The Birth of the Vanguard
The dry-docks of The Anvil were a cathedral of grease, steam, and forbidden technology.
Deep within the asteroid's core, away from the prying eyes of Imperial inspectors, the Ironfoot Clan maintained a sanctuary for ships that officially didn't exist.
Alistair stood on a catwalk of grated steel, looking down at his future.
The Vagabond's Grace was a masterpiece of clandestine engineering. Unlike the ornate, gold-trimmed galleons of the Imperial Navy, this ship was built for the silence of the void.
Its hull was composed of matte-black Void-Steel, a material that didn't just resist mana-scanners—it seemed to swallow the very light around it. It was 150 meters of predatory grace, shaped like a jagged obsidian shard.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Thrain said, standing beside Alistair, his beard tucked into his belt to keep it clear of the machinery.
"Triple-reinforced bulkheads, internal dampeners, and the Aether-Pulse drive we installed yesterday. She can jump between sectors in half the time of a standard freighter."
Alistair's eyes tracked the lines of the ship.
Through his "Genius" perception and 0-RA's assistance, he could see the internal flow of mana through the ship's conduits.
"Administrator," 0-RA's voice chimed. "I have synchronized with the ship's main computer.
The integration of the Aether-Pulse drive has altered the structural resonance. Current energy density: E = \Psi \cdot c^2, where \Psi represents the Void-mana coefficient. The ship is capable of short-range 'Blink' maneuvers."
"A ship that can teleport," Alistair whispered, a cold smirk crossing his face. "Invaluable for a mercenary, Thrain. But she needs a crew. Elowen?"
The elven archer stepped out from the shadows of the catwalk, her eyes never leaving the dock workers below. "I've vetted the candidates, Master. Most are scum—failed knights and desperate mages. But I've found five who have no ties to the Empire and possess 'Clean' records in the underworld. They are currently waiting in the Lower Commons."
"Good. Let's go meet our 'Eclipse Vanguard,'" Alistair said.
The Lower Commons: Recruitment and Ruthlessness
The Lower Commons of The Anvil was a place where life was cheap and information was the only currency. Alistair, still appearing as a young boy but draped in the heavy, authoritative cloak of House Thorne, walked through the crowds with a presence that caused even the most hardened thugs to step aside.
At a corner table in a dimly lit tavern, five individuals sat in silence. They were a motley crew: a disgraced Imperial Knight, a rogue Alchemist, two dwarven sappers, and a silent, hooded woman who radiated a sharp, metallic mana.
Alistair pulled out a chair and sat across from them. Elowen stood behind him, her hand resting visibly on her bow.
"You are the survivors of the Orion purge," Alistair began, his voice devoid of any childhood softness. "You have no homes, no titles, and the Empire wants you dead or enslaved. I am offering you a third option."
The disgraced Knight, a man named Kaelen with a scarred face, laughed harshly. "And who are you, little lord? A runaway child playing at being a mercenary king?"
Alistair didn't blink. He reached out and touched the iron table. A silver pulse of mana rippled through the metal. In a split second, the heavy iron table began to glow white-hot, then instantly froze over with a layer of supernatural frost.
The mercenaries jumped back, their hands going to their weapons.
"I am the man who will own the Orion Sector," Alistair said, his silver eyes locking onto Kaelen's. "I am Alistair Thorne. I don't need your protection. I need your skills. I will provide you with the best equipment in the galaxy, a ship that can outrun the gods, and a salary that would make a Duke weep. In exchange, I demand one thing: absolute, fanatical loyalty."
He looked at the hooded woman. "And you, Mina. I know you're a rogue Alchemist from the Forbidden Isles. You want revenge for your clan. I can give you the reagents to brew toxins that can bypass High Knight armor."
Mina's eyes widened beneath her hood. "How do you know my name?"
"I know everything," Alistair replied. "So, do you want to die in a gutter, or do you want to be the founders of the Eclipse Vanguard?"
One by one, they knelt. They didn't see a child; they saw a sovereign.
The First Contract: The Calamity Belt
The Vanguard didn't have to wait long for their first test. A local mining magnate, a man named Horgas, had been cornered by "Void-Pirates" in the Calamity Belt—a region of space filled with highly volatile mana-crystals and predatory monsters.
