"President, Vice President."
Walter's voice was calm, without ripple.
"Walter, our 'guests'—while enjoying the conveniences Dalton provides—have they been behaving themselves?"
Leo's tone was as casual as if he were asking about the weather.
Walter gave a faint nod and began his report.
"Every developmental index within Dalton Town matches the projected curve. The adaptability of outsiders remains high. Enforcement of the Outer City Codex has been maintained at a stable rate of 95.7 percent."
"However, beyond the city walls, the 'civilizational disparity' created by Dalton's integration into the wider world has inevitably given rise to problems. The focal points of unrest are concentrated among the countless small- and medium-sized powers, as well as within the strata of freelance adventurers."
He paused slightly, and in those cold, obsidian-like eyes there flickered the faintest trace of contempt.
"There are always lice clinging to the hide of a giant beast. Blind to the wind pressure, blind to the vistas seen from the beast's back, they know only how to dig for crevices to suck its blood."
"They preach with banners of 'fair sharing' and 'opposition to technological barriers.' But in truth, what they seek is nothing more than effortless gain—to seize the fruits of Dalton's civilizational advancement without lifting a finger."
Magnar's brow furrowed. His voice carried a hint of irritation.
"It seems that even a gift as generous as that of the President cannot satisfy every greedy stomach. Or perhaps… there will always be those who lack the most fundamental reverence for power."
Unconsciously, Magnar's thoughts drifted back to the Dalton Town of long ago—a tiny, remote settlement. One could walk from north to south in little more than ten minutes. Yet he remembered vividly the bread Leo had once given him in his days of exile, starving in the wilderness.
That bread was, beyond question, the most delicious thing he had eaten in his life.
Walter's voice drew him back.
"'Hat' has already completed precision profiling and behavioral pattern analysis on the majority of core personnel involved."
At the mention of Hat, even someone as composed as Magnar allowed a trace of solemnity to flash across his eyes.
This was Dalton's most secretive, most terrifying intelligence network. Its members were often shadow-born creatures by nature, or else specially remade infiltrators. For a hundred years, every power that attempted to spy upon, infiltrate, or destabilize Dalton had met the same fate—vanishing without a trace, as though cast into a bottomless abyss named Hat.
"According to Hat's deeper investigations, these people have caught wind of Dalton's preparations for war. They are attempting to exploit information gaps and internal agitation to spark localized chaos."
Walter's summary was as emotionless as before.
"My recommendation: initiate the 'Pruning' protocol, while simultaneously activating both the 'Cognitive Purification' and 'Knowledge Distribution' programs. From the root of thought itself we must improve the soil, ensuring that weeds never grow again."
Leo's face did not change. To him, it was as though Walter had merely mentioned the garden requiring the trimming of a few excess branches.
"Approved."
"The cleaning must be thorough. Let the propaganda department coordinate in step. And let the outside world hear, clearly and endlessly, one simple signal: what Dalton grants is grace. What Dalton withholds—any hand that reaches for it will be struck by thunder."
The words were soft, understated. Yet they were as final and cold as legal scripture, sealing the fates of countless would-be infiltrators.
This was Leo's will—calm, indisputable.
"Understood."
Walter's figure dissolved like ink fading into water. Within moments the office was once more silent, as though he had never been there at all. Only the silent star projection revolved slowly above.
…
Far beyond the world of Aresia, in the frozen void.
The very fabric of space was torn apart, shuddering with ominous ripples.
Dozens of starships, differing wildly in design but united by their aura of greed and ruin, emerged from warp. They appeared like vultures scenting carrion, revealing their twisted silhouettes to the cold light.
At their head was the flagship of the Bloodclaw Fleet—Ripper.
The vessel looked as if it had been stitched together from the corpses of derelict ships, hull patched with rusted plating, jagged rams jutting outward, and gunports coughing trails of sickly green smoke.
It was less a warship than a drifting mountain of iron filth, a plague ship that poisoned all it touched.
On the bridge stood their leader, "One-Eyed Barton," a massive brute with centipede-like scars crawling across his face. His single eye glared at the star map, locked upon a single azure point—a world that glowed temptingly like a ripe fruit awaiting harvest.
"Wahahaha! Look here, brothers!"
"This pathetic little backwater stuck in the corner of the star chart!"
Barton swung a serrated dagger, its blade caked with dried crimson stains. He spat as he shouted, his voice rasping like a grindstone rasping bone.
"But don't be fooled! Just the other day this piss-poor rock flared with an energy wave that nearly blinded me!"
