Chapter Seventeen: The Battle at Spire Tower

Stellar Year 1228

The Galactic Federation Interstellar Fleet, the United Fleet of the Milky Way, and the Fleet of the Galactic United Front all formally declared war against the Fengtower Star System. This event would go down in history as the First Battle of Fengtower. The opposing commanders were Marshal Gary Barlow of the Galactic United Operations Command, and the Fengtower Empress Yekaterina Alexeyevna.

The great war was on the verge of erupting! Flames of battle swept across the entirety of the Fengtower system. Under a multifaceted assault, the Fengtower insectoid armies retreated steadily, until the Galactic Allied Forces were able to encircle them.

The conflict had reached a fever pitch.

Stellar Year 1229.

Liu Shaoyu stood in the captain’s command chamber, his former attire replaced by the standard white uniform. Upon his chest shimmered the emblem of a five-clawed golden dragon, signifying his command of the Young Dragon Fleet. Through this campaign, the Young Dragon Fleet had distinguished itself so thoroughly that its reputation began to rise steadily throughout the Galactic Alliance.

“Escort ships, regroup! Assault squadron, power up for a full barrage!” came the familiar voice—perhaps now slightly hoarse from days of constant battle, where once it had been clear and crisp.

“The Marshal’s flagship has sent orders: regroup and prepare to deploy antimatter bombs,” Thomas’s voice came through to Liu Shaoyu.

The Fengtower insectoids, under the Allied assault, had been squeezed back to the inner system—the true heart of Fengtower. Now, with the enemy cornered in their lair, the Galactic Alliance had been bogged down here for three months, unable to advance an inch.

The concentration of enemy forces turned the inner Fengtower system into an impenetrable fortress.

Long-range asymmetric warfare demanded immense daily expenditure from the entire galaxy. Though the spoils of war far outweighed the costs, the rear lines had been left dangerously thin—an anxiety that haunted the upper echelons of every Galactic power. That very morning, yet another urgent message had arrived from rear command.

The assault squadrons had just torn open a small breach. Now, forced to pull back after losing five starships, Liu Shaoyu was less than pleased. Yet obedience was a soldier’s first duty. After a few seconds, Liu Shaoyu gave the order.

“All fleets, fall back. Antimatter bombs to strike in thirty seconds. All units, prepare for jump.”

With the command given, Liu Shaoyu, who had been standing for over five hours, slumped heavily into his chair. Though the battle had pushed his body’s capabilities to new heights, the relentless, high-stress cognitive demands still left him exhausted.

Within the jump corridor, faint energy barriers shimmered all about, and distant planets streaked past at dizzying speeds.

A beam of light flared from the starship’s aft, expanding into a dazzling line before vanishing into the vast cosmos. War, for all, was nothing but merciless.

Thousands of years ago, the human philosopher Aristotle had said, “The aim of war must be peace.” Yet this war... was it truly for humanity’s peace? Liu Shaoyu could not help but wonder. War spilled the blood of the many, while enriching the few.

This campaign had given many factions a taste of the glittering gold that comes with the thunder of cannons.

But the deadlock had dragged on too long, hence the recent antimatter strike.

“Executive officer, tally the battle data,” Liu Shaoyu said to Xu Meng, having gathered himself. It was his habit to record the details of every engagement in his combat diary—now numbering 387 battles, each with a clear record of who had fallen on the field, each vibrant life lost.

No longer as sentimental as he’d been in his first battle, Liu Shaoyu now found himself growing numb to the numbers. Mercy in battle, he believed, can only be afforded to the victorious. The vanquished have no claim to clemency.

For every general’s triumph, countless bones are buried. Too much blood had been spilled upon these fields.

“What’s wrong?” In the lounge, Long Ruyuan, lighting a cigarette, asked Liu Shaoyu, who was lost in thought.

“I simply want this campaign to end soon. Too many have died,” Liu Shaoyu replied, holding nothing back before Long Ruyuan.

Exhaling a plume of smoke, Long Ruyuan said with a wry smile, “Let’s hope no one else sees our captain getting sentimental here.”

“Thank you. I’m alright now,” Liu Shaoyu composed himself, steeling his features once more in the manner of the battlefield. He would allow himself this brief moment of weakness—nothing more.

“Want one?” Long Ruyuan offered a cigarette, which Liu Shaoyu accepted. The acrid aroma seemed to clear his head slightly as the smoke drifted into the ventilation system.

“When do you think there’ll be no more wars?” Liu Shaoyu asked, gazing upward.

“When will you quit smoking?” Long Ruyuan retorted.

Liu Shaoyu smiled silently at the answer, and said no more.

“New operational orders have arrived,” Thomas’s voice came through. Liu Shaoyu stubbed out his cigarette and hurried outside.

In the ashtray, the still-glowing butt smoldered, its smoke curling upward into the air, vanishing...

