Tytania:Volume 2 Chapter 7

Back to Chapter 6

Return to Main Page

Forward to Chapter 8

Chapter 7 – Conflict

I

There was just one person who had foreseen this turn of events. No, that person was the very one who had orchestrated it. Before reaching this location, Doctor Lee sent a communication to the military headquarters on planet Bargash, informing them that the Tytania was about to engage in combat within Bargash territory. Of course, there must also have been reports from patrol vessels; as a result, over a hundred points of light appeared in the sky as the last glimmer of the setting sun faded.

“The Bargash Regular Army!”

The watch officer’s cry filled the bridge, and a low murmur rose amongst the crew of Zarlisch’s flagship, the Typhoon. It was neither fear nor even tension. With very few exceptions, Zarlisch’s men had absolute faith in their lord’s valour and their own military might.

“Well, I’m surprised. It seems the Bargash government is serious about taking us on.”

“Good grief, they really ought to be more honest with themselves. They shouldn’t go out of their way to provoke a tiger just for the sake of their petty pride.”

While the staff officers vied with one another in their derision, only two remained silent: Zarlisch himself and Commander Granite.

Before the wave of mockery had subsided, the communications officer spoke up. A message had come in from the Bargash military requesting negotiations.

“I am Rear-Admiral Turbil of the Bargash Regular Army. If His Grace Duke Zarlisch Tytania happens to be present, I request to speak with him.”

The Bargash commander who appeared on the communications screen stated this solemnly. He was a man in his sixties with streaks of white hair on either side of his head, and gave the impression of an elderly university professor rather than a military officer. Although Zarlisch’s expression blatantly conveyed his distaste for such roundabout discussions, he did not refuse and agreed to the request.

Admiral Turbil, in a polite manner, asked the Tytanians to withdraw.

“Bargash is an independent nation, however small it may be. We have always endeavoured to maintain goodwill and courtesy towards Tytania; I wonder if that has failed to be understood?”

“It is you, whom I would ask to show understanding. We have no intention of any hostilities against Bargash. Our sole aim is to apprehend a public enemy who disrupts the order of the cosmos. We are not forcing you to cooperate. We merely ask that you stand by and watch. Can you not even grant us that much?”

“If disrupting the cosmic order is a crime, then what Tytania is currently doing here must also be a crime. You are disrupting the legal order of our nation. Do you not agree, Duke Zarlisch?”

“It appears that there is no room for discussion.”

Spitting out these words with displeasure, Zarlisch signalled to the artillery officer. It was an order to fire a warning shot, and it was carried out immediately.

Over fifty gun barrels roared in unison. The decision to use projectiles rather than energy beams had been made specifically to maximise the intimidating effect of the noise. Hundreds of projectiles were fired into the ground directly beneath the stationary Bargash fleet, exploding and sending up a torrent of flame, smoke, debris and deafening roar.

The night, which should have been silent, was invaded by a deluge of light and sound, torn to countless fragments. The atmosphere, now a riot of primary colours, swirled as a heatwave, causing the Bargash fleet’s vessels to sway. Yet this did not prompt a retreat, nor did their formation break.

“The Bargash fleet shows no sign of retreat.”

“Very well, that’s enough. I must say, we’ve shown remarkable patience.”

Baring his strong, white teeth, Zarlisch laughed and rose from his command seat. A command, brimming with power, was issued.

“Ignore the Bargash army and the like. They are nothing but cowards who merely hurl accusations from afar. Pay them no mind and carry out your original orders.”

This bellicose order further galvanised almost all of his subordinates. There were even shouts of jubilation.

As about ten ships from the Tytania Fleet, carrying ground combat personnel, began to descend, the other vessels also lowered their altitude slightly and trained their guns on the Bargash Fleet. They intended to provide operational support for their sister ships. Naturally, this manoeuvre was clearly visible to the Bargash side as well.

“It appears that Tytania has removed the term ‘peaceful resolution’ from its dictionary,” muttered Admiral Turbil, looking disheartened.

