A plane, approximately four meters in size, rose like lightning into the pitch-black clouds. To maintain its aerodynamic integrity, its fuselage was divided by sharp, hard lines, with four wings mounted at specific angles. From the moment it took off from the TESO Uruzen factory, this plane had already destroyed nearly twenty war drones.
Bullets whizzed around it, circling in a focused will. The sky was filled with the wreckage of exploding drones and shattered aircraft. The air war was far more chaotic than the one on the ground; much more brutal and fragmented. No one wanted to lose even a single piece of the sky; everyone was trying to gain absolute control of the air.
Advancing with a frenzied, mechanical hunger, the plane increased its speed even further. It detached a rocket from its undercarriage. The target was no longer in the sky, but on the ground. A fuel depot that had been under siege for months... It had been under pressure for so long that finally, a small gap had opened in its armored casing. A single missile gliding through that gap could deal a blow to the Hianyan army that would be difficult to compensate for.
As the plane locked onto its target, the systems gave a short, metallic confirmation beep. This would be the twenty-eighth major blow struck. Below, the Calosians were desperately trying to close the narrow opening at the edge of the casing with their welding machines. Sparks scattered into the air as metal was fused onto metal; but everyone knew that no weld would ever be as strong as the original. This effort was only buying time—a few seconds stolen from death.
The moment they noticed the plane, the Calosians' faces froze in terror. Death was now only a breath away. But the expected did not happen. The plane did not fire. It suddenly ascended, pulling away from the target.
At the same time, a tank whose tracks were covered in the blood of Calosian soldiers had infiltrated the war camp. Just as it was about to tear a full Calosian platoon to pieces with a missile, it too remained stationary without firing. The barrel was fixed. The engine was running, but no order came.
A Calosian soldier reflexively reached for his headset. From inside the earpiece, Hianyan's voice echoed with an unusual panic:
"Don't!" he was shouting. "Don't fire! The Law Inspector has arrived! The war is over for a short time! Every single bullet fired will work against us! The LIA (Law Inspection Authority) has arrived! Do not fire!"
Capazo… Veltin… Tallus… Martin… The same message was passing through every link of the factories. Different voices, the same sentences. This war had to stop immediately.
And it stopped.
It was as if time had suddenly locked. All the robots froze where they stood. It didn't matter where they were; those on a slope did not move even if they knew they would topple over. The planes in the sky shut down their engines and landed on the nearest ground. Drones clung to whatever they could grip; some looked as if they were suspended in mid-air.
For the human soldiers, the real shock was the silence that came with the robots shutting down. Throughout the war that had lasted for days, the sounds of explosions had not ceased for a single moment. Their eardrums were nearly at the point of bursting. And now… this sudden silence created a strange relief echoing in their ears.
The Calosian and Jijigean soldiers realized they were moved by this unexpected peace. They knew they hadn't won the war yet. Perhaps everything was just beginning. But still, there were those who hugged as if they had achieved a great victory, those who fell to their knees, and those who stared blankly at the sky.
Capazo, Hianyan, and Veltin had initiated a holographic conference. All three were standing, waiting with a self-assured manner—almost in military formation. Three separate holograms lined up side by side... Their attire was as striking as their posture. Even someone as marginal as Veltin had donned a pitch-black suit with a cold and flawless cut; even this betrayed the gravity of the moment.
A fourth hologram appeared directly opposite them.
The man's bald head was smooth and regular enough to reflect light. He wore a white robe that was clearly woven with great care from the skin of an alien. From the collar of the robe hung a black cloth in a slight triangular form. On this cloth, certain articles were inscribed in handwriting with a white pen. These were no ordinary writings; they were the fundamental articles of the Law Inspection Code defining the duties and powers of a law inspector.
The writings were symbolic. These were rules personally penned by Tiberion Solegard on the day the Supreme World Republic (SWR) was first declared a republic. They were written in Solegard's own handwriting, and for this reason, every Law Inspector was obliged to carry that text upon them. Like a badge… or a reminder.
The pointed collar of the robe gripped the man's bald head like a harsh frame. His hands were covered in thick, hard leather gloves that extended almost to his elbows. These hands were accustomed to making decisions, not to hesitating.
He scrutinized Capazo for a while out of the corner of his eye. Likely, Capazo had managed to intervene with Eldar Justitia to have the court delay the decision.
