"What? Tell me! No—show me, quick!" Thorax snapped, fixing the young Minotaur officer with a demanding look.

"Yes, Admiral," the young Minotaur officer hurriedly snapped his finger, projecting the document's information onto the holographic display in front of Thorax.

He began scanning the documents. While the information was vague and lacked detail, it formally mentioned the catastrophe, including pictures of a few ships that bore a striking resemblance to their current enemy.

The Dreadnoughtwas pictured, and the supporting data was vague, but it was enough for Thorax to immediately confirm that the enemy obliterating them now was one and the same as the force described in the report.

He swiftly confirmed the identity, then bypassed the vague technical data, focusing instead on which race and powerthese ships belonged to and what they called themselves.

Scrolling down, he found the enemy's identity and details only at the very end of the document. Though still sparse, it was the information he desperately needed.

The document's structure confused Thorax—why was this vital information buried at the bottom? Furthermore, he was stunned that this massive event—the fall of one of their greatest fleets—was completely unknown to him until now.

He quickly reasoned it was because he'd been completely absorbed in the upgrading of his fleet in a distant sector. Shaking off the distraction, he knew he had no time to waste on administrative failures. He ignored the structural lapse and plunged into the contents.

In bold letters, the name was mentioned: [VOID FLEET].

The document described them as an unknown Human power originating from the Holy Region—a region the Minotaur clan had been coveting and had even formed alliances with Tier One powers (like the Star Empire, the Alchemy Association, and the Dark Elven Empire).

The report suggested the widespread chaos in the Galactic Rim, including invasions against the Genome and Asura Imperium, was a direct result of these large powers moving their fleets toward the Holy Region, drawing in other opportunists and Central Region pirates.

Pushing the political chaos aside, Thorax focused on the contents. The report claimed these humans, the Void Fleet, possessed technology belonging to the greatest powers of a previous era—forces destroyed in a catastrophic intergalactic war fought within the Holy Region.

Thorax's eyes widened with surprise. He could tell the document was mostly speculation from the clan's think tank, woven with small threads of genuine intelligence. Nonetheless, it was shocking; speculation, after all, is always based on some truth.

He continued reading: The report speculated that Humans had somehow survived the catastrophic war and the resulting destruction. The subsequent sealing of the Holy Region by an ancient demonic artifact—cutting it off from the galaxy for millions of years—was a detail Thorax recognized. It was the same information found in the ancient archives inherited from the Feather Race.

"The Humans somehow inherited a vast cache of knowledge left by those previous great powers, allowing them to rebuild a technologically advanced fleet. Though small—numbering just over one thousand—their ships are built from the highest tier of ancient technology.

Despite being millennia-old, this tech remains far superior to anything in the galaxy. At the Battle of Rigid Star, they demonstrated this power by utterly destroying the 7th Light Fleet in less than an hour."

"Ah, so that's why this information was hidden and suppressed," Thorax realized. "Because it implicated the 2nd Elder's grandson... the former Grand Admiral of the 7th Light Fleet."

"But no wonder this enemy is suppressing us so easily," he thought, despair setting in. "If the most powerful fleet of our race was crushed by their numerically inferior force then, what can we do now? They have somehow increased their fleet size to over ten thousand ships, while we are barely crossing the two thousand mark and nearing three thousand. Their inheritance is simply far too strong for us."

With a heavy sigh, Thorax reached the document's final line.

It summarized the catastrophe and issued a chilling warning: "If encountered, it is best to avoid them, retreat, and report immediately to the Council."

Thorax was stunned, his heart chilled by the words. He smirked grimly, speaking in a low voice: "What use is this warning when we were never informed it existed?"

"The Grand Admiral survived, and to protect his pride, the records were buried," Thorax concluded with a heavy, angry sigh. He continued, his voice grating: "Why write a warning you don't share with the military? Just because one of your Supreme Families suffered humiliation, you let thousands of us die? Letting us suffer this fate!"

"I'll make you all pay," Thorax muttered, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. His horns trembled and glowed red, mirroring the intense rage in his eyes. "Just let me survive this."

Captain Joran and the others, though unable to hear Thorax's muttering, saw the visible manifestation of his rage—the glowing red eyes and trembling horns. They gulped and instinctively backed away.

In the midst of his rage, a detail he had ignored suddenly stood out: "Human power?" His voice was low, filled with disbelief.

He scanned the content again; it was unchanged. Then, his glowing red eyes swept across the Command Bridge and the gathered crew. Those nearest him trembled and gulped under the intensity of his gaze.

While those nearby were paralyzed by his rage, the unaffected crew members further back began to speak about the report's contents. Soon, a chilling murmur swept across the Command Deck as the word "Humans" echoed from every Minotaur standing there.

The Minotaurs thought of the Human race as pathetic, subservient beings—menial laborers and cannon fodder used by many races across the galaxy. As a race with no powerful backing, humanity was considered an afterthought, a blight of weakness across the galaxy.

Captain Joran broke the silence: "Admiral, are you sure this isn't a misidentification? How can Humans be this powerful? Even with the ancient knowledge, how could a race like them absorb such a vast cache and build a fleet like this—a fleet we can't even hold a candle against?"

"Those are my thoughts as well," Thorax agreed, skepticism battling his rage. "Given the limits of the Human race, even the inheritance of the Great Ones shouldn't be absorbable. We, a race superior in both strength and intelligence, haven't been able to fully unlock the Feather Race archives after millennia. How could a race with a limited lifespan, originating from a region devoid of mana and thus cultivation, absorb it and build this fleet?"

"Furthermore, the report states they engaged only eleven hundred ships, not the eleven thousand in front of us,"Thorax noted, shaking his head. "This makes me question if this data is speculation with nonexistent context." His anger spiked, pushing him closer to a blood-lust state.

BOOOM-KRRREEEE! The Taurus Prime was violently impacted by a concentrated attack on its dorsal area. The entire shield flared and dimmed, rippling like water. Though the shield held, the hull structure strained, whining under the immense stress of the impact.

The trembling impact of the attack jolted Thorax from his rage. His blood-lust state receded, and he returned to command focus. "Status on the shield," he ordered.

"Sir," a Minotaur officer reported, "we lost 12 percent shield integrity, now at 41 percent. Structural integrity is down 2 percent, standing at 95 percent."

"Hull integrity lost as well, huh?" Thorax muttered, now calm. His earlier rage was gone, replaced by a cold acceptance. "They're increasing the intensity. But why now? What has changed?" He squinted at the main holographic display showing the entire battle theater.

He focused on the three-layer battle formation. There were many breaches in the first layer and several gaps in the second, but the third line remained mostly untouched.

"Huh, what's going on there?" Thorax frowned. The third line ships weren't moving to close the gaps as ordered. Instead, they were slowly retreating or moving laterally; only a few remained in position. "What's happening on the third battle line, Captain Joran? Why does it look like they're abandoning their lines?"

"Sir, it's like this," Captain Joran began. "I communicated with the Battle Command back at the star fortress, and the reply was... abnormal."

"They told me those ships on the third line are bypassing their orders and refusing to engage," Joran reported. "Worse, Command has labeled them traitors and wants to eliminate them with our own weapons."

"Worse, Command is now trying to rally loyal ships to target these fellow Minotaurs," he added, his voice heavy. "There are a few headstrong captains prepared to act on this. If this happens, our entire formation will collapse into chaos, and any probability of survival will be lost."

"What? When did this start, and why wasn't I aware of it?" Thorax's aura began to flare again, but this time, it was held tightly in check—controlled power, not pure rage. He understood the gravity of the situation: Joran was right; internal conflict meant certain annihilation.