In that instant, despair gripped everyone—everyone except for one man.
Damoro remained unnervingly calm.
He had already factored in the worst-case scenario during his planning. He was in the open; the enemy hid in the shadows. On his own, he was no match for them.
That meant he absolutely could not act recklessly or indulge in some display of lone-wolf heroics.
From the very start, every event unfolding here had been set in motion by him.
Now, the time had come to strip away the last layer of disguise.
Take, for instance, the signal blockade.
As soon as the blockade was lifted, those at the center realized their comms were back online. Their relief was short-lived—just as they prepared to call for help, the space around them plunged into darkness.
The room became pitch black, almost devoid of light.
They tried to make their own bodies glow, but found themselves immobilized, even the speed of photons around them slowed to a crawl.
It felt as though they were trapped inside some kind of aerogel-like medium.
High-energy beams fired from the enemy's muzzles took an entire second to cross the gap from barrel to air.
"Einstein Condensate!"
That thought struck everyone at once.
Only a substance like that could so drastically reduce the speed of photons and electrons.
When had this happened?
Time outside hadn't slowed—so their thoughts still raced freely.
While they puzzled over it, more and more people had gathered outside the chamber where they were trapped.
Every surrounding conduit was sealed off.
"I didn't expect these guys would actually show up for a rescue," Captain Bichen muttered, his mood black. All the precautions they had prepared on the bridge had been for nothing.
"Captain," his adjutant said quietly, "I don't think this was their original intention. That soldier—Damoro—must have abruptly changed course, forcing them to act on impulse."
From the beginning, the adjutant had suspected that even if Damoro wasn't a spy, there were surely spies among the others.
He was certain they'd strike at the bridge—but he hadn't expected the first incident to erupt here.
This location, while not insignificant, was far from critical.
Yes, the warehouse stored plenty of equipment—but even if it was destroyed, it could be rebuilt.
Attacking here seemed pointless.
Or at least, it should have been.
Yet here they were, facing exactly that reality.
"Captain, Adjutant, you'll want to see this."
A nearby officer handed them a data slate. It came from the main server.
Nothing aboard the warship escaped the main server's eye—it had logged Damoro's every move, then run its own analysis.
"Well done," Bichen murmured, scanning the report. "So the man lured them here deliberately."
"He must have realized long ago that there were spies in his own group," the adjutant added.
In a matter of seconds, Bichen mapped out the trajectory of Damoro's scheme in his mind.
The man had skill—no doubt about it.
But now was not the time for praise.
"First, capture the spies," Bichen ordered. "As for Damoro—yes, he contributed—but his plan cost us dozens of lives. Reckless. He'll have plenty of time to reflect on that later."
The enemy was inside the warship.
Their true danger lay in their invisibility; once exposed, they were no longer a threat.
They had more than enough tools to bring them down.
Bichen's command was sharp and precise: "Issue a chaos spike for each one."
Chaos spike was the common term. Its full designation was [Neural Disruption Anchor for Consciousness Interference].
It was minuscule—barely larger than a grain of sand.
As its name implied, the chaos spike was designed to target consciousness itself.
Any being with awareness, once struck, would spiral into utter mental disorder.
That was the origin of its common name.
If the target was nothing more than an electrical signal with no consciousness, the spike still retained the ability to scramble and disrupt those signals.
Within moments, every spy in the room had been tagged with one.
Bichen then gave the order to remove the Einstein Condensate field.
"Compared to norm particle restraints, the Einstein Condensate is far superior," he remarked.
"Good thing we prepped it ahead of time."
The Condensate had been loaded specifically for this voyage—it was never standard equipment aboard a warship.
The reason was simple: it could not be weaponized against enemy vessels, so carrying it served no purpose in ship-to-ship combat.
Its use was purely internal.
When dealing with enemies inside the ship, the Einstein Condensate could effectively "slow time" in localized zones.
In this case, the intruders carried weapons of extreme lethality.
Norm particle restraints would have been useless against such instantaneous destructive force.
But with the Condensate deployed...
Inside the room, Damoro and the others suddenly felt their bodies lighten.
Looking around, they saw the spies already immobilized.
"Phew..."
"We're saved!"
Relief washed over the group like a tide.
What they had just endured—those dizzying highs and lows—had left them shaken to the core.
The whole ordeal had lasted only minutes, but it felt like centuries.
