I
Initially, Yang Wen-li's operational plan had been to ignore the unrest in the Chambleur Starzone and rush straight to Heinessen, the capital in the Bharat star system, intending to crush the main forces of the military revolutionaries in one decisive strike. By severing the roots of the rebellion, its branches would inevitably wither and die.
However, Yang ultimately revised his strategy, deciding to first attack the rebel forces in the Chambleur Starzone. He reasoned that these insurgents could employ guerrilla tactics to disrupt his supply and communication lines between Iserlohn Fortress and his fleet—a dangerous vulnerability. If Yang himself were the commander of the Chambleur rebels, he would evade direct confrontation with the punitive force, only to strike from behind once they had passed, repeatedly harassing and exhausting them.
What if the Chambleur commander thinks the same way? That would be disastrous.
But their commander isn't Yang Wen-li. There's no way they'd do that.
Julian Mintz voiced his opinion. Yang laughed and replied, "Who knows? He might be the next Yang Wen-li in the making."
Before anyone becomes famous, they are first unknown. Before the Battle of El Facil, how many people had even heard the name Yang Wen-li?
If I'd been born in peaceful times, I'd just be a rookie historian—maybe even a complete nobody.
And that was what Yang truly longed for. Yet fate had other plans. Now, he was a world-renowned figure, hailed as the "Invincible Magician." But Yang knew better than anyone that such a title was nothing more than an illusion.
Yang had always been fascinated by historical figures and events, dreaming of becoming a historian himself. Instead, he had become the subject of study—an irony he never anticipated. Across the galaxy—whether in the Galactic Empire, the Free Planets Alliance, or even among his enemies—people were analyzing his tactics. Books like A Study of Yang Wen-li's Leadership, Strategic and Tactical Thinking: Yang Wen-li's Four Battles, and Modern Talent Theory: Yang Wen-li flooded the market.
Yang Wen-li, the dazzling hero.
"Yang Wen-li! You're the real deal, a true hero! I'm just some guy who happens to share your name—I'm nowhere near your level."
Yang muttered to his reflection in the mirror, his tone dripping with self-mockery.
"You really are amazing."
Julian's voice was fervent.
"Amazing? At what?"
"Most people, when praised like that, would become arrogant and lose their objectivity. But you don't."
Yang tilted his head slightly, then gave a wry smile.
"You don't have to flatter me to my face. Besides, whether someone's truly great isn't even something they themselves can judge."
Suddenly, Yang adopted a stern tone, lecturing Julian like a father. He warned him never to openly praise superiors—it could make weak leaders complacent or offend upright ones who might see it as sycophancy.
"Understood."
Julian answered obediently, but inwardly, he found it strange. Yang, a single man barely thirty, was acting like a strict parent.
The rebellion in the Chambleur Starzone was quelled on the same day that Colonel Bagdash of the Alliance Military Intelligence Bureau fled the capital and arrived in the region.
Yang's forces had begun their assault on Chambleur on April 26. After three days of intense combat, they swiftly subdued the rebels.
Though the battle wasn't large-scale, it hadn't been easy. Chambleur lacked the population and firepower of the capital, but planetary landings followed rigid protocols, limiting a commander's ability to improvise. Yang's forces first neutralized enemy radar and anti-air defenses to secure orbital supremacy, then deployed marines for a direct assault on key strongholds.
The operation succeeded in just three days, largely thanks to the efforts of Marine Commander Walter von Schönkopf. A lesser commander might have taken a week or more.
Schönkopf's strategy was to first consolidate captured positions, forming a staggered defensive line with armored vehicles before advancing to expand control. But after a day of this, just as the enemy adapted, he abruptly changed tactics—launching rapid strikes from secured bases, piercing deep into weakly defended zones like a sword.
The rebels, unable to react in time, were thrown into chaos. By the time half the forces guarding the Military Revolutionary Committee's headquarters had been lost, the outcome was inevitable. After two hours of brutal close-quarters combat, the rebel commander, Colonel Malone, took his own life. The survivors raised the white flag.
"Magnificent, Schönkopf!"
Yang was surprised to see the Marine commander's face, hands, and uniform covered in lipstick marks—evidence of the locals' gratitude after enduring weeks of occupation.
"Hah! Looks like I got some unexpected rewards! But hey, you're all here—you're not waiting for me, are you? We've got someone who escaped the capital."
Shortly after, Colonel Bagdash arrived.
After verifying his identity, he was immediately taken to the conference room aboard Yang's flagship, Hyperion. Everyone was eager for news from the capital, but as fleet commander, Yang had the right to question him first.
