Soul of Searing Steel

Panda Novel

A conservative faction that would rather die than moving away to unfamiliar otherworlds, and liberal faction that would rather die than stay in their dark homeworld.

Two legacies that originated from sacrifice thus clashed violently.

One accused the other of being reckless, neglectful of civilization’s security and driving all of them to the danger zone where the Evil Gods of Chaos lurked. As for the other, they would accuse their counterpart as having lost all gall, unwilling to take a chance despite hanging between life and death to scrape a living from their dying world.

Repression, anguish, insanity, and paranoia… In a brief few days, the Sartrean world fell into utter strife. Countless riots sparked from the bottom, leaving even the military bewildered and unsure which faction they should be suppressing. Finally, as the lower ranking officers in the Void fleet accidentally opened fire amidst the rising tension and sunk another warship, killing hundreds of thousands in the process, all-out-war erupted between the two factions.

At present, Nostradamus was still not privy to Joshua and Igor’s theory about the present matter, and naturally was not one to blame a society’s inner struggles upon some Evil God. He simply told the fortress personnel to provide the infrastructure and establish a small refugee center at a nearby barren world to accommodate the Sartreans. After all, Fort Pioneer was not large enough and Mycroftian resources were a little lacking—they did not have much excess materials to provide for the refugees of other civilizations.

Then, he drafted a report which he sent to the homeworld through a dimensional spell.

But just the magical transmission was about to send to the world of Mycroft through a dimensional communications system, another profound power sensed it and read its contents

“Sartreans… Even they are in the midst of a civil war? The remnants of the defeated faction had fled to the vicinity of Fort Pioneer?”

“Interesting.”

A silver star flickered.

The entirety of Fort Pioneer at once felt that the space around it stirring.

As a Legendary champion, Nostradamus was certainly the first to sense it. The elderly mage’s eyes widened as he looked towards the center of the fortress chain, at the silver world where the entire facility orbited while exclaiming loudly, puzzled.

“Joshua, what are you doing?”

On the opposite end of the meeting table, Zelma, captain of the Voyager gulped. It was not sure why the powerful Mycroftian was speaking to the air, but it could sense a mighty presence transcending Void itself to descend upon the small meeting room.

“Master Nostradamus, His Holiness the Pope and myself had just made a partial theory.”

“As for the Sartrean, I have certain questions for it.”

A voice spoke out of nowhere in response to Nostradamus, and in the very instant, Zelma felt his body abruptly pulled out of the Fortress—it could see its surroundings turning into dark, chaotic Void at once, just as endless dimensional ripples stirred faintly, capable of killing an ordinary person swiftly. Still, the captain soon realized that he was wrapped in a translucent shield, even feeling more comfortable than the most luxurious environmental cabin in its home world!

It was the most perfect environment that was just right for the Satreans, before their homeworld was besieged by population and industry… It was the taste that was sweeter than home.

Zelma even felt tears in its eyes… Not only because it breathed fresh air but due to the resonance from the memories it inherited in blood: Innumerable generations of Sartrean memory that endured pollution, smog, the air that remained toxic despite multiple disinfecting, while both food and water were limited.

In the very next instant, everything stopped, whether it was the emotional stirring from its blood’s legacy, or its most earnest delight.

For it saw that itself stood before a silver world.

It was the first time it saw the shape of a world with its own eyes, instead of an image portrayed through various scanners and energy studies produced from its vessel. Zelma could not at once describe the thoughts breaking out of its heart.

Grand.

Profound.

Unbelievable.

Immeasurably stirring.

In that split second, Zelma began to hate its own self that was as small as dust that it could not even see the edge of that Silver World—its feeble two-dimensional photosensitive organ could not feel and observe the full form of that world at all, and could only catch a part of that profound presence.

The surface of that silver world began to shift in the very next second, the starry spots upon it boundlessly flashing with infinite color. Excessively bright and incandescent light compounded as if a certain giant god was narrowing his eyes, while the radiance produced from the focused gaze left Zelma blind—it could feel that it was losing its senses for non-supernatural beings were simply unable to endure such information upheaval, and yet a power kept it lucid, allowing to see an insignificant speck splitting away from that world and descending before it.

“Zelma, that is your name.”

The voice that spoke directly into spirit instantly permeated the mind of the Sartrean captain, and was carefully soft, seemingly out of concern about its mind.

“Could you speak in detail about your history and the cause of the civil war?”

***

In the past, Joshua’s excessive slaughtering and enshrouding in Chaotic presence had left his body emanating incomparable terror. He certainly no sense of cordialness in others, only fear and reverence: in the System, it was presented as being having an outstanding appearance but excessively low Charm.

However, even before ascending to Legend, the warrior had already dispelled the Chaotic presence. Then, with various world blessing and the exponential rise of his own individual ability, his Charm promptly reversed from new low to extreme heights.

