It took another week before the audition for the new movie was scheduled. On the 21st Day of Air, 21 Low Air in the local calendar, Yuriko and Scarlett drove towards the venue, which was in the city over the state border, in a city in the State of Hundred Hills, unimaginably named Hillsfield. It was a couple of longstrides southwest of Neo Prism City as the crow flies, but about fifty percent longer by car. It was only a couple of hours’ drive though, especially once they left the city limits and could drive as fast as the car could go. 

With the top down, the wind blew Yuriko’s hair all the way back. Thankfully it wasn’t as long as her true body’s, which would have been a hazard and was likely to get caught on the wheels if she was careless. And it would probably break the axles, too. The blonde of her incarnation body’s waist-length hair had changed into a burnished gold; a deeper blonde than her true body’s, the colour was a product of mixing Radiant energy and Swordlight. At this point, her Swordlight Core had over a dozen strands woven into it.

It should take a hundred in order to progress to Colligia, but the difficulty of weaving the strands grew after every ten were woven into the core. Not only did the strands have to be longer, meaning she needed more Animus, but the strands resisted being wound up like a ball of yarn. Any other shape seemed incompatible, but Yuriko wondered, if she started with an entirely different kind of core, would she have the same problem? Either way, it was like getting ill-fitting puzzle pieces that were meant to be used flat, to integrate into the surface of a globe. 

As usual, Scarlett was dozing in the passenger seat. The smol girl wasn’t a morning person, quite unlike herself who often rose before the sun did. Yuriko didn’t need much sleep, just a couple of hours every night, though the caveat was that both of her bodies must rest at the same time. The brief stint while she was in the temporal distorted space played havoc with her rest cycle, though that only lasted a short while. And as usual, Scarlett had some drool seeping out of the corner of her mouth. Yuriko at this point had dozens of photos, and every time she sent the pics to Scarlett’s phone, the other girl retaliated by tickling or pinching her. Since her phone was already filled with pictures and videos, Yuriko didn’t bother snapping another one and just listened to the radio while driving.

The route to Hundred Hills was rather scenic, especially once she crossed the state line. Some of the hills could be mistaken for small mountains, and most of them were terraced to enable farming. The highway either followed the lay of the lay, cut through some of the hillsides, or crossed valleys via hanging bridges. The traffic flow during the early morning was filled with commuter buses, farm machines, and a few private cars plied the road. 

“…civil war in Patchwork continues, but who’s surprised about that? The wall keeps everything away and as long as we’re vigilant, no insurgents will enter our great country. What about refugees, you ask? Well, there’s a hotline and a Network page to apply so they can get a visa…” 

“…sightings of the Unfettered have been reported midwest, near the Astorian Spine. That’s a lot of country, folks, be careful of the boogeymen and don’t stay out too late…”

“…rumours of disappearances all around Astoria have been circulating the Network over the past few weeks. Again, everyone stay safe and don’t wander around at night. Most of the Vanishing happens during the wee hours of the morning…”

“…President Elridge’s daughter showed up at the Daublin Charity Gala with a stunningly exotic dress. Conservatives claim that Miss Michelle Elridge’s dress was too provocative, but most proclaim that it was quite tasteful. The charity produced two million Torries in pledges for building shelters and funding soup kitchens for those in need and down on their luck…”

The slew of news and gossip ended as the radio broadcaster finished his spiel. Lively music blasted out from the speakers and Yuriko nodded along as she drove. They arrived at the audition venue with time to spare. Scarlett woke up half an hour before then, and she served as the navigator. Hillsfield City was built around four conical hills that had gentle slopes. The audition venue was a warehouse in the southeast hill, halfway to the top. They weren’t the first ones there. The place was already bustling with staff and associates. 

The parking lot was a couple of blocks away, and by the time they arrived, they were just a bit early for the start of the audition. She spotted a few manuscripts lying about, and a surreptitious check with Anima finally told her the working title: The Last Warrior. Further skimming told her she was probably pegged to play a girl named Jeannette Marau, the daughter of a landholder forced to grow up and fight for her life and liberty. The antagonists were colonisers from Karcellia…

“Karcellia.” Yuriko couldn’t help but say out loud. 