“Those who consider themselves strong seem to take pride in breaking the laws through the use of force. It cannot be helped.”

The elderly admiral shook his head, then composed himself and addressed his subordinates.

“You must resign yourselves to the misfortune of having served under my command. As a military officer of Bargash, I cannot stand idly by while Bargash’s laws are broken by force of arms. We shall engage Tytania!”

A current of tension ran through the staff. Unlike the men under Zarlisch Tytania, they did not place unconditional faith in their own strength.

“But Admiral, Tytania has not yet opened fire on our forces. If we launch a pre-emptive strike, Bargash itself will be held responsible for starting the war in the following days.”

A young staff officer in his early thirties raised that objection, his face pale. Meeting the old admiral’s gaze, he pressed his argument further.

“Moreover, this man named Fan Hyulick, who is being pursued by Tytania, is not even a citizen of Bargash. To plunge the nation into civil strife for the sake of a mere foreigner is, with all due respect, the height of overstepping one’s authority; I would ask you to exercise restraint.”

“Well said, Lieutenant-Commander Irk.”

Rear-Admiral Turbil did not grow angry; on the contrary, he praised his subordinate. The old admiral believed that the existence of those who opposed the decision to go to war was a sign of the organisation’s soundness. This might suggest that Turbil’s way of thinking was not that of a typical military man.

Be that as it may, neither Turbil nor Irk had the leisure to expound on their views any further. The screen emitted a white light, and a shock-wave of unprecedented magnitude shook the fleet. A Bargash destroyer, which had approached in an attempt to disrupt Tytania’s descent operation, had collided with a Tytania destroyer that had moved out into its path; upon witnessing this, another Tytanian vessel had finally opened fire.

Thus, hostilities finally broke out between the Tytania clan and the Bargash government. This occurred in October SY 446, and it marked the first instance of armed conflict between these two sides in history.

It cannot be said that sparks of regret did not flicker deep within Zarlisch Tytania’s thick chest. Yet that flame burned out in less than a half-instant, replaced by a seething explosion of defiant victory and a thirst for destruction. For him, the Bargash government forces were no longer mere obstructions, but full-fledged enemies.

“Let our ground forces slaughter those vermin and capture Fan Hyulick. Command is entrusted to Captain Atlasov. As for the fleet…”

Zarlisch’s figure seemed as though his fierce spirit were rising like a heat haze. Even if the enemy were a hare, to strike it with all one’s might is surely the mark of a lion.

“The fleet will annihilate those presumptuous fools from Bargash head-on. Commodore Salamanca’s group is to climb to cut off their escape route upwards. Commodore Veichter’s group is to advance clockwise and launch a flanking attack. Thereafter, upon receiving your orders, you shall proceed to engage each enemy vessel individually.”

The fact that he was able to issue such a complex set of operational orders in such a short space of time meant that, as a combat commander, Zarlisch was far from mediocre. Commander Granite could not help but acknowledge this.

Following Zarlisch’s orders, the Tytanian fleet began to act as if it were a single organism with a unified nervous system. To be precise, the Tytanian fleet numbered 220 vessels, vastly outnumbering the Bargash fleet’s 160. For Zarlisch, accustomed to commanding large armies, this was a force so small that counting them would have been a trivial task; nevertheless, it was a numerical advantage over the enemy, allowing him to direct the operation with ease.

Meanwhile, the Bargash fleet had no choice but to engage the enemy, gripped by dread. The Tytania fleet’s main force held the Bargash fleet’s front, while extending one flank upwards and the other to the left in an attempt to encircle them.

The countermeasure Admiral Turbil devised on the spot was to retreat while fighting. This was his only option, and an extremely dangerous one at that. There were countless examples where a tactical retreat had led directly to a full-blown rout. However, Admiral Turbil appeared to have complete control over his forces; he skilfully countered the Tytanian manoeuvres to maintain the distance between the two sides, demonstrating exquisite timing in his retreat and return fire, thereby preventing the encirclement from being completed.