With the appearance of the Law Inspector, new holograms began to appear in sequence on the opposite side. These were Labiba, Martin, and Tallus, representing the other front of the war. The other factories had not been called; for they had no decisive weight in the course of the war.
Even a mutant like Labiba, whose entire body consisted of lumpy masses, had thrown on a half-baked suit out of respect for the Law Inspector. The fabric did not fit his deformed body perfectly; the buttons looked as if they were under extreme tension. Despite this, Labiba's effort reflected the seriousness of the situation.
"I am Law Inspector Lugano…" the inspector said. His voice was as dull and smooth as his face. He didn't make a single facial expression while speaking, and by never taking his eyes off those in front of him, he imposed his authority through his mere presence. "…I am here on behalf of the Supreme World Republic and the President of the Republic, Tiberion Solegard."
As soon as his words ended, everyone bowed their heads slightly at the same time. One does not interrupt a law inspector while they are speaking; let alone speaking, one had to be measured even while breathing. Even requesting the right to speak from a Law Inspector was a ritual in itself, and its timing was as important as its content.
However, as soon as Labiba heard the name Lugano, he understood what the situation meant. Lugano was one of the Law Inspectors personally appointed by Eldar Justitia from his own staff. This meant that someone had made a serious behind-the-scenes move to have this investigation handled directly by Eldar Justitia.
Only one possibility came to Labiba's mind. The only Korian on the planet. With this thought, he raised his head again, which he had barely bowed a few centimeters a moment ago. His gaze locked onto Capazo without bothering to hide anything.
Just a few minutes earlier, a spaceship had appeared above the planet END99141. If the planet's atmosphere were clear, the ship's shadow would have fallen in a single piece over the entire battlefield. This giant silhouette moving slowly across the sky was a MEDUSA-class spaceship.
MEDUSAs were long like a serpent, with perfect proportions and a dazzling whiteness. There was not a single unnecessary line on their hulls; every surface, every angle, every curve had been measured, weighed, and consciously chosen. These ships were designed not to fight, but to exist. And the moment they existed, they made the space they occupied their own.
Their white coating was not a mere aesthetic choice. Representing purity, order, and absolute control, this color possessed a perfection that could only be achieved on surfaces subjected to the most expensive processes. It would neither fade with time nor wear out in the harsh vacuum of space. The hull of the MEDUSA was as smooth as an untouched statue, defying time.
The geometric motifs and fine details on the ship reflected grandeur within simplicity. These were not ornaments; they were the silent signatures of superiority. The metals used were rare, but their rarity was not their primary value. Their value came from being sourced from materials that only the Supreme World Republic could access. Every part of this ship was proof of how far the SWR had surpassed the limits of the galaxy economically as well.
The cost of a MEDUSA was never explicitly stated. Because these ships were not measured by numbers. They were part of authority, not the budget. Fleets could be established and cities raised with the same cost; but the SWR had chosen to concentrate its power in a single form instead of multiplying it. The MEDUSA was a material reflection of the Republic's absolute self-confidence.
The defense of these ships was limited. They had no weapons. Their maneuverability could not be compared to warships. But this was not a weakness. This was a declaration of invulnerability.
Everyone knew that attacking a MEDUSA was not attacking a target, but the direct will of the Supreme World Republic. Every threat directed at that ship would trigger an instant and disproportionate response. The MEDUSA's fragility made the magnitude of the invisible power protecting it even more apparent.
That is why its name was MEDUSA. Even looking at it for a long time was warning enough. Because that ship could strike fear without carrying weapons. With its magnificence, its splendor, and its unquestionable presence…
That is why Labiba had not found much opportunity to examine the MEDUSA ship with his satellites. But now, when Law Inspector Lugano graced them with his name, he had turned his satellites toward it, even at a risk, and examined the ship. This man truly was Lugano, one of Eldar Justitia's men.
No one could speak.
The man inside the hologram remained silent for a few more seconds. This silence was not from indecision, but a deliberate gap left to measure obedience. Then the Law Inspector spoke:
"A final judgment regarding the ongoing war has not yet been established. The Supreme World Republic Court must complete the process of evidence collection and verification before finalizing the case."
His voice neither rose nor softened. Every word was uttered with the necessary weight and perfect composure.
