Hearing the hard, commanding tone of the high council, a faint trace of mockery flickered through Vincent’s firebird eyes.

They really think too highly of themselves.

The fact that he was even willing to follow orders and bring Bree back safely was already more than generous.

And yet these old men dared to demand he return immediately?

Vincent looked at their projections, his voice measured and stern, "I am currently tracking a missing Rank Eleven insectoid. The battlefield has not yet been cleared. I cannot return at this time."

His tone turned colder.

He and his men had just fought through a brutal battle—some of his soldiers hadn’t even received treatment yet.

And now, for the sake of one female, they wanted him to abandon everything and withdraw?

It wasn’t as if she were dying. Nor did she hold any critical intelligence.

These people didn’t care in the slightest whether his men lived or died.

Vincent’s gaze sharpened. "I will ensure the safety of the human female. After eliminating the remaining threat and securing the battlefield, I will escort all rescued Imperial females safely back to the Central District."

To him, Bree was no different from the others they had just saved.

That answer snapped something.

"Vincent, this is blatant insubordination!"

One of the officials trembled with fury, pointing at Vincent’s projection, voice shrill.

"I’ll give you one last chance! Or else, when you return, you will face the Empire’s harshest punishment!"

A voice cut through the tension—cold, mocking, razor-sharp.

"Oh? And what exactly counts as the Empire’s harshest punishment?"

The moment that voice sounded, every official froze.

Their faces turned pale, as if someone had seized them by the throat.

"Vangar... what are you doing here?"

One of them forced out the question, though unease bled through his tone.

A tall figure stepped into the chamber. His presence filled the room instantly.

At the same time, his image appeared before Vincent as well.

His gaze swept slowly across the stiff, silent officials—sharp as a blade.

When he spoke, his tone was light, but dripping with contempt.

"If I didn’t come... How would I get to enjoy such an impressive display of arrogance?"

His lips curved faintly. "It’s only been a few years. And yet your courage has grown remarkably. You even dare to command my people now."

The temperature dropped. His voice hardened—like steel drawn from its sheath.

"Since when... has the Empire’s military affairs become something you pampered relics can meddle in?"

The officials stiffened.

Under the crushing weight of his presence, their earlier arrogance was shattered completely.

Not one of them dared to speak. Not one dared to meet his eyes.

Only when they all lowered their heads in silence did Vangar finally turn toward Vincent.

"Vincent."

His voice carried the unmistakable authority of the battlefield—unyielding, absolute.

"I order you to complete all battlefield operations. Then return."

Vincent didn’t hesitate. "Yes, Marshal."

Vangar gave a small nod, satisfied.

With a flick of his fingers, the connection to Vincent cut cleanly.

Then, he turned back. His gaze fell once more upon the officials, who now looked like prisoners awaiting judgment.

The air in the chamber seemed to freeze solid.

Vangar stepped toward the head of the table but did not sit.

Instead, he braced one hand against its surface, leaning forward slightly.

A simple motion, yet it carried the weight of a collapsing mountain.

"Gentlemen," he said calmly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it landed like a hammer in every ear. "Have you decided I’m dead? And now your wings have grown strong enough... that you think you deserve a share of military command?"

A cold smile tugged at his lips.

To him, they looked less like officials... and more like corpses waiting to fall.

"Or is it that you’ve lived in comfort for so long that you’ve forgotten something?"

His voice dropped. "Forgotten who clawed this Empire’s territory back—inch by inch—from the jaws of the insectoids? Forgotten who stands at the edge of the stars... holding those abominations back with their lives—"

"So that you can sit here in safety and point fingers at my soldiers?"

Silence.

No one answered.

No one dared.

And when Vangar spoke again, his voice carried the chill of eternal winter.

"Reach too far and you’ll lose the hand."

Vangar straightened slowly, his gaze sweeping across the ashen faces before him. Each word fell with deliberate weight.

"Mind your own mess. And don’t let me see your claws reaching into the military again."

His voice dipped—low, lethal. "Otherwise... I won’t mind stepping in personally—and trimming them for you."

A pause. "Understood?"

The officials shuddered.

They nodded instinctively, one after another, cold sweat soaking their backs.

Vangar let out a quiet scoff, the disdain in his eyes undisguised.

Meanwhile, Vincent and Xarion led their forces through the warship for another hour.

Still no trace of the second Rank Eleven insectoid.

"It seems the other one is no longer on this ship," Vincent said at last.

He looked at the massive vessel before him and gave the order, "Tow this warship back."

If the insectoids had developed technology that rivaled—or even surpassed—what Nix could create...

Then it had to be studied.

They might not understand it. But Nix would. And once he did, he would build something better.

Xarion had been unusually silent ever since Vangar appeared.

Back aboard their own ship, after issuing all necessary orders, Vincent finally turned to him.

"Xarion. Do you have a history with Vangar?"

"No." Xarion shook his head. "I just don’t like him."

Vincent studied him, unconvinced. "You’ve barely spoken since he appeared. That doesn’t look like simple dislike."

Given Xarion’s personality, if he hated someone, he wouldn’t act like this.

At the mention of Vangar, Xarion slumped deeper into the sofa, clearly unwilling to talk.

"I don’t feel like discussing it."

Vincent smiled faintly. "That’s fine. When we get back, I’ll have Rory ask you instead."

"Don’t you dare." Xarion’s eyes snapped open instantly as he shot Vincent a glare.

This damn bird.

After a pause, he exhaled sharply. "Fine. I’ll tell you. But you don’t tell her."

Vincent’s curiosity deepened, but he nodded seriously. "I swear."

Xarion finally spoke, his tone sour.

"I fought him once and... I lost."

Vincent froze. "You... lost to Vangar? When?"

"Five years ago," Xarion muttered, sinking back into the cushions. "Right after I advanced to Rank Eleven. I ran into him. He kept trying to drag me into his unit. I got annoyed—so we fought."

Back then, Xarion had feared no one, not even Paros.

And yet, he’d lost.

Vincent frowned. "With your backlash ability... how did you lose?"

That ability alone made Xarion nearly unbeatable.

Even Vincent himself, fighting at full strength, could at best force a mutual defeat—and likely suffer worse injuries. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Xarion’s expression darkened further.

"My ability... doesn’t work on him."

Silence.

"That guy," Xarion added flatly, "is even more of a monster than I am."

A beat passed. Then Xarion suddenly looked up at Vincent.

"Wasn’t it said he entered the Beast God Mountain years ago... and died inside?"

His brows furrowed.

"So how the hell is he still alive?"