The tactical manoeuvring between the two sides continued for about half an hour, but it was enough to test Zarlisch’s patience. He ordered his direct command units to advance rapidly. The plan was to descend and rain fire upon the enemy fleet from a low angle of fire, then coordinate with Commodore Salamanca’s forces who were moving upwards to pincer the enemy from above and below. While not necessarily a flawed tactic, this order led to fateful consequences.

Zarlisch Tytania paid no heed to the past of the adversary he was pursuing. He took no interest in such trivialities as what Fan Hyulick had been doing before he became Tytania’s public enemy. Consequently, he overlooked the following entry in Fan’s service record: “Former artillery officer”.

It was because this artillery specialist had devised and executed artillery tactics that defied conventional wisdom that Duke Ariabert Tytania, who was neither a mediocre nor a foolish commander, was defeated by Fan Hyulick. Zarlisch had forgotten the lesson taught just a few months earlier. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that he had never taken it seriously in the first place.

Just as Zarlisch, leading a fleet of forty escort vessels, was gliding at low altitude to launch an attack from directly beneath the Bargash fleet, a violent shock rocked his flagship. Desert sand and debris spewed upwards, and a massive fork of flame pierced the ship’s hull.

“…In the sand!”

As fragments of a scream pierced his ears, Zarlisch realised the truth. The pirates’ vessels had been lurking in the sand and had opened fire from below just as the Tytania fleet was passing at low altitude. One of the pirates’ ships had been abandoned on the sand, and Zarlisch had ordered it destroyed as a show of force. This, in short, was the end of the ‘Honest Old Man’, but from Tytania’s perspective, they should have been suspicious that there was only a single ship of theirs. No, there were those who did harbour suspicions, but the Bargash Fleet arrived at that very moment, and they were forced to prioritise dealing with them.

A number of factors had intertwined like fine threads to weave the current situation; had either Fan Hyulick or Doctor Lee been present alone, such an ingenious stratagem would never have come to fruition.

“Engine room damaged!”

The voice over the comms was drowned out by the roar of explosions, while alarms warning of danger assaulted their ears with a shrill, hysterical wail.

A barrage of fire from the Bargash forces rained down upon Zarlisch’s flagship, the Typhoon. Concentrating fire on the enemy flagship was a natural tactical move. Fireballs of varying sizes exploded in several places on the hull, and the metal and ceramic armour peeled away like a thin film.

“What a disgrace!”

Zarlisch gritted his teeth. The bridge’s floor and walls trembled as if in a fever, while the alarms rang out, tearing at his nerves. It was a dramatic turn of events that he could not have imagined even a minute ago.

The walls were bursting and spewing out tongues of bluish-white sparks as the power circuits triggered a chain reaction of explosions. The Tytania Fleet held its breath as it watched the flagship, reeling in the dark sky, descend while emitting an ominous red and blue glow.

“The flagship! Lord Zarlisch!”

As a scream rippled through the Tytanian communications network, the flame-spewing flagship Typhoon lost its ability to levitate; deprived of control over its speed and balance, it had been reduced to a metal drunkard.

“Land it!” roared Zarlisch. There could be no other order. Since the atmosphere of the planet Bargash could not support the ship’s hull, it had to be supported by the crust itself.

More akin to a sinking than a descent, the flagship Typhoon approached the surface helplessly, its surroundings filled with bursts of energy. The Bargash Fleet targeted the flagship, while the Tytania Fleet attempted to hinder the descent, concentrating their fire on the confined airspace. The atmosphere had turned into a hot, murky soup of energy, on the verge of boiling over. Amidst the sandstorm and scorching winds, the Typhoon descended, its hull writhing in agony as it was tossed about, until it finally came to rest.

Scattering vast quantities of sand and a wisp of smoke into the heart of the night, Zarlisch’s flagship crashed to the ground. Had the shock-absorption system not been activated, the majority of the crew would have perished at that very moment. Yet survival came at the price of agony. Amidst the screams and groans of pain that assaulted their ears, Zarlisch’s command, still brimming with authority, thundered out, overwhelming those around him.

