Chapter 821: A Very Ordinary Prelude

Just as Joshua’s clone meditated inside the Liege’s Residence.

On the edge of the galaxy, a mountainous Mothership over nine thousand meters long was panickily crossing the Void between worlds nearby Fort Pioneer. It weaved out of a swirl-shaped portal, seemingly evading some terrible presence hot on its heels.

The Mothership was scorched black, dilapidated—its surface was filled with traces of cannon fire blasts. Even so, its original golden paint could be faintly discerned, a triangular flag sketched upon it…

The flag of the Sartrean army.

As if a massive spindle, the vessel had a streamline and level form. Nothing appeared to protrude, but at its tip were dozens of energy crystals flickering in green radiance.

But now, those crystals were dying, one after another: The Mothership had clearly exhausted its energy reserves following an extreme distance warping. If it had no other way of replenishing its energies, the dimensional turbulences in the Void would swiftly to tear the Mothership apart in the absence of a shield, and the colossal creation of civilization would in turn become a luxurious coffin for all its passengers.

Despite the hopeless moment, the navigator of the Mothership clearly had no plan to give up. It was directed to last of the ships power to transmit a distress signal to the dimensional region around him through wide-area broadcasting, seeking any help out there—even if they could not be rescued, the vital information has to be sent out.

They were convinced that there must be something that could help them: The Mothership’s extreme distance warping had locked on to this dimensional region where energy density peaked and was the most stable. It was the definitive sign that a powerful Void civilization existed here.

Anxiously they awaited a reply for their distress signal, their mood gradually descending into despair and a reluctance to be resigned to their fate.

It was worth rejoicing that their signal was answered.

In the Mothership control hub where the lights were all dim-red, there was a suppressed but infinitely thrilled cheer and shouts of jubilation.

***

Meanwhile, inside Fort Pioneer.

Nostradamus, who was incidentally at the heart of the fortresses to prepare a colossal compound observation circle to study distant parts of the Multiverse and other galaxies was observing the setup of the circle and circumstances of data compilation.

The elderly mage delicately adjusted the data in the observation circle and soothed the surrounding dimensional turbulences for convenient observation in the future. He had been busy for some time and about to obtain results—the dimensional turbulences around the edge of the observation circles had stilled, while a colossal observation circle that could cover the skies of a world slowly spread itself.

But suddenly, an abnormal warping signature the dimensional turbulence that had been calmed after much difficulty, throwing away every accomplishment gained thus far.

“…”

Narrowing his eyes, Nostradamus could hear an observer gasping in curiosity beside him before issuing a Level Two alert, warning, “Abnormal dimensional ripple and signal of unknown civilization detected—according to energy feedback, a massive Void warship has warped to our patrol area!”

“They appear to be transmitting a wide-area broadcast signal to surrounding space, interfering with our data collection. Ranking officers must be notified…”

At those words, the observer appeared to remember something and turned: Nostradamus was already strolling to him.

“Put it through,” the old mage said impassively. “Read what it says, and try to get them to stop so that they wouldn’t interfere with our observation.”

“Yes, sir.”

The observatory personnel connected to the other’s channel, looking up as he recalled his training and spoke in a formal tone, “This is Fort Pioneer, the United Stronghold of Mycroft. Otherworld friends transmitting over a wide area, please turn off your transmission, switch to another mode of communication so as to not put up a disturbance. Civilization molds the air of exchanges, and everyone has a part to play in transmission channel regulation…”

He communicating steadily with perfect conformation to the ‘Otherworld Beings Interaction Regulation’, with the general gist of his message being to get the other side turn off their mics. For the visitors’ part, they were silent for a long time before erupting into a heaven splitting cheer and shouts, with many of them uttering unintelligible otherworld languages.

“What are they saying?”

At a loss, the other observation personnel turned towards others, shaking their heads. There were few in Mycroft who spoke demon and elven, while dwarves and fairies were forgetting their own language amidst the widespread usage of the Common Tongue. With language unifying, there were certainly not many linguists in Mycroft.

Even so, before Nostradamus and the observation personnel could think about how they could guess what they were saying or have them understand themselves, the channel that was filled with otherworldly language was abruptly silent. As they pondered if the line was disconnected, a rather stuttering, ancient voice spoke non-fluent Mycroft Common Tongue in return.