"Have any executions taken place?"
"Not that I know of. Admiral Dawson and Admiral Bewcock have been imprisoned, along with many high-ranking officials. But no executions yet—though who knows what'll happen later."
"I see."
"The 11th Fleet has mobilized. They're heading this way to annihilate your fleet."
The room tensed. Yang remained silent, his gaze fixed on Bagdash as he continued.
"Their commander, Admiral Lugrandshaw, wants a decisive battle. He's not interested in tricks."
"That's for the best."
Yang's tone held no sarcasm. He fell into thought before passing the questioning to his subordinates.
Admirals Fischer and Murai pressed for details, which Bagdash answered readily. But his eyes kept scanning the room, and eventually, he asked casually:
"Your adjutant, Lieutenant Commander Frederica Greenhill… isn't here?"
"She's at Iserlohn."
As Yang answered, Schönkopf suddenly exclaimed, "Ah!" Coffee spilled down his uniform.
"Damn! All those hard-earned kisses ruined! Excuse me!"
He shot Yang a meaningful glance before leaving.
Outside, Julian stood in the corridor. Though too junior to attend the meeting, he always stayed close to Yang.
"Do you know where Lieutenant Commander Greenhill is?"
"In the infirmary. She looked exhausted."
Probably mentally. Schönkopf nodded and headed there. Julian hesitated, then followed.
When Schönkopf, covered in lipstick and coffee stains, appeared at the infirmary, a petite nurse blinked in disbelief.
"Is Lieutenant Commander Greenhill here?"
The nurse barely reached his shoulder but stood her ground. Even the shameless Schönkopf felt awkward.
"It's alright. Let him in."
Frederica, who had been resting in her uniform, sat up. Schönkopf summarized the meeting and added:
"I think the Admiral suspects something. When Bagdash asked about you, he lied. I spilled coffee to hide everyone's reactions."
Frederica frowned.
"I've only met Colonel Bagdash once—five years ago. He was in my father's study, loudly criticizing the government."
Her memory was famously sharp.
"So he's watching you," Schönkopf concluded. "Which means he's definitely a spy for the Military Revolutionary Committee."
"Commander…"
"I'll handle it. You rest."
Leaving the infirmary, Schönkopf mused: If Frederica's memory is right, their goal is to assassinate Yang before he fights the 11th Fleet. Without him, the fleet would collapse, ensuring the coup's success. A cheap investment, really.
Julian, walking beside him, tensed.
"Commander, what will you do?"
"Whether the coup succeeds or the Alliance's future changes—I don't care. But I won't let Yang Wen-li die meaninglessly. If he dies, countless civilians will suffer, and history itself could veer off course."
He made his decision swiftly.
II
At dinner, Yang asked Schönkopf: "What's Colonel Bagdash's status?"
"Asleep."
"Did you… do something?"
Yang's tone suggested he already knew.
Schönkopf smirked. "Just slipped a little something into his food. He'll be in cryo-sleep for two weeks—won't wake till after the battle. Can't risk him snooping around."
"Good work."
Yang smiled wryly.
Tension mounted as May arrived.
The 11th Fleet advanced at 3,000 light-years per day—just as Bagdash had reported.
Yang's fleet moved toward the Doria star system. He pored over intelligence daily. On May 10, a scout destroyer sent to the nearby El Ghoul star system detected a massive fleet, sent a distress signal, and vanished—the first casualty.
Yang calculated that even a direct confrontation was winnable, but he waited for more intel. A complete victory with minimal losses was essential—otherwise, even defeating the 11th Fleet might leave him too weakened to crush the coup.
On May 18, Yang paced his quarters, frustrated. Nineteen scout reports had yielded nothing useful. He tossed them aside until Julian handed him the twentieth.
"Got it!"
Yang whooped, tossing the report in the air and shaking Julian by the shoulders. Julian, catching on, grinned.
"You can win?"
"Absolutely. Yang Wen-li doesn't fight battles he can't win!"
A cough interrupted them. Schönkopf, Frederica, and Fischer stood at the door, staring.
Yang sheepishly smoothed his hair.
"Just celebrating. Call a strategy meeting—we've got a plan!"
Thirty minutes later, Yang outlined his strategy:
Enemy Splits Forces: The 11th Fleet had divided to flank them.
Preemptive Strike: Yang would strike six hours earlier, crushing each wing separately.
Vanguard: Admiral Nguyen Van Thieu would lead the charge, moving behind the seventh planet's orbit.