Damoro's eyes settled on the captured spies. He knew this was only the first step.
The first step.
Now, someone would come to speak with him.
Sure enough, an officer approached, stopping in front of him.
"I am the warship's adjutant, Soldier Damoro. Well done."
"Your courage is commendable. But sacrificing others for the sake of your own plan is not the mark of a disciplined soldier."
Damoro gave a low chuckle and answered coolly:
"If you want to accomplish anything without sacrifice, that's just wishful thinking."
"If we don't catch the enemy, the warship—and the entire fleet—will be buried with us."
"I'm not interested in dying."
"As for the dead, they can blame only their own lack of vigilance."
"Even if they hadn't died now, they'd have died later. The end result is the same—so why shouldn't they make a contribution?"
His blunt words stunned the adjutant into silence for two full seconds.
He clearly hadn't expected Damoro to speak that way.
The defiance was irritating—yet he couldn't deny that this kind of attitude was exactly what had led Damoro to pull off such a maneuver in the first place.
"Perhaps you're right," the adjutant said at last, "but don't ever cross the line."
"This time, your actions were unauthorized and cost lives. But because you achieved tangible results, your merits and faults cancel out."
"That said—this does not give you license to act as you please. Return to your quarters. If you leave again, you will report to me and explain your intentions in advance."
The adjutant intended to keep Damoro on a short leash.
A man like that could deliver miracles—but the same traits could turn him into a nightmare.
He could just as easily compromise the warship as save it, and in the end, the damage might outweigh the gain.
"Fine," Damoro said coldly. "You're the adjutant. If I were you, though, I'd kill myself right now—since you couldn't deal with these people, couldn't think of an effective plan, and yet you still waste time trying to cage the one person who can do something about it."
With a sharp snort, he brushed past the officer.
The first stage was over.
Damoro's movements were now restricted—this was no longer his call to make.
Although the warship's highest authority was the main server, it only intervened in major decisions. Personnel control still lay with the Captain.
The adjutant's words carried the Captain's will.
For Damoro, none of this came as a surprise. To others, his choices might seem erratic—borderline reckless—but to him, they were calculated.
Still, his punishment was light: his physical movements were restricted, but he was free to enter the virtual world.
Back in his quarters, Damoro quickly logged in, linking up with the soldiers who had followed him and survived.
He didn't hide his mood from them—it was heavy, colored by loss.
"I grieve for the dead," he began, "but you need to understand—we had no choice."
"There are many spies aboard this warship. And these spies aren't just hiding—they may be slowly killing crew members and converting them into their own kind."
"We have to act now. We can't root them all out, but we've already gathered some intelligence."
"The next purge will be bloodier. Let's hope fewer die."
His delivery was earnest, his tone charged with emotion.
It struck a chord.
"It's fine—we understand!"
"This was a brutal decision, but this is war."
"Our war didn't start when we reached Star City 4—it started the moment we boarded this warship. Every soldier must be ready to face the death of an entire civilization."
Some even stepped forward to console him, urging him not to take it too hard.
"If this method draws out more enemies, then our deaths mean something."
"You should tell the Captain that—so he knows he can act without hesitation."
The group's dedication ran deep.
In truth, none of them feared death—not even after living for hundreds of thousands of years.
They simply knew sacrifice was inevitable. Either you die, someone else dies, or the whole army gets wiped out.
If everyone clung to the belief that they wouldn't have to make that sacrifice, the end wouldn't be victory—it would be a shared grave.
A long life breeds rationality.
Of course, it also dulls emotion and drains desire.
In fact, debates had raged for centuries in the Eternal Cycle Star Nation and the Federation—whether high-level governance deliberately suppressed human desire, making citizens hyper-rational and, therefore, easier to control.
Such traits were inevitable in a low-desire society.
"I know," Damoro said gravely.
He spoke as if he knew the Captain well, though in reality, he didn't even know the warship's name.
"I've got a lot to handle next. I don't expect there to be another organized move like this for a while. The enemy is everywhere. Stay in your rooms, communicate online, and don't take unnecessary risks."
On the surface, it was advice. In truth, it was careful steering.
By keeping them in the virtual world, Damoro knew that, over time, their low-desire discipline would erode—until the urge to speak freely overcame them.
And when they talked, they'd pass along his words exactly as he'd said them.
That was the real play.
He made it seem like the Captain had orchestrated everything, that the Captain already knew the full situation, and that a sweeping purge was coming.
