Lord of the Truth

Chapter 2290: An opportunity

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The subsidiary gates of the mothership opened one after another with heavy metallic echoes, and the World Cataclysms and Nexus State experts emerged in rapid succession. Each of them immediately headed toward the nearest battlefield without exchanging a single word or showing the slightest hesitation, whether it was the enemies that had materialized out of nowhere along the starboard and port flanks, or the enormous enemy formation spread across the center of the battlefield.

Every single individual accelerated at full speed with astonishing coordination, as though this precise situation had been rehearsed dozens of times beforehand and every movement had already been engraved into instinct, leaving no room whatsoever for confusion despite the suddenness of the ambush.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The guns of the Note fleets never ceased firing for even a single moment. Salvo after salvo crossed the void in tightly coordinated patterns, and within the blink of an eye the densely packed warships belonging to the massive fleet were transformed into gigantic burning flowers decorating the darkness of space. Countless hulls were torn apart under the overwhelming bombardment, while twisted fragments of alloy, blazing spheres of fire, and showers of molten metallic sparks scattered across every direction, illuminating the battlefield as the merciless barrage continued relentlessly, never slowing in rhythm nor allowing the defenders even the briefest opportunity to reorganize themselves.

The World Cataclysms and Nexus State experts intervened immediately. Powerful energy barriers appeared one after another alongside countless defensive combat techniques, each overlapping with the next in an attempt to slow the horrifying rate of casualties and preserve as many vessels as possible despite the overwhelming disadvantage. For a brief period they succeeded in reducing the destruction, yet the respite proved painfully short-lived.

The defensive techniques consumed enormous reserves of energy every second, while the shields themselves shattered and regenerated continuously beneath the impossible density of incoming fire. The barrage was simply too intense, offering them no opportunity whatsoever to stabilize their formation or even catch a single breath before another devastating wave descended upon them.

Their greatest chance of changing the situation lay in launching an offensive...

But there were two major problems standing directly in their path.

The first was that the Note fleets had deliberately positioned themselves at an enormous distance. They remained well beyond the effective firing range of their conventional fleets, even after accounting for the battleships equipped with range-enhancing enchantments specifically designed for long-distance engagements. As a result, any direct retaliation remained virtually impossible for the moment, leaving them trapped in a one-sided exchange where only one side could unleash its full destructive power.

The second was that if the World Cataclysms and Nexus State experts abandoned their defensive positions and charged toward the enemy, their own fleet would almost certainly be erased before they could even complete the assault. The commanders remaining behind simply lacked the strength to withstand such hellish bombardment on their own, and once the defensive backbone disappeared, the countless ordinary vessels would collapse under the storm of fire before anyone realized the battle had already been decided.

Naturally, the opposite outcome would unfold on the enemy’s side. The moment those supreme powerhouses reached the Note fleets, there was little doubt that they would destroy them. At the absolute minimum, one fleet would be exchanged for another, while under favorable circumstances they might wipe out several enemy fleets before being forced to retreat, making such an assault devastating despite the inevitable sacrifice it demanded.

But...

That was a decision reserved exclusively for the Supreme Commander. Only he possessed the authority to determine whether sacrificing an entire fleet in exchange for breaking through the enemy formation and disrupting their overwhelming firepower was a worthwhile exchange, because such a decision would reshape the course of the battle from its very foundation regardless of the immediate losses it demanded.

Hiss—

Another hatch slowly opened, and the Seventh Son personally stepped out from within. His eyes widened to their absolute limit with unconcealed fury and disbelief as he stared at the massive military formation stretching before him, his gaze repeatedly sweeping across the countless warships as though refusing to accept what reality itself was showing him.

Seventy fleets stood directly before him in the central formation, while another fifteen occupied each flank with disciplined precision...

One hundred fleets in total.

Every calculation, every contingency, and every strategic projection had been built around confronting only fifty fleets. Even the possibility of hidden reserves, surprise attacks, or carefully prepared ambushes had already been incorporated into their operational planning long before this invasion began. Yet instead of encountering a modest deviation from expectation, they had found themselves facing exactly twice the anticipated military strength. Worse still, despite believing themselves to be the side initiating the surprise attack, they had instead become the victims of a trap so enormous that even now they struggled to understand how it had been prepared beneath their very noses.

