Episode 122

"What the hell is the meaning of this, Mr. Reinhardt?! Tell me this isn't a blatant betrayal of the Empire!"

The opening salvo of the Imperial Military Extraordinary Meeting didn't even wait for the gavel. The hall was packed with the Empire's heaviest hitters—the literal beating heart of the Galactic Empire. There was only one person in existence who could overturn a decision made in this room, and he sat behind a high threshold at the far end of the hall: His Majesty the Emperor.

"Oh, dear. I haven't the foggiest idea why you're pointing fingers, Mr. Cornelius," Reinhardt replied, his face a mask of practiced innocence. As one of the Empire’s only five Grand Marshals, he wasn't easily rattled. "Why don’t you take a breath and sit down?"

Cornelius, however, was past the point of sitting. He was vibrating with pure, unadulterated fury.

"You... Listen here! You know as well as anyone that the Razor Metal market is the spine of this Empire. To mess with that—to put your hands on it—if that isn't treachery, I don't know what is!"

His roar echoed off the sterile walls. Look who’s talking about skeletons in closets, Reinhardt thought, though he kept his expression neutral. Breaking an open secret in a place like this was a sucker's game. Even if everyone knew the truth, shouting it out loud in a formal session only led to headaches.

"I’m well aware of the market’s importance, Marshal Cornelius," Reinhardt said, his voice smooth as silk. "Which is exactly why we’ve strictly limited our refined output to internal military use. There should be virtually zero impact on the civilian market. Sure, the military consumes a fair bit, but for a titan like 50 Materials? This shouldn't even register as a stubbed toe."

Despite the fact that Cornelius was his senior by nearly two decades, Reinhardt didn't give an inch. He remained perfectly polite, perfectly calm, and perfectly punchable.

"In fact," Reinhardt continued, "you could argue the Empire has finally slipped the leash of 50 Materials. We finally have our own refining plants—albeit with a few strings attached. The profit margins are astronomical. This bolsters the standing of the Imperial Government across the board. Don’t you all agree?"

Reinhardt swept his gaze across the room, flashing a grin that was about as sincere as a three-credit coin. A wave of satisfied nods rippled through the hall. He let out a tiny, internal sigh of relief. The only ones not nodding were the Cornelius Faction. He’d done the legwork and grease-painted the deal beforehand, but you never knew when someone might decide to go off-script.

"Hmph... fine. I suppose," Cornelius growled, his volume finally dropping a few decibels. "However, there’s no reason to force such a burden onto a loyal entity like 50 Materials. For a thousand years, they’ve been the military’s most obedient lapdog. If we start spitting on that loyalty, what's to stop every other subordinate corporation from getting cold feet?"

"It’s actually the opposite," Reinhardt countered.

"When exactly did we start ruling based on 'corporate trust'? Spoilers: we didn't. The Imperial Military and the Government rule because we have the biggest guns. 50 Materials was the anomaly, the one dog that managed to slip its collar. All we've done is bring them back to the pack so they can be 'equal' to everyone else."

Reinhardt’s voice was like iron now. He locked eyes with Cornelius, and the air in the room turned brittle with tension.

"...That region was supposed to be a Non-Aggression zone," Cornelius pivoted, sensing the room was no longer his. Reinhardt just smirked and gave a theatrical shrug.

"We didn’t send a single Warship in. We simply opened an experimental storefront. Calling that an 'invasion' is a bit of a reach, don't you think?"

"It is a fully functional, Heavily Armed Space Fortress!"

"It’s the bare minimum required to keep the factory staff from being eaten," Reinhardt deadpanned. "WIND has been quite rowdy lately. We couldn't exactly throw our workers out there naked and hope for the best, could we?"

"Then why choose that specific patch of dirt?"

"Convenience, mostly. That region was having some mysterious 'trouble' with its Razor Metal supply—no idea why, of course. And it just so happened there was a Fortress under construction nearby. The owners were so overwhelmed with patriotism that they practically begged us to take it off their hands at a bargain price. It was such a perfect setup, it would have been rude to say no. Plus, as you mentioned, there are no competitors nearby. Zero chance of our little experiment hurting anyone else's bottom line."

Reinhardt rattled off his rehearsed excuses with practiced ease. He watched Cornelius for any flicker of a breakthrough, but the old man’s face remained a mask of stony silence.