"Without a doubt it's a super-ruin, maybe the treasure vault of some dead god!"
"Imagine it! Mountains of gold and weapons, forgotten magics, and fresh, tender native slaves! We'll take it all!"
Nearby, a ship marked with the dull gray insignia of a merchant fleet slid into view. Its silhouette was sharp, its weapon platforms unhidden. This was the Ashen Merchant Guild.
Its leader, Moriarty, a pale esper, stared coldly through his viewport at Aresia. Threads of psychic energy flickered at his fingertips.
"Barton, restrain your appetite."
Moriarty's voice was thin and sharp, like ice scoring glass.
"High-energy readings are tempting, yes. But they might also indicate an unspent star core… or worse, a sleeping cosmic catastrophe."
"Do not forget—the Vultures and the Black Flag are circling as well, ready to pounce."
"Catastrophe? Bah!"
Barton spat on the deck, then slapped a massive cannon beside him—a crude contraption inscribed with goblin runes, belching toxic smoke.
"With my 'Big Mouth' rupture cannon, every so-called catastrophe in this sector will explode into fireworks for our entertainment!"
"Look at the energy signatures of this backwater! The strongest life force tops out at Truth Magus level! Even the mutt scrubbing toilets on my ship could take on one of their knight orders if I shoved armor on his back!"
The bridge exploded with drunken laughter. Pirates roared and slammed mugs against consoles, already debating how to divide the wealth, the relics, the slaves. Fists flew as they argued over imaginary spoils.
Arrogance and contempt spread like a plague among them.
But then—
The laughter died.
Every alarm aboard every vessel shrieked at once, a piercing wail that stabbed like knives into the ears of the crew.
"Warning! Unidentified high-level spatial fluctuation detected!"
"Source… undeterminable!"
"Warning! Spatial structure is solidifying! Jump engines unresponsive!"
"We're locked down!"
"Warning! Energy shields overloading exponentially!"
"One hundred and fifty… two hundred… three hundred percent! Collapse threshold imminent!"
The air of drunken triumph was gone. What replaced it was terror.
…
Moriarty's sinister face turned instantly pale, as white as paper.
In his powerful psychic perception, the once empty void ahead suddenly transformed into a hive filled with countless eyes of death. Each "eye" was condensing a radiance fierce enough to tear apart stars.
"No—! It's a trap!"
Barton's wild laughter froze on his lips, shattering into raw terror and disbelief. His crude mind could not comprehend how a so-called "low-magic world" could wield such terrifying force.
The next second.
A deluge of annihilation poured forth like the Milky Way collapsing, drowning the starfield that only moments ago echoed with barbaric merriment.
Tens of thousands of beams, each blazing with heat enough to vaporize suns, lashed down like whips of divine retribution. They struck every invader's hull precisely at the weakest structural points.
Energy shields shattered in an instant, vanishing like dew in the morning sun. Thick alloy plating dissolved and ripped apart as if it were paper, scattering molten fragments into cosmic dust.
A chain of fireballs bloomed across the void, explosions cascading like splashes of crimson paint flung wildly across a black canvas. The result was a cruel, dazzling masterpiece of death.
The few ships that survived the first wave of saturation fire scrambled like panicked fish caught in a net of death. They tried to rally, firing back in desperate defiance. But their blasts struck the massive honeycomb of hexagonal energy modules that formed Dalton's barrier. Each salvo raised nothing more than faint ripples across its surface.
And at the peak of chaos, when despair swallowed every invader's heart, a cold, commanding female voice resounded.
It was not merely heard with ears, but carved into every survivor's very soul—an inescapable judgment.
"This domain has been marked as territory of the Dalton Civilization."
"Unauthorized intruders, by Article Zero of the Pan-Cosmic Civilization Contact Codex—are subject to complete purification."
Out of the void, Elizabeth's tall figure solidified, standing like a goddess of war amidst the endless stars.
Her golden-blue officer's uniform was sharp as a blade's edge, pressed without a wrinkle. Her violet eyes froze everything in their gaze, brimming with killing intent and the iron weight of mission.
Slowly, she raised her arm. With a sharp ring, her command sword—its hilt set with a sapphire gem—slid free of its sheath. The blade gleamed, its edge cold as the void itself.
The tip of the sword pointed toward the panicked enemy fleet. The gesture was both graceful and merciless.
"Dalton Astral Guard Legion—stand ready!"
"Target—the enemy fleet ahead."
"Execute… extermination!"
