Volkmar was a Level 6 Planetary Lord, the youngest member to sit upon the prestigious Council of Stars, and the direct disciple of Nikolaus. Yet, within the strict hierarchy of this Origin Planet, there was only one Supreme Commander: Sebastian. Not even a prodigy like Volkmar possessed the authority to override that fact.
By the unyielding laws of war, replacing a planet's designated Captain required a formal petition submitted directly to high command, and an explicit order handed down from the top. Securing such an order in the heat of an active war zone was a virtual impossibility.
Inside the quiet cabin, the air grew taut as every eye turned toward Sebastian. Everyone watched him intently. Nearby, the newly arrived reinforcements stood firm, awaiting his reaction.
Sebastian remained entirely unbothered. In truth, he felt very little about the situation at all. In past galactic conflicts, the arrival of senior reinforcements almost always prompted a temporary shift in captaincy. On the vast battlefields of eons ago, such battlefield reshuffling was standard procedure.
The key difference here was simple: no one present, not even Anthelme, had any real grasp of Sebastian's true strength. And Sebastian, for his part, had no intention of backing down or losing to the man.
In a realm governed by strict wartime decrees, the truth was as cold as it was absolute. It was a universe where the weak bowed to the strong, where power dictated right, and where the fragile were relentlessly crushed underfoot. Sebastian might have been willing to yield the captaincy temporarily as a matter of convenience, but the Emperor's overbearing demeanor had entirely extinguished that thought.
"Want my captaincy? Sure." Sebastian offered a cool, razor-thin smile as his eyes swept over the Emperor and his proud entourage. "Wait until you actually defeat the Devil's Son."
A sharp silence descended over the cabin. Hearing his response, the onlookers were caught completely off guard. Most had assumed Sebastian would have no choice but to swallow his pride and accept the demand. A select few had guessed he might refuse; after all, Sebastian was no nameless nobody, but no one anticipated a rejection so shockingly blunt.
His tone was perfectly composed, almost casual, yet the underlying disrespect toward Anthelme was blindingly clear. Standing right beside Anthelme, a person clad in a black eagle suit pointed a trembling, rage-filled finger at Sebastian, his throat tight, unable to utter a single coherent word.
"Sebastian, you truly don't plan to yield the Captaincy to the Emperor?" Volkmar's voice resonated through the room once more, breaking the deadlock.
"I am simply following procedure," Sebastian replied indifferently. "As for Anthelme and his followers, if they want to charge ahead, they are welcome to move. I won't stand in their way."
"Very well. I will inform them," Volkmar sighed.
Bound by military regulation and his own sworn seat on the Council of Stars, he had no justification to use his position to suppress Sebastian for the sake of outsiders.
With the chain of command firm, Anthelme's faction had no choice but to bite the bullet and accept the terms. If they wanted Sebastian forcibly stripped of his authority on the battlefield, they would have to file an official report to the supreme leadership. But under the current circumstances, there simply was no time.
"Fine," the young man in the black eagle suit sneered, casting a venomous glance at Sebastian as he stepped forward. "You don't need to bother involving yourself in the next assault. Just remember, after we slay Illidan, you won't see a single merit point from the victory."
Without another word, Anthelme and his party pushed aggressively through the crowd, heading straight toward the central core of the starship. Behind them, Sergey, Jeffery, and the remaining officers exchanged tense, uneasy looks. The youth's parting shot had aimed straight at everyone's core interest: the Merit Points.
Under the newly promulgated military guidelines, the reward system was brutally straightforward: exterminating a Low-Level Daemon yielded a single Merit Point. Slain Medium-Level Daemons were worth 10 points, while felling a High-Level Daemon granted a massive 100 points. These points were the ultimate currency, capable of being exchanged for rare artifacts, resources, and forbidden treasures that money could never buy.
Currently, among everyone gathered in the cabin, Sebastian stood alone as the sole individual holding a massive balance of merit. He boasted over a thousand points, earned during his devastating prior clash with Eric, where he had single-handedly obliterated an entire legion of 1,000 Deamons, mostly Low-Level fodder, but with several dangerous Medium-Level entities mixed in.
The sudden arrival of Illidan presented an even grander fortune. The high command had placed an unprecedented bounty of 10,000 Merit Points on the creature's head. It was a staggering sum, enough to leave even seasoned warriors breathless, representing a life-changing windfall for any fighter stationed on this Origin Planet. Yet now, that immense potential fortune had been arbitrarily claimed and monopolized by Anthelme's faction.
"Hmph, as if it's such a big deal," Jeffery broke the silence with a harsh scoff. "Are we supposed to starve to death without those points?"
"Exactly," Baroque grunted, nodding in full agreement. "Who cares about their charity anyway? If I want merit points, I'll carve them out of the enemy with my own hands!"
"Right. The merit points from a single skirmish aren't worth begging for," Sergey added with a dismissive wave.
Several others joined in, their voices rising in unified support. Although Anthelme possessed fearsome status and undisputed strength, his arrogant posturing had left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth.
"That being said..." a nearby Planetary Lord murmured, a shadow of worry crossing his brow as he watched the distant figures. "I still hope Anthelme actually succeeds in slaying the Devil's Son."
"Indeed," another Planetary Lord agreed grimly, his voice barely above a whisper. "If Anthelme falls out there... there won't be anyone left to hold the line."
An hour of intense tactical planning and deployment followed inside the command center. Finally, the Emperor and his vanguard made their move, stepping out into the void to initiate the assault.