Are these the parents and brothers you are so proud of?

The First Military Academy is also known as "Ulan Academy." Although Ulan Academy is called the cradle of senior officers, only a handful of its graduates can directly enter the Silver Fortress.

In addition to extremely high academic requirements, upper-level political maneuvering also ties graduates’ assignments to their place of household registration, under the pretense of “humanitarian considerations,” allowing soldiers to be stationed closer to home. As the military stronghold of the First System, the Silver Fortress only accepts graduates with First System residency. Most of them come from privileged backgrounds—their parents are wealthy merchants, intellectuals, social celebrities, or even officials and politicians.

This makes the political ecosystem of the Silver Fortress extremely complex, roughly divided into two factions—

One faction is the direct troops who once hunted interstellar pirates alongside General Clark, known as the "Silver Ten Guards," making up about one-tenth of the fortress garrison. The Silver Ten Guards, notorious like their commander, are a gang of infamous cosmic ruffians, constantly stirring up scandals for public amusement. Some say that back in the day, their fight against interstellar pirates was simply “fighting poison with poison.”

The remaining commanders and soldiers are all young masters from Ulan Academy, each backed by intricate family and social networks, weaving a web that tightly binds their loyalty and ensures the Silver Fortress remains impregnable.

Ethan Clark waved at the chief bodyguard and instructed, “Bring me a set of formal attire, send a letter to the checkpoints along the route explaining the itinerary. I’ll depart for Woto tomorrow.”

Lord was startled. “Sir…”

“The Marshal has already spoken, telling me to make a strategic compromise—what more do you want? The entire Silver Fortress—” Ethan Clark paused, his gaze turning to the window, where countless starships pointed at the uninvited guests beyond the artificial atmosphere. They gleamed coldly and mechanically, reminiscent of schools of silverfish in the sea, their shimmering reflections flickering in the general’s gray eyes.

He took off his gloves and tossed them aside. “Disarm.”

The next day, the Jingyuan starship, like a lone boat in the vast sea of stars, departed the Silver Fortress. The mechanical legion lurking outside the artificial atmosphere opened a narrow path, silently watching the military dictator’s departing figure as he took his final bow.

Unarmed starships are forbidden from installing jump valves. According to standard procedure, the journey from the Silver Fortress back to the capital star Woto would require the Jingyuan to pass through six checkpoints, taking thirteen days.

On the fourth day, as the Jingyuan passed near Sima Star, it unexpectedly encountered an asteroid stream. The starship intended to make a temporary detour, but the Fourth Guard of the capital star, viewing Ethan Clark as the number one threat, panicked when the Jingyuan failed to arrive as scheduled. In a single day, they issued twelve first-level alerts, ordering the Jingyuan not to delay.

The Jingyuan was forced to detour to the “Heart of the Rose”—the only forbidden zone in the First System yet to be explored by humans.

On April 6, Year 270 of the New Star Calendar, the Jingyuan was attacked on the outskirts of the Heart of the Rose by a group of interstellar pirates hiding there. General Ethan Clark was assassinated, the ship destroyed, and all hands lost.

When the news reached the capital star, public opinion was in an uproar. The Silver Ten Guards mutinied, the Silver Fortress was paralyzed, and the Marshal, having lost his beloved general, flew into a rage and slammed his resignation letter onto the Alliance Council’s round table. Meanwhile, as misfortune never comes alone, the pirate group that General Clark had driven out of the Alliance’s eight star systems a decade ago somehow caught wind of the situation, made a comeback, and suddenly attacked the civilian routes of the Sixth System. The military’s chaotic response was severely delayed, resulting in heavy civilian casualties.

This chain of events became known in history as the “Silver Calamity.”

Starting from the Sixth System, large-scale protests spread like a plague, climbing from one jump point to the next.

Under immense pressure, Woto was forced to change its tune—first appeasing the Federal Military Commission, then collectively forgetting to mention the forced recall of Ethan Clark before his death. All government spokespeople developed selective amnesia; the same amount of space once used to vilify General Clark was now devoted to commemorating and praising him.

Thus, the “deeply scheming” General Clark was suddenly transformed into a human treasure, unprecedentedly great, glorious, and righteous.

A grand funeral was held in Woto. A set of formal attire that General Clark had never worn stood in for him, and was interred in Woto’s Martyrs’ Cemetery. Tickets to the ceremony soared to astronomical prices. Because General Clark died so spectacularly, he was even entered into the Guinness Book of Records—a death that made him famous.

On the day of the funeral, Emily Clark, draped in black veils, greeted every dignitary who came to pay their respects. This famous beauty of Woto, even in such circumstances, remained serene and elegant, her image flawlessly perfect.

She truly was beautiful—all who saw her couldn’t help but marvel—and truly heartless.

Secretary-General Gordon came over. Emily Clark, like a dodder vine, took her husband’s arm, meekly accepting his care, letting him put the black veil hat on her, then sitting quietly, naturally showing a look of admiration and dependence as she listened to Gordon deliver a somber performance on stage, occasionally taking out a handkerchief to dab symbolically at the corners of her eyes.

The reporters surrounded her for a while, then, finding nothing of interest, dispersed—because Mrs. Gordon’s posture was exactly the same as at the last charity auction she attended for “opposing the dumping of pets into space,” so elegantly bland that it could serve double duty.

As the reporters scattered, Emily Clark remained perfectly still.