CHAPTER 169: CHAPTER 169| TERROR

*at an unknown location

The loud, heavy hiss of hydraulics echoed across the wide stretch of metal landing platforms as a massive cargo ship slowly touched down on one of the outer trade ports of Juggernot XII—roughly three hundred forty-five miles away from the main capital city.

*drrrrrrrrrrr...!

The ground itself lightly trembled beneath the ship’s enormous weight, and waves of dust scattered outward as the engines cooled down with a final deep rumble. The air around the port carried the sharp, cold scent of fuel mixed with rust and old metal, creating that usual atmosphere that every visitor of Juggernot XII eventually got used to.

Within only a few seconds, several mechanical clamps disengaged from the hull of the ship, clicking loudly as the first ramps began to extend downward.

The ramps pushed forward with metallic groans, sliding out like steel tongues until they finally made contact with the solid ground below.

More ramps followed from different exit points of the ship, each one extending in a slightly uneven manner as the old machinery struggled but still obeyed the commands of the crew.

The moment the ramps fully reached the ground, the sealed doors beside them released powerful bursts of pressured air—sharp hissing noises that echoed around the entire port—before slowly opening to reveal the silhouettes of several figures inside.

One after another, the figures stepped forward, and soon their numbers grew into a crowd of more than a hundred individuals, all moving in a steady flow as they exited the cargo ship.

Their footsteps created a scattered chorus of thuds on the metal ramps, and the air around them shifted with murmurs, shifting bags, and quiet whispers as they adjusted to the planet’s climate.

Waiting for them below were several Zerafhon officers stationed at the port—routine inspectors whose job was to check everything that entered or left Juggernot XII. Their uniforms were clean but clearly worn from long shifts, and each of them carried tablets and scanners meant to verify cargo, crew logs, and identification papers.

They watched the descending crowd carefully, yet with a familiar sense of boredom that came from performing the same procedure day after day.

After a short moment, from the group of newcomers stepping off the cargo ship, one figure finally moved ahead of the rest—approaching the officers first.

The way she walked, steady and without hesitation, made it clear she was either the leader or at least the chosen representative of the large group behind her.

Her presence carried a quiet confidence, the kind that made the officers straighten their posture slightly as she approached, even if they didn’t know yet who she was or what business she brought into Zerafhon’s territory.

She bowed toward the officers—deeply, almost exaggerated—and for a brief moment it looked less like respect and more like a mocking gesture coated in false politeness.

As she lowered her head, several loose strands of her long purple hair slipped out from beneath her hood, swaying gently before she straightened herself again. When she lifted her gaze back toward the officers, the playful look vanished, replaced by a firm expression that carried a strange mix of confidence and quiet hostility.

"Greetings, oh esteemed officers of Zerafhon. We have come here as representatives—" she stopped her sentence on purpose, letting the unfinished words hang in the cold air as she studied the men in front of her.

The pause made the officers exchange confused glances, but none of them cared enough to ask what she meant.

One of the officers stepped forward, his posture lazy, his shoulders sagging as if he had already dealt with far too many traders today. Without even trying to hide his boredom, he replied with a flat tone.

"Whatever empire, group, or trading branch you’re from, we’d like to see the permit that was given to you." His voice dragged slightly, like he was forcing himself to speak just so he could return to leaning on the railing behind him.

"I see!" the woman replied with a sudden brightness in her tone, almost cheerful in a way that did not match the officer’s mood.

She reached into one of her inner pockets, searching with slow, deliberate movements before pulling out what looked like a small, folded parchment. Holding it carefully between her fingers, she extended it toward the officer.

"Here is the permit, officer..."

"Odd," the officer muttered, raising a brow as he accepted the piece of paper.

He turned it over once in his hand, unimpressed. "The trade central is giving paper permits now?" he continued, unable to hide his confusion.

Permits were always issued as metal cards embedded with codes that could be scanned on the spot. Paper was almost unheard of, at least in this part of the empire.

Still, routine was routine.

He unfolded the parchment casually, ready to skim through whatever nonsense was written on it so he could wave them through and continue with his day.

But the moment he saw the symbol printed inside—his eyes widened, panic jolting through his face like a bolt of lightning.

"D–Dreistring...?" he whispered in disbelief. The words barely slipped from his lips before he lifted his head, staring directly at the woman.

She was smiling now. Wide. Knowing. Like she had been waiting for him to realize exactly who he was speaking to.

"T–TERRORIS—!"

He never finished the warning.

In the blink of an eye, another figure—one who had been silently standing among the group behind their leader—moved within a split second of great speed.

Dual sabers flashed once, clean and sharp, cutting the air with a whispering hum before slicing straight through the officer’s neck. His head separated from his body in an instant, rolling down the metal platform as the rest of his body collapsed to its knees and then forward with a dull thud.

By the time the other officers reacted, the sabers were already retracting, their faint glow fading as the assassin stepped back beside the purple-haired woman, expression cold and unbothered—as if he had simply swatted away an insect.

One of the nearby watchtowers caught sight of the chaos below and instantly reacted,

*WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

the warning siren erupting with a sharp, rattling roar that echoed across the entire port. Its metallic wail bounced off the cargo crates, warehouses, and ship hulls, spreading panic through every officer stationed on the platforms.

"What the hell is happening!?"

"Soldiers, to arms! We have been invaded by terrorists!"

"Dammit!"

Red lights along the tower began flashing rapidly, bathing the scene in an urgent crimson glow.

Down below, the officers closest to the man who had just been decapitated scrambled in confusion, some reaching for their radios while others stumbled back in fear.

But before any of them could organize a response, the rest of Orin’s group raised their weapons—sleek rifles, modified sabers, and strange compact devices that fired bursts of concentrated eidric force—and opened fire.

One officer was hit in the chest, thrown backward off his feet. Another tried to run, only to be struck in the leg before collapsing to the ground, screaming.

Shots kept flying, clean and quick, cutting down the officers one by one with brutal precision. The whole ambush lasted only seconds, yet the impact was devastating.

Amid the ringing alarms and choking dust, the man who had beheaded the first officer turned toward the leader. His sabers dripped faint traces of vaporized blood, still humming faintly.

"Orin, do we proceed as planned?" he asked, his tone calm despite the chaos, as if this level of violence was simply another normal task for him.

"Mhm," Orin replied with a firm nod, her expression hardening. She lifted her hand into a tight fist before raising her voice—loud, powerful, and filled with a fiery conviction that rolled across the port like a thunderclap.

"THE TIME HAS COME! LET US TAKE A FOOTHOLD ON THIS PLANET—WE CLAIM THIS PORT IN THE NAME OF DREISTRING! AND SOON, SOON THE EMPIRE SHALL BURN INTO ASHES!"

Her voice boomed with such intensity that even the alarms seemed quieter for a heartbeat.

Every member of Dreistring straightened, their eyes blazing with the same fierce determination. The shout ignited something inside them—rage, belief, hope, all mixing into a single unstoppable force.

Orin then snapped her fingers forward, a sharp gesture that echoed through the tense air.

"TOWARD LIBERATION!" she roared.

Immediately, the rest of her group responded.

Those already on the ramps charged down with their weapons raised, feet pounding against the metal.

"Forward!"

"Fuck the empire!"

"Kill them all!"

Others who had still been inside the cargo ship poured out in organized waves, each formation moving with chilling discipline. Rifles were loaded, sabers ignited, and explosives strapped to belts clicked as their users secured them tightly.

What had been a quiet trade port moments ago had now transformed into a battlefield, with Dreistrings surging forward like a tidal wave hungry for destruction—each of them fully prepared to tear the port apart piece by piece in pursuit of their cause.