Slate stood on the bridge of the Ares, staring at the tactical screen where the three fortresses were marked, his brow furrowed tightly.
The forward formation of the Vault Fleet was a bit strange.
Although their warships were vast in number—over sixty thousand spread out, almost filling the entire observation screen—their deployment was mostly concentrated toward the First Star and Second Star fortresses.
And they were positioned too far forward.
Slate stared at that formation for a few seconds and suddenly understood.
"They're conserving the fortress cannons' energy," he murmured, a trace of realization in his voice.
Thatcher's voice came through the communications screen.
"What do you mean?"
Slate didn't turn around, continuing to stare at the screen.
"Those three Starfall Cannons are powerful, but their energy consumption is huge."
"After our days of blockade and attrition, they probably can't fire many shots anymore."
He paused, then continued.
"So they've pushed their fleet forward, wanting to fight us first outside the cannons' range."
"To reduce the energy consumption of the fortress cannons!"
Thatcher fell silent for a second, then cursed.
"Devious enough."
Slate didn't respond.
He turned and gave orders to the communications officer.
"Relay the command."
"Increase the attacking forces toward First Star and Second Star."
"In terms of numbers, they must exceed the enemy forces by half a percent."
The communications officer quickly recorded the order.
Slate continued.
"At the same time..."
He paused, his gaze falling on the central main fortress.
"The fleet attacking Third Star will adopt oblique cross-vector maneuvers."
"Maintain course changes throughout to evade direct fire from the fortress cannons."
"Understood."
As the orders were relayed, the formations of the Ares and Pandora Fleets shifted once more.
More warships surged from the rear, accelerating toward the First Star and Second Star directions.
These newly added ship groups flowed like two torrents, merging into the assault formations closing in on the left and right flank fortresses.
The balance of numbers was quietly shifting.
Meanwhile, in the central direction, the fleet attacking Third Star began to change its formation.
The warships no longer maintained a straight-line charge but started flying along oblique, crisscrossing trajectories.
One ship angled left forward, another right forward, weaving past each other, constantly changing direction and speed.
From a distance, they looked like a flock of startled birds, tracing countless intersecting arcs through the void.
It was the standard maneuver to evade direct fire from fortress cannons.
Though it would slow the assault, it reduced the cannons' lethality.
Even if hit, they wouldn't be wiped out entirely.
In the direction of First Star Fortress, the assault fleet had already entered firing range.
There was no probing, no hesitation.
The first volley erupted simultaneously.
Tens of thousands of heavy particle beams surged from the bows of the Imperial warships, tearing through the void and slamming into the unfolding formation of the Vault Fleet.
The shields of the Federation warships instantly flared to life.
Those pale blue energy barriers flickered violently, denting under the impact of the beams—some shattered, others held.
Warships whose shields were breached saw their armor rapidly melt and vaporize under the intense heat of the particle streams, their hulls torn open with ghastly gashes.
Sympathetic detonations began to flare.
But the Federation Fleet did not retreat.
Their main cannons fired at the same moment.
Thousands of beams shot out from their formation, striking the advancing Imperial fleet group.
An Imperial Cruiser's shield shattered instantly, three beams simultaneously piercing its hull.
The cruiser split in half, the two wreckage sections tumbling forward under inertia before being completely shredded by subsequent beams.
A Destroyer's engine was hit, its thrusters exploding, the out-of-control hull spinning and crashing into a friendly ship beside it.
The two vessels tangled together, explosions engulfing them.
A Battleship's bridge was pierced by a beam, the command layer instantly vaporized.
The leviathan-like warship lost control, beginning to tilt slowly.
But its Main Cannons continued firing, like a final roar before death.
After one volley.
The distance between both sides had closed to a range where volleys were no longer possible.
Then, the melee began.
Those massive warships no longer engaged in long-range bombardment but started close-quarters slaughter.
T5-class Main Cannon beams were even more lethal at close range, each tearing huge gashes in enemy ship armor.
Secondary cannons, missiles, point defense cannons—all weapons fired frantically.
Beams weaved between warships like the Grim Reaper's scythe.
Every second, a warship was hit.
Every second, the light of sympathetic detonations flared.
Those lights bloomed in the void—red, white, blue, purple—like countless blossoming death blossoms.
The metallic groans of hull fractures transmitted through the hull structure into everyone's ears.
Shockwaves from sympathetic detonations pushed surrounding warships off balance.
Wreckage scattered through the void, some crashing into friendly ships' shields, splashing energy ripples, others directly piercing hulls whose shields had already shattered, causing secondary damage.
Deeper in the battlefield.
Space Fighters darted frantically between warships.
Those nimble Swift fighters and Imperial Griffin fighters, like enraged swarms of bees, tore at each other through gaps between leviathans.
Dense beams shot from their noses and wingtips, like countless nails constantly hammering into enemy warship armor.
Though those beams weren't enough to sink leviathans, they could destroy turrets, burn through sensors, paralyze close-in defense systems, creating opportunities for subsequent capital ship attacks.
A Swift fighter passed through a gap between two Battleships, laser cannons on both wings sweeping wildly, leaving dozens of charred burn marks on an Imperial Cruiser's broadside.
A Griffin fighter locked onto its tail, four dogfight missiles launching simultaneously.
The Swift fighter's early warning system screamed frantically, the pilot pulling the control lever trying to evade, but the missiles were too close.
Two missiles struck the tail.
The fighter craft exploded into a fireball.
Another Griffin fighter skimmed low over a Federation Destroyer's bow, autocannon fire shattering the destroyer's observation window.
But the next moment, a laser from the flank pierced its cockpit.
The fighter disintegrated directly, wreckage crashing into the destroyer's hull, denting the armor.
Chaos.
Utter chaos.
In this dense battlefield, no one had time to think, no time to fear.
They had only the most primitive killing.
An Imperial Griffin fighter lost control while evading beams, its left wing grazed by a laser, half its attitude thrusters burned away.
The fighter craft spun uncontrollably, irrevocably hurtling toward the nearest Federation Cruiser.
The pilot let out a desperate roar over the communication channel.
The next second.
Like an out-of-control missile, the fighter slammed hard into the Cruiser's Broadside Armor.
An explosion erupted across the surface of the Cruiser. Though it failed to penetrate the Armor, the Shockwave shattered two nearby secondary cannons.
The wreckage of the fighter remained embedded in the Armor Plate, like a twisted tombstone.