotten that?”

It only served to intensify the Minister of Military Affairs’ displeasure.

“I know; you don’t have to tell me. The Clanner drove Idris away from the capital to trap the courtiers into taking reckless actions. That’s why I sent them away, as you saw yourself.”

“And that’s all you did?”

“What more did I need to do?”

“Father, you are so naive!” cried out Balamy. He was so overwhelmed by disappointment that it almost blinded him, and he couldn’t help but shout.

He had never thought that his father was incompetent. He was a man who had achieved remarkable accomplishments, both as a soldier and as an administrator, and he had good faith that he would continue to do so. But maybe he had been wrong about it. Was his father unworthy of the position of Clanner, and that was why he never could become one? As these unpleasant suspicions started to stir Balamy, his father’s actions appeared to prove them.

“Shut up! What do you know? Be careful with what you say,” shouted Estrade in a trembling voice. From his perspective, his son was more ambitious and talented than he, and he had confirmed his son’s intentions to rebel, so being dismissed by him as “naive” left him with no leg to stand on. Not only was his half-brother, the Clanner, looking down on him, as well as the Four Dukes, but also his own son?

At that moment, Estrade’s reason went slightly off-track. As a consequence, his tone became erratic, and he lashed out hysterically at his son:

“Do you think you can order me around? Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ve been a leading figure in Tytania long before you were born.”

“Father, if things go on like that, you will end up closing the doors to your own future. I request your permission to punish these courtiers.”

Was the father taking issue with the tone in his son’s voice or with the contents of what he said? Perhaps he himself couldn’t quite tell.

“Shut up! I’m not hearing any more of this.”

Seeing his father’s face red with excitement, Viscount Balamy Tytania realised his mistake. While attempting to correct his father’s blunders, he ended up further diverting him from his course. He should have realised that stress had kept building up in his father during all this time, and he should have soothed his emotions and calmed him as one would comfort a small child.

With his keen intuition, Balamy should have been able to realise this, but his own brilliance was unfortunately hindered by his lack of life experience, making him miss his window of opportunity by about 50 seconds. The first time he had enticed his father, it went as planned. Maybe that success made him overconfident.

“Father, I apologise. I have spoken out of turn once again. Could you please just once listen to what I have to say?

With Balamy pleading in a low voice, Estrade, who had been stomping down the stairs with heavy footsteps, realised his own immaturity. But changing his attitude too quickly would put his abilities into question.

“Tomorrow. Let us speak tomorrow. I’ll listen to what you have to say tomorrow.”

Inwardly satisfied with his parental authority being re-established, Estrade forgot his drunkenness and took a long stride. This very act would rob him of a tomorrow. His son, unable to wait for a tomorrow, stretched out his arm to stop his father. Their physical postures were as misaligned as their minds, and the son’s hand ended up poking the father’s body.

The father’s foot stomped on empty air. Around him, the world turned upside down. He heard his son screaming from below. Estrade’s body was defying gravity. A dull shock echoed, a momentary pain pierced through his entire body, and all colour and shine vanished from Estrade’s senses. They were gone, never to return.

After remaining in a daze for some 200 seconds, Balamy barely managed to regain control of his mind and body. He stumbled into a room and sat down in front of the TV phone that was directly connected to Uraniborg.

“I request to talk with Lord Jouslain. I am Viscount Balamy Tytania. I have an important matter to discuss; please connect me to him.”

He was a senior aide-de-camp who had business to discuss with his commanding officer. He probably didn’t have to stress that point. Balamy was immediately put in contact with Jouslain.

IV

Once more, Jouslain Tytania was reminded about the limits of his imagination.

He looked at Balamy’s pale face on the screen while the latter recounted the events in a state of exhaustion, and he realised that the 18-year-old had exceeded the limits of his psychological endurance. After ordering him to rest, Jouslain immediately contacted Clanner Ajman.

The Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Estrade, had died in a ridiculous fashion. But aside from his own disgrace, his death held great political significance. That significance was precisely what made Tytania Tytania.

Upon hearing Jouslain’s account, not even Clanner Ajman could completely maintain his composure. He lightly shook his head and exhaled, probably in reaction to learning that Marquis Estrade had died from falling down the stairs. It felt as if he were sharing Zarlisch’s feelings of shame for having such an unworthy younger brother, but he quickly straightened his posture.

“Well then, Lord Jouslain, what do you intend to do? Will you punish Lord Balamy for parricide?”

That question from the Landless Clanner stirred an unexpected emotion within Jouslain. It wasn’t hatred, but something extremely close. Did Ajman view the destinies of his own clan as nothing more than pawns in some intellectual game?

“Your Clanner Highness, the other day you said that the Minister of Military Affairs would take a fourth path. Had you already foreseen today’s events?”

