Legacy of the Void Fleet

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the vast chamber. The flames dancing in Earl Vireon's hair crackled silently, yet he did not interrupt.

"The cursed artifact that shackled the region in eternal isolation has been broken. Shattered by the combined force of the Universal Will and the Galactic Will themselves."

"And now… what was once a void of silence and ruin… is awakening.

The Sol Region is no longer sealed."

The Minotaur straightened slightly, voice gaining strength with every word.

"It has begun to transition—to return to what it once was. Not a dead zone… but a place of divine resonance. A land of purest mana, rich laws, and untold ancient potential."

"In time, Lord Vireon, the Sol Region will rise once more…and become a Holy Land—one worthy of reverence across the stars."

Earl Vireon Flameborn had grown increasingly silent as he listened to the Minotaur leader's account—his once flickering hair now a steady, burning crown of flame. The fire in his eyes no longer danced with arrogance or disdain, but with a somber and calculating seriousness.

The mention of a natural Holy Land—and one awakening in the galactic rim of all places—had struck deep.

"You do not understand," Vireon finally said, his voice low, resonant, like magma churning beneath the surface. "You think this is merely news of geographical interest. No. The matter of a Holy Region transcends mere territory... it touches upon the very foundation of a race's future."

He stood from his obsidian throne, his towering eight-foot frame casting a shadow across the room, the pressure of his presence making the Minotaur diplomats lower their heads even further.

"To possess a natural Holy Region," he continued, pacing slowly as his gaze turned inward, "is to possess a throne of fate. It is where the most refined spiritual herbs grow freely, where the laws of the universe whisper their secrets, and where mana flows not in rivers, but in oceans."

"A true Holy Land shapes immortals, births legends, and becomes a cradle for entire civilizations to rise to the heavens."

He paused, turning back to face them.

"Do you understand now what you've told me? That such a place exists in the galactic rim… outside the control of any Tier-1 Super State, untouched by the mighty… and that your backwater race stumbled upon the knowledge of it?"

The flames in his hair surged again.

"Even my people—the Star Race—have no natural Holy Land to call our own. We've built artificial ones, yes… controlled concentrations of mana, environments simulated for enlightenment… but they are shadows, mockeries, of the real thing."

"The true Holy Lands are already claimed—by ancient powers even we dare not provoke."

He slowly sat back down, but the tension in the air was even heavier than before.

"And now you tell me that such a land lies hidden… in the Sol Region?"

He stared long and hard at the Minotaur, his expression unreadable.

"Tell me, emissaries of the Minotaur clans… are you offering this revelation to the Star Empire as a gift… or are you asking us to stake a claim?"

The lead emissary of the Minotaur clans swallowed hard. Even though the Earl hadn't released a drop of his aura in intimidation, the sheer presence of the man—of this Starborn noble who sat cloaked in silent power—sent a chill down the Minotaur's spine.

He bristled inwardly at being labeled as a "backwater race." Pride gnawed at his heart, yet he dared not voice his discontent. Not now. Not here.

And though he hadn't planned to reveal it so directly, he knew he had no choice. The Earl had cornered him with words alone—words that weighed like planets.

"You are right, Lord Earl of the Star Empire," the emissary said, his voice strained but steady. "We have indeed come here to request that your Empire lay claim to the Sol Region… and in return, grant the Minotaur Clans a portion of it—our own region to govern."

He bowed his head slightly, hiding the glimmer of guilt in his eyes. That wasn't the full truth. Not even close.

In reality, the Minotaur's had already begun covert negotiations with other races and powers—such as the alchemy association. They were casting a wide net, seeking allies. The Star Empire was just the one of the most powerful fish in their sights.

But Earl Vireon was no fool—and certainly no idealist. He knew exactly what his race represented in the galactic tapestry: power, pride, and unparalleled mana manipulation… but also brutal ambition and an intolerance for weakness.

And he wasn't blind to the game being played.