A rigged game... How tedious, Reinhardt mused.

Marshal Cornelius was a shark, but he wasn't the type to hide his bloodlust. If he was this calm while losing ground, it meant 50 Materials had already tipped him off.

Reinhardt had used Dean—and the intel he’d dug up—to blackmail the corporate giants into submission. The deal was simple: the military stays out of the civilian market, but they get to produce their own supply internally. He’d even secured a window for "know-how accumulation" in specific sectors of outer space.

In a world of absolute military might, he could have just taken what he wanted, but civil wars were messy and bad for the complexion. Cornelius and his cronies were too deep in the pockets of 50 Materials; pushing too hard would have triggered a coup. For the price of some high-grade industrial secrets, Reinhardt figured he was being quite the diplomat.

Still, it's enough, he thought.

Cornelius’s influence was circling the drain, and Reinhardt’s own stock was through the roof. The shady backroom deals between the Marshal and the corporations would continue, but the leash had been shortened. It was better this way. If you break a man completely, he has nothing left to lose—and that’s when people start doing things like blowing up planets.

"Hmm... Well, the logic is sound enough," Cornelius conceded. "Then, in the presence of the throne, we shall put it to a vote."

Every Marshal in the room tapped at their personal terminals. Reinhardt followed suit, casting his vote for 'Yes' with a satisfied click.

"That’s... that’s impossible!! This wasn't the deal! What the hell is going on?!"

An old man collapsed to his knees, his voice cracking into a sob. He crawled toward a flickering holographic figure, his eyes bloodshot and wide with panic.

"Sorry, old friend. The weather changed," the hologram said, sounding bored as he shrugged. "We didn't think anyone in the military actually knew how the refining process worked. It was a bit of a curveball."

"But... there were a dozen other ways to play this! Why here? Why did you let them put that factory here?!"

The old man sounded like he was losing his mind. The hologram just sighed.

"It was the consensus of 50 Materials. The military gave us a very generous out in exchange for that specific spot. It keeps our losses within the 'annoying' range rather than the 'catastrophic' range. If we’d said no? I don't even want to think about it. You would have been replaced by a 51st Material—one owned entirely by the Empire."

The hologram waved a dismissive hand as if shooing away a fly.

"Do your best, I suppose. Your options are pretty limited now: run for it, or try to conquer the Alpha Star System. And forget about the Fortress. If you touch that, the Empire will stop being 'experimental' and start being 'apocalyptic.'"

Bruno, the master of Otto Station and head of the local Resistance, clutched an ancient, clunky mobile phone to his ear. He paced his office, glancing at the door every three seconds.

"Is this line actually secure, Mr. Phantom?"

"Of course it is," Phantom’s voice crackled back. "It’s not using your network at all. I’m snatching the signal directly."

"Directly? You’re all the way in Katsushika! How is that even possible?"

"How? I just set up a private, high-speed network for a very limited area."

"...I'm even more confused now."

"Haha, it’s simple, really. I 'borrowed' a few of the Empire’s Faster-Than-Light Communication Relay Ships and tweaked them to only talk to the phones in your possession. You could say it’s a bit of an absurd waste of a high-priority Communication Band, but hey, it works."

Bruno blinked. "You did what...? Does that mean the contents of the suitcases are also...?"

"Exactly. Every suitcase is packed with the same goodies. Give me a list of people who won't sell you out for a sandwich, and my courier will make sure they get their deliveries."

"Right... And what do you want from us? Are we supposed to march into your line of fire?"

Phantom let out a genuine laugh.

"Ahaha... No, sorry. We don't need that. I mean, a rebellion would be a nice distraction, but it wouldn't be very efficient. You’d be crushed in an hour, and I’m not in the business of wasting lives. I have a much better use for your ships."

Bruno’s voice turned serious. "I'm listening. Give me the details."

"With pleasure."

Phantom began to outline the plan. Bruno had been braced for a suicide mission, but as the explanation continued, his dread evaporated into pure, shocked disbelief.

"That's... it's so simple, yet... it’s brilliant. Who the hell are you, really? How do you even come up with this stuff?"

"It's just part of the job description," Phantom replied, his voice brimming with amusement.

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Very sorry, but due to book publication work and other job stuff, updates will be a bit slow for a while. orz