Chapter Title: The Marshal's End
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Galactic Era 3400, Ophiuchus Star System, Planet 3.
The vast land had been scorched into barren wasteland by the flames of war, red naked rocks emitting wisps of black smoke in the wind. A massive silver mech lay crashed in the desert, its side wing cracked into several pieces, reflecting the cold white light of man-made satellites in the night sky.
The cockpit ejected from the mech's body, landing with a thud on sand that had instantly turned into shards of glass due to the extreme heat.
Gavin cracked his eyes open slightly, his vision a blur. Blood from his forehead trickled down from his hairline along his nose to his jaw. He tried to lift his hand, but felt no sensation in his left arm at all.
"Injury report: Left side shattered, stomach ruptured, blood loss at 1000CC. Critical condition—request immediate Level 1 intelligent treatment..."
The cockpit's AI extended a mechanical probe, but before it could approach, Gavin coughed twice and rasped,
"Forget it, Phoenix."
The contours of his profile were strikingly sharp, the line from his nose bridge to his jaw flawless. As he spoke, blood foam bubbled from the corner of his mouth, stark against his pallid face.
The AI hesitated.
"Your condition is extremely dangerous. Please accept treatment immediately. Vital signs at fifty percent... forty-five percent... forty-two percent..."
"Phoenix,"
Gavin said wearily,
"connect me to Rebel Headquarters."
The shattered display flickered with static, then cleared after a few seconds. Inside the Gemini Empire Tower stood all the surviving Imperial generals from the First Galactic War. They were uniformly dressed in pure black military uniforms, ten in a row, their solemn gazes fixed on the wrecked Phoenix mech on the screen.
Set Heinrich stood above the throne, looking at Gavin's expressionless face for the first time at eye level.
"Surrender, Marshal."
His voice was deep.
"The Alliance has lost."
Gavin's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"No."
Set lowered his head. In those brief seconds, no one could discern the expression on the man's face. When he raised it again, his gaze had returned to its usual steely resolve.
"Galactic Era 3400, November 2nd, 1:15 AM—that was twenty-three hours ago—the Alliance's 53rd Committee Chairman submitted a surrender document to the Empire, voluntarily disbanding all military forces under the Alliance system, dissolving Parliament, and acknowledging submission to Imperial rule."
The man paused, then said lowly,
"Marshal, the Alliance no longer exists."
Gavin said nothing, only gazed at him faintly.
"Vital signs thirty-eight percent... vital signs thirty-five percent..."
An explosion rumbled from afar. After a violent tremor, the screen cleared again, and Phoenix's mechanical counter blared suddenly:
"Vital signs twenty-one percent... vital signs twenty percent..."
Set Heinrich's fingers gripped the edge of the display console so tightly that terrifying veins bulged on the back of his hand.
Yet his voice remained steady:
"The Alliance system that ruled humanity for a millennium in the Great Galactic Era has vanished. To preserve themselves, the Committee sold out the Radiant Legion and the positions of the three marshals to the Empire... Marshal, surrender. They betrayed you."
Gavin closed his eyes, as if after a long and grueling journey, he had finally glimpsed the end.
In that instant, Set felt he even looked relieved.
"Set Heinrich, first Emperor of the Great Galactic Era, future sovereign of Gemini."
Gavin's lips curved slightly into a smile.
"When I first pulled you out of that low-level military academy all those years ago, I never imagined you'd be the one to stab me in the back one day."
The Emperor's throat bobbed, as if he wanted to say something, but he was cut off.
"You ended the Alliance's thousand-year reign with your personal glory. But though the human regime falls, the Alliance spirit endures."
Gavin's voice carried a cold detachment that kept others at bay, yet it was oddly hoarse and gentle.
"Heinrich, even if you don the crown and ascend the throne now, embedding the entire galaxy in your scepter, in my eyes, you will never be a true emperor."
Set Heinrich's expression shifted slightly.
"Marshal...!"
Gavin cut him off.
"Phoenix."
The AI fell silent for a long moment before finally responding.
"Yes."
The probe extended a mechanical arm, retrieving a syringe from the left side of the cockpit console. It drew the contents into a metal needle and slowly descended, piercing into Gavin's immobilized left arm, rendered motionless by his grievous wounds.