“Evacuate urgently! It’s going to explode!”

A gash across his forehead had torn through the thin skin, and the flow of blood stained half the giant’s face. The suffocating smoke overwhelmed the ventilation system’s capacity, assaulting the crew’s lungs and airways. The sound of violent coughing mingled with the screams, becoming part of the frenzied cacophony of chaos. From the three emergency exits in the hull, figures in grey military uniforms poured out one after another.

Zarlisch surely deserved the admiration of all. Despite being wounded himself, he had rescued two of his men. Carrying one on his left shoulder and gripping the other by the belt, the imposing man with the magnificent beard strode purposefully towards the exit. That sight instilled in his men a courage filled with almost religious elation. Indeed, just before the evacuation, the signals officer relayed the following message to the entire force:

“Lord Zarlisch is alive and well. Therefore, Tytania stands firm. To my comrades, I say: do not lose heart.”

As emotion overpowered reason, an unexpected reaction ensued. While the Tytanian forces sought to rescue Zarlisch, the Bargash forces, upon learning that their enemy commander was still alive, moved towards the surface in an attempt to eliminate him.

The Tytanian fleet had brought this disadvantage upon itself. As they attempted to descend, enemy fire concentrated on them from above. Explosions and smoke spread overhead as Zarlisch and his men began to run across the ground, and a rain of fire and shrapnel rained down upon them.

The Bargash forces capitalised on their momentum. It had been a battle with little hope of victory. However, the fact that Zarlisch had been rendered incapable of commanding sent them into a state of utter frenzy. They had now cast their tactical retreat far into the past; showering the enemy with fierce artillery and gunfire to heighten their confusion, they sent one ship after another up in flames.

“Your Grace! Admiral! If it appears that we have colluded with the anti-Tytania faction, it will put us at a disadvantage later on. Please hold off on the attack,” advised Lieutenant-Commander Irk.

In response, the elderly admiral, who resembled a university professor, did not say, “Oh, well said”. Glancing over his shoulder at the staff officer who was about to leave, he bellowed:

“Enough you little coward! Preaching caution at a time like this is of no use whatsoever. We must launch a resolute, all-out attack. Charge! Charge!”

It was as though the university professor had suddenly transformed into a pirate chieftain. Ignoring Lieutenant-Commander Irk, who stood rooted to the spot, speechless, Rear-Admiral Turbil slammed his cap onto the floor and let out a frenzied cry.

“Come on, take out the cruiser at two o’clock! Can’t you see how flustered they are? I’m telling you to concentrate your fire on the main turret!”

“…Goodness, so this is his true nature? I always thought of him as a dignified old gentleman, but it seems he’s actually a hot-blooded war veteran.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Lieutenant-Commander Irk uncrossed his arms and, with an expression that suggested he had cast all reason to the wind, roared:

“In that case, in for a penny, in for a pound. Kill them! Don’t let a single one of those Tytania dogs return alive!”

Now that the most cautious among them had changed his stance, there was no one left to rein in the Bargash Army’s frenzy. They charged at the enemy with the ferocity of enraged herbivores.

Zarlisch was indeed the god of war and victory. The moment his flagship withdrew from the battlefield, the Tytanian fleet lost all confidence in victory. Should they continue the battle and settle the outcome with the Bargash army? Or should they rescue their lord, who had lost his flagship? For better or worse, the entire army had relied entirely on Zarlisch’s personal character and ability; their morale was shattered, and they found it difficult even to stand.

Zarlisch was an absolute dictator within his army who recognised no second-in-command, either in terms of ability or within the institutional structure. There was no one to take overall command in Zarlisch’s stead, and the fact that the Tytanian military’s chain of command was extremely archaic was laid bare at this moment of crisis.

“What a bunch of good-for-nothings. Is this not precisely the moment when you should demonstrate your true worth as soldiers?”

Just as Zarlisch let out a cry of fury, Captain Atlasov’s ground forces, who had already completed their descent, joined him. They attempted to protect Zarlisch by laying down a barrage of fire to counter the aerial strafing, but there was only so much they could do.

