Chapter 1622: A number from dreams
"Three times as many? And you ignored them simply because they held only ten fleets or fewer?!" The intelligence chief’s voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide and trembling as he turned desperately toward Hedrick. His tone carried not just fear but outrage, as though shouting against the weight of an impossible truth. "My lord, this is madness! It is inconceivable that such enormous movements could occur beyond our sight. No shadow in the stars could conceal this without a trail. Please—you must not allow yourself to be swayed by such lunacy!"
"..."
Hedrick remained silent, a silence more oppressive than any words could have been. The strands of his long, dark hair fell like a curtain, concealing most of his features, leaving only the faint outline of his jaw and the shadow of his lips visible. Neither man in the chamber could discern his expression, and yet, in that stillness, it was evident that something vast and merciless churned within him. Deep inside, a storm raged—violent, unrelenting, and hungry.
"My lord, give me but ten years," the chief implored, his voice cracking as he stepped forward, driven by desperation that bordered on frenzy. "Ten years, and I will infiltrate those worlds with my own hands. I will pull their secrets into the light and return with irrefutable proof that will silence all doubt!"
But suddenly—
Whoosh!
Hedrick’s hand cut through the air like a blade, moving so fast the eye could scarcely follow. In an instant, his fingers clamped around his subordinate’s throat with crushing force.
"Ghh... gghhh..." The chief’s body convulsed violently, his eyes bulging as rivulets of blood trickled from their corners. It was not only flesh that strained beneath the pressure—it was his very soul, trembling on the edge of being torn from its vessel. Even then, even as death’s shadow coiled around him, he dared not raise a hand in defense. Loyalty and terror held him frozen.
Bang!
At last, Hedrick flung him away as though discarding refuse, his body slamming into one of the towering black pillars of the chamber. "Arrghh!!" The cry echoed through the hall, and as the man slid to the ground, blood painting his lips, it was clear that bones had cracked, organs had ruptured. Yet still, by some grim mercy, life clung to him.
Slowly, Hedrick raised his head from the sprawling map upon the table, the strands of his hair parting just enough to reveal his eyes—cold, sharp, merciless. His gaze locked with Theo’s, piercing him as if to strip his very soul bare.
"You identified forty-seven planets," Hedrick said, his voice carrying the weight of judgment. "You claimed each one harbors no fewer than thirty fully armed fleets, complete with soldiers, war engines, and reserves. Do you truly grasp the meaning of such numbers?"
"If I did not, I would never have dared to stand before you in person, Lord Hedrick," Theo replied, his voice steady yet heavy with solemnity. "We are speaking of nearly fifteen hundred complete fleets concentrated across those planets alone. That number, by itself, heralds a storm so vast it could swallow the sector. It is All-out cosmic war."
Even Theo’s measured cadence faltered when he spoke the number aloud—fifteen hundred fleets.
For any who dared to calculate the scale, the conclusion was staggering: even by conservative measure, one mothership, ten escorts, and five hundred war vessels per fleet. The total was a tide beyond imagination, a sea of steel and fire that would blot out the heavens themselves, bearing down upon a single target until no light remained.
Even the war now raging at Verilion, a war already branded across the galaxies as ’cosmic,’ had never witnessed more than two hundred fleets clashing upon a single battlefield.
And to think—
The True Beginning Centennial Empire, the Cradle Centennial Empire, and the Grave Centennial Empire combined did not field more than ninety fleets in total across their scattered battlefronts. Never, in all their centuries of strife, had more than ten fleets stood together at once.
"...And if we include the other strongholds we have tracked," Theo continued, his tone lowering with grim finality, "the worlds still drawing reinforcements by the day, then the number swells further. Our estimates place the true count at no less than six thousand fleets within the span of the next two centuries."
He paused deliberately, each heartbeat in the silence meant to hammer the weight of his words deeper into Hedrick’s chest. "Six thousand. That, we believe, is their threshold—the point at which they will set their advance into motion."
"Six thousand fleets... in only two hundred years... and their march leads here, to this very place, to me?" Hedrick’s voice cracked slightly, disbelief warring against the edges of denial. His eyes narrowed, his hands tightening into fists against the map table. "O Son of Robin, is this truly what you claim?"
But Theo did not falter. He pressed on, relentless as the truth itself. "Yes, my lord. If we accept the fact that these fleets vanished while on their supposed route to Verilion, then the conclusion becomes unavoidable. This matter is not random. It revolves around you. It is a net being woven with your name at its center. Within two centuries, six thousand fleets will descend upon this empire. Tens of millions of soldiers, legions of World Cataclysms, Nexus State experts, and even Guardians and Monarchs among their number. And once they arrive, they will not withdraw until their task is finished."