When asked this question, Clanner Ajman subtly moved the muscles around his mouth.

“Lord Jouslain, I didn’t expect that you’d prioritise your own doubts over answering my question.”

“… My apologies.”

“Fair enough, I’m not exactly enjoying the situation either. This is a fifth scenario. What I had anticipated was that the Minister of Military Affairs would try to clear himself from treason charges by denouncing, arresting, or killing the Vardanan courtiers.”

Ajman’s reply was relatively long and almost perfect in its logical consistency, but right now it irritated Jouslain in an odd manner.

The Clanner added:

“To be more accurate, I should say that I was hoping for it.”

“Hoping for it? Do you mean the fact that the Minister of Military Affairs would be thwarted by his own son?”

“That’s another issue. I simply thought that someone with views on the throne should at the very least have that level of skill. Such as the decisiveness to punish courtiers in order to ensure his own safety as well as the interests of Tytania.”

The Clanner placed his fingers on the collar of his military uniform and pulled on it. It seemed to be an unconscious action.

“Well, it’s a roundabout way of doing things, but let’s return to my initial question. Lord Jouslain, what is your opinion about how to deal with Lord Balamy?”

“I disagree with publicly punishing Lord Balamy.”

The Clanner didn’t fly into a rage. He merely slightly lifted an eyebrow, looked at Jouslain, and ordered him to explain his reasoning. Steadying his breath, Jouslain began:

“First, if we accuse Lord Balamy of patricide, it will only result in the anti-Tytania faction, courtiers included, raising a toast. They will call Tytania a blood-cursed clan. Whether there is any merit to it or not…”

Jouslain slightly raised his voice in order to face the Clanner’s expression that was far too scathing to be mere sarcasm.

“… there is no need to allow them to utter such words. Secondly, although Lord Balamy made a mistake, he is a capable individual, and losing him would be a loss for Tytania. I request your wise consideration upon these two points.”

“A loss for Tytania?”

Ajman’s voice was not convinced, and dripping with sarcasm, but the Clanner didn’t press any further.

“Lord Jouslain, assuming I accept your opinion, what do you believe should be our course of action?”

“Marquis Estrade’s death is accidental. If we were to announce that he fell down the stairs because he lost his footing in his haste to inform Your Clanner Highness about the courtiers’ treasonous intentions…”

“We can then at least purge the courtiers? Well, fine. It won’t be a loss for Tytania. But the task of purging the courtiers while simultaneously keeping people quiet is best left to Balamy.”

A note of sternness was added to the Clanner’s voice.

“If he is unable to handle that much, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept your claim about Balamy being an essential asset for Tytania. Let Balamy handle it. I won’t compromise on that point.”

“As you wish,” muttered Jouslain. Extracting any more concessions from the Clanner would be impossible.

“Still, Lord Jouslain, you’re a wise man, and I don’t consider myself to be a fool either. For the two of us to make predictions and have our predictions overturned by a mere accident…”

A faint whisper of self-deprecation escaped from the Clanner’s lips.

“Human knowledge has its limits.”

Jouslain agreed with that realisation but didn’t voice it. He couldn’t manage to feel favourably disposed towards either the Clanner who had become so talkative and was treating him like his chaplain, or himself for accepting it. He couldn’t help but feel disgusted at his own proposal, which tried to anticipate the Clanner’s intentions and ended up cornering Marquis Estrade.

The next day, Idris came to say goodbye. After a few polite exchanges, Jouslain asked Idris how he planned to carry out his assigned task on a technical level.

“Will you set up a trap?”

“Of course I will,” replied Duke Idris with a defiant gaze that clearly signalled his intent to challenge him.

The sharpness of Idris, the youngest of the Four Dukes, was evident in his gaze.

“I intend to lay a trap that is not particularly original but effective nevertheless. The Clanner wishes to kill two birds with one stone. As a member of Tytania, I shall do my best to act in accordance with the Clanner’s wishes.”

Jouslain could guess what Idris was planning. He would pretend to guard Arses while actually creating an opportunity for Arses to be killed and then eliminate Fan Hyulick and his men. It wasn’t particularly original, but it wasn’t due to any lack of talent on Idris’ part, but rather to external circumstances.

From Idris’ perspective, being burdened with unnecessary clean-up work for the sake of the clan wasn’t any fun. Even if he succeeded, he wouldn’t receive much praise for it. As for failure, it was unlikely that Idris had even considered the possibility. But maybe Idris was taking on the opportunity to his advantage and solidifying his position. The psychology of a Tytanian leader in his early twenties was not an easy thing for others to analyse.

“In any case, take care of yourself. I wish you good fortune, Lord Idris.”