Horgas was desperate. His fleet of ore-ships was trapped, and the Imperial Navy refused to enter the belt due to the risk of mana-implosion.
"Fifty thousand credits up front," Horgas pleaded in the hologram. "Another hundred thousand if you bring my ore-ships back to The Anvil. But hurry... the Void-Stalkers are closing in."
Alistair stood on the bridge of The Vagabond's Grace. Thrain was at the engineering station, and Elowen sat in the sniper's perch, her bow replaced by a long-range Aether-Rifle—a custom invention Alistair had designed that fired arrows of compressed mana.
"Thrain, initialize the Pulse-Drive," Alistair commanded. "Elowen, calibrate the scanners for Void signatures. Kaelen, prep the Knights for boarding action."
"Master," Elowen said, her voice dropping to a whisper over the comms. "Why take such a risk for a simple merchant? We could just seize his ships ourselves once the pirates do the work."
"Because, Elowen, a mercenary company is built on two things: results and reputation," Alistair replied, looking out at the swirling purple nebulas of the belt. "If we save Horgas when the Empire failed, every merchant in the sector will be begging for our protection. We aren't just earning credits; we're stealing the Empire's market share."
The Battle of the Shards
As The Vagabond's Grace entered the Calamity Belt, the sensors began to scream. The space here was thick with "Mana-Fog," a substance that disrupted standard navigation.
"Pirates detected," Thrain shouted. "Three corvettes, Imperial-surplus. They're closing on the ore-ships!"
"Engage the Phase-Cloak," Alistair ordered.
The ship vanished from reality. On the pirate's screens, The Vagabond's Grace simply ceased to exist.
Alistair walked to the center of the bridge. He didn't use the captain's chair. He stood, his feet planted, as he began to weave a massive spell-circle in the air. This was the true power of an Arch Mage—the ability to act as a ship's tactical computer.
"0-RA, synchronize with the weapon systems. Calculate the interference patterns of the mana-crystals."
"Calculation complete. Applying Fourier transforms to the Aetheric wave. Target lock confirmed."
"Fire," Alistair said.
The ship didn't fire traditional lasers. It fired "Void-Lances"—beams of dark energy that existed halfway between physical and magical states. The first pirate corvette didn't even have time to raise its shields. The lance passed through the hull like a hot needle through silk, detonating the ship's mana-core from the inside out.
"Who fired that?!" the pirate leader's voice crackled over the open frequency. "Show yourselves!"
Alistair tapped the comms. "This is the Eclipse Vanguard. You are trespassing on Thorne property. Leave now, or be deleted."
The pirates, emboldened by their numbers, turned their guns toward the general area of the shot. They began blind-firing into the fog.
"Elowen, your turn," Alistair said.
From the sniper's perch, Elowen took a deep breath. She didn't use the ship's computers. She used her Elven senses, feeling the displacement of the air caused by the pirate ships. She pulled the trigger of her Aether-Rifle.
A bolt of green light streaked through the void, weaving around a massive floating crystal before piercing the bridge window of the second pirate ship. The pilot was dead before he could scream.
"Boarding party, go!" Alistair commanded.
Kaelen and the new Knights launched in "Drop-Pods"—small, armored shells that slammed into the third pirate ship's hull. Alistair didn't stay on the bridge. He turned to Elowen.
"Guard the ship. I'm joining the boarding party."
"Alistair, no! It's too dangerous!" Elowen cried, her yandere tendencies flaring. She reached for his arm, her grip tighter than necessary. "I cannot let you go where I cannot protect you!"
Alistair looked at her, his silver eyes flashing. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his face inches from hers. "Elowen, do you trust me?"
"With my life," she whispered, her breath hitching.
"Then trust that I am the strongest man you will ever meet. Stay here and ensure no one escapes."
He vanished in a puff of silver smoke—a high-level Blink spell.
Action on the Pirate Deck
Alistair appeared in the center of the pirate ship's hangar bay. He was immediately surrounded by twenty armed mercenaries.
These weren't just thugs; they were "Augmented" soldiers, their bodies fused with low-grade tech and monster parts.
