Episode 273: The Emperor Has Been... What?

This is an irregular update. Please bear with me m( )m

At Taro’s prompting, Dean reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a head of disheveled hair that he quickly smoothed down with a casual stroke.

"That is my intention, of course. Or rather, I would be quite troubled if you didn't listen. Ah, please, stay seated."

Dean offered a gentle, restraining wave of his hand toward Marl, who had been about to stand up to offer a formal greeting. He clasped his hands over his knees, his eyes drifting toward the far corner of the bridge as if looking at something miles away. "Now then... where to begin?"

"Give me the lightest news first, please," Taro said, bracing himself with a heavy sigh. "Seriously, my heart is already doing the cha-cha, and not in a fun way."

Dean gave a thoughtful "Hmm" and nodded. After a momentary pause to gather his words, he spoke with devastating casualness.

"His Majesty the Emperor has been kidnapped."

A faint murmur. A hollow, ringing silence.

Taro stood up abruptly. He marched over to the bridge doors, slid them open, and extended a polite hand toward the corridor.

"The exit is right this way, sir. Please don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"Good grief," Dean sighed, looking genuinely hurt. "I’ve only just arrived, and you’re already throwing me out into the cold?"

"I asked! For! The! Lightest! News!! Didn't I?!" Taro clutched his head and screamed at the ceiling.

Nearby, even Koume’s usually stoic face was frozen in an expression of pure shock. Marl, on the other hand, was staring into the middle distance with a vacant look, as if her soul had decided to vacate the premises rather than deal with this.

"Now, now, please calm down," Dean said. "While I spoke with certainty, it would be more accurate to say that, given the current evidence, the probability is extremely high. Let’s say... ninety-five percent."

"That is not a comforting statistic!"

"I wasn’t trying to comfort you, so I suppose that’s only natural. If anything, I’m the one who needs a hug. Honestly, I’m at my wit’s end."

Dean pulled a portable terminal from his breast pocket, tapped out a series of commands, and looked up at the massive main monitor on the Bridge. As everyone’s eyes followed his gaze, a Star Chart of the Galactic Imperial Core flared into life.

"I want you to focus here."

The red pin dropped right between the Andor Star System—the beating heart of the Imperial Government—and the Delta Star System, the center of the Empire’s economy. The map zoomed in on the specific coordinates.

"The Epsilon Star System, huh...?" Taro squinted. Wait. With a prime location like that, why have I never heard of it?

Taro prided himself on his geography; his job required him to stare at maps more than most. Yet, Epsilon was a total blank.

"That’s because it doesn't exist on public charts," Alan interjected, his voice gravelly. "It’s a strategic fortress site for the defense of the Imperial Core. The exact coordinates are classified. Entry is strictly prohibited for anyone without high-level Military or government clearance. It’s designed as a fallback point—if some hostile force manages to push as far as Andor, they can hole up there and hold out until reinforcements arrive. It’s a Fortress Star System through and through."

Taro let out an impressed whistle. "Heh, neat." Then the gears in his head turned. "Wait... eh?"

Wait a minute. If the Emperor was kidnapped and taken there... that means the Imperial Core was attacked? But that would be huge news. "If His Majesty was snatched and taken to a fortress in the heart of the Empire... wouldn't there be, you know, explosions? War? General panic?"

Marl nodded in agreement. "We haven't received any reports of a physical breach at the palace."

"The capital is in a state of chaos, but so far, no shots have been fired," Dean explained with a small nod. "I understand your confusion. Why take him to a fortress right next door? It would be more natural to whisk him away to some far-off corner of the galaxy if you were making a move."

Taro looked at him, his face practically screaming 'Then why?!'.

Dean’s response was a blunt, "I don't know."

"You don't know?! I mean, okay, I guess if you don't know, you don't know, but is there anything you do know?"

"What we have confirmed," Dean said, enlarging the view of the Epsilon Star System, "is that His Majesty was definitely taken to this system. That is a certainty. However, the 'who' and the 'when' are a bit murky. Given the circumstances, it’s clearly the work of the Cornelius Faction, but we lack any hard evidence. The Information Disorder is making everything a nightmare to track."

Icons representing a Warship fleet began to pockmark the space around the Epsilon Star System. The numbers ticked up with dizzying speed. Within seconds, the system was so crowded with icons that it looked like a solid black ball on the screen.

"Centering around the Main Fleet from the Sigma Region Space, approximately 27,000 ships of the Cornelius Faction Forces have massed here. If you count the smaller vessels, it likely exceeds 50,000. If we include non-combatant support ships, the number is frankly too tedious to count. Even with their own territories in chaos, they certainly managed to scrape together quite a crowd."

Dean spoke with a touch of professional admiration. Taro, meanwhile, stared at the screen with a completely deadpan expression.

"Haha... lol," Taro let out a dry, hollow laugh. His face remained frozen.

"What do you mean 'lol'?" Marl asked, looking exhausted. "I mean, I get that the numbers are insane, but still..."