Jouslain extended his hand, somewhat formally, and Idris shook it even more curtly.

“I suppose I’ll accept your wishes. After all, I’m off to do a job I have no desire to do. I wonder who came up with that idea.”

Said Duke Idris with a cold and malicious tone. He then pulled his hand away from the handshake, lifted his shoulders in his grey uniform, and proudly walked away.

Chapter 8 – Star of Rebellion

I

In his own inner world, there was an inevitability to Fan Hyulick’s resolve to take revenge against Count Arses. But what about those who were accompanying him?

For Miranda, the princess of the Principality of Casabianca, Lira was a former vassal of her. While these circumstances weren’t of any importance to Miranda, Lira was a younger friend and, to use a common expression, like a little sister. She had also worked diligently as an external crew member of the Honest Old Man. Various factors naturally drove Miranda to seek revenge for Lira.

The situation of her husband, Captain Casimir, was almost identical. From the beginning, he was a victim of Tytania and a rebel. He maintained that stance once more, and, as the mild-mannered man he was, didn’t flinch. When Miranda had asked Fan Hyulick to accompany her, she spoke in a firm tone:

“This is also our problem. I keep regretting that I didn’t bring aboard Lira and the others.”

Miranda let out a deep sigh, creating a draught in the air inside the cabin that was different from the air conditioning. She wasn’t omniscient. She couldn’t have foreseen that Count Arses would pursue her in a manner that was unusually relentless and seemed to stem from his excessive rivalry with his elder brother, Zarlisch. In any case, Miranda couldn’t help but feel responsible for Lira’s death.

“What I regret is acting cool and not sleeping with Lira,” muttered Fan Hyulick with a bitter and sour expression that made Miranda hesitate to reply.

The young carrot-top wasn’t enjoying his feigned malice at the moment. If he had slept with her, he would have felt a sense of responsibility for Lira’s life and would have forcefully taken her out of Ementhal. As a result, he would have undoubtedly saved his life. While the feeling of “She’s my woman; I’ll protect her” is, in some sense, an expression of possessiveness from pre-modern times, it could also be a clear confirmation of one’s responsibility.

“That would have been a nuisance for Lira.”

The fact that he understood this showed that Fan Hyulick was mature enough to understand other people’s feelings and perspectives.

If he were ten years younger, he would charge headlong, driven by the passion of youthful exuberance. If he were ten years older, he would be able to act with a wisdom honed from experience and consideration. But at 28 years old, his experience and youthful exuberance were in an ambiguous state. His vision was weakened and clouded with various colours of regret that mingled together.

While Fan Hyulick’s gloominess wasn’t contagious, the Honest Old Man was undertaking its most lugubrious voyage in the stars in the last ten years.

Aside from Fan Hyulick, there were other passengers on this seasoned ship, one of whom had been until recently clad in Tytania’s grey military uniform. Now, the mere sight of grey clothing was making him tense up. He had been forced into this situation and had only been able to drown his sorrows in alcohol, but he had felt the limits of even that.

“To sum up, as long as Tytania maintains its power, I won’t be able to cash in my savings. Alright, I get it now.”

Lieutenant Mahdi’s voice sounded calm, but deep within his vocal cords a tempest of anger was raging against his unfair fate. In spite of diligently engaging in both legitimate and illegitimate work and accumulating a modest fortune, he had lost it all in a single day. His hard work had not been properly rewarded.

“Humm, that’s fine by me. I’ll just nick 100 million dakars in gold and silver from Tytania’s coffers. Even Tytania should face consequences for robbing honest citizens of their rightful purpose in life.”

“It’s scary how human beings can turn on each other.”

As Miranda sighed, crossing her thick arms, her husband nodded in agreement. Lieutenant Mahdi was the kind of person who would remain unfazed if another person lost 10 million dakars but couldn’t tolerate even half a dakar of loss on his side, making him lose all reason. Indeed, his modest retirement savings had been frozen in an instant by Tytania moving its little finger by a micron. Unless Tytania’s cold wind were blown away, spring would never return to Mahdi’s wallet.

Therefore, Mahdi, with winter in his wallet and midsummer in his heart, had switched to the other side. His cries of “Give me back my money!” were truly a cry for revolution at this moment. For him at least. But whether it would garner universal sympathy was a matter of opinion.

Whatever Mahdi’s decision was, it was of no concern to Fan Hyulick. He was suddenly reflecting on his past. Was there any other choice he could have taken? Probably. It could have lost to Tytania’s fleet like the city’s government had intended. He could have quietly accepted Tytania’s offer and joined their ranks. He could have let himself be captured at Ementhal. But for Fan Hyulick, none of these options were acceptable.