“Your Grace, please take cover in the cave. If you remain on the ground, you will be swept by fire from the Bargash Army!” shouted Commander Granite.

Zarlisch nodded, his fine beard swaying. It was clear that Fan Hyulick and his band were hiding inside the cave, but there was no way to avoid being swept by fire from the air other than to enter the cave.

Even if it came to a fight, Zarlisch could not imagine himself being defeated. The rebels were few in numbers to begin with, and the ground combat personnel surrounding him alone should have been enough to subdue them.

II

Never in the history of Bargash had such an obscure underground cavern welcomed so many people. Unfortunately, these were guests who were entirely devoid of friendship or courtesy.

The army that had invaded the underground cavern under the command of Duke Zarlisch Tytania numbered eight hundred men, two and a half times the size of the defending force. Moreover, the defenders included a man in his nineties; they stood no chance of resisting a head-on assault. Amid sporadic gunfire, they were forced to retreat every minute.

For their part, the Tytanians refrained from using heavy weapons or explosives, mindful of the risk of cave-ins; however, it appeared they would be able to corner and subdue the enemy deep within the underground cavern using only light weapons. After having a medic administer first aid to a wound on his forehead, Zarlisch, in true form, took his place at the head of his troops and advanced deeper into the cavern.

The advance of one side and the retreat of the other continued for some thirty minutes, punctuated by gunfire. However, a strange turn of events occurred after the retreating enemy had climbed to higher ground within our underground cavern and withdrawn their makeshift plastic bridge. Tytania’s troops were now forced to advance through a low-lying hollow within the cavern and climb the cliff face, but their pace suddenly slowed. Worse still, their formation began to break down, and even to Hyulick’s eyes, it was clear that their previously unified order was falling apart.

“What on earth is going on with them?”

“Hypoxia,” replied the voice of the woman wearing a sun visor.

“A large amount of highly concentrated carbon dioxide has accumulated at the bottom of that cave. It’s not uncommon in enclosed caves. Although we have made various artificial alterations to it ourselves, of course.”

“So it’s the giant dragon’s appendix, then.”

The woman let out a short chuckle, seemingly amused by Fan Hyulick’s turn of phrase.

“It was our last stronghold. The fact that the one who fell into our trap is Zarlisch Tytania is a stroke of luck beyond our wildest dreams. I suppose this means we’re in for a desperate counterattack now, isn’t it?”

The woman’s hand gripped her heat rifle. Hyulick also seized the rifle assigned to him; just as they were about to exchange a few whispered instructions and press forward, he realised something.

“I’ve forgotten something important. There’s one thing I’d like to ask you while we’re at it.”

“What?”

“I haven’t heard your name yet.”

In the dim darkness of the cave, the woman blinked.

“If you were a first-class womaniser, you’d make a more clever pass.”

“Well, I’m not first-class. I don’t even have the sense to choose the right time and place. You can see that for yourself, can’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

Suppressing her laughter, the woman raised her voice.

“So I won’t tell you now. Once we’ve left this underground cave and can walk proudly beneath the open sky, I’ll let you call me by my name.”

Leaving those words behind, the woman began to move forward, almost crawling. Without a word, Hyulick followed suit. About ten paces away, a voice rang out.

“Capture Lord Zarlisch! He’s a valuable hostage. Don’t kill him.”

What a hideous battle this had turned into. There must surely be a direct passage to purgatory beneath this planet. As he thought this, Fan Hyulick, as a direct participant in the events; had clearly lost his grip on reality. It wasn’t that he was experiencing symptoms of claustrophobia, but while underground, his powers of thought and emotion felt as though they were veiled by a membrane, leaving him unsteady.

“I see. It seems I really am a man of the cosmos after all.”

It was rather foolish to only realise this now, but perhaps it was better than not realising it at all. He realised he should leave the underground as soon as possible and throw himself into outer space. But that would have to wait until he had dealt with Tytania’s underground forces.