Taro ignored her, turning his gaze toward Dean. "Just to be clear..."

Please don't say it. Please don't say it.

"You're not about to tell us to go fight that, are you?"

Dean shook his head. "Hardly."

"Pointless deaths should be reserved for those who actively seek them out. Or for those with no other value. Currently, the Reinhardt Faction is massing its own fleets to confront them. We’ve already moved over 10,000 ships into position. We are outnumbered, yes, but my men are the elite. My own main forces are already pinning them down."

A thin, translucent film of icons appeared on the monitor, surrounding the black ball of the enemy fleet. On the map, they looked like they were touching, but given the scale of a star system, they were still light-minutes apart.

"History repeats itself, it seems. General Dean," Koume muttered, her voice as flat as a sheet of paper.

Dean looked impressed by the observation.

"The Usurpation Attempt Incident," Alan grunted, his face darkening. "The scale is different, but the vibe is the same. Actually, given enough time, the scale will probably match too. But there's one big difference between now and then—this time, the bastards have the King."

Alan looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon. Taro tilted his head.

"The king?"

Taro’s mind immediately went to the gutter, and he subconsciously shifted his hand to check his own "crown jewels." Koume’s eyes tracked the movement with clinical disdain.

"He is referring to His Majesty the Emperor, Mr. Teiro. Not the two production factories that you insist on keeping in operation despite their daily, meaningless output. Though, I suppose in the sense of 'having something important grabbed,' the metaphor remains somewhat apt for your current anxiety."

"Leave me alone! Their turn will come someday! It definitely will!!" Taro squealed, fidgeting in his seat.

Marl cut through the bickering with a weary, "Yes, yes, moving on." She raised a hand. "I just want to confirm one thing. Is the Emperor... well, I don't know how else to put this, but is he still alive?"

"Likely," Dean nodded. "We currently hold the First Imperial Succession Right on our side. To be blunt: if their goal was simply to kill the Emperor, it would actually be faster for them to just get it over with. They would lose their political justification, and we would simply crown a new Emperor. Because they haven't done that, we can assume he is, for the moment, safe."

It was a chillingly cold calculation. Marl winced, looking disgusted, but she didn't argue. "I see."

"Still, depending on how this goes, things could get ugly fast," Taro noted, staring at the monitor that now looked like a burnt fried egg. "Wait, Alan, you said the scale was just a matter of time? The old incident people talk about had 100,000 ships, right? Something about this feels off."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Dean-san’s side—the Reinhardt Faction—is completely surrounding the Cornelius guys. Sure, they have fewer ships, but look at that formation. Based on the tactical layout, the Reinhardt side should win this easily."

Wait, where did that come from? Oh right. The Overridden military knowledge of the Imperial Military buried in my brain. It’s like having a cheat sheet for war.

Dean chuckled. "Please, don't joke."

"Are you suggesting we attempt a total military blockade of the system? Tactically, you are correct, my boy. In reality, it is impossible. If we fire even a single shot at their supply lines or their vanguard, it would trigger a landslide. An all-out total war."

"Ahhh," Taro let out a sound of realization. "Right."

Winning isn't the point. If both sides get annihilated, there’s nothing left to rule. So they’re just staring each other down.

"You're being a bit bloodthirsty today, aren't you?" Marl asked.

Taro scratched his head. "I don't know, life's been pretty violent lately. Maybe it's rubbing off on me. But honestly... if we can handle this peacefully, that’s great. It’s just that Taro-chan has a bad feeling that we don't have time for a staring contest."

Taro turned his gaze toward the window-view of the Delta Star System. The others followed his gaze, looking out at the distant stars with confused expressions.

"You really are quite sharp," Dean said after a long silence, sounding genuinely satisfied. "It seems my investment in you has paid off handsomely."

Taro shrugged to hide his embarrassment and waited for the general to continue.

"Since our thoughts seem to align... tell me, what do you think the goal of the kidnappers really is?"

It was a test. Taro felt Dean's eyes boring into him.

"If I had to guess?" Taro started. "They're just trying to maintain the status quo."

"Splendid. I’ve thought this for a while, but you really should become my Adjutant. I can count on one hand the number of Staff Officers who reached that conclusion."

"No thanks. I know you're probably half-serious, but I’m going to pass. I’m not built for the military 'stiff-upper-lip' thing, and I'd probably die during basic training. I’ve got the stamina, sure, but the 'macho sports-club' vibe? Not for me."

"Haha, I see. A pity. Still, even if it was a joke, keep the offer in mind if you ever find yourself in a bind. In any case, that brings us to the point: I need your cooperation. Or perhaps..."

Dean’s gaze shifted toward the bridge entrance. His eyes locked with Phantom’s.

Dean wore a graceful, confident smile; Phantom looked like he’d just stepped in something unpleasant. For a heartbeat, the atmosphere in the room became so incredibly pressurized that Taro’s ears popped. He swallowed hard, certain that every person on the bridge could hear the nervous gulp echoing in the silence.