Shogar Tok considered himself a man born for war.
Not the kind of war fought in senate chambers with speeches and treaties, nor the kind that merchants whispered about when trade tariffs shifted by a few percentage points. No, the war Shogar believed in was the old kind—the clash of fleets in orbit, the roar of artillery over burning cities, the moment when a commander's will bent entire armies to his purpose.
And yet, four months into the Clone Wars, he had barely fought at all.
It irritated him.
Brentaal IV hung outside the viewport of his flagship, a pale ochre world wrapped in the steady traffic of merchant convoys and cargo freighters. Even now, despite the galaxy descending into chaos, the endless lanes of commerce still flowed through the system like rivers.
That was the curse of Brentaal.
The planet sat at the most valuable crossroads in the entire galaxy.
Two hyperspace superhighways met there.
The **Hydian Way** and the **Perlemian Trade Route**.
Every merchant convoy traveling between the Core Worlds and the Outer Rim passed somewhere near Brentaal's gravitational well. Cargo ships, banking transports, diplomatic couriers—millions of tons of goods moved through the system every week.
It made Brentaal unimaginably wealthy.
It also made it extremely cautious.
The world itself was an arid landscape of deserts, shallow oceans, and sprawling commercial complexes. Warehouses stretched across continents. Cargo exchange towers rose above the skyline like metallic mountains. Trade guild headquarters dominated the urban regions, each belonging to one of the hundreds of powerful merchant families known collectively as the **Brentaal Houses**.
Their capital, **Cormond**, was less a city and more a monument to commerce. Its central Trade Hall governed the planetary economy, and every political decision made there was weighed against one question.
Would it benefit trade?
War was bad for trade.
Which meant Brentaal preferred neutrality whenever possible.
Shogar Tok despised that attitude.
He stood near the command balcony of his flagship and watched the slow movement of freighters passing through the system.
Cargo ships.
Passenger liners.
Bulk haulers.
All of them still pretending the galaxy wasn't burning.
"They're blind," he muttered to himself.
Behind him, one of his officers shifted uneasily. "Sir?"
"Nothing."
But Shogar's thoughts remained sour.
When the Clone Wars began, he had believed it would be the opportunity he had waited for his entire life.
Instead he had been stationed here.
Guarding a crossroads.
A glorified checkpoint.
A man like him deserved more than that.
Still, there were advantages to the assignment.
His base of operations had once been a Republic detention complex.
A prison facility built decades earlier to house smugglers and pirates captured along the trade routes.
When Shogar arrived with his private army, the first thing he did was take it over.
The prison had been converted into a fortress within weeks.
Barracks.
Weapons depots.
Command bunkers.
Orbital defense batteries.
What had once been a holding facility for criminals had become a warlord's headquarters.
And Shogar Tok ruled it like a king.
He had rallied his clan quickly after aligning with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Many of the merchant houses had remained neutral, but Shogar had gathered enough support from militant factions to establish a formidable military presence.
More importantly—
Count Dooku had noticed him.
That alone had been worth the effort.
The Sith Lord did not waste attention on incompetence.
Which meant Shogar Tok had proven something.
Still, the war had passed him by.
Until now.
The bridge of his flagship hummed quietly with activity. Tactical displays glowed across the command pit while droid technicians monitored hyperspace routes leading into the Brentaal system.
Shogar turned his gaze toward the true pride of his command.
The ship beneath his feet.
His masterpiece.
The **Providence-class Dreadnought**.
But not just any Providence.
His.
The shipbuilders of the Free Dac Volunteers Engineering Corps had designed the Providence line originally as large fleet carriers and command ships. Rendili StarDrive had helped refine the design during construction at the massive shipyards of Pammant.
The standard versions were impressive vessels.
One model measured just over **1,000 meters**.
Another reached nearly **2,000 meters** in length.
Both carried powerful engines and extensive fighter wings.
But Shogar Tok had demanded something else.
Something bigger.
Something worthy of a warlord.
And because he had paid an obscene amount of credits to the right engineers, the shipbuilders had delivered.
His Providence stretched **over three thousand meters long**.
A colossal warship.
Its engines roared with the power of **Creveld-4 radial ion drives**, capable of accelerating the massive hull at speeds most ships of its size could never achieve.
But speed had not been his primary concern.
Weapons had.
The dreadnought bristled with them.
Twenty-four **quad heavy turbolaser batteries** lined the dorsal ridge of the ship.
Fifty-four **dual heavy laser cannons** provided additional firepower.
Twelve massive **battleship ion cannons** waited beneath the hull to disable enemy vessels.