His eyes narrowed, flames dimming to a smoldering crimson as he stared directly into the Minotaur's soul.

"Is it just us?" he asked quietly, dangerously. "Are we the only Empire you've approached with this sacred revelation?"

The room went still. The fire behind the throne crackled once. Then silence again.

"Tell me the truth, Minotaur," Vireon said, voice edged with steel. "Have you spoken to others?"

The pressure was still low—but the weight of that question bore down like a mountain.

The head emissary of the Minotaurs couldn't hold back anymore.

The pressure wasn't violent, but it was suffocating in its silence. Just being in Earl Vireon's presence felt like kneeling beneath a dormant volcano—one that could erupt with cosmic fire at any moment.

And so, he caved.

"Y-Yes, Lord Earl…" he blurted, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. "You wouldn't expect us to be foolish, would you?"

He paused, realizing his tone bordered on arrogance, but it wasn't meant to be. His voice trembled slightly, the pride in it hollow—more of a shield than a blade.

"Your race… the Star People, have a reputation across the galaxy—one of power, domination, and relentless pursuit of your goals. You're respected, feared, envied. We... we are not."

"We're just a minor race with a major discovery. And even though we were the ones who stumbled upon the weakening of the cursed artifact... even though we brought this to you, we know—we know—that we cannot claim the Sol Region for ourselves. We lack the strength to keep it, even if it's our right."

He clenched his fists, then relaxed them, exhaling heavily.

"That's why we reached out to others as well. We had no choice."

The words hung in the air like a confession in a courtroom. No excuses. Just a raw truth offered to a galactic giant.

He lowered his gaze now, shoulders slightly hunched. The surge of boldness had faded. Now there was only hope that Earl Vireon wouldn't see their pragmatic alliances as betrayal.

Now, there was only a sliver of hope left—that Earl Vireon wouldn't interpret their pragmatic outreach as betrayal.

But even that hope was fragile.

And if he did see it as betrayal... well, the Minotaur emissary knew that what came next might silence even him—especially when he revealed who they had reached out to.

Earl Vireon's expression darkened. The air around him grew heavy.

He didn't say a word—he simply vanished from his throne in a blur of heat and light, reappearing directly in front of the lead emissary. Before the Minotaur could react, a burning hand clamped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

The emissary gasped. The searing pain of the Earl's touch nearly broke him on the spot.

"Speak, Minotaur," Vireon growled, his voice like molten metal scraping across stone. "Who are these powers you've reached out to? Speak now—or I will take your life in a way that will be remembered by your bloodline."

The emissary's vision blurred. The pain was sharp, deep, elemental—but he didn't struggle. He knew struggling would make him look weak.

And he was done appearing weak.

His voice cracked with arrogance, even through the agony.

"Heh... so that's what it comes down to? Threats?"

He coughed, but forced a sneer to his lips.

"Then listen carefully, Earl Vireon. This right here—this—is exactly why we sought others. We knew you'd try to devour the Sol Region for yourselves."

The Earl's grip didn't loosen, but his eyes narrowed. The Minotaur continued, louder now despite the pain.

"We have already approached and invited the Alchemy Association, the Forgers' Accord, the Mountain Dwarf Clans, and... the Dark Elven Houses."

Each name struck like a thunderclap.

"They may not all rival your power—yet—but the Alchemy Association and the Forger Accord… they are ancient, Earl. Older than your Star Empire. Older than many things in this galaxy.

Each of them commands forces, lost knowledge, and forbidden artifacts capable of wounding even your great Empire—no, bleeding it dry.

And make no mistake—both the Alchemists and Forgers possess power not just to resist you… but to obliterate your Empire entirely, should you push them far enough.

So go ahead—try to claim the Sol Region for yourselves. Try to treat us as pawns. Harm us if you dare…

But know this, Earl Vireon—you will regret it."

His breath was ragged now. His eyes met the Earl's—not with defiance, but grim determination.

"We don't want war. We want balance. And this time, it won't be just you Star People laying claim to a holy land."