Prologue: Admiral Lillian Luzor – Age 79
The Earth Empire’s 109th Patrol Fleet was, as its name suggested, composed of nothing but flimsy patrol boats—vessels so pitiful they couldn’t even compare to the smallest destroyers. They were little more than glorified sailboats in space, each barely 100 meters long at best. Their armaments were equally pathetic: a few small, single-barreled heavy-particle cannons (three at most, but even one was considered sufficient), and their primary weapons—three torpedo launchers at the bow—had ammunition reserves so meager they might as well have been tears from a sparrow.
These patrol boats were never meant to leave the orbital confines of the glorious Earth Empire. And yet, here they were—a thousand lightyears from Earth, on the so-called “front lines.”
An absurdity.
Among this ragtag fleet, however, there was one anomaly—a 500-meter heavy cruiser, the Atropos. Calling it a “heavy cruiser” was generous; it was outdated at best. The only praiseworthy thing about it was that it had once been an officially commissioned Earth Empire warship.
Leading this fleet was Rear Admiral Lillian Luzor, 79 years old. A graduate of the elite military academy, she had initially been assigned to a “safe” patrol unit. Thanks to her family connections and some modest talent, she rose through the ranks quickly, becoming a captain and eventually an admiral. For sixty years, she had commanded fleets.
Calling her a “veteran of sixty years” sounded impressive, but in truth, she had only once led a proper fleet of capital ships. After that, she had been banished from the front lines, left to drift for six decades in a single, rusting cruiser, pointlessly circling empty sectors of space. In other words—she had been sidelined.
Normally, wasting valuable personnel and even an outdated cruiser like this would be unthinkable. But within the Earth Empire’s military, it was common knowledge that bringing Lillian onto a real battlefield was bad luck.
Because she was the reason the glorious Earth Empire Fleet had been annihilated in a single night.
And worse—she had survived the disgrace.
Giving her even one cruiser was more than she deserved.
And yet, she clung to her ship.
Because nowhere else would take her.
No—there was no place in Earth Empire society that would accept her.
Only here, in this lonely, decaying cruiser. It was her cage, her home, her very being—a tombstone she was never allowed to leave.
Lillian sat deep in the Atropos’ bridge, staring at the 3D tactical display showing her fleet’s formation—
a single-line battle array, an ancient formation now being attempted by a handful of patrol boats. It was a pitiful sight.
Everyone knew this formation was meaningless with the ships they had.
But it was all they could do. Electromagnetic shielding existed to block enemy attacks, but barely any of their ships could deploy a proper one. Against the heavy-particle cannons of the enemy—the Horsehead Nebula Fleet—the Atropos’ outdated shields would hold for three shots at best.
“How glorious,” Lillian muttered, her voice dry as she eyed the tactical display.
“A dozen ships against three hundred.”
Once praised for her radiant beauty, the 79-year-old Lillian was now a haggard, sunken-eyed crone, her once-lustrous blonde-pink hair faded to white,
her skin pale as a ghost from decades without sunlight.
She had long since stopped bothering with makeup or even styling her hair.
Her time had stopped sixty years ago—
the day her arrogance and failure had cost everything.
“Captain… how long have you been with me again?” she asked absently.
The disparity between the fleets was stark.
There was no chance of victory. They were cannon fodder.
The Earth Empire was now facing an unprecedented crisis. Even before Lillian’s catastrophic defeat sixty years ago, resources and talent had been dwindling. And the people here? Expendable.
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“Two weeks, Admiral,”
the middle-aged captain replied lazily.
Ah, right. Captains here were rotated regularly.
She had long stopped seeing them as individuals—just replaceable symbols.
She wasn’t sure why she had asked. Maybe she just wanted someone to talk to.
“I see. Not running away?”
“Deserters get shot.”
“Hmph. I doubt the kind-hearted Stellar Empire’s Outer Orbital Fleet Commander would do such a thing.”
Her words dripped with sarcasm, and the captain smirked in response.
“The others would. Especially the ones assigned to your unit—they’re hated.”
Ah, right.
This was where they sent failures and disgraced officers—people to be worn down and discarded.
Endless, meaningless patrols until they either went mad or vanished. Lillian never stopped them.
A place to dispose of talent in an empire starving for it. A contradiction.
But perhaps it was inevitable. The once-glorious Earth Empire, now on the brink of defeat, had become a frightening dictatorship.
Every resource went to the war. Dissenters were sent to the front lines.
So much so that such recklessness is allowed to go unchecked.
“What did you do to end up here?”
“Nothing. That’s why I’m here. We’re losing anyway.”
“How noble. Any fleet command experience?”
“None. The Empire’s fleets are mostly drones now. But I wanted to try commanding one. Doesn’t matter—we’ll lose anyway.”
The captain yawned.
Two hours until engagement, and this was the state of things.
Either he was incompetent or here to die.
“Then you have command. We can’t run anyway. Do as you like. Uh…?”
“Quincy. Zabato Quincy.”
“Very well, Captain Quincy. The fleet is yours.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The captain mockingly adjusted an imaginary cap.
“A captain’s gotta look the part.”
Saying such meaningless things
Two hours later, the outcome was predictable.
The moment they engaged, hundreds of particle beams lanced through the void. The patrol boats were annihilated instantly.
The Atropos, thanks to its size, held out a little longer—but its shields were gone in seconds.
As for Captain Quincy? He died five minutes in, crushed by debris when the bridge took a direct hit.
In the end, Lillian was left giving half-hearted firing orders—until even the guns stopped responding. The bridge was in ruins, the crew dead or dying.
“Finally.”
The enemy fleet, completely unharmed, turned its guns on the Atropos.
They had toyed with her long enough.
“Finally, my sins will be cleansed.”
As the particle beams surged toward her, Lillian whispered:
“Ah… but the ship… it was fun.”
In an instant, she vanished into the light.
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