Published at 19th of December 2025 8:52 am

Chapter 1850 The decision of destiny

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The moment the young general heard that single word, his eyes widened to their absolute limit, and he practically shouted, "The Syndicate?!"

Every young general graduating from the Burton family receives additional, highly advanced courses. One of the most crucial among them is the Cosmic Cultural Studies class - a class designed to make sure that even if they've never physically stepped foot into the Middle Belt, their knowledge of its powers, organizations, and underworld surpasses that of many officers and even generals who actually live there.

That single sentence spoken by the pilot of the orange vessel...

That he is from the Syndicate, and that the Shadow Swords know him, said far more than the words themselves. It carried weight, meaning, and an undeniable threat.

There is only one organization in the entire known universe that introduces itself simply as the Syndicate, without attaching any title, region, or designation after the name that Syndicate:

the entity whose very name is forbidden to be spoken lightly, the organization whose influence seeps through every hidden corner of the cosmos.

And what confirmed their authenticity - what proved they weren't impostors borrowing the name for intimidation - was his mention of the Shadow Swords. Until now, no one publicly connects the Shadow Swords with the Grave Empire of the 99th Middle Sector, much less with the True Beginning Empire of the 99th Young Sector.

Does this mean...?

Could it be that these people truly came from the 100th sector- middle or young and learned there about the True Beginning Empire and about the link between the Shadow Swords and the Cradle Empire?

Impossible... absolutely impossible.

Anyone arriving from the 100th Young Sector must pass through the wormhole, whether they intend to or not. It is the shortest and only stable passage between the two regions - and that wormhole now floats directly before Planet Nihari, positioned literally in the heart of the artificial galaxy.

At this moment, the wormhole is surrounded and guarded by five full fleets, and an entire port has been built around it, cloaked behind a massive illusion array.

belonging t the True

Anyone who attempts to pass through it wit Beginning Empire is immediately intercepted, detained, and either sent back or redirected somewhere else - often without even realizing they were ever close to Sector 99.

Thus, the direction these newcomers arrived from, combined with the sensitive information they hold about the Shadow Swords, means only one thing:

They know far too much.

Which can only mean... they truly are from the Syndicate.

"General, shall we fire?!"

The officer in charge of artillery shouted, asking for permission.

The orange vessel had already entered firing range.

In fact, it had begun to overtake them, moving straight toward Nihari.

Gulp.

Sweat began forming on the young general's forehead in thick droplets. The Syndicate despite being an unofficial entity is one of the most overwhelmingly powerful organizations in the entire cosmos.

One could even say they dominate the worlds of crime, information, and clandestine power structures fully and unquestionably.

Even the Shadow Swords themselves must pay annual tribute and provide any information requested of them without hesitation... or face consequences too terrifying to imagine.

So what should he do?!

Marshal Caesar and the high generals - men like Alexander and Martin - were not present. He was the highest-ranking officer here.

There was no superior to consult, no one to shoulder the responsibility for him.

Should he send someone to request orders from the Marshal?

By the time any instructions returned, the vessel would have already reached Nihari, gathered whatever intel it wanted, and possibly left undisturbed.

But if he opened fire...

Would that not effectively declare war on the Syndicate?

Did the current empire did he have the right to make such a suicidal decision?

Rrrrrrm-

The orange vessel passed right beside the Destruction Note-4, gliding effortlessly by, then continued forward as if the fleets did not exist.

"General!!"

The artillery officer stood up, shouting desperately toward his commander.

"...The secret of the Nihari Galaxy must never be exposed. Those are the

standing orders."

The young general muttered through clenched teeth, every muscle tense, his

voice trembling with rage, fear, and resolve.

"The secret of Nihari must never be revealed!!"

Then he raised his head sharply and roared:

"Fire!!"

Inside the Orange Vessel-

The orange vessel, despite being outfitted with cannons and appearing outwardly as a formidable warship designed to instill fear, did not resemble a conventional military ship on the inside. The weapons were not neatly lined up in disciplined rows, there were no officers or soldiers standing rigidly at attention, and there was no command bridge bristling with screens, no detailed maps, no blinking monitors tracking enemies. Instead, the interior felt oddly casual, almost domestic, as if the warship had been converted into a

comfortable gathering space.

Instead, a small group of men and women-about twenty in total-sat comfortably throughout the vessel. They lounged in various positions: some on cushioned benches, others on the floor with legs crossed, reading, scribbling, or quietly talking among themselves. Each came from a different background, dressed in diverse attire ranging from practical combat suits to loose, flowing garments reminiscent of other worlds.

They seemed utterly unconcerned with the ship's armaments, as if the cannons were nothing more than decorative props. The cannon loading areas, which normally would have been fortified and carefully maintained, were repurposed: clothes draped over the metal barrels, some chambers filled with scraps of food, containers, and even small personal belongings. It was evident that none of them intended to use the weapons; they had no need, their confidence alone

acting as a deterrent.

Each of these twenty individuals radiated a powerful aura that was distinctly their own. Every one of them was a master of their craft, an expert whose mere presence exuded strength and authority. Even the least intimidating among them possessed a power that could rival a low-level World Cataclysm, an unstoppable force in any ordinary conflict. Their combined presence filled the vessel with a palpable tension, a quiet promise that nothing could threaten

them.

"Did he say he's going to fire on us? Ha! What a joke," one of them muttered, smirking.

"What a chatterbox," another teased lightly, rolling their eyes.

"Boss, should we go out and destroy that vessel immediately?" a third asked, half curious, half impatient.

At the front of the vessel sat a man whose presence outshone all others. His

skin bore a subtle purple tint, and short, dark horns pierced lightly through it, adding an alien yet noble quality. His aura was immense, far surpassing anyone else in the room; it was not merely at the scale of a World Cataclysm-it suggested something far greater, an untamed force barely restrained. Crossing his arms cnfidently, he leaned back slightly, his expression calm yet commanding.

"No need," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Simply invoking

the name is enough. The important thing is gathering information about this dark region, not engaging in combat. Let the fools underestimate us; that is

their weakness."

The vessel glided past the defenders' warships smoothly, the engines humming

with quiet power. The defenders barely registered the orange craft, while inside, none of the occupants even glanced to the left or right. Their confidence was absolute, their awareness honed to a point where danger seemed almost laughable.

"Hmm, it's still best if one of us goes out for security," someone said thoughtfully, scratching his head. "Not to mention the Destruction note-4. Just one Flood not-4 craft could tear this starship apart if it fired. These vessels

don't joke; everyone saw what they were capable of during the Millennium

Holva Empire War."

"Hehe, you're just new here. No need to worry," replied another, grinning. "The mere name of the Syndicate is enough to keep anyone in check."

"Fire on our vessel? Impossible. No one can, no one dares. I've personally been on missions inside the Sands of Time galaxy and the Savage galaxy before-no one even attempted to stop us. Will they dare here, in this Young Sector trash

heap?" "Enough talk," the mission leader interrupted, raising his hand slightly to silence the chatter. "We'll reach our target in at most an hour. I want to leave within two hours. Understood? We must gather all information about this mysterious location and report back to the commanders within the hour, or I will devise a punishment for those who dawdle." His gaze swept the group, sharp and

unwavering. Finally, he glanced toward the flood note battleships. "...And on our way back,

remind me to take one of these. They're faster than this clunky orange thing we're on, and- hmm?"

At that exact moment, every cannon aboard the orange vessel flared with

intense energy, casting a dazzling light across the interior. The air vibrated with an almost tangible force, and the entire vessel seemed to hum in response.

BOOOOOOOOOOM

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