Legacy of the Void Fleet

"We don't want war. We want balance," the Minotaur growled, voice low and laced with fury. "And this time, it won't be just you Star People laying claim to a holy land. We've made sure of that."

He leaned forward, eyes burning with rage and pain—pain carved into him ever since he'd been strung up like a beast by the arrogant Elar Verion. That humiliation still lingered like a brand across his soul. But this time was different. This time, the Minotaurs were not alone.

"With powers like the Alchemy Association and the Forgers' Guild now backing us, not even your bloated empire will dare claim the sacred lands. You won't even step foot there—much less call it your territory."

His words struck like hammers, and the silence in the chamber that followed was sharp enough to cut stone. The Earl of the Star Empire said nothing—but his pride cracked, if only slightly. Throughout the meeting, he had radiated nothing but arrogance

. Not a flicker of humility. Not once. Yet the Minotaurs no longer expected humility from those stronger than them. For centuries, they had accepted the cruel reality of power: the weak have no voice in front of the strong. And they had done the same, countless times, to those beneath them. It was the way of things.

But the taste of their own medicine was bitter beyond belief.

As the Minotaurs seethed in silence, the Earl sat in his own storm of thought. He knew all too well the significance of the sacred lands—especially to their kind. The lands were not just divine, they were tied deeply to the very origin of their race.

And now, to be told that his race—so close, so achingly close—might finally have a chance to claim the holy region they had coveted for millions of years… only to find it slipping through their fingers?

That it would not be theirs alone, but shared—or worse, governed—by others, including races they deemed beneath them?

It clawed at his pride and arrogance like thorns, each word tearing deeper than any blade.

Initially, he had considered crushing the Minotaurs' rebellion with ease. A minor alliance here or there meant little to an empire like his. But now… things were different.

The Minotaurs had allies—serious ones.

The Dark Elven Empire and the Mountain Dwarves had aligned with them. And while these two factions were undeniably weaker than the Star Empire, a war against them would not be without cost. It would be long, bloody, and far from clean.

Worse still, the sacred lands could be exposed to even more powers—leaks were inevitable in war, and interest in the holy region would only grow. That was a risk they could not afford.

More concerning than even the dark elves or dwarves were the other forces now involved: the Alchemy Association and the Forgers' Guild.

Elar Verion had no reason to doubt the Minotaur's claim. Why? Because both associations stood to gain immense value from the holy lands. Even a fraction of the territory would tempt them—and once they were in, they'd defend their stake without hesitation.

Moreover, these weren't small guilds. The alchemists and forgers were global institutions—transcending borders, empires, and even wars. They weren't just powerful; they were influential, ancient, and deeply respected across realms. Their word carried weight. Their actions shifted economies.

And worst of all?

They had the capability to undo entire civilizations.

One forbidden concoction from the Alchemy Association. One reforged curse-bound relic from the Forgers' Guild. That's all it would take. Verion knew it. Everyone in the room did.

There would be no simple conquest of the Sol Region now—not by the Star Empire alone.

And so, for the first time in decades, the Star Earl hesitated. Not out of fear, but out of realization. The world was changing. The balance of power, once so clearly in his favor, had shifted.

The Minotaurs, once dismissed as primitive brutes, now stood with powerful allies—but to say they were the foundation of this alliance would be laughable. They were still, by all measures, a weaker race. Primitive. Outclassed. Yet, by sheer cunning and desperation, they had placed themselves in a position where others—far greater powers—stood beside them.

The Alchemy Association and the Forgers' Guild didn't join them out of loyalty or respect. They joined because of opportunity. The holy land offered value beyond imagination, and the Minotaurs, by being the first to position themselves there, had opened the door. In return, their demands would likely be met—so long as they remained reasonable.

Thinking this, Earl Verion allowed a slight, forced smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.

What a clever scheme these lowborn creatures had hatched. As frustrating as it was to admit, there was little he could do to them directly. No empire—Star or otherwise—could act recklessly when facing both the Alchemy Association and the Forgers' Guild. It was unacceptable that such a sacred, priceless land would be shared with others… but in the face of this coalition, what choice was there?

"We are the ones who are weak this time," Verion thought bitterly.

Even his thoughts tasted like defeat.He couldn't help but wonder—would the Emperor accept such a humiliating outcome?To stand down?To share?To let others lay hands on something the Star People had longed for across eons—"something practically sacred to their kind—"only to be told that, even now, it would not be theirs alone?

It wasn't just a lost opportunity.It was an affront to everything they believed in.And the bitter truth?He wasn't sure the Emperor—or their people—could swallow it.

But he knew better.The Emperor would never accept complete exclusion—not now, not ever.Yet if they couldn't have it all… they would take a piece.And for now, that would be enough.

A foothold.A presence.A claim—however small—was better than none.

Because empires were not built in a day.They were carved from fragments, one calculated concession at a time.

And yet...

His jaw tightened at the thought.

Then his eyes turned cold.

The head envoy of the Minotaur's was still speaking—too boldly for Verion's taste. Without warning, the Earl's hand shot out, grabbing the Minotaur by the throat and lifting him off the ground. The envoy choked, hooves thrashing, arms straining against a grip like iron.

"You are forgetting your place," Verion muttered coldly.

The Minotaur coughed violently, legs kicking in desperation. The other five Minotaur's, who had remained kneeling in tense silence, surged forward in alarm. One dared to raise a weapon. Verion didn't even look at him. A wave of unseen force blasted the warrior back across the hall, slamming him into the far wall with a painful crunch.

The rest froze.

The elder's vision darkened. His strength waned. The grip on his neck tightened further, like a vice around his windpipe. His limbs went limp, eyes rolling up slightly as panic overtook his face.

And then—he was dropped.

The Minotaur collapsed to the floor, gasping, coughing, clawing at the ground just to breathe again.

"Watch your tongue, lowborn beast," Verion said, his voice ice. "This is not your court. This is not your right. You may have drawn powerful allies to your side, but do not mistake that for invincibility."

The room was deathly quiet.

"You think their presence makes you untouchable?" he continued. "You think it ties my hands forever? Think again. I do not fear making things… difficult for your people."

He looked down at the coughing envoy with disdain, then scanned the rest of the Minotaurs with a gaze like blades.

"You walk a line, and you walk it only because my empire chooses not to crush you yet. Let arrogance guide you, and you'll find that even alliances can shatter. Even mighty names like the Alchemy Association and the Forgers' Guild will not protect you if your usefulness ends."

The Minotaurs didn't respond. Not out loud. But the fury in their eyes told the rest of the story.

Verion turned away, cloak sweeping behind him as he walked to the edge of the chamber.

In his mind, one final thought echoed:

May the Emperor see reason.

Because if he did—if he accepted the terms, even if it meant sharing the holy region—it would still benefit their race.

It wasn't their culture. It wasn't their domain. Not yet.But access alone could accelerate their growth. Their understanding. Their reach.

And one day—perhaps sooner than others expect—they would no longer need to fear the Alchemy Association or the Forger Guild.

One day, they could stand equal. Or above.

And when that time came?They wouldn't just claim this holy region.They could seize it entirely—or take another, even greater, as their own.

Not defeat. Not submission. Just strategy.

That, at least, was the thought Vireon clung to—quiet, cold, and sharp.

One rooted not just in vengeance, but in strategy, opportunity—and a shared cause.

The holy land would no longer be a prize fought over by a single empire.