Rearguard: Vice Admiral Fischer would hold the current position, then shift to the sixth planet's orbit to pin the left wing.
Main Force: The central fleet would follow Thieu, flanking the enemy.
Artillery: Admiral Attenborough's missile ships would guard the seventh planet's orbit, securing supply lines.
Command: Yang would lead the central force.
After the briefing, Yang addressed his officers:
"Earlier, I asked Fleet Admiral Bewcock for written orders authorizing us to suppress rebellions and restore order. So our actions are legal."
His foresight earned admiration, but Yang remained humble. He hadn't prevented the coup—just secured paperwork.
After the meeting, Yang summoned Julian.
"Remember during the Amritsar battle? Admiral Bewcock tried to see Marshal Lobos, but Lobos was napping."
"Marshal Lobos was irresponsible!"
"Right. Well, I'm taking a nap. No disturbances—not even from admirals."
Aboard the 11th Fleet's flagship Leo the Great, Admiral Lugrandshaw fumed.
"Where's Bagdash? Useless!"
A communications officer approached. "We're ready to broadcast your pre-battle speech."
Lugrandshaw nodded, pushing aside his frustration.
"Brave soldiers! The success of our revolution—the revival or ruin of our homeland—hangs on this battle! For justice, for freedom, fight without hesitation! The cowardly and selfish are despicable. Show your loyalty! For the future of our nation, destroy the enemy!"
The 11th Fleet charged ahead, morale high.
Yang woke from his nap, stretching. Julian handed him a towel and ice water.
"How long was I out?"
"An hour and a half."
"Wish I could sleep more… but no time. Thanks."
He dressed and headed to the bridge. As commander, he had to address his fleet—though he hated speeches.
"The battle's about to begin. It won't be pleasant, but losing is pointless. We're fighting for the nation's survival, but individual freedom matters more. Now, let's get ready."
As he finished, white light flashed on the screens—the 11th Fleet's 7,000 ships emerged from the starry void.
"Enemy fleet detected! All hands, battle stations!"
III
Yang wasn't a reckless commander, but he thrived at the front lines—especially in desperate situations. He believed leading from the front was a commander's duty. Who'd trust a thirty-year-old otherwise?
Admiral Thieu's thirty ships awaited orders. The enemy approached vertically from the right at 0.0012 light-speed.
*"Enemy at 6.4 light-seconds—1.93 million kilometers."*
The bridge fell silent. Yang raised his hand—the signal to fire.
Thousands of cannons roared. Concentrated fire tore into the enemy's center—Yang's signature tactic. Focused fire maximized destruction.
The 11th Fleet's monitors blared warnings—too late. Their flank shattered, hundreds of ships vaporized. Fusion reactors exploded in white fury, bleaching the screens.
Julian, watching his first space battle, felt exhilaration, not fear.
"Order Thieu: Full-speed flanking maneuver!"
Thieu, a bold commander, roared: "Charge! Attack their side!"
His fleet slammed into the enemy, splitting their formation.
Lugrandshaw's officers panicked. If Thieu broke through, the 11th Fleet would be bisected. A skilled commander might've turned this into a pincer move—but they lacked such talent.
Lugrandshaw barked orders: "Attack blindly! Fight to the last man!"
Thieu laughed amid the chaos. "Enemies everywhere? No need to aim!"
The 11th Fleet reeled. Some called the tactics reckless, others bold—few realized their commander was brilliant.
Thirty minutes in, Yang's fleet had split the 11th Fleet, encircling its rear. Lugrandshaw's vanguard resisted, but most ships surrendered.
After repeated refusals to surrender, Lugrandshaw took his own life. His final words:
"Yang Wen-li lives up to his reputation. It's an honor to face such a foe. Long live the Free Planets Alliance! Long live the Military Revolutionary Committee!"
Deputy Chief of Staff Patrichev sighed. "What a battle."
Despite the intensity, victory came swiftly. Yang's fleet outnumbered the enemy two-to-one, and surprise ensured success. Only Lugrandshaw's tenacity made it hard-fought.
"If Lugrandshaw had been incompetent, casualties would've been lighter," Schönkopf remarked.
Yang nodded silently, exhaustion setting in.
Schönkopf mused: Was the 13th Fleet's strength all due to Yang? Without him, it'd just be a patchwork force, easily crushed. Even here, without Yang, victory might've gone to the enemy.
This question extended beyond the present. Another undefeated legend existed in the galaxy—Reinhard von Lohengramm. Eventually, the two would clash. Who would prevail?