Lira had told him that she loved him. It was undoubtedly a mere pretext. Even if it weren’t, at best she liked him as a human being but didn’t love him as a man. He knew that. Having lived 28 years as a man, he knew that.

But she had risked her life to save him. She had given him a needle gun without any regard for her own life. Fan Hyulick owed his current freedom to her. In that case, his freedom of will and action should be freely given to Lira.

“Hum, I’m still only half a human being. I’m still trying to find meaning in what I’m doing.”

Fan Hyulick’s mind raced as he muttered to himself, trying to device a way to kill Arses before he could escape to Uraniborg.

Walenkov and Pagès were assisting him in his headwork. While they were baffled by Fan Hyulick’s decision to assassinate a Tytanian noble, they didn’t intend to part ways with their former commanding officer. Otherwise, they would have fled to Euria City instead of following Fan Hyulick. They were conformist and relying on powerful personalities, so it was inevitable they wouldn’t see eye to eye with Fan Hyulick.

While they were grumbling stuff like “What a mess, when will we ever find peace and stability?” they were actually keenly gathering and analysing information and getting involved in the planning of operations.

“I love fighting, but I hate dying in battle,” remarked Pagès. “A person who dies can’t participate in the next battle. Since I don’t want to die, I need to read the enemy’s cards as much as I can.”

Through his information analysis, he could decipher some of Count Arses Tytania’s actions. The fact that Count Arses had fled Ementhal and was heading towards Uraniborg and that the four spaceships that departed had taken a separate route had caught Fan Hyulick’s attention. Furthermore, while Tytania had publicly announced that they would dispatch a fleet to protect the count, they made no attempt to rendez-vous with him.

There was no need for further discussion. Everybody understood that it was a trap designed to lure the “avengers”. Fan Hyulick and his companions, as insignificant as they were, were unacceptable to Tytania. Even a single thorn could drive a giant to his death.

Tytania had consistently eliminated rebels, and the same went for potential rebels. As Clanner Ajman had stated to Jouslain, this thoroughness stemmed from cowardice. But there were two kinds of cowards. Those who could face reality and those who couldn’t. Tytania’s cowardice was the latter. That was why it endured. Like an elderly person that paid no heed to their health.

Four spaceships were travelling from planet Ementhal to Uraniborg, shifting their courses along the way. Aboard which one of these was Count Arses? It was a worthy question in itself, but the fact that they managed to obtain that information was enough to trigger Fan Hyulick’s alarms.

Did Tytania deliberately leak this information? Not simply to trap Fan Hyulick and his companions, but also to use them to eliminate the deviant Count Arses?

After hearing Fan Hyulick’s explanation, Miranda asked the other wise man aboard:

“Doctor Lee, what are your thoughts? Do you agree with Fan Hyulick?”

“That’s a difficult question.”

A truly humble statement. At least for someone like Doctor Lee. Still, it was a frank answer nevertheless. Doctor Lee’s intellectual gaze extended to the Celestial City, a place he had never seen, and tried to discern how the Tytanian leaders perceived the situation and how they were trying to take control of the situation.

The Tytanian mainstream probably wanted Count Arses dead. Tytania didn’t fear internal selection and didn’t tolerate the existence of those unworthy of its name. They might have overlooked his eccentric behaviour in Ementhal, but they apparently were no longer willing to tolerate it.

“It is crucial to understand the power dynamic between Count Arses Tytania and the Tytanian leaders. This will allow us to determine which ship he is on.”

“Correct, Admiral Hyulick.”

Nodded Doctor Lee, a subtle smile forming on his lips. He looked like a teacher gaining confidence in his methods after a struggling pupil achieved a passing mark. The fact that he gave that impression without even intending to was, in its way, a “lack of virtue” that he himself acknowledged.

II

Idris Tytania was leading a fleet of 300 ships in the vicinity of planet Ementhal.

Though Idris himself would probably hate to admit it, his ambition was fundamentally the same as Arses’. For Idris, Fan Hyulick and his companions were but mere tools to achieve merit. Fan Hyulick was the one who defeated Ariabert with new tactics. Furthermore, if he could eliminate this unruly outlaw who refused to submit to Tytania, his achievements would be undeniable.

At first, Idris couldn’t help but feel disgusted by the meaningless mission assigned to him. His opinion was that the elder brother, Zarlisch, should simply clean up Arses’ mess, but now, he changed his mind. He couldn’t let this opportunity to rack up merit pass by.

Assembling a fleet of 300 ships mainly comprised of high-speed cruisers and frigates while maintaining a high level of operability was a demonstration of Idris’ extraordinary talent. Prioritising mobility over firepower was perfectly suited to this mission’s objectives.