Everyone before the screen realized what was happening. Heinrich's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His fingernails dug so hard into the console that blood seeped from the cuticles. His entire arm spasmed, his body trembling faintly, yet he made no sound.
As the syringe slowly emptied, Gavin's face grew ever paler, his gaze ever more unfocused. Seconds later, the drug was fully injected. Gavin's eyes snapped shut, and before he could open his mouth, a gush of purple-black blood surged forth!
"Heinrich..."
He gasped,
"...I..."
The final words never left his lips, vanishing into the salty wind, never to be heard again.
The night wind buried the mech in sand, shrouding the screen in bleak moonlight.
"Gavin..."
The future Gemini Emperor trembled all over, tears soaking into his crimson cloak, leaving dark red stains.
"Gavin... Celia..."
The stellar winds howled past, slowly sinking the body of the Alliance's most legendary war god, Gavin Celia, into the depths of the endless desert.
Galactic Era 3400, November—the century-long war between the Alliance and the Empire ended, the Alliance system declared dissolved, and Gemini's founding Emperor Set Heinrich ascended the throne that same year.
This man, born to a poor family and once a student at a low-level Alliance military academy, finally became the first interstellar emperor of the outer space era, the most absolute human sovereign in history.
After his ascension, he issued a series of reform decrees: abolishing all privileges of the aristocratic clans in the Alliance government, massively trimming the bloated bureaucracy, purging corruption, establishing a new council... The most striking was the abolition of the Alliance military structure, with millions of troops entirely reorganized.
The new military system eliminated the empty title of the three marshals; the Empire's only marshal was the Emperor himself.
Yet one person's status remained unchanged.
—Gavin Celia.
As the Alliance's final three-service marshal and the Great Galactic Era's greatest military mind, Gavin Celia's supreme rank was specially preserved by imperial decree.
Though the Empire viewed him as its primary nemesis, during the Emperor's ascension oath broadcast to the entire galaxy, he publicly acknowledged:
"For a century I conquered without defeat, save for one commander whom I could never vanquish... The commander's fame endures, while the Alliance lies in ruins. From this day forth, all glory belongs solely to the commander himself."
Gemini Empire, White Heron Star.
The New Versailles Palace under the twin moons bathed in silvery-white light. Deep within the grand hall, silence reigned, broken only by the ethereal songs of night-blooming lotuses from the distant lake heart, like faint hymns from paradise.
A female attendant lifted her skirt hem as she ascended the stone steps. Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her. A tall figure emerged from the boundless darkness of the hall.
"Your Majesty?"
The attendant halted.
"Did you have another dream?"
Set Heinrich stood by the chill stone balustrade, squinting at the two pale red moons on the horizon. After a long pause, he said,
"I dreamed of the Marshal again."
The attendant was unsurprised, asking softly,
"His moment of death again?"
The handsome Emperor shook his head, then suddenly caught a faint fragrance in the air.
"What is this scent?"
"It's mint, Your Majesty. The palace mint has bloomed."
"..."
Heinrich stood stunned for a moment, then murmured,
"No wonder. I dreamed of the days when I was still Commander Gavin's personal guard. One day, he mentioned the mint blooming... said he was born in a mint field on White Heron Star..."
The Emperor's tone grew distant, as if sinking into a remote and hazy dream.
"...Your Majesty?"
Heinrich didn't look at her.
"Do you know what the Marshal's surname means?"
The attendant gazed back blankly.
"He came from humble origins, raised in an orphanage until military academy, never knowing his parents."
The Emperor paused, then said,
"'Celia' was the name of the mint garden where he was born."
The attendant opened her mouth, but had no words.
The midnight bells tolled from afar in the palace, rippling through the watery night like waves, then slowly fading.
"Your Majesty... it's late. Please rest..."
Heinrich turned back toward the opulent hall when the attendant suddenly blurted,
"Your Majesty!"
His steps halted. The attendant said urgently,
"In ancient Earth lore, mint flowers were seen as harbingers of reunion. Their language is 'may we meet again'—Your Majesty—"
"Meet again?"
Heinrich chuckled lowly, though the sound was heavy with no trace of mirth.
"May it be so... I accept your auspicious words."