The firefight had resumed. The Tytania forces were at a geographical disadvantage, and their ability to resist was severely diminished by acute hypoxia. They were little more than sitting ducks, mowed down as they huddled at the bottom of the hollow.

After about ten minutes of fierce fire, gunfire and a raging storm, the return fire from the bottom of the carbon dioxide well had all but ceased. Zarlisch was still alive. Aiming for him, anti-Tytania soldiers, driven by a thirst for glory, scaled the cliff and surged forward.

“You thieving rats!”

The lion in human form roared, unleashing a burst of fury and brute strength. Three of Doctor Lee’s men were sent flying as if swept up by an explosion. One was slapped across the cheek, another kicked in the stomach, and a third struck in the collarbone with an elbow; all three fell in different directions.

It seemed that not even hypoxia could dampen this man’s vigour and fighting spirit. The fourth man to lunge at him ducked to avoid the blow and, in the same motion, swept Zarlisch’s knee with the butt of his heat-ray rifle. But the colossal figure merely wavered slightly before kicking Lieutenant Pagès to the ground. Without so much as a glance at Pagès, Zarlisch turned his attention to the fifth man.

The fifth man, that is, the colossal figure of Walenkov, proved to be the perfect target for Zarlisch. An onlooker might have thought he would do well to make a swift escape, but Zarlisch’s pride would not allow it; moreover, his judgement was likely impaired by hypoxia.

“Show a bit of appreciation. A Duke of Tytania is deigning to grapple with a lowly rat-thief such as yourself. Consider it a once-in-a-lifetime honour.”

“I wasn’t particularly looking forward to grappling anyone,” muttered Walenkov, looking annoyed.

He forcefully fended off Zarlisch’s grasping arm. He managed to fend him off twice, but on the third attempt, he was seized.

Zarlisch clamped his hands around Walenkov’s collar, crossing his wrists to apply a powerful stranglehold. Walenkov’s face flushed rapidly, and he clenched his fists, pounding Zarlisch’s stomach repeatedly. After half a dozen heavy blows landed on the same spot, Zarlisch’s grip finally loosened, perhaps he’d had enough, and Walenkov was able to catch his breath. However, as the air he inhaled was predominantly carbon dioxide, he felt dizzy and staggered.

Gasping for breath, Zarlisch crouched down, hoisted a stone the size of a child’s head, and attempted to smash it into Walenkov’s face. Walenkov swam through a pool of heavy, stagnant air and fell to his knees. The fighters’ movements lacked speed, lending the scene a touch of the comic, yet both were fighting for their lives.

It was a foolish dilemma. Either Duke Zarlisch Tytania or Lieutenant Walenkov would have to meet a senseless death. In that case, as a man far from saintly, Hyulick had no choice but to prioritise his friend’s life and fate.

“Don’t move, Lord Zarlisch! Put down the rock and raise your hands!”

Standing on the cliff top, looking straight down into the hollow below, Hyulick raised his thermal rifle. In the very next instant, something unbelievable happened. Just as Zarlisch’s eyes seemed to emit an eerie glow, a rock flew through the air and struck Hyulick at his feet. Hyulick was thrown into a state of utter panic, both mentally and physically; he lost his balance and tumbled down the steep slope of the cliff, swept along by a cascade of gravel. He struck every part of his body and found himself gasping for breath.

Just as he was finally managing to get to his feet, Zarlisch’s massive form loomed before him, his enormous hand gripping his collar. A growl filled with terrifying intensity delivered its verdict.

“You were, after all, destined to be killed by me. I shall now allow you to fulfil that destiny.”

“You clever boy, won’t your mummy tell you off if you don’t bring the big baddie back alive?”

It was impossible to have imagined beforehand just how much fury this single remark would unleash within Zarlisch’s colossal frame. In the blink of an eye, the Tytanian nobleman was transformed into a savage. Explosions of light shot from his eyes, and without a moment’s delay, his massive arm flashed into action.