What made Idris perplexed was the fact that the four ships, including Arses’, showed no sign of being attacked. By alternating between faster-than-light and inertial travel, the four ships had reached a distance from Uraniborg that was between 50.3 and 50.8 light-years. Under normal circumstances, they should arrive at their destination in about a week.

This meant that Arses would safely reach the Celestial City. This unexpected turn of events puzzled Idris. He slightly frowned, furrowing his perfectly shaped eyebrows while pondering upon the situation.

Could it be that Fan Hyulick and his men had no intentions of attacking Count Arses? No, that couldn’t be. In that case, through what cunning means are they planning to exact their revenge? Are they lying in wait for Count Arses to arrive in Uraniborg?

That suspicion made Idris even more serious, but he was quick to dismiss the idea. Infiltrating the Celestial City would be far more difficult than an attack in outer space. Even if considering a suicide attack with no consideration for escape.

Idris didn’t underestimate the hardware and software of the defences of the Celestial City. Nor did he underestimate Clanner Ajman, who ruled over the place. But considering the fact that the attackers might not share Idris’ views, he abandoned the hypothesis of an attack inside Uraniborg.

In the first place, Idris’ mission was limited to the area outside Uraniborg. If Arses were to be attacked and killed inside the Celestial City, it would be the Clanner’s responsibility, not Idris’. Idris came to the conclusion that the Avengers had guessed Tytania’s intentions to some extent and were trying to make him anxious to provoke him into acting rashly.

“They’ll try to pull some petty trick. Well, it wouldn’t be any fun if they didn’t, right?”

Idris Tytania’s neat lips twisted into a sneer. He still had his composure. He wasn’t satisfied with merely accomplishing his objectives; he also wanted to enjoy the process and maximise the results and effects. That was the way of thinking that motivated him and his subordinates.

Around the time he reached this conclusion, a few pieces of information reached him. Multiple intelligence sources reported that the Avengers had dispersed their ships and had started to act independently. Idris responded with a single sentence.

“No worries, it’s a childish diversion. Let them run wild. Keep a close eye on Count Arses.”

Later, Idris would come to loathe himself for giving this order.

Idris’ pride would be wounded, but his existence was of no concern to Fan Hyulick. The same was true for Ariabert, Jouslain, and Zarlisch. In his mind, all of Tytania, with the exception of Count Arses, was an abstract enemy, and even a giant like Idris he could only see as part of the Tytanian collective.

To put it in simple terms, his interest was nothing more than “crushing anyone in our path”. In fact, he wasn’t even aware that the person setting a trap for him was named Idris. He was only chasing after Count Arses.

Meanwhile, Doctor Lee was acting on his own judgement and will. After a brief conversation with Fan Hyulick, he took his forces and changed course. This course of action was detected by Tytania’s intelligence network and reported to Duke Idris.

Doctor Lee was 27 years old, a year younger than Fan Hyulick. He was the same age as Ariabert and Jouslain, two of Tytania’s Four Dukes. Fan Hyulick was unaware of this fact, but if he were, he would probably have felt a bit displeased at being treated like a student by someone younger than him. Doctor Lee, on the other hand, would probably say, “Don’t worry about it; I don’t mind at all.”

Right before parting ways with Fan Hyulick, Doctor Lee during his conversation with him, remarked:

“Intelligence and knowledge aren’t the same thing. Did the Buddha know about computers? Did Socrates know about the theory of relativity?”

Intelligence has many facets, and one of them is the control of knowledge. Therefore, as knowledge increases, intelligence must also increase less knowledge run amok. In fact, since the practical application of nuclear fission energy, which disregarded safety, human civilisation had been on the brink of spiralling out of control and had almost done so on more than a few occasions.

The reason that Doctor Lee had cited these examples was because he wanted to use this to make Tytania aware that their power was already beginning to slip beyond the control of their central authority.

Though he didn’t say it to anyone, the subject of Doctor Lee’s research was staggering. Namely, “How did Tytania rise to power, and did it fall?” and “How will it fall?” For him, everything from the innards of an atom nucleus to the entire universe was a subject of human thought and research. After all, Tytania was merely a group of humans, and compared to an atom nucleus, it was merely a life-size entity.

Therefore, if he wanted to study the fall of Tytania, he needed to witness its demise. If he simply stood idle, Tytania’s fall wouldn’t happen during Doctor Lee’s lifespan. Therefore, he believed that it was acceptable to accelerate the process through human intervention. There were probably a few others in human society who harboured such a grandiose plan.

Doctor Lee’s desire was the fall of Tytania for the sake of his research. According to him, the universe was filled with incompetence and apathy, and no one seemed likely to defeat Tytania, so he had to take matters into his own hands, a task he found honestly troubling. However, he had never truly believed that his project would become a reality.