“The antimatter blast just tore open a breach—entire fleet, jump to the designated coordinates.” On the main screen, Liu Shaoyu marked a single point and shared it with every command post in the fleet.

“Precision strike. Assault squadron, main batteries to full charge, prepare for a volley,” he relayed the command, tapping the breach in the enemy lines on the screen.

Suddenly, chaos erupted—the vanguard fleets suffered catastrophic damage in rapid succession. Distress signals flooded the command channel.

“Thomas! I need visuals—what’s happening over there?” Liu Shaoyu roared in shock.

The holographic map zoomed in to show a shadow flickering rapidly among the leading starships—moving too fast for the eye to follow, even drones could only trail fruitlessly behind.

Liu Shaoyu frowned. Never before had such a bizarre phenomenon occurred. He needed to know immediately what it was, for the unknown always bred terror.

“The Fengtower Empress,” came a voice in his ear. Liu Shaoyu’s mind exploded, his ears ringing.

“Full retreat!” Command sounded over the comms, and escape coordinates appeared on the screen.

“All fleets, initiate jump!” Liu Shaoyu ordered swiftly.

As the fleets jumped, more starships exploded.

Some fleets entered the jump corridor, but others remained motionless. Liu Shaoyu frantically sent inquiry signals, but received no response.

The Young Dragon Fleet finally entered the jump stream, but some comrades would never return.

In a single day, for the first time since the war began, the Federation Fleet suffered such staggering losses. What had seemed a near victory now appeared uncertain.

Galactic Allied Command

Marshal Gary Barlow watched the events unfold on his holoscreen. His expression remained impassive, betraying not a ripple, as though the calamity had left him unmoved.

“Prepare the doomsday weapon,” he said after a long pause.

At the evacuation point, Liu Shaoyu received new orders from command. The doomsday weapon—an armament reserved for certain classes of carriers. Clearly, Liu Shaoyu’s flagship was one such vessel.

Yet, through the holotactical display, Liu Shaoyu saw many friendly fleets still trapped ahead. If the weapon fired...

“They’ve been psychically enslaved by the Fengtower Empress,” Thomas’s voice informed him, as files on the Empress flashed up.

“If we don’t destroy them, they’ll soon become our enemies.”

Inside, Liu Shaoyu wavered. Only a moment ago, those men had fought by his side. Now... On the battlefield, mercy must wait for victory.

“Ready the doomsday weapon,” Liu Shaoyu said darkly. The moments of preparation felt like an eternity.

“Ready.”

“Fire.”

The word cost Liu Shaoyu all his strength.

A great brightness gathered on the deck—the “Judgment Light”—purifying all. The force of the blast shook the carrier to its core. As the beam struck, everything it touched burst into flame. The cosmos burned with infernal light.

Explosions flared everywhere. The universe was awash in fire, the energy radiating from a single point to engulf the starfield.

Liu Shaoyu stood in the flagship command chamber. The firelight illuminated his face—neither joy nor sorrow there.

“Thomas, give me visuals from over there,” Liu Shaoyu murmured.

The display zoomed in on the blast zone, plumes of fire erupting at the star’s edge. Liu Shaoyu stared, dazed, until command’s voice returned.

“Frontline fleets, fall back and await orders. All captains, report to command upon return.”

The command center was a carrier anchored outside the controlled stargate sector—Marshal Gary Barlow’s flagship. Unlike others, this carrier was a dedicated command vessel, equipped not with an array of weapons, but advanced transmission, monitoring systems, and formidable armor.

Nearly a hundred captains, Liu Shaoyu among them, entered the conference hall. Another two hundred or so captains, unable to attend in person due to distance, joined by advanced communication links. Most of those present were humanoid species, similar in form to humans—reflecting not just the Milky Way, but the wider universe, where such forms predominated.

Once all were seated, the room fell silent.

At the head, Marshal Gary Barlow was already in place. When all was quiet, he began, “The doomsday strike just launched...” He paused, glancing at Liu Shaoyu; all eyes followed.

“Did not destroy the Fengtower Empress.”

No outcry followed—everyone seemed prepared for this outcome. If the Empress could be so easily slain, none of them would still be here.

“But this strike has torn a breach in the Fengtower inner system’s defenses, a breach the enemy cannot quickly mend. Fleets from other fronts are now redeploying here. This meeting is to lay out the plan for a general assault.”

With that, the officers understood: the breach at last offered the Alliance an opportunity, after three months of stagnation. They meant to seize it.

Three hours later, Liu Shaoyu left the meeting, weighed down by the new battle plan, for it meant a further toll in lives. War never came without casualties.

But this plan would raise the tally yet again. Marshal Gary Barlow could wait no longer—or rather, those who profited from the war could not.

At last, after a year and three months, the war drew toward its end. And Liu Shaoyu stood at the threshold of another turning point in his destiny.