Though the System had long since crumbled, the corresponding effect remains. It would be fine if Joshua usually withdrew his own presence, but if not, the might of his mere existence could crush every person in a city, leaving them crazed or unintelligent imbeciles.

But now, Joshua completed his own path of Legend.

He had become a ‘World’.

At this stage, the level of Charm was frivolous: the warrior’s very existence and true form was a heavenly deity, the utmost for creatures that lived in that world. If he was willing, he could even call himself Creator of his own spawn.

Zelma lowered its head in adulation.

Was that the Mycroft civilization?

Was that the champions amongst them?

Zelma was familiar with the text, language even culture of the Mycroft civilization. Those were inheritances from its great ancestors, an assurance that last to present day amongst their clan. Even so, Zelma could not comprehend why the once prosperous Sartrean Empire that boasted power and expanded its borders over dozens of planetary regions would fear, even quietly worshipped a civilization that did not own much territory.

So what if they have individually powerful champions, true gods that allegedly could destroy worlds? Could a champion defeat a peerless fleet? Even their cannons would be able to destroy worlds after all.

But now, it understood their power and sheer glory. Could that be the path a civilization should tread instead? The two were never once of the same measure, and it was the reverence its forebears held kept them alive until now, and the descendants themselves ought never to forget that.

Facing a ‘World’, Zelma respectfully arched its back, even prostrating itself—the most sincere and worshipful posture of its race.

Soon, Joshua learned several times more information compared to Nostradamus as Zelma willingly spoke of everything, even allowing access his bloodline legacy. He also obtained the coordinates to the Sartrean homeworld, which naturally was not mentioned by Zelma but by the warrior’s reversed-tracing of their warp coordinates.

“As I’ve thought… the unknown Evil God’s presence had simultaneously affected the Abyss, the world of Mycroft that is close to it, even the Sartrean civilization that was at the center of the galaxy! The differences and conflict in all those civilizations erupted at once!”

Unlike Nostradamus who was not aware of the situation in the Abyss, Joshua at once realized the terrible truth behind that information.

That unknown Evil God was either extremely unique in form, or… unimaginably powerful.

In the Void, the usual definition of ‘distance’ did not exist—with sufficient power, any part of the Void could be crossed regardless of how vast it could be. That was why if the power of a being was sufficient, its area of influence could theoretically enshroud an entire Multiverse. Still, that was a theory: the existence of such a being had yet been represented by solid evidence.

The Omens wrought by an Evil God’s appearance was indeed such normal disturbances, but most Evil Gods would affect one or perhaps two quadrants. An example was the Evil God of Wither which, due to having just awakened, could not affect any further from the world it was sealed, emanating only faint Chaos signatures.

The unknown Evil God, however—and if this was all indeed an Evil God’s doing—the Omen of its awakening affected an entire galaxy!

***

Meanwhile, Nostradamus arrived at the Silver Planet—in other words, beside Joshua.

“What’s going on?” The mage asked, frowning at Zelma who was fearful and trepid and then at the clone Joshua had materialized. “Are things that serious?”

“It is, and I suggest for you to return. Israel would need your help; he might not handle everything alone.”

Joshua said quietly, his words slow as if pondering. “I had intended to head at once for the Bottom of the Abyss to see if I could find some clues, but if things are unfolding as I imagined, I do not believe I should.”

“You’re not going back to Mycroft? Oh, right—you have another clone that could take action at any time.”

The elderly mage scratched his head and looked to another side where the warrior was conjuring another clone, and asked puzzledly, “So why are you making another clone?”

“I intend to take these beaten troops back to the Sartrean homeworld for a look.”

Joshua said forthrightly, seemingly having no intent on keeping it from Zelma who remained beside them. “Compared to the Abyssal demons who had finished fighting and destroying each other, or Mycroft where all-out conflict had yet to erupt, I believe we could observe the root and details of the unknown Evil God’s power by watching the Sartreans, who are in the midst of civil war but yet to annihilate each other.”

Naturally, the most important part was that the Sartreans’ homeworld was not too far away and it would not take much time to travel back and forth. If it did not matter, a trip would certainly be alright.

Nostradamus assuredly did not find it an issue. Still, compared to Joshua, the mage himself could only return to Mycroft and help Israel calm the rising tensions and prevent an actual conflict such as the Sartreans—or the old man’s recent reformations would be wasted. As for the Sartreans… Fort Pioneer never had sufficient supplies, and he opened welcomed the idea for Joshua to lead them away.

But just as the elderly mage cast a dimensional formation and prepared to return to Mycroft, while Joshua’s clone was ready to bring the defeated Sartrean force back to their homeworld for an inspection…

The ripples of a divine power suddenly unfurled in the Void.

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