But with the appearance of this strange person, Fan Hyulick, the possibility arose that his plan might actually come to fruition. “This is becoming rather interesting,” he thought.

“These curs…!”

Count Arses Tytania cursed the “avengers” with deep hatred. He had legitimate reasons to despise them. His current predicament, such as having his face disfigured and being forced to abandon his beloved mansion and flee to Uraniborg, was entirely the fault of these knaves who dared to defy Tytania.

While stroking the organic ceramic mask that was covering his face, Arses groaned in physical and mental agony. Since that terrible disaster, he hadn’t looked at his face in a mirror. He lacked the courage to face it directly. He needed plastic surgery in Uraniborg.

Arses saw through Idris’ true intentions. Or at least, he thought he did. Idris intended to hand over Arses to these ruthless outlaws and allow them to wield the blade of revenge as they pleased.

It wasn’t only his elder brother Zarlisch who saw him as an enemy and intended to stand by and watch his downfall, but the entirety of the Tytania clan. No, worse yet, they were trying to accelerate his demise. How absurd was that? Had he ever harmed the interests of Tytania? His elder brother’s debauchery was forgiven, so why not his? Unable to accept this, Arses gnashed his teeth.

Arses’ discontent made sense to him, but it was something the Four Dukes could only laugh at. Arses was seen as someone who had failed to fulfil his duties and responsibilities as a Tytania, merely enjoying his privileges. It wasn’t only Zarlisch but also Idris who made no attempt to hide his resentment and contempt for Arses.

Now, the reason Idris had been so defiant towards the other three dukes wasn’t only due to his ambition. He needed to motivate himself and strive for greater heights for the sake of his family. His deliberate disregard for the other three leaders was a way of acknowledging the difficulty of standing by their side. As the youngest, he couldn’t afford to fall behind in the ranks of the Four Dukes.

Including the Clanner, they were known as the “Five Families of Tytania”. It was an unwritten rule, but the fact that the Five Family system was upheld so far didn’t mean it would last. Becoming the Clanner meant wielding absolute power over the other four families.

Idris’ father, originally healthy, suffered serious injuries in a spaceship accident and spent the last half of his life confined to his sickbed. Seventeen ceramic fragments had penetrated various parts of his body and were impossible to remove surgically. Since Idris was too young to inherit his title of head of the family, he was unable to retire. While enduring excruciating pain, he continued to perform his duties as a Tytanian official. The surname Tytania expects much from those who bear it. Enduring while suffering was one of these expectations.

By the time Idris received permission from Ajman to inherit the title of head of his family, his father’s body and mind had been worn out from overwork. Upon seeing his father’s exhausted and yet relaxed face after opium numbed his pain, Idris made a promise to himself:

“Tytania, and therefore the universe, shall sit in the palm of my hand.”

He was driven by ambition. An ambition as dangerous as a nuclear reactor during a meltdown. It became a part of his identity, illuminating the abyss of the universe and subtly twisting the future of all of Tytania.

III

Though Arses held resentment towards Idris, he was the only person he could turn to for help. He dispatched a communication to Idris. At first he had some reserves about doing so, but he could no longer afford to keep up appearances.

In the span of an hour, Arses sent three communications, requesting protection for his ship. This negated Arses’ own precautions of deploying four ships to distract the enemy.

“Arses, if you claim to be a member of the Tytania clan, then protect your own life. Do you think you are entitled to bear the name Tytania simply because of your bloodline?”

Idris’s thoughts were fierce. Both his pride as a member of the Four Dukes of Tytania, as well as his own personal ambitions, made him feel this way. His reply that he would promise to do his was devoid of any sincerity whatsoever.

However, in order to make his trap work, Idris needed to resort to some tricks of his own. He went against Arses’ request and moved his fleet further away and broadcast it subtly on public radio frequencies. It went without saying that he was hoping for the Avengers to intercept it.

However, Idris wasn’t omnipotent. He wasn’t the only one who used decoys.

A small fleet of 13 ships led by Doctor Lee attacked and hijacked a lone Tytanian frigate. He did so by employing a stratagem that was original with a straightforward approach. It could be described as a mixture of strategies. First, ship A, disguised as an innocent civilian vessel, would be pursued by ship B, and would seek out help from the Tytanian ship. Since Tytania’s income mainly came from collecting tolls by guaranteeing the security of civilian ships, the Tytanian ship naturally rushed to the rescue. It then ended up surrounded 13 to 1, with no chance of a fair fight; they had no choice but to surrender.

Thus, a Tytanian frigate was now in Doctor Lee’s hands, but if he was simply going to board this ship to attack Count Arses while disguised as an ally, he would be at most a cunning tactician. He was far more sinister than that. Employing multiple means, Doctor Lee leaked out the information. He informed Idris Tytania that the frigate had been seized by the “avengers”. There was no greater kindness on his part than telling the truth.