"You’re telling me..." Hedrick’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his voice low and hollow, "that I, Hedrick—the ruler of the Crumbled Dreams Empire—stand upon the edge of annihilation? That my destruction has already been decreed?" His laughter was faint, but it rang sharp in the vast chamber. "Now? In a mere two hundred years? Before even Planet Verilion has risen to Middle belt!?"
"Exactly." Theo gave a solemn nod, his expression unreadable yet firm.
"Heh heh..." Hedrick’s broad shoulders began to tremble, at first with a quiet shiver, then with uncontrollable spasms. His head tilted back, and from deep within his chest erupted a booming roar of laughter. "Hahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Pffft..." The intelligence chief, battered and broken upon the ground, forced his head up with trembling effort. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Hedrick as the ruler’s laughter spiraled into a frenzy, echoing through the grand chamber like the cackle of a demon unleashed.
To the chief, Hedrick did not appear human in that moment—his silhouette distorted by the torchlight, his mirth more terrifying than the suffocating grip that had nearly ended his life. Terror filled his gaze, eclipsing even the horror he had felt when Hedrick’s fingers were wrapped around his throat, draining the soul from his body.
Theo, however, merely raised his head with a flicker of intrigue, his voice low and measured. "Interesting...?"
"Ha... ha... huh?" Hedrick’s maniacal laughter broke off as suddenly as it had begun. His burning eyes narrowed and locked onto Theo, gleaming with the predatory hunger of a beast seeking fresh prey. His voice came as a growl. "What, precisely, do you find so interesting about this, Mr. Supreme Sword? Speak!"
"When I informed my father of the war that would one day descend upon you, he laughed—" Theo’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, "—he laughed in exactly the same manner. And only after that did he give me the order to deliver you this message." Then he smiled, "You two are a bit alike."
For a moment, silence fell over the chamber.
"...." Hedrick lowered his gaze, shadows veiling his face. His voice, when it emerged, was softer, yet heavy with bitter weight. "...Your father is a genius. That much is beyond doubt." He pressed both hands firmly onto the map platform, as though trying to ground himself against a tide that threatened to sweep him away. "Tell me... did he also provide a way... to aid me in this?"
The admission nearly shattered him. In that instant, Hedrick felt something inside fracture—the proud core that had carried him through countless wars and victories was on the verge of breaking. Pride had always been the furnace of his soul, and yet now, he found himself choking on it.
He remembered that day with Robin vividly. The day he extended the hand of partnership, believing himself the benefactor, the protector. In his mind, he had seen a future where he would guard that boy until he grew strong enough to become a worthy ally—a partner who could stand by his side in the true world of power and blood.
But now the roles were reversed. Now Hedrick stood upon that same battlefield of destiny, and it was he who depended on Robin.
Verilion was proof of it. Once a fragile world on the brink, it had become an unbreakable bastion after the arrival of the Scarlet Battalion. The last continent stood impregnable, shielded not only by stone and steel but by willpower and unyielding defiance. From that fortress, a counterattack had surged forth, reclaiming lands thought forever lost. The warriors of the battalion did more than fight—they had become legends in flesh, intercepting threats aimed at the very soul of the planet itself. At times, they even clashed directly with the cannons of motherships descending from orbit, turning aside blows that could have shattered continents.
Because of them, Verilion no longer staggered. It stood unmoving, an unshakable colossus, the rock upon which the enemy’s ambitions broke again and again. The corpses of invaders had piled beyond counting, the rivers of blood unending.
Nor was that all. The Crimson Battalion’s reach extended further—they rallied the Shattering Meteor Empire, shielding their last remnants, retaking stolen worlds, and even restoring to them the millennial title they had once lost. From ruin, they had risen again.
Meanwhile, Hedrick, who had denied aid out of fear for the neighboring Middle Sector, saw that Verilion and its allies had flourished a hundredfold without him. His absence had not weakened them—it had freed them to grow stronger still. And how was he to feel, knowing that truth?
Now, if not for this Shadow Sword’s arrival with the proof, Hedrick would have awakened two centuries from now beneath a storm of six thousand fleets, their guns aimed squarely at his empire’s heart.
Twice.
Hedrick had done nothing for Robin. And yet, in the balance of fate, he already owed him twice over.