Volume One: The Desert Star

Chapter 1

March 6th, Year 270 of the New Star Calendar.

The Interstellar Alliance issued an emergency summons, ordering Admiral Ethan Clark of the Silver Fortress to return to the capital planet Votto immediately to face questioning.

Ethan Clark defiantly disobeyed the order.

The next day, the front page headline of the Votto Daily blared an enraged long-distance shout—“Ethan Clark, are you rebelling?”

By the end of March, the Silver Fortress was under total lockdown. A mechanized force of five hundred superluminal heavy mechas was stationed outside the artificial atmosphere. The elites inside the Silver Fortress aimed their cannons at their own comrades. Neither side would back down, and by the night of the 26th, the tense standoff had lasted nearly 48 hours.

Chief bodyguard Lord silently placed rum and ice on the admiral’s desk, clicking his heels softly.

The admiral, standing by the window, snapped his fingers at his bodyguard, signaling him to stay.

This notorious General Clark, feared across all eight star systems, was tall and impeccably put together from his hair to his belt buckle, exuding a cold, meticulous aura. He picked up his glass, casually added a few ice cubes, and a faint virtual shadow circled his left ear—the admiral’s communicator was on, and he was in the middle of a call.

Communication technology was now highly advanced; calls connected directly to personal terminals. Whatever you wanted to say, your brain could send the signal straight to the recipient’s receiver—no need to move your lips, no fear of being overheard. Those nearby could only guess from the caller’s expression whether it was a friendly chat or a furious tirade.

Yet bodyguard Lord stood quietly by, unable to read a single clue from the admiral’s face.

Modern society encouraged candor, openness, and emotional expression, but the old-fashioned reserve and guardedness of Clark were completely out of place. The media and political enemies seized on this, writing daily articles accusing him of being scheming and arrogant.

The scheming admiral ended his call, swirling the liquor on his tongue, and said nonchalantly to Lord, “The Marshal called, told me to make a strategic compromise and return to Votto for now.”

Lord was taken aback.

“Strategic compromise.” General Clark repeated the phrase with a hint of amusement, smiled, and waved his hand to turn on the current affairs news.

All major media outlets on Votto were focused on the tense situation at the Silver Fortress.

The newly appointed Grand Secretary Gordon was standing at the entrance of the capital’s parliament, surrounded by reporters, delivering a brief speech: “General Clark and I are classmates, friends, and even family. I swear on my career, my character, my everything—General Clark’s loyalty to Votto is beyond question. He would never betray Votto, nor the Alliance. Any doubts about his loyalty are malicious slander!”

General Clark listened to this impassioned speech, crunching an ice cube between his teeth.

“Ethan, if you can see this, please give me a minute and hear me out,” Chief Secretary turned affectionately to the camera, speaking earnestly, “Don’t let those baseless accusations cloud your judgment. Don’t let this misunderstanding cause pain to your loved ones and joy to your enemies. Come back. Emily and I are both waiting for you in Votto. Ethan, your family is still here in Votto!”

The camera then swept to a woman beside him. She wore a black dress, no makeup, her skin pale, her features strikingly defined with dark brows and eyes, but her face was almost bloodless—yet she possessed a beauty that was nearly breathtaking.

Emily Clark was the admiral’s younger sister, who had married Gordon, the most promising man among the seven major star systems of the Alliance, a year ago.

Surrounded by guards, Mrs. Gordon said nothing, her gaze empty, like a finely crafted doll.

General Clark was unmoved, turning to ask his bodyguard, “What do you think of Chief Secretary?”

Lord chose his words carefully and replied, “He’s a man of great influence.”

“Mm, he is indeed. No other faults, except that listening to him gives me goosebumps. The way he talks, anyone who didn’t know better would think I was having an affair with my brother-in-law.” Ethan Clark chuckled, raised his hand to turn off the screen, and downed his drink. “Too sickly sweet.”

Lord took the empty glass and lowered his voice, “General, ignore the noise. The ‘Silver Ten Guards’ are fully prepared. We can fight at any time, just give the order.”

“What, rebel?” Ethan Clark glanced at him coolly, then suddenly asked, “Lord, did you graduate from the First Military Academy?”

“Yes, sir! I’m an honor graduate of Ulan Academy, class of 260!”

“What does your family do? Any siblings?”

Lord was a bit confused, not sure why the admiral was making small talk at such a critical moment, but still answered by the book: “My father runs a medical institution, my mother teaches at Ulan Academy, and I have an older brother and a younger sister.”

Ethan Clark gave a faint smile.

Ready to fight at any time...

This naive young man made it sound so easy—fight whom?