Upon receiving this report, Idris thought about the matter. It didn’t take a long time for him to reach a conclusion. The Avengers were likely planning to hijack the frigate, pretend they came as an escort, approach Count Arses’ ship, and attack it. That would mean that the Honest Old Man was a decoy, and the Avengers were actually on the hijacked frigate. That was Idris’ conclusion. But there might be another twist. Idris did not act rashly.

Idris was no fool. Outmanoeuvering him required multiple layers of psychological traps. Doctor Lee spared no effort in doing so. On the 1st of August, Idris finally mobilised his entire 300-ship fleet and rushed towards the sector where the stolen frigate was located. That was the moment the Honest Old Man had been waiting for.

On the 2nd of August, at 0:50 a.m., in a region of space 28.4 light-years away from the Celestial City, Count Arses’ ship, the Aurora came into range of the Honest Old Man’s main guns. Fan Hyulick, to put it in the most extreme way, would have been of mind to blow up all four ships. But the hurried transmissions had given him certainty: this was the ship Count Arses was hiding on.

“Fire port main guns!”

Upon the command echoing, arrows of scorching energy exploded against the hull of the i. That was the first hit. While the Aurora was certainly armed, it was a spaceship for VIPs to begin with and was supposed to be accompanied by multiple dozens of escort ships. The reason it was alone was to deceive the “enemy”.

Arses’ strategy wasn’t wrong. It’s just that he didn’t have enough resolve to sustain it. If it were not for the excessive amount of communications he sent to Idris, Fan Hyulick would have had a hard time detecting his presence. Safe routes in space were limited to begin with, and the probability of two spaceships encountering each other should have been close to zero. Arses fell from his overly ornate bed with a scream and ordered him to mount a defence and counter-attack.

Spears of light rained down, turning space into a boiling soup of energy. Compared to a head-on confrontation between massive fleets, it was a fairly small soup bowl. But the sheer concentration was entirely different. Energy beams failed to penetrate the hulls and instead scattered and shimmered with iridescent light.

The Honest Old Man dodged the Aurora’s gunfire, charged forward and closed in, firing energy beams at point-blank range. It relentlessly fired on a single spot. That had been Fan Hyulick’s meticulous command, who was a former artillery officer. The cannons of the Honest Old Man were few in number and low in power. There was no other method to destroy the enemy ship.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been an interesting battle for Fan Hyulick. A one-on-one duel was child’s play. For a military strategist, the challenge lay in how to deploy and move a fleet, and one-on-one duels were not something a general should involve himself in. However, this time, Fan Hyulick wasn’t fighting as a military strategist. He needed to kill Count Arses before Idris Tytania realised he had been duped and rapidly reversed course with his 300-ship fleet to attack him.

He concentrated his gunfire on a single point. Fan Hyulick gave his orders to the gunners, and Captain Casimir and Miranda, with expert skill, splendidly manoeuvred their ship in spite of the age of the Honest Old Man.

Arses’ desire was to live and die beautifully. He longed for eternal youth and beauty but knew it was impossible. Therefore, he wished for a beautiful death that would leave no ugly corpse behind. But it was only because he had never witnessed death up close that he could have such an abstract fantasy aesthetic.

When asked, noticing on his monitor a soldier whose body had been blown in half by gunfire, his internal organs spilling out of his bloody wound, he vomited. Because Arses was still wearing his mask, the vomit accumulated inside, and, unable to bear the unpleasant smell and gross feeling, he tore it off with his own hands. He ordered a servant to wipe the vomit off his face.

But when the servant saw his master’s face, who once had prided himself on his good looks, he cried out in terror and disgust. Right as Arses, wounded and enraged, was about to shout, the world came ablaze with a white heat. An enemy bullet had struck the engine of the Aurora.

Arses Tytania’s wish was fulfilled. He would have no hideous corpse to expose to the eyes of others. His body was torn apart, burnt, and incinerated by a wave of explosive energy. His young flesh was turned to ash and dust and became a part of the white sphere of energy that enveloped the Aurora.

IV

For the living, nothing was over yet.

Duke Idris Tytania rushed to Doctor Lee’s small fleet, briefly bringing them in range of his main cannons. But Doctor Lee, with astonishing speed, slipped through the Tytania’s semi-encirclement manoeuvre and fled. In case he survived, he was supposed to meet with the Honest Old Man on planet Bargash, so there was no need to rendez-vous with them, he simply fled. In the midst of this earnest but somewhat ridiculous chase, news of Count Arses’ death reached Idris’ flagship.

Humiliation sent shivers down Idris’ spine. He was not as tolerant of defeat as Ariabert. For him it was something to ridicule or overcome, not something he could live with.