When such rumors circulated, spies might not panic, but they would adapt—and in adapting, they would reveal themselves.
A motionless enemy was the most dangerous enemy—without movement, there were no cracks to exploit.
But an enemy who moved? That was a different story.
Damoro was a master of words, his rhetorical skill at the absolute peak.
He had no doubt they'd follow his guidance. All he needed to do now was wait for the pressure to build.
When Damoro logged out of the virtual world, the others were left restless.
Their warship offered no real entertainment.
Off-duty hours meant either sleeping or idling in one's quarters.
But after what had just happened—after feeling death breathing down their necks—how could anyone sleep?
They could only drift aimlessly in the virtual world, listening to everyone else's take on each matter.
Soon, someone brought up the previous incident.
They had expected to be celebrated as heroes—yet instead, they were met with criticism.
People accused them of being reckless, saying that losing over thirty lives just to capture a few enemies was no different from courting death.
The group was furious.
They had clearly risked their lives to make a contribution, yet instead of praise, they were scolded.
They stood up and began explaining themselves, arguing heatedly with their accusers. Within hours, the conflict had spread to every corner of the warship.
Meanwhile, in reality, Damoro received no news from the virtual world.
But he already knew the outcome.
After all, the rumor about them "rushing to their deaths" had been planted by him—specifically to ignite hostility between the two sides and let the tension ferment.
"Just making the spies feel targeted, as if they're the next objective, isn't enough," he thought.
"We still need a fresh fuse to push them into action."
Damoro closed his eyes.
His long-imprisoned body had just begun to stir.
Compressed by dark matter, it suddenly pulsed like a beating heart. With each pulse, his form expanded slightly, straining against the surrounding force.
Two days later, he had restored his original size. Through sheer resistance, he generated intense heat.
Because his body was metallic, higher temperatures meant higher electrical resistance—resistance that disrupted the norm particle restraint device's control over his body's particles.
Norm particle restraint.
What actually restrained the particles?
Ultimately, various forces.
The device projected electromagnetic force, which, upon contact with matter, transformed into the strong nuclear force—binding the particles in place.
Therefore, interfering with the electromagnetic force could partially weaken the restraint.
Damoro didn't need full freedom; even freeing two atoms would be enough.
From there, he could trigger fission.
The fission of two atoms within his body would set off a chain reaction, spreading to other regions of his body—culminating in an explosion powerful enough to affect the macroscopic world.
Boom!!!
The chamber holding him shook violently, yet no cracks appeared.
His last blast had exceeded the equivalent of 10 million tons of TNT, but this place was sturdier than he'd anticipated.
No matter.
His body twisted into a spiraling drill, spinning at incredible speed into a corner of the cell, generating searing light and heat.
At that single point, nuclear explosions detonated one after another.
Burning away one-fifth of his own mass, Damoro finally pierced a hole. He shot out toward the warship's main body, drilling through a weaker section to gain entry.
After orienting himself, he made straight for the bridge.
Damoro was closing in.
"The new fuse must be explosive enough—something that convinces the spies this is the perfect moment."
But creating such flashpoints was no simple task.
He even considered targeting the main server directly—then discarded the idea.
The main server was the warship's heart. Destroy it, and the spies wouldn't need to act; the warship would be finished on its own.
Instead, he needed a target with slightly less authority, but still powerful enough to cause a shockwave.
Who fit that description?
The Captain.
If the Captain died, wouldn't that be the ideal trigger for the spies to move?
The key was making them believe the Captain was truly dead.
And Damoro would use himself to make that happen.
This version of him had already been publicly labeled as a "spy." If such a figure assassinated the Captain, the story would be readily believed.
To deceive the enemy, you must first deceive your own.
Damoro reached the bridge.
He appeared in full view and was instantly recognized.
"Damoro, here again? And alone this time?" a soldier called out.
Damoro said to the soldier, "I have important news. I need to see the Captain—can you take me?"
He intended to exploit the time delay.
The main server, the Captain, and the senior officers would soon know about his escape. But the rank-and-file soldiers? They wouldn't receive that information immediately.
It wasn't that modern tech couldn't transmit it instantly—of course it could. The problem was that all incoming data had to be filtered, and the decision to release it rested solely with the Captain.
Damoro was certain the Captain wouldn't rush to announce his escape. It would only stir panic and offer no real advantage against the enemy.
