The bridge instantly fell into a deathly silence.
No records.
What did that mean?
It meant that the airspace they were currently in was not on any known star chart.
This could be an unknown star sector that had never been explored before.
They were lost.
In this unfamiliar void, without coordinates, without star charts, without any points of reference.
Stanford's expression turned grim.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found he couldn't utter a word.
Just then.
Outside the viewport, a massive piece of metal debris drifted slowly past.
Everyone's gaze was simultaneously drawn to it.
The fractured surface of the wreckage was horrifying.
Its edges were jagged and serrated, as if bitten off by something.
The metal was twisted outward into bizarre shapes, each crack bearing signs of corrosion, shimmering with a dark green, unsettling glow.
No one spoke.
Everyone stared at that piece of wreckage.
Then.
A massive black shadow slowly emerged from the edge of the star.
It was enormous.
So large that it could block the light of that blue-white star.
So large that the Holy Light's observation window couldn't contain its full outline.
Everyone instinctively held their breath.
Stanford stared at the approaching shadow, his palms sweating.
What was that?
What in the world was that?
The shadow continued to draw closer.
Its outline began to grow clearer.
Alden's lips moved, letting out a whisper almost too faint to hear.
"This…"
"What kind of hellish place is this…"
Much later.
Opal Star Sector Theater Command, Strategic Briefing Room.
A young intelligence officer sat at his workstation, staring motionlessly at the freshly decrypted paper intelligence report in front of him.
His complexion changed three times within seconds.
From a normal flush, to a confused pallor, to a deathly white.
His hands began to tremble.
The report shook slightly in his grasp, the paper making faint rustling sounds.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but after inhaling, his heartbeat only grew faster.
"This…"
His lips moved, letting out a whisper he himself could barely hear.
"How is this possible…"
He abruptly stood up, his chair sliding back half a meter with a screeching sound.
Clutching the report, he almost ran past rows of workstations, charging toward the office of the officer in charge, Senior Colonel Shane Crawford.
People around him turned to look.
Someone whispered.
"What's wrong?"
No one answered.
The intelligence officer had already pushed open the door to Crawford's office.
Senior Colonel Crawford's office.
When the door was flung open, Crawford was looking down at a routine report.
He raised his head, frowning slightly, about to reprimand this disrespectful subordinate.
Then he saw the intelligence officer's face.
That face was as pale as paper, with fine beads of sweat on his temples.
Crawford swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.
The intelligence officer quickly walked up to him, handed over the report, his voice hoarse.
"Senior Colonel… just decrypted… you need to see this yourself."
Crawford took the report.
His gaze fell on the first line of text.
Then he froze.
The air in the office seemed to solidify.
The Intelligence Officer stood nearby, watching the color drain from Crawford's face.
His pupils contracted slightly, and the hand holding the intelligence report began to tremble faintly.
A long time passed.
Perhaps only a dozen seconds, but to the Intelligence Officer, it felt like half a century.
Crawford slowly raised his head.
His face was pale, and fine beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead.
He looked at the Intelligence Officer, his lips moving as he uttered a hoarse whisper.
"Is this… true?"
The Intelligence Officer nodded with difficulty.
"It was just decrypted. The source is reliable and has undergone triple cross-verification."
Crawford fell silent.
He lowered his head again, his gaze returning to the intelligence report.
On it, there were only a few lines of text.
[TOP SECRET]
Source: Claw Fleet
Time: Imperial Calendar Time, Year 1536, November 8, 07:35
Confirmed situation in the Bushman Star System as follows:
1.
The Stargate has been confirmed missing. A continuously expanding black hole (designated BSM-613) exists in the target area.
2.
The Abaddon Joint Fleet and Marbas Joint Fleet stationed at the Stargate, totaling 30,875 combat starships, have been confirmed missing. No survivors.
3.
The Blood Locust Fleet was annihilated in the Danube Star Sector. No survivors, including Fleet Commander General Knight.
4.
The Angel Fleet, which warped to B-380 via the P-375 Transition Point, lost contact at the B-380 Jump Point. No signals have been detected since, suspected to have been swallowed by the black hole. Status determined as whereabouts unknown.
Crawford read it once.
Then again.
And again.
With each reading, his face grew paler.
The words seemed to come alive, leaping one by one into his eyes, each weighing heavily.
The Stargate gone.
Two joint fleets, thirty thousand warships, vanished without a trace.
The Blood Locust Fleet, twelve hundred starships, annihilated.
The Angel Fleet, three thousand starships, lost contact.
He murmured, his voice almost inaudible.
"Thirty thousand…"
"Three thousand…"
He repeated these numbers several times, as if confirming he hadn't misread them.
He hadn't.
Every number was real.
A total loss of thirty-five thousand warships.
The Intelligence Officer stood nearby, watching him, saying nothing.
The office was terrifyingly quiet.
Only the wall clock continued to tick steadily.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Crawford finally raised his head.
Cold sweat covered his temples, a few drops trickling down his cheeks and into the collar of his uniform.
He looked at the Intelligence Officer, his voice unbearably hoarse.
"This intelligence… besides you, who else has seen it?"
The Intelligence Officer shook his head.
"After decryption, I brought it directly to you."
Crawford stared at him, his voice lowered.
"Are you absolutely certain no one else knows the contents of this report?"
The Intelligence Officer nodded firmly.
"After decryption, I showed it to no one else. I came straight to you."
Crawford was silent for a moment, then said,
"Good."
He paused, his tone turning serious.
"Keep this matter confidential. From everyone."
"Understood?"
The Intelligence Officer straightened his back.
"Understood."
Crawford waved a hand.
"Dismissed."
The Intelligence Officer turned and left, the door sliding shut slowly behind him.
Only Crawford remained in the office.
He stood there, staring at the intelligence report in his hand, motionless.
Then he began to pace.
From one end of the desk to the other.
And back again.
And back once more.
Each step fell heavily, as if he wanted to shatter the floor tiles.
The intelligence report was clenched in his hand, the edges of the paper already slightly crumpled.