"It's just a kid!" one of them laughed, raising a heavy mana-repeater.
Alistair didn't reach for his sword. He raised both hands. In his left, a sphere of swirling fire; in his right, a jagged bolt of frost.
"Binary Incantation: Frost-Fire Nova," he chanted.
The two spells didn't just fire; they merged.
The resulting explosion was a thermodynamic nightmare. The temperature in the hangar bay dropped to absolute zero for a fraction of a second before skyrocketing to thousands of degrees. The pirates' armor shattered from the thermal shock.
Alistair moved through the chaos like a ghost. He unsheathed the Obsidian Star-Cutter. Every swing was a work of art. He didn't just slash; he used the sword as a conduit for his Arch Mage abilities.
A pirate lunged at him with a vibro-axe. Alistair parried, but instead of pushing back, he used a "Gravity-Well" spell on the axe's head. The sudden increase in weight pulled the pirate forward, off-balance. Alistair's blade followed, a clean decapitation.
"Warning," 0-RA signaled. "Heavy Combat Droid approaching. Model: Void-Crusher."
A massive, three-meter-tall machine lumbered into the hangar. It was shielded by a Tier 5 Barrier.
Alistair smiled. This was what he had been waiting for. He sheathed his sword and stood still. He closed his eyes, focusing on the Silver Pulse in his veins.
"Arch Mage Tier 6: Particle Disintegration."
He pointed a single finger at the droid. A thin, vibrating line of white light shot out. It didn't explode. It simply... erased. Where the light touched the droid's shield, the mana dissolved. Where it touched the metal, the atoms were stripped apart. In three seconds, the massive war machine was a pile of grey dust.
The remaining pirates dropped their weapons and fled toward the escape pods.
The Spoils of War
The mission was a total success. Horgas's ore-ships were escorted back to the Anvil safely. The Eclipse Vanguard had not only earned their 150,000 credits but had also salvaged three pirate corvettes and a mountain of "Augmented" tech.
Back on The Vagabond's Grace, the crew was celebrating. Kaelen looked at Alistair with genuine awe. Mina, the Alchemist, was already busy in the ship's lab, analyzing the pirate's poisons.
Alistair sat in his private quarters, looking at a small holographic projection of Seraphina. He missed her, but he knew that every victory here made her safer back home.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Elowen entered. She wasn't wearing her armor. She wore a simple silk robe, her long silver-blonde hair damp from a shower. She walked over to Alistair and knelt at his feet, resting her head on his knee.
"You were magnificent today, Master," she whispered. Her voice had a strange, melodic quality—sweet, but with an underlying edge of obsession. "But you took a risk. You went where I could not see you."
"I told you, Elowen, I am fine," Alistair said, his hand habitually moving to stroke her hair.
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing. "I watched the footage from the hangar. You were like a god. But gods are lonely, Alistair. You don't need those other knights. You don't need that merchant. You only need me. I will be your sword, your shield... your everything."
Alistair felt the shift in the air. Her devotion was becoming a physical weight. In his past life, he would have found this irrational. In this life, he understood that power attracted this kind of intensity.
"I have a world to conquer, Elowen," Alistair said softly. "I need many tools for that."
She looked up at him, her green eyes shimmering with a dangerous light. "Tools can be replaced. But I am yours. Forever. Promise me, Alistair... promise me that if anyone tries to take you from me, you'll let me be the one to end them."
Alistair looked at her for a long time. He saw the "Yandere" tendency in full bloom. He could suppress it, or he could use it.
"I promise," he said.
Elowen smiled, a beautiful, terrifying expression. She kissed the hem of his cloak before standing and leaving the room.
Alistair turned back to the star-map. The Vagabond's Grace was just the beginning. The Thorne family business was already growing—his new fuel was being requested by three different mining guilds.
But as he looked at the coordinates of the Imperial Capital, he saw a flickering red dot.
"Administrator," 0-RA whispered. "Malakor has been spotted. He has just taken a contract with the Imperial Inquisition. His target: The Thorne Alchemical Refineries."
Alistair's grip on the chair tightened. "So, the dance begins. 0-RA, set a course for the Thorne Sector. It's time to show the Empire that the Vanguard doesn't just work for credits. We work for blood."