A hard fist drove itself directly beneath Hyulick’s solar plexus. The young man with carrot-coloured hair was forced to endure excruciating pain in the name of defending freedom of speech.

He feared his stomach lining might have ruptured, but it had not come to that. However, the pain was mingled with a wave of nausea, and Fan Hyulick doubled over, coughing violently. With eyes literally bloodshot, no doubt from burst capillaries, Zarlisch watched his prisoner’s agony, laughed like a beast, and hurled him to the ground. With a sense of triumph, he shouted defiantly:

“Get up! I’ll keep beating you until you’re on the brink of death.”

Even at this stage, Zarlisch hadn’t given up on the idea of taking the prisoner back to his mother alive. This was not merely a matter of obsession; it was also accompanied by a practical calculation. His calculation was that, should a gun be pointed at him, he could use the prisoner as a human shield. It was this combination of brutality and strategic acumen that had made Zarlisch one of the most formidable ruthless generals of his time.

Not wanting to die while crouched on the ground, Hyulick struggled to get to his feet. Having fought in the thick carbon dioxide, a severe headache began to torment him.

Just as Hyulick finally managed to stand, Zarlisch was about to deliver another heavy blow when his entire body froze. A heat-ray rifle had appeared in Hyulick’s hand. It seemed like magic, but it was not. The woman in the sun visor had thrown the rifle from the top of the cliff into Hyulick’s hands with astonishing precision.

III

“Impossible…”

Fan Hyulick thought he heard Zarlisch groan. But was it actually a voice? It might have been a hallucination caused by a tiny sprite darting into his auditory field.

With his mouth half-open, Zarlisch’s expression frozen, he glared at Hyulick. No, to be precise, he was staring at the muzzle of the rifle in his enemy’s hand, which was now threatening him.

“Surrender, Duke Zarlisch!”

Hyulick issued his demand in a tone devoid of any personal flair. The moment he spoke the words, he realised his demand would not be accepted. Zarlisch, his eyes bloodshot as he continued to glare at Hyulick, stretched out his massive arm, intent on squeezing his throat, this time until he was dead.

Fan Hyulick pulled the trigger of his old-fashioned thermal rifle. The proud grey military uniform burst apart against the thick chest of Duke Zarlisch Tytania. Not confined to a single spot, five holes were pierced through the Tytanian nobleman’s massive torso in the blink of an eye.

It was not a deliberate act, but as the heat ray had been set to a low temperature, the wounds did not char; instead, they gushed forth as fountains of blood, staining the grey military uniform a crimson-black. The spatter also splattered onto the assailant’s own clothes, where the ruler’s noble blood painted bizarre patterns upon the rebel’s fabric. The sense of unreality intensified further when the blood-soaked giant stretched his powerful arm out almost horizontally and seized Hyulick by the collar.

Any ordinary person would long since have collapsed and ceased breathing. Yet in reality, thick fingers reeking of blood closed around Hyulick’s throat and began to squeeze. Hyulick’s finger remained on the trigger, and the muzzle pressed tightly against Zarlisch’s torso, continuing to fire deadly heat rays into his body.

His field of vision dimmed, and when it returned, Hyulick coughed softly and rubbed his sore throat. At his feet lay the corpse of the giant man who, mere seconds earlier, had been one of Tytania’s great nobles.

Dragging Walenkov and Pagès to their feet, and with the help of the others, Hyulick finally climbed out of the dangerous well of carbon dioxide. The woman in the sun visor handed him a water flask. As Hyulick, finally feeling human again, thanked her, she murmured:

“I never thought you’d kill Duke Zarlisch with your own hands…”

“I didn’t believe he was the sort of man who’d survive being captured. I’m not judging whether that’s right or wrong; it’s just that there are people like that, and I don’t have the capacity to change the way they live or think.”

Hyulick fell silent. He felt he had spoken too much in the presence of the dead. The woman stared at his face as she put the lid back on the water bottle.

“So Zarlisch Tytania is dead, huh?…”

Doctor Lee’s voice, as he confirmed the fact, reached Hyulick’s auditory nerves with a sound that was incredibly distant and impersonal.