Schönkopf didn't know. But one thing was clear: Reinhard's admirals—Mittermeyer, Reuenthal—outshone Yang's like Thieu.
Perhaps Yang knew this. His victory brought no joy—unlike his earlier excitement upon securing intel. The historian in him clashed with the tactician.
"Admiral Yang!"
Frederica's voice snapped him back. "The enemy vanguard remains. Fischer's under pressure. Orders?"
"Reform the fleet. Advance to the seventh planet's orbit."
IV
News of the National Plaza Massacre reached Yang in July. When Frederica, pale and tearful, told him of Jessica Edwards' death, his mind went blank. He wore sunglasses all day to hide his grief.
By late July, Yang regrouped his fleet, preparing to advance on the Bharat system's fourth planet. Tension mounted on the eve of battle.
Chapter 6: Courage and Loyalty
I
After parting from Reinhard, Siegfried Kircheis had been commanding a third of the Imperial fleet, pacifying the border regions. By July, new orders arrived.
Given full authority over strategy and governance, Kircheis had earned the nickname "King of the Frontier." His sixty victories—though none large-scale—proved his skill. He handed planets to local self-rule, banning looting—a stark contrast to aristocratic rule, winning public support.
Now, reports indicated that Duke Legrange and Duke Braunschweig had clashed. Legrange, leading 50,000 ships, had broken away—nominally to reclaim the frontier, but in reality, he sought independence.
Kircheis briefed his subordinates, Vice Admirals Wahlen and Lutz:
"The enemy is disorganized—no tactics, no coordination. Just a mob."
He proposed a hammer-and-anvil strategy: Lutz and Wahlen would engage the enemy head-on while Kircheis led 800 fast cruisers to flank them. After breaking the enemy's center, they'd regroup and strike again.
"Then we disengage. No reckless pursuit."
The two veterans hid their shock. The red-haired young admiral smiled as he described leading a suicide strike.
II
The Battle of Chihoya Starzone began with Legrange's reckless charge.
"Forget tactics! We outnumber them!"
Kircheis' fleet held formation. At 6 million kilometers, Lutz's left wing opened fire. Energy beams rained down, turning ships into glittering debris.
Meanwhile, Kircheis' 800 ships curved behind Wahlen's covering fire, slashing into Legrange's flank.
Chaos erupted. Legrange's flagship, Ostmark, fled toward Garmisch Fortress, abandoning its fleet.
Desperate, Legrange ordered his own supply convoy destroyed to clear his escape path.
Officer Linz, aboard a transport, lost his right arm in the friendly fire. A young cadet, Kenrad von Modell, helped him.
"We're surrendering," Linz said, signaling the enemy.
"You're giving up?"
"Got a better idea?"
Linz drank medicinal alcohol as rescue arrived.
III
Legrange reached Garmisch with just 3,000 ships. A tall officer, Major Lauditz, stormed his quarters, carrying half a corpse.
"This man died for you!"
He hurled the body at Legrange, who screamed. Lauditz was gunned down—but not before triggering a bomb, killing Legrange in the blast.
Kircheis took the fortress, ending the battle.
IV
Meanwhile, Oskar von Reuenthal faced a revitalized enemy under Admiral Merkatz.
After initial setbacks, Reuenthal feigned retreat, luring the nobles into overconfidence.
Duke Braunschweig, enraged by Reinhard's taunts, ordered a reckless attack.
Young nobles, ignoring Merkatz's orders, chased Wolfgang Mittermeyer's "retreating" fleet—straight into a trap.
V
Reinhard's forces ambushed the nobles. Mittermeyer, Ernest Mecklinger, and Paul von Oberstein hammered them from all sides.
Braunschweig barely escaped, blaming Merkatz for not rescuing him sooner.
"You're a sick man," Merkatz told his furious superior. "Your pride blinds you."
VI
Braunschweig's nephew, Baron Syd, had oppressed Westerland, triggering a revolt. After Syd's death, Braunschweig ordered nuclear strikes—killing 2 million.
Admiral Ansbach protested, calling it madness. Braunschweig jailed him.
VII
A Westerland survivor fled to Reinhard, begging for help.
Oberstein coldly advised: "Let it happen. Film it. Show the galaxy the nobles' brutality."
Reinhard hesitated—then agreed.
The horror was broadcast galaxy-wide, turning public opinion against the nobles.
Kircheis, upon seeing the footage, was shaken.
"Did Reinhard know… and do nothing?"
He would soon confront his friend—and question their shared ideals.