He ordered the end of this ridiculous chase and a return to the Celestial City, but as he gave the order, his blood was boiling within his heart.

“I shall not forget this, Fan Hyulick. I’ll concede you this victory. But in the next act, you shall be the loser.”

Fan Hyulick wasn’t a particularly forgetful young man, but he wasn’t in a position to understand the extent of Idris’ ire. After transforming Count Arses Tytania and his ship to interstellar matter, the Honest Old Man set course for planet Bargash.

Miranda slapped Fan Hyulick on the shoulder and shoved a can of beer in his hand. She didn’t say a word. But it was clear that she was offering the drink for remembrance rather than for celebration.

A few more beer cans flew through the air, and Mahdi, Walenkov, and Pagès busily caught them. As he caught glimpses of their voices, Fan Hyulick felt a sense of complete detachment from his victory.

“I don’t mind coexisting with Tytania, but they don’t seem to be of that opinion anymore. This time, maybe it is our turn to be hated.”

Fan Hyulick knew that Arses’ end was only the beginning for him.

“I’ll fight with my life on the line to save those suffering under Tytania’s yoke.”

Had he said that aloud, Fan Hyulick would have likely earned a spot in the “Complete Collection of Biographies of Great Figures for Boys and Girls”. But he didn’t. He didn’t even think it in his heart. He felt exhausted and, at times like this, wanted to sleep beside a girl who would tell him, “I love you”. He could probably fall asleep like that. Even if he had the whole bed for himself. And when he would wake up, the endless battle with Tytania would have begun.

Well, that was fine. If he were going to fight, he might as well fight against the strongest. It wasn’t as much his aesthetic as his character that made Fan Hyulick think that way. Those who knew him as an ordinary man of 25 would never have imagined this.

Even if Fan Hyulick possessed the qualities of a good conformist citizen, these qualities had been completely consumed upon returning from the Tytanian prison camp and his enlistment in Euria’s City Fleet. Just as one’s true nature is revealed when the surface is gone, Fan Hyulick didn’t transform but returned to his real self. But regardless of whether Fan Hyulick awoke or not, Tytania would undoubtedly regard him as an enemy who could not be spared and would seek to eliminate him.

“Tytania’s enemy, Fan Hyulick!”

Well, what a rise for a mediocre merchant ship clerk.

Roughly running a hand through his carrot-coloured hair, Fan Hyulick tilted his beer can in his other hand. He felt like he ended up on a beltway that was moving too fast, and it looked like he could no longer turn back.

The news of Count Arses’ death reached the Celestial City around the same time it reached Duke Idris. Two dukes were conversing in the Four Dukes’ observation room.

“It looks like the Fan Hyulick has managed to break through Lord Idris’ trap,” said Ariabert Tytania, turning a thoughtful gaze towards his cousin. “Lord Jouslain, you must have predicted this, didn’t you? You haven’t shown a single sign of surprise.”

“No, I haven’t at all.”

Jouslain’s reply was brief. Talking about predictions and expectations would only remind him of his fruitless conversations with Clanner Ajman. Of course, Ajman wasn’t Ajman. That was precisely all the more why he wanted to avoid such conversations. He deliberately changed the subject.

“Lord Idris must be quite frustrated.”

“He obviously is. He’s not the type who would laugh after a defeat.”

Ariabert’s voice was devoid of sarcasm as he made a calm and factual observation.

“He will likely try to crush Fan Hyulick at least partly out of his personal feelings. Lord Idris isn’t incompetent by any means. Fan Hyulick may have survived, but the universe will become smaller for him.”

Nodding at Ariabert, Jouslain pondered. It would be a shame to let Idris kill Fan Hyulick. That thought briefly crossed his mind. A man who can defeat Ariabert and outmanoeuvre Idris might very well, as the Clanner had said, become a formidable adversary for Tytania.

Did he wish for Tytania’s destruction? This question came with an immediate negative answer. That’s not right. He didn’t wish for Tytania’s destruction. He knew. He knew Tytania would be destroyed.

“In my ears, the lament of the vanquished.” Would these words not come back to ultimately haunt Tytania herself? Tytania’s current prosperity was due to its continuous victories. Defeat only meant destruction. If survival of the fittest were the only law in human society, then in that sense did Tytania represent humanity, and it was then inevitable and justified that Tytania be defeated by a stronger foe.

But for Jouslain, fighting an enemy for the survival of Tytania was also inevitable and justified. As he contemplated the enemy he had yet to face, Jouslain felt as if he were catching a glimpse of the abyss of space and time.

… In the year 446 SY, the “Age of Tytania” continued, and many couldn’t even begin to imagine it coming to an end.

Translator's Notes and References

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