"What important news?" the soldier asked sharply, instantly on alert. He needed to confirm its urgency before escorting Damoro.
"Remember those recruits I gathered? Some of them are spies. I had long conversations with them before they revealed themselves—at first, I couldn't put my finger on what was off.
"But now I've figured it out. It's the way they speak. When discussing certain topics, their replies lagged—almost like a brief delay in dialogue. That could be the key to spotting them."
It sounded convincing enough.
But in truth, it was complete nonsense.
At the level of civilizations they were dealing with—both their own and the enemy's—such a basic slip was impossible. Communication didn't even rely on personal speech alone; their own onboard processors could handle it flawlessly.
Still, the soldier wasn't thinking that far ahead. And even if he was, he couldn't know for sure whether Damoro's claim was real or not.
"It's happening again, then. I'll take you to the Captain immediately."
The soldier led him toward the main control room.
To reach it, one had to pass through a sealed access tube. If the tube was closed, no one could get in. Inside the control room was an emergency launch tunnel, complete with a row of escape pods that could send crew to the nearest star system.
Outside the access tube were some light security measures, but nothing strict enough to slow them down. Damoro followed the soldier in without issue.
Stopping at the tube's entrance, the soldier said, "Wait here. I'll check with the Captain first."
As he spoke, part of Damoro's body morphed into a net-like mesh, snapping around the soldier and compressing him into a dense sphere.
Damoro pressed the sphere into the warship's hull, then slipped through the tube into the control room.
The space inside was enormous—several thousand square meters, with ceilings tens of meters high.
Hundreds of officers worked here, all of them high-ranking.
The moment Damoro appeared, every eye turned toward him.
The room froze, and then—
"It's a spy!"
Weapons were drawn in unison, every barrel swinging toward him.
Damoro, however, remained perfectly calm. Sweeping his gaze over the room, he spoke with icy indifference:
"All of you—die."
In the next instant, his body began to expand at a terrifying rate.
On a microscopic scale, every molecule in his form was undergoing fission. Delving deeper, each particle was actively absorbing nearby matter, converting it into raw energy, and then using that energy to accelerate his own particle growth.
This runaway growth caused his body to balloon outward, faster and faster.
In seconds, he was swelling to fill the entire main control room.
Several officers had already opened fire, their weapons punching through parts of his mass—but the damage was negligible. The bulk of his body continued to expand without slowing, engulfing the space entirely.
In direct combat, how could ordinary officers ever hope to stand against a Divine?
One after another, Damoro's expanding form wrapped around each officer, compressing their bodies into small, dense spheres.
Gazing at the dozens of compressed forms, he said softly:
"Sleep for a while."
A portion of his body split off, gathering these spheres for later. The vast remainder of his mass now collapsed in upon itself, triggering a full-scale nuclear fusion detonation.
The resulting blast—equivalent to over 40 billion tons of TNT—instantly vaporized the entire main control room, along with half of the bridge deck.
The shockwave rattled the entire warship.
Immediately, the main server issued a fleet-wide alert:
[Attention all soldiers: Explosion detected in the main control room. The Captain, Adjutant, and Legion Commander are all unresponsive. The main server will now assume full authority over the warship. All units are to remain in quarters while the main server re-screens personnel and selects a new Captain to restore order.]
"???"
The announcement left the soldiers stunned.
The main control room—where all top officers were stationed—had been obliterated.
Lost contact? That was just the polite way of saying they were dead.
Re-screening for a new Captain could only mean one thing: the old one was gone.
"The spies have made their move!"
"How could the main control room be attacked—completely wiped out, no less?!"
"Don't tell me the infiltrators were in the command staff this whole time!"
"They said earlier the higher-ups were making their move… is this what they meant?"
"Or is this a ploy to lure out the real traitor?"
Meanwhile—
Outside the sealed pipe, the soldier Damoro had captured earlier burst free from the shattered sphere.
When the news reached him, he froze in disbelief.
"Dead?"
"All of them?"
"…It was Damoro!"
For several seconds, he just stood there, stunned. Then he sent the report.
Those who had doubted before could no longer sit still.
Damoro had already been the central topic of conversation during the crew's recent boredom spells. Now, hearing that he'd been a spy all along—slaughtering the entire command staff—was almost too much to process.
But with a soldier now confirming the Captain's death firsthand, the truth could no longer be denied.
Panic rippled through every deck of the warship.