In the deepest reaches of Mid Sector 99— Space Predators Planet.

This world was the stronghold of the Stray Predators Empire. Not so long ago, it had served as the capital of a vast empire that ruled over more than eight hundred planets, an empire that had stood proud for millions of years. Within the sector, it possessed a respected and even feared status, its military strength rivaling that of a full millennial empire.

The sole factor that restrained them from conquering even more worlds and formally declaring themselves a millennial empire was the absence of a single individual who had reached the Law Domination Realm. And so, they chose restraint—content with their territories, living in an armed peace safeguarded by overwhelming military force.

Today, however, that era was nothing more than a fading memory.

The planet had become the headquarters of a wing subordinate to another power—the Grave Empire. That wing now controlled only six hundred and fifty planets, while simultaneously fighting on an additional front. The military might they had accumulated over millions of years was eroding day by day, and the peace they had maintained for countless ages had collapsed completely, leaving nothing but tension and exhaustion in its wake.

And worse still…

This place —Space Predators Planet, one of the major power centers of the sector— was under direct attack at this very moment.

Bang

BAAAAAANG

The planet was enveloped in a colossal bubble— a protective barrier born from the planet's spirit itself, reinforced by several ancient arrays. In theory, it should have been capable of withstanding several strikes from an individual at the Law Domination Realm. Recently, it had even been further strengthened by a newly installed, gigantic array provided by the Grave Empire, imposing yet another layer of formidable protection.

Those arrays devoured Pearls at an alarming rate, while the planet's spirit maintained complete authority over them, dynamically adjusting their output as it saw fit.

And yet…

With every impact, the massive bubble surrounding the planet rippled violently, denting and warping as though it were on the verge of collapse.

BAAAAAAANG

"Enough, Lord Sylas! What you're doing will benefit no one. You won't be able to break through today!"

Ranther, the Wing Lord of the Stray Predators, roared from the planet's surface, his voice echoing through the defensive field.

"I will destroy you, Ranther! I will destroy this planet just as you destroyed my Draklon! I'll wipe you all out, you dogs of the Grave Empire!!"

Above the barrier hovered a slightly short man with orange skin, black markings forming bizarre, ominous patterns across his body.

Then—BAAANG—he struck the barrier once more. He didn't even pause to see whether cracks had formed. His body simply tensed again, preparing the next blow, eyes blazing with uncontrollable madness and hatred.

This man was the Planetary Emperor of the Holva Centennial Empire, a low-level Guardian whose fury shook the void itself.

"Lord Sylas, there's no need for this. The war began as a conflict of interests—you don't have to take it so personally."

Ranther wiped sweat from his brow. He trusted the arrays, but he knew all too well that if they were breached, an undeniable catastrophe would follow.

"Why don't we sit at the negotiating table and resolve what remains of our dispute with words?"

"You're the ones who made it personal by destroying Planet Draklon!!"

Sylas answered with yet another strike—BAAAANG—before pointing downward, sparks practically bursting from his eyes.

"And you dare speak of resolving things with words after annihilating more than one hundred and fifty planets under my rule? As long as I live, you will fall by my hand, you scum! You will fall by my hand!!"

"…Lord Sylas, you're smarter than this. Please, come to your senses and leave this place."

Ranther spread his arms, gesturing toward the ten figures standing behind him.

"Even if you destroy the planet's defenses, you still won't be able to do anything."

Behind him stood ten experts, all within the Nexus State, ranging from low-level Nexus State to high-level Nexus State— each one prepared to give their life to defend this Planet.

Ranther then raised his voice in raw fury, his tone sharp and unyielding.

"Even a low-level Guardian cannot do whatever he pleases under my watch. We did not survive all these long years because our enemies chose to show us mercy!!"

At this very moment, Ranther was seething with rage and a profound sense of humiliation. Someone had dared to attack his home planet—his birthplace, the core of his authority—and had done so in the most blatant and direct way imaginable.

Sylas had come alone, without an army, without fleets, as if declaring that this world was already beneath his concern.

Yet at the same time, after everything that had unfolded over the past fifty years… Ranther could understand why Sylas had finally lost his sanity.

The war between the Doubled Centennial Grave Empire and the Millennial Holva Empire had not merely begun as a shocking catastrophe—it had continued in that same merciless, grinding manner for nearly half a century, with no sign of true relief.

There was an overwhelming advantage on the side of the Doubled Centennial Grave Empire in terms of military strength. Beyond the terrifying Note Armada, and the steady reinforcements of fourth-generation Note fleets —arriving in successive waves and numbering nearly one hundred fleets in total— Marshal Aro was not fighting with Note fleets alone.

The Wing of the Stray Predators by itself possessed roughly four to five hundred fully operational war fleets, all maintained at peak readiness and capable of immediate engagement. And there were numerous other wings as well—such as the Abyss Lantern Wing, the Aghrad Wing, the Green Wind Wing, the Peacock of Exile Wing, and many others whose names inspired fear across entire sectors.

Each of those wings commanded dozens of fleets, and in some cases hundreds.

The Aghrad Wing alone fielded two hundred and eighty war fleets, a number that could overwhelm lesser empires by itself.

And that was without even mentioning the fact that each of those wings possessed multiple Nexus States and numerous World Cataclysms. Their armies were highly refined, their doctrines perfected, and their equipment accumulated over hundreds of thousands—if not millions—of years. Planetary-grade armaments had been distributed among their upper command, ensuring devastating power at every critical point.

Each of them had been a complete, sovereign empire until relatively recently.

When all of that strength was gathered together, it formed a raging military force—a force worthy of launching assaults on three starfields at the same time, a force fully capable of crushing the armies of the Millennial Holva Empire head-on.

And that was precisely what had happened.

After only twenty years of relentless warfare, the Holva Empire was no longer millennial.

Following Marshal Aro's ruthless decision to halt all other conflicts and focus entirely on the Millennial Holva Empire—after the destruction of one hundred and fifty core Holva planets and the occupation of hundreds more—the Holva Empire was reduced to ruling just nine hundred and eighty planets.

It was a crushing blow, one that tore away the prestige and authority they had protected for countless ages.

Yet the Holva Empire had not been an easy prey.

They possessed a weapon no other empire could claim.

They had a Guardian.

Sylas began personally leading the offensive once he realized that constant redeployment for defense was meaningless. Under his command, vast territories of the Doubled Centennial Grave Empire were destroyed or occupied in rapid succession.

The Empire of the Stray Predators alone lost nearly two hundred planets in those brutal campaigns.

That counteroffensive allowed Sylas to push his holdings beyond a thousand planets once again—but the gains were fleeting. Soon after, he lost them just as quickly, with the total number of worlds under his rule falling to eight hundred and seventy. During his sweeping assaults on the wings, he had failed to leave sufficient forces behind to protect the rest of the worlds under his dominion.

He had believed that Aro would be forced to retreat to defend his own territory.

Instead, the Horned Marshal issued a different order entirely: every wing was to defend itself. He sent them vast funds to purchase powerful defensive arrays for their homeworlds—while he himself concentrated the Note fleets and his immense Azure Army, driving them forward in a merciless advance to overrun the Holva Empire without pause and without mercy.

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