The command rang out, and the reply was thunder.
From the folds of space-time, where they had been lying in wait, Dalton's armies erupted like a slumbering beast awakened.
Steel torrents and radiant magic surged out at once, flooding the frigid battlefield with overwhelming light and fire.
This ambush had been the plan agreed upon by Elizabeth and Leo. The core idea was Elizabeth's; Leo had only needed to say yes or no. On the battlefield, nothing was more effective than surprise. Especially when Dalton held absolute superiority, there was no reason to hesitate—the best answer was to crush the enemy utterly with thunderous force.
…
At the very front of the charge was Reize, a storm made flesh.
He no longer bore the half-rogue swagger of the city gate commander. Now he was encased head to toe in crackling thunder armor, arcs of lightning blazing from every plate. In his hands, his great blade, broad as a door, hummed with murderous hunger.
"Hahahaha! Boys! Your grandpa Reize is here to bring the fireworks!"
"Line up nice and proper—I'll send you one by one across the Styx! No tickets required!"
His booming laughter thundered across the battlefield, carried everywhere through mana channels. It was wild, domineering, and utterly unrestrained.
With each step through the void he left jagged trails of distorted lightning, streaking forward like a comet in human form. His target: a pirate assault frigate attempting to rally formation—the Dark Teeth.
"Target that lunatic! All portside guns, fire!"
The captain of the Dark Teeth, a scar-faced orc with skin red as blood, roared until his throat nearly burst.
Dozens of blazing beams erupted, engulfing Reize in fire.
But when the glare faded, he emerged unscathed, standing before the frigate's bow. The lightning coursing over his armor burned even brighter than before.
"Is that all you've got? That was barely enough to tickle me!"
His grin was feral as he raised the giant blade high. Thunder roared across its edge as he cleaved downward with force like a god's hammer.
"Break!"
The sound of rending metal screeched through the void, followed by a thunderous detonation.
The bow of the Dark Teeth split like butter under a hot knife, ripped open into a gaping wound. Inside, pirates were seared to ash in rivers of crackling lightning.
Reize stormed through the breach like a tiger into a pen of sheep. Wherever he passed, chaos followed. Screams, fire, and ruin were all he left behind.
Behind him surged Dalton's knightly vanguard.
They rode nightmare steeds clad in rune-etched barding, hooves blazing with pale-blue soul flame. Their charge was silent, but the aura of death they carried sent chills through even hardened veterans.
Their lances glimmered with anti-magic radiance. With precise thrusts, they pierced the engines and energy cores of smaller ships, one after another. Their unity and efficiency were so perfect it bordered on the unnatural.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, another hunt unfolded. Different in style, but just as deadly.
A sleek strike craft, its hull shimmering with gentle starlight, wove like a phantom between wreckage and explosions. This was the Stellar.
Inside, Lilith gripped her star-forged staff so tightly her knuckles whitened. Through the viewport, she watched as the brutal face of cosmic war revealed itself for the first time before her eyes.
Gigantic ships tore apart in silence, blossoms of fire flaring in the void. Shards of twisted metal spun like blades, while broken bodies, hurled into space, froze into grotesque statues in an instant.
"Ugh…"
A wave of nausea rose in her throat. Her delicate face turned pale.
She had grown up in comfort, like a flower raised in a crystal greenhouse. Even with her mighty Star Bloodline, this was her first true confrontation with large-scale slaughter. The blood, the death, the cold cruelty of the stars—her body and spirit recoiled against it.
"Your Highness, are you all right?"
At once, Fiona's voice came, calm yet gentle.
The Astral Ancient Dragon, now in human form, stood at her side. Her golden eyes reflected the chaos outside, yet within them was only cold serenity.
To one who had lived for tens of thousands of years, this scale of battle was barely even warm-up.
"Do not fear. With me here, no strike shall ever reach you."
Her words carried absolute certainty, born not of arrogance but of bloodline and overwhelming power.
And yet, Leo's order bound her like invisible chains. She was forbidden to unleash herself, forced to remain only a guardian. It frustrated her deeply—like a dragon told to swat flies when her fangs could crush worlds.
Had she been allowed, the rabble outside would not even see another second of starlight.
"I… I'm fine."
Lilith drew a long breath, forcing her unease down. In her azure eyes a fire rekindled.
"I promised Father I would do well. I'm not some fragile blossom in a greenhouse."
"I am the captain of Team Star!"
She turned, facing the others within the Stellar, her voice firm despite the chaos raging beyond.