“This is Zelma, captain of the Voyager, flagship of the Second Sartrean Fleet. Majestic, venerable and infinitely prosperous civilization of Mycroft, we offer you sincere blessings and greetings… respected champions, our vessel is immobile due to unexpected circumstances. Our ship’s energy is exhausted, our life support system on hold, in fear and trepidation, we ask for your compassion and aid.”

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Even if an eight-year-old child could speak better than the voice, everyone was still considerably shocked when an otherworld civilization actually used the language of their own world.

When he heard the distress signal that was a pile of flattery, ingratiation and simply nonsensical, Nostradamus himself was at once irritated and smiling despite his experiment being interrupted. After all, one should not greet a smiling face with hostility, and he naturally would not throw a fit. Watching as the personnel glanced once at himself, he quietly instructed, “ask them for their vessel’s coordinates, how large it is and how many people it is carrying.”

“They are a channel to Void civilization diplomacy and seem to know us well, even our language. They are very valuable.”

***

Meanwhile, in the Voyager.

The reply from Fort Pioneer left the vessel in a frenzy.

“Captain, do you really know the Mycroft Common Tongue?” A ranking officer could not hold back from asking quietly. “Those books had been sitting in the libraries for millennia, could they really understand you?”

“My family was the chief foreign minister of the former Sartrean Empire thousands of years ago, and my blood holds an inheritance of twenty-one languages from otherworld civilizations!” The captain called Zelma hissed in retort. “I’m using Mycroft’s oldest style of language—those prideful bastards like such words and usually care not for any civilization. Whatever happens, asking with such words would get them to act, or at least make a gesture!”

Soon, another reply from Fort Pioneer arrived in the Voyager’s channel.

Knowing that rescue was at hand, innumerable Sartreans wept in joy and held each other, even linking tails.

In seconds, a distinct dimensional ripple appeared out of thin air in front of the Voyager.

It was a rift that was hundreds of meters long and growing ever larger. Between breaths, the rift turned into a portal that could cover a city and was thousands of meters long: circles upon circles of complex magical runes swiftly unfurled and formed a dazzling flower, its petals opening to form the portal.

“A por—portal?”

“So fast, so huge!?”

“Compared to that, our extreme-distance warp portal is…”

Just as the Sartreans were left astonished by the power and technology that created that portal, the comparatively small figure of an old man but embodied an immeasurable presence appeared at the center of the massive portal that could have accommodated the entire Satrean Mothership.

Dozens of minutes later.

Nostradamus, after rescuing the battered and exhausted Sartreans from the half-wrecked warship, learned something that left him incomparably shocked.

“The Sartreans… are in a civil war?”

He and Zelma, captain of the Voyager were seated on both sides of a guest table, with the elderly mage stroking his black beard while pondering the meaning behind that information discreetly.

‘Come to think of it, Mycroft isn’t too peaceful of late as well.

‘But however unpleasant that may be, we are still better than these fellows in the midst of a full-scale civil war.’

The Sartreans were a race similar to the general definition of a Therianthrope, or to be specific, a bipedal feline (but not a catgirl). According to the Unified Archives, the Sartreans were known to be perceptible, quick to anger and arrogant, but also have the good aspect of superstition. They would remember it at heart after a single loss, and possess the innate ability to inscribe memories into their blood: the stronger the Sartrean, the longer that memory would last, which is why every Sartrean clearly remembers where their ancestors failed, and then prevent themselves from making the same mistakes.

They place sacrifice at the core of their culture, upholding their ancestors’ sacrifice as a noble legacy. It was why the Glorious Era did not have a bad perception towards that civilization, believing that they hold the talent for glory that befits the core values of Mycroft Civilization then—especially for their fair in the art of diplomatic languages. They left a fine impression in the Glorious Era, which was why they were treated unlike most ordinary civilizations, even earning a special mention in the Unified Archives.

Either way, they were allies… at least verbally.

According to the captain, the two major Satrtean factions had developed a huge rift following a recent council: one had been prudent and careful, intent on conservatively observe their surroundings before determining the moment for resurgence.

The other faction, however, wanted to recover the glory of the Satreans that existed millennia ago, to mitigate the pressure of swelling populations.

But somehow, the memories that should have kept strictly confidential was mysteriously exposed to the public, leaving billions of Sartreans at once astonished and in a frenzy. Those who had never experienced the state of their world would never know their despairing life that was without the light of day, nor would they understand their fear toward the Chaos beyond.

Especially the recent discovery by the Sarteran Void Observatories that was publicized: just as their dimensional region actually showed widespread signs of Chaotic revival, its world was at once split into two factions.