"Arsene!!" the Seventh Son roared at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying unmistakable rage. "How do you explain this?!"

"..."

At that very moment another figure silently descended from the vessel behind him before steadily approaching with tightly knitted brows and an expression filled with growing unease. His movements remained composed despite the chaos surrounding them.

It was the Syndicate’s Envoy.

"We scanned the entirety of Young Sector 99. Not a single region escaped our surveillance—not even the Safe Zone itself. We even surveyed the space between every planet from extreme distances using that Seventh-Grade detection device... and every single report consistently indicated the presence of only fifty Note-4 fleets."

"Then what exactly are you looking at?!" the Seventh Son snapped furiously as he pointed toward the overwhelming formation before them.

"...More than fifty." The Envoy clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw visibly tightened.

The humiliation was simply beyond words.

An error within the Syndicate’s calculations was not merely something that should never occur. It was an idea that should never have existed in the first place. Their intelligence network had been built upon absolute precision across countless sectors, making the very possibility of such a catastrophic miscalculation almost offensive to everything they represented.

"Twice the number of ships, they knew we were coming, they prepared countermeasures against our arrays, and they’ve even revealed arrays that have never been witnessed before." The Seventh Son pointed directly toward the Envoy without concealing his anger. "And after all of that, they’ve surrounded us using methods we can’t even comprehend!"

The Envoy narrowed his eyes.

"I understand part of it. They clearly employed rapid-support vessels to move toward the starboard and port flanks before revealing themselves. The real problem is that there shouldn’t have been any fleets there to begin with." His gaze remained fixed upon the battlefield as countless possibilities raced through his mind. "The only location capable of concealing those fleets from our surveillance would be behind the planets of the galaxy themselves, where our instruments cannot obtain sufficiently detailed imagery. And I do not mean they quietly relocated there after an extended voyage... no. Those fleets never departed from those planets from the very beginning of our observation."

The Envoy’s brows tightened even further as the implications gradually settled in his mind.

"...I’m afraid those fleets were constructed entirely within the past few years—the same years following the departure of the First and Third Armies. We must completely reassess our estimates with our allies regarding this pace of military development. This level of industrial and technological growth has already crossed into genuinely dangerous territory, and if it continues unchecked, the balance between our forces may change far sooner than anyone anticipated."

"You think?!" the Seventh Son threw both hands into the air in exasperation, shouting with undisguised frustration.

At that very moment their fleet was being mercilessly bombarded from three different directions simultaneously, while only the rear remained deliberately left open. The arrangement looked almost intentional, as though the enemy wished to leave them with a single remaining path and force them into choosing between retreating through that opening or remaining where they stood until complete annihilation overtook them.

Having reached the limit of his patience, the Seventh Son abandoned the argument altogether. There was nothing he could accomplish by venting his anger toward the Syndicate’s Envoy while the battlefield continued collapsing around them.

He advanced until a considerable distance separated him from his own fleet, then infused his voice with Soul force until it erupted across the vast battlefield like rolling thunder, reaching every corner of the surrounding space.

"Who commands your forces?! End this farce immediately, or I’ll reduce everything before me to ashes!"

Hiss—

The answer came almost immediately.

A harsh, gravelly voice echoed throughout the battlefield, carrying an indescribable coldness, as though the speaker’s words had emerged directly from the deepest abyss of hell itself.

<"Take your followers, turn around, and go back the way you came before it’s too late... I won’t leave you an escape route for much longer.">

"You’re allowing me to escape?" The Seventh Son slowly raised his right hand, and his Soul Power immediately transformed into countless invisible commands that spread through the battlefield in every direction, weaving across space before reaching every World Cataclysms and Nexus State expert under his command simultaneously. Each order was transmitted with flawless precision, leaving no room whatsoever for hesitation or misunderstanding despite the overwhelming chaos surrounding them.