"While this process continues, the Court's current evaluations and temporary opinions will not be shared with any party. The reason for this is clear: there shall be no attempt to influence the will of the judicial authority, directly or indirectly."
He paused briefly. His gaze passed over the holograms one by one.
"Therefore, until the decision is announced, it is ordered that all military activities be halted immediately and completely. The current conflict environment is of a nature that could lead to the destruction of evidence, the corruption of records, and the elimination of witnesses. This situation is unacceptable."
His voice grew a bit harsher.
"This order is not a temporary recommendation; it is a binding decision taken on behalf of the Republic. In case of violation, the chain of responsibility will be identified without exception, and necessary sanctions will be applied without fail."
His final words were almost ceremonial:
"The Supreme World Republic does not request an appropriate environment for the healthy establishment of justice; it establishes it. Everyone is expected to show full compliance with this situation until the decision is announced."
He paused for a moment.
"A record has been made of your obedience."
Labiba was sweating profusely. This was not from the heat or the artificial light emitted by the holograms. This was the sweat of control slipping from his hands. The war was progressing exactly as it should; fronts were breaking, and the balance was turning in his favor. A few more hours, at most a day… After that, it would only be a formality as to how the victory would be written.
And at that very point, the Law Inspector had stepped onto the stage.
This could not be a coincidence. Labiba knew this very well. The SWR did not intervene "by mistake" at such moments. This timing was too perfect; it was a millimetric move, almost delicately adjusted. Just as the outcome of the war was not yet sealed, but at the moment when the scales were shifting irreversibly in his favor…
This was not a stop, but a braking.
Labiba's gaze involuntarily shifted to Capazo's hologram. There wasn't the slightest sign of guilt on his face. That self-assured posture, that steady breathing… It was all too familiar. Capazo was always like this: his hands clean, his moves dirty.
The anger rising within him caused him to clench his fists. The masses beneath his skin moved as if wanting to contract. He knew Capazo couldn't do this alone, but he was certainly the first link in this chain.
This was the oldest way for those who couldn't lose on the battlefield to try and win at the table. And Capazo had done it masterfully. The entire balance Labiba had built, all the advantages he had gathered, had been suspended by a one-sentence order. He could neither advance nor retreat. He was now like a suspended monster.
Worst of all was this: he couldn't vent this anger. A single wrong facial expression, a single immoderate movement before the Law Inspector was equivalent to guilt. SWR justice did not love those who shouted; it loved those who made mistakes silently.
Labiba bowed his head forward again with a forced a few-centimeter bow of respect. But what passed through his mind was not bowing.
"I will make you pay for this, Capazo…" he thought. "If not on the battlefield, then somewhere else."
Seeing that not a single objection rose before him, the Law Inspector raised his head at a very slight angle. This was a symbolic gesture made not to approve, but to indicate that the recording was complete.
"The meeting has concluded." His voice did not echo, because it had no need for an echo.
One by one, the holograms shut down. Labiba's mass was buried in darkness; the silhouettes of Tallus and Martin dissolved and dispersed. In the artificial light of the hall, only two holograms remained: Capazo and Hianyan.
There was a brief silence. This time, the silence was not legal, but human.
Hianyan was the first to speak. His voice, contrary to the previous official tone, was lower, but there was an unsuppressed unease within it.
"This was you, wasn't it, Capazo…" he said.
He asked it not as an accusation, but as an observation. "The Law Inspector coming here… the timing… the file reaching all the way to Eldar Justitia… I'm starting to get truly frightened of you."
Not a single facial muscle changed on Capazo's face. His shoulders were squared, his gaze was fixed. It was as if he hadn't just stopped a war but had merely executed an inevitable procedure.
"I am not the thing you should be frightened of," he said in a calm voice. "What you should be frightened of is the fact that we currently possess no evidence…"
Hianyan looked as if he were about to say something, but Capazo continued. His voice was still soft; this made his words even more dangerous.
"If the time comes and we cannot present a single piece of concrete data before the Court… that is when you should be afraid, Hianyan. Because on that day, they won't look for the guilty."
He paused for a moment. He locked his gaze directly onto Hianyan. "They will look for a scapegoat."
His voice dropped even lower.
"And the first head they will want to cut won't be Labiba's… it will be ours."
The holograms flickered. The war had stopped, perhaps, but now something much more dangerous had begun: the time of judgment.