Zarlisch could never have imagined he would meet such an end in a place like this. He must surely have believed that a more spectacular and heroic death awaited him, one more befitting him. One of the Four Dukes of Tytania, a man who prided himself on being the mightiest commander in the cosmos, had ended up lying dead on a remote planet, no less, beneath the barren wilderness. It was hard to imagine a more unwelcome way to die.

“If he’d been killed by an opponent weaker than himself, he’d surely want to come back as a ghost one day.”

Hyulick replied to Doctor Lee and stood up. He still felt tired and drained, but his headache had gone.

In one corner of the cave, a group of captured Tytanian soldiers in uniform stood huddled together. From among the two hundred or so men, Hyulick and Doctor Lee selected a figure who appeared to be an officer and asked his name.

“I’m Commander Granite. I served as Lord Zarlisch’s aide-de-camp.”

As he spoke in the past tense, a shadow of anguish silently swept across the officer’s face. Hyulick and Doctor Lee exchanged glances and conferred briefly.

Doctor Lee addressed the late lord’s aide-de-camp.

“We shall hand over your master’s remains. It would be fitting for them to be transported to your headquarters and given a proper burial.”

“Are you asking me to bring shame upon myself and live?”

“To live is, in itself, to heap shame upon oneself. If you believe it is less shameful to leave your master’s remains abandoned in a place like this, then do as you please. Flee or take your own life.”

Having dismissed him, Doctor Lee ordered the prisoners to stand up. They simply did not have the financial means to support them. Having escorted the prisoners who were crushed by a sense of defeat and now disarmed to the entrance of the underground cavern, Doctor Lee asked Hyulick:

“Do you think the Bargash government is now fully on our side?”

“If we go by the logic that the enemy of my enemy is my friend…”

Before he could finish, Fan Hyulick realised a new danger was looming. If the Bargash government were to attempt to make up for its military failure through diplomacy, there would be only one option: to crush Hyulick and his men with their own hands. There was no other way to appease Tytania’s wrath.

Hyulick and his men had dragged the Bargash government into the conflict with Tytania, but this might well result in them gaining more enemies rather than allies. That said, having already made Tytania their enemy, even if their number of foes increased, they had long since exceeded their capacity to cope. Worrying about it was nothing but a waste of mental energy.

By this time, the outcome of the aerial battle had also been decided. The Tytanian fleet had begun a disgraceful rout. Having exposed the weakness of a private militia that relied on individual prowess, and having been reduced to half their numbers, the Tytanians had fled. The night air was thick with the stench of death, and on the ground, the wreckage of downed vessels still blazed with orange flames.

Floating in the night as the enemy vanished, Rear-Admiral Turbil and Lieutenant-Commander Irk exchanged stunned glances.

“We’ve done it.”

“Yeah, we’ve gone and done it.”

The two looked at one another and let out a deep sigh in unison. With that, the rationality that had been banished from their minds returned, and Lieutenant-Commander Irk, acting on his commander’s instructions, ordered all ships to land and begin assessing the damage.

“Does this mean we’re heading for all-out war with Tytania?”

“Probably. If so, I’ll be a shining example of an A-class war criminal. I suppose I’d better write my will while I still can.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

Lieutenant-Commander Irk vigorously brushed back the fringe that was clinging to his sweat-drenched forehead.

“At this point, we have no choice but to rally not only the Bargash government but all anti-Tytania factions across the universe to face Tytania in a decisive battle. Otherwise, all that awaits us is execution or a flight that will end in death. Shall we take a gamble on whether we can overthrow Tytania?”

“You’re quite the radical yourself, aren’t you?” remarked the exasperated old admiral.

Having cast his own concerns aside, the aide-de-camp shrugged with a wry smile.

“I’ve already eaten the plate. At this rate, I’ll have no choice but to gnaw on the table next.”

He made no attempt to comment on the taste or nutritional value of the table.

Back to Chapter 6

Return to Main Page

Forward to Chapter 8