The World Cataclysms and Nexus State experts immediately began advancing at a measured pace. Their formations shifted with remarkable discipline as they prepared to abandon their defensive positions entirely and launch themselves toward the distant Note fleets regardless of the consequences. Every one of them clearly understood the price such an assault would demand, yet not a single expression wavered, as though they had already accepted the possibility of never returning the moment the command was issued.

Then he raised his hand once more, causing several Soul Gates to materialize beside him in rapid succession, each one radiating dense spiritual fluctuations that distorted the surrounding space.

Hummm—

A number of Soul Creatures emerged from within the gates one after another.

Every single one possessed strength comparable to a World Cataclysm, and the moment they entered the battlefield, overwhelming spiritual pressure spread across the surrounding space as they silently took their positions beside the advancing experts, becoming an additional force prepared to plunge directly into the enemy formation.

"I want to see how the trash of the Young Belt plans to drive me away today!!" the Seventh Son roared, his voice carrying both rage and complete confidence.

Even if his entire fleet were destroyed today in exchange for wiping out the Note fleets, so be it.

What truly mattered was capturing the galaxy.

All he had to do was eliminate the galaxy’s main striking force gathered here, shattering the strongest resistance in a single decisive battle before giving the ground armies enough room to launch their invasion from their newly established headquarters. Once that happened, occupying the remaining planets would merely become a matter of time and systematic conquest rather than prolonged warfare.

He had wanted to keep casualties to an absolute minimum and seize victory as efficiently as possible...

But it seemed that would not be possible today.

Rumbleeeee—

Rumble... Rumble... Rumble...

The gates of the Note fleets opened simultaneously at that very moment, each massive portal slowly unfolding across dozens of warships at once until the battlefield itself seemed filled with rows of glowing openings stretching across the enormous formation.

"...?" The Seventh Son frowned in surprise before immediately issuing another round of commands without wasting even a single heartbeat. "Advance carefully. Those could be new cannons or some entirely different type of weapon. Do not rush forward until their purpose becomes clear."

Step... Step...

But what emerged were neither cannons nor weapons...

They were people clad in crimson armor. Thick crimson tubes pulsed rhythmically throughout every suit as though living blood flowed within them, while long horns rose proudly from their helmets, radiating an overwhelming aura of brutality and dread. Merely watching them emerge in perfect silence caused the atmosphere across the battlefield to become noticeably heavier.

Hundreds of them...

No...

More than that!

"...?!" The Seventh Son’s eyes gradually widened as genuine shock slowly spread across his face, replacing the anger that had dominated it only moments earlier.

The fact that they were descending directly from the warships into open space without relying upon any vessels meant every single one of them possessed the strength necessary to survive the vacuum unaided. That alone meant each individual was, at the very least, a World Cataclysm...

All of them were World Cataclysms?

Every single one within the Young Belt?!

Hiss—

The main gate of the mothership facing the galaxy slowly opened as well, its enormous doors parting with deliberate slowness before two figures descended from within at an equally unhurried pace, as though they had absolutely no concern for the battle already raging around them.

Both wore armor similar to that of the others, yet their designs were unmistakably different. Every line and contour appeared far more elaborate and imposing than those worn by the ordinary soldiers, making their identities immediately obvious as individuals standing far above the rest.

One of them possessed armor shaped with distinctly feminine features. Long metallic braids extended from behind her horns, floating lazily around her in the surrounding void like living serpents patiently circling their prey while waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Every subtle movement of those metallic braids carried an unsettling sense of life despite being forged entirely from metal.

The other was vastly larger than her, standing nearly five meters tall while carrying a colossal hammer almost equal to the length of his own body. The enormous weapon appeared absurdly heavy, yet he held it with effortless ease, and merely witnessing both the giant and his hammer together filled the surrounding space with an overwhelming sensation of terrifying weight, as though gravity itself had become noticeably denser around him.

The giant slowly lifted the massive hammer before pointing it directly toward the Seventh Son, his enormous grin widening beneath the helmet as he spoke in a voice overflowing with savage excitement and unconcealed anticipation.

"Today... Amon will find out whether Soul Force changes the taste of meat!"