A terrifying thought that made one wonder: if one day you stood on the opposite side of him, what would be the outcome?
The brief silence after the battle was broken by a combat loss report that had just been transmitted.
Zhuang Zhixuan stared at the data pad in her hand, fell silent for a few seconds, then looked up at Qin Bei Wang.
"Commander, the loss statistics are in."
Her voice was not loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet bridge.
Qin Bei Wang turned around and looked at her.
Zhuang Zhixuan took a deep breath and began her report.
"In this battle, we lost six T5-class battleships."
She paused:
"The Tiankui Star Fleet lost four, and the Directly Subordinate Fleet and Tiangangxing each lost one."
"In addition, a total of 85 other starships were lost."
"Total losses of various types of ships..."
She looked up.
"Ninety-one."
The bridge fell silent for a moment.
Ninety-one.
For a fleet with a total strength of less than four hundred ships, this loss was not insignificant.
But the price of ninety-one ships had bought the complete annihilation of twelve hundred Imperial warships.
It had bought the total destruction of that Empire Stargate.
It had bought the complete severance of the line of retreat for three Imperial Sequence Fleets on the front line of the Ten Stone Starfield.
It had bought a miraculous victory worthy of being recorded in the annals of the Federal Navy.
A staff officer softly drew in a breath and murmured.
"Ninety-one ships..."
He paused, shook his head, his tone carrying a complex mix of emotions.
"If any other commander could achieve such results, forget ninety-one ships..."
"Even if they had to sacrifice an entire mother-class fleet, or even a Duke-class fleet, or even a Joint Fleet..."
"It would be worth it."
Another person nearby nodded.
"Indeed."
"A legacy-making victory is worth any number of starships."
"And we..."
He glanced around, giving a bitter smile.
"We only lost less than a hundred ships."
No one spoke.
But in everyone's eyes was the same meaning.
Relief, awe.
And a trace of lingering fear.
Zhuang Zhixuan looked at Qin Bei Wang.
She was silent for a second, then continued.
"Commander, we currently still have over three hundred starships capable of combat!"
Qin Bei Wang nodded but said nothing.
Zhuang Zhixuan looked at him, hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.
"Commander, our mission is complete."
"The Stargate is destroyed, the Blood Locust Fleet is annihilated."
"But..."
She paused, her tone turning grave.
"Our current location is the Imperial Hinterland."
"The Bushman Star System."
"There is an entire star system's depth between us and the nearest Elvira Star System."
The atmosphere on the bridge instantly grew heavy.
No one spoke, but everyone understood the unspoken half of Zhuang Zhixuan's sentence.
With the Stargate destroyed, the Empire would surely go mad.
This was no ordinary retaliation.
This was the kind of frenzied, no-holds-barred retaliation that came after being stabbed in the heart.
The Empire would dispatch every fleet it could mobilize, pouncing on this airspace like mad dogs, hunting for the Federal Fleet that dared to penetrate deep into the enemy rear.
And they only had three hundred ships.
And they were wounded.
Still in this unfamiliar star domain.
A staff officer whispered.
"We must withdraw immediately."
Another added.
"The sooner the better."
"The farther the better."
All eyes fell once again on Qin Bei Wang.
Qin Bei Wang stood there, watching the holographic star chart displayed by the system.
The star chart of the Bushman Star System slowly rotated.
Those red dots marking Imperial monitoring stations, patrol teams, and military fortresses were densely distributed across key positions.
Now, there were no celestial bodies like that meteorite from before to utilize.
They could only rely on the system star chart, slowly sneaking back toward the direction of the Elvira Star System.
Qin Bei Wang turned around to face everyone.
His voice was not loud, yet it was as clear as if carved into everyone's ears.
"All hands, attention."
Everyone on the bridge straightened their backs simultaneously.
Qin Bei Wang paused before continuing.
"Destination—"
"Elvira Star System."
"Retreat."
The order spread throughout the entire fleet in a thousandth of a second.
Those warships that had just been catching their breath, celebrating, and feeling fortunate to be alive all began adjusting their course at the same time.
Engines ignited once more.
Tail flames lit up again.
The fleet, now reduced to three hundred ships, slowly turned in the void, heading toward the direction of the Elvira Star System.
Outside the viewport, the sea of wreckage they had personally created was slowly receding.
The burning warship fragments, the Imperial officers and crew who would never return, the lingering warmth of death that had not yet cooled—
All were left behind.
Ahead lay an unknown, long, and perilous journey home.
But no one looked back.
Because everyone knew the Empire would not let them go.
Pursuers would come soon.
But that was a matter for later.
P-375 Warp Point.
The massive Angel Fleet slowly approached.
On the bridge of the flagship, the Holy Light, the atmosphere was tense.
Deputy Commander Major General Curtis Alden stood before the observation window, staring at the floating metal debris outside the viewport, his brow furrowed.
He recognized that wreckage.
The broken bow of an Imperial standard destroyer, the twisted broadside armor of a cruiser, and a few fragments with barely discernible hull numbers.
Those were the warships of the garrison detachment stationed at this warp point.
Not a single one remained intact.
Not a trace of life signals.
Only metal fragments slowly rotated, reflecting cold glimmers under the distant starlight.
Alden took a deep breath and turned to the man beside him, who was rubbing his bald head.
"Commander."
He paused before continuing.
"I'm afraid the Imperial Fleet here has already met with misfortune."
Lieutenant General Lucas Stanford did not respond immediately.
His broad hand rubbed the back of his head, his gaze fixed on the wreckage, unmoving.
His bald head gleamed under the bridge lights, a trademark he had maintained for decades.
It was said that when he was young, his ship was hit, and his hair burned off as he crawled out of the fire. Since then, he had kept the look.
After more than ten seconds of silence, Stanford finally spoke, his voice low.
"A diversion."
Not a question, but a statement.
Alden nodded.
"That Federation Fleet, scurrying like rats, was bait from the start."
He paused, his tone growing grave.
"Attacking transport ships, annihilating the Demon Claw Fleet, launching a surprise attack on the Abuja Ring!"
"Every step was forcing us to divide our forces."
"And just like that, our Claw and Angel fleets were lured out."
Stanford said nothing.
He continued rubbing his bald head, his gaze shifting from the wreckage to the distant, deep expanse of space.
There, in the direction of the Stargate.
Alden followed his gaze and suddenly thought of something.
"Commander..."
His voice carried a hint of uncertainty.