Thirty-two **heavy flak cannons and mass-driver artillery systems** formed a brutal defensive grid.
More than fifty **point-defense ion cannons** protected the ship against fighter swarms.
And then came the torpedo systems.
One hundred and two **proton torpedo launchers**.
Each capable of firing three torpedoes per salvo.
Finally, ten enormous **tractor beam projectors** ensured that once an enemy ship entered the dreadnought's reach, escape would be nearly impossible.
It was a weapon designed to dominate entire fleets.
And Shogar Tok loved it.
He ran a hand across the edge of the command railing and smiled slightly.
"Yes," he murmured.
"This is how war should be fought."
For weeks he had waited.
Orders from Count Dooku had been simple.
Remain at Brentaal.
Prepare your fleet.
Stand ready.
When the time came, he would jump to **Muunilinst** and destroy the Republic fleet attempting to capture the Banking Clan's capital.
It was supposed to be a glorious battle.
A trap carefully constructed by the Separatist leadership.
All Shogar had to do was wait for the signal.
And he hated waiting.
Which made the sudden burst of alarms across the bridge feel almost like a blessing.
A communications officer turned sharply toward him.
"Sir!"
Shogar's head snapped around. "What is it?"
"Multiple distress signals."
His expression sharpened immediately.
"From where?"
The officer hesitated briefly while scanning the data.
"Unknown at first… standby."
Several more consoles began receiving the same transmission.
Then the answer appeared.
The officer looked up.
"It's coming from **Boz Pity**."
Shogar frowned.
"Boz Pity?"
That world was an industrial staging hub for the Confederacy.
Not a front-line battle zone.
"What's the situation?"
The officer swallowed slightly.
"The message indicates a major attack."
Shogar's eyes narrowed.
"Who is contacting us? Is it Muunilinst?" he demanded angrily.
The officer shook his head quickly.
"No sir. It appears to be Boz Pity itself."
The bridge grew quieter as the message replayed across the tactical screens.
Fragments of desperate transmissions.
Emergency signals.
A fleet commander shouting through static.
Then the officer continued reading.
"Unknown number of enemy ships have attacked the planet. Their fleet… appears to be offline."
Shogar leaned forward slowly.
"Offline?"
"Yes sir."
The officer glanced at another screen.
"They are requesting immediate assistance."
A second officer spoke up from the sensor pit.
"Additional message incoming from the Banking Clan command network."
Shogar's interest sharpened.
"Well?"
"They are requesting any available commanders to protect the world. They promise significant financial rewards for anyone able to respond quickly."
That made him laugh.
A deep, amused sound.
"Of course they do."
Money.
The Banking Clan's answer to every problem.
He turned slightly toward the viewport again.
Boz Pity.
An industrial world full of factories and supply depots.
And apparently under attack.
His mind began calculating immediately.
Distance.
Fleet readiness.
Political consequences.
Then he spoke again.
"How long to reach the system?"
The navigator answered instantly.
"One hour via hyperspace, sir."
One hour.
Practically next door.
Shogar tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the railing.
"Hmm."
Orders from Dooku had been clear.
Wait.
But those orders had been issued days ago.
And Boz Pity wasn't part of the Muunilinst trap anyway.
Besides…
The Banking Clan was offering payment.
He smiled slowly.
"Well."
One of his officers leaned closer.
"Sir?"
Shogar turned back toward the command pit.
"Dooku told us to wait for Muunilinst."
"Yes sir."
"But Boz Pity is only an hour away."
The officer nodded.
"Yes."
Shogar's grin widened slightly.
"Easy money."
A few officers exchanged uncertain looks.
One of them spoke carefully.
"What if the dark acolyte contacts us?"
Shogar waved a dismissive hand.
"If he does…"
He chuckled.
"Tell him we're already on our way."
"And if he complains?"
Shogar shrugged.
"Then he can pay more."
The bridge crew stared at him for a moment.
Then the navigator spoke quietly.
"Sir… shall we prepare the jump?"
Shogar Tok leaned back slightly in his command chair.
The boredom of the past months vanished instantly.
Finally.
A battle.
"Yes," he said.
"Set course for Boz Pity."
Engines across the massive dreadnought began powering up.
"Jump when ready."
The navigator's hands moved quickly across the console.
"Coordinates locked."
Shogar smiled as the stars outside the viewport began stretching into streaks of light.
"Let's go see what kind of fools attacked a Separatist world."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Because whoever they are…"
"They're about to learn why Shogar Tok commands the most powerful dreadnought in this sector."