“Hmm?” Scarlett turned to her curiously. “Oh, the old colonials? Ah, the Great Unification, wasn’t it? I suppose only Karcellia could be the bad guys.” 

Evidently, she needed to delve more into history. 

_______________

“Prepare to sortie,” Admiral Araven commanded. 

Wyllan Caina sat on his observer’s seat, elbows resting on the armrest while his chin rested over his interlaced fingers as the fleet’s two destroyer-class voidships, Seeker and Hunter-Killer, along with the light cruiser Defender, broke off from formation. The flagship, the mighty carrier Illustrious, launched half of her fighter squadrons, three in total, along with a bomber squadron, from her bays to support the task force. 

Over the past few weeks, Hartdel Defiant’s 3rd Carrier Division had sortied thrice already, across three different resource points and outposts. The Draconians’ territory was unexpectedly undefended, though Wyllan knew that was merely a temporary state of affairs. If they lingered within Draconian space, they would be hunted down and either captured or destroyed. 

Well, the fleet would be destroyed or captured, he and his Circle wouldn’t. Not that the Draconians wouldn’t try to kill them too, but inter-Conclave politics would force them to try for a capture first, and only go lethal when all other measures were tried. If the Draconians also had  Ancients of the Conclave stationed in their task force, then all other combatants were forced to cede the battleground for the Ancients to fight. 

Not that it was easy to defeat an Ancient, Wyllan mused idly. They were more than capable of surviving exposure to the Void Ocean unprotected, and their Anima functioned both as defence and offence. Indeed, Wyllan’s aura could easily withstand a rail cannon round. Well, once or twice, before his Anima cracked. Of course, hitting a fast-moving, and relatively tiny target with a Voidship’s main armament was anything but easy. 

And now, they would hit the last Draconian outpost and resource point before returning to the Citadel. It was nearly sixty days travel from their current location to Hartdel’s base of operations, and from there, merely three weeks to reach Shangria Station, the very centre of the Void Ocean. Well, he wasn’t sure if it was actually the centre since the outer reaches didn’t have an end, but it was the only place to delve deeper. The Bore was the way through, but entering and going through it was a complicated affair, made even more so by the Five Factions holding territory on the planet’s surface. 

Still, the goal of every Ancient on this fleet was to enter the Bore and take however long it needed to explore, map, and ultimately, delve towards the next level. Hopefully, in the process of delving, he’d gather enough resources and power to Ascend to Transformation. Otherwise, it would be better to remain on this level. 

“Helm, change heading towards the resource planet,” Admiral Araven commanded once the two destroyers and the light cruiser were three longstrides away from the main fleet. “Launch fighters and bombers,” she added. 

Wyllan kept an eye on the vanguard and another on the Sigma Station. The Draconians had stationed half a dozen Voidships to defend their territory, but the majority of their fleet were more troop transports, frigates, and corvettes. Not even a single destroyer or cruiser class Voidship in the lot. The bulk of the defences must be on the station itself, and he was vindicated when he saw he was right. 

A fusillade of plasma bolts launched from the station, aimed at 1st Squadron. The agile Voidship fighters weaved around the projectiles but took the follow-up kinetic rounds that plinked off their onboard projector shields. Those things were rated to defend against small arms, automatic gunnery, and smaller plasma bolts, but the warship-grade plasma would vaporise the shield as well as a good part of the conically shaped fighters. 

Three squadrons, eighteen fighters. They weaved around the plasma bolts, then started pelting the disparate defence fleet with their own plasma bolts, saving their torpedoes for when the frigates’ shields faded. The destroyers kept their distance from the station but started shooting their main guns, a powerful and oversized rail cannon that would be more at home on a battleship than the relatively tiny destroyer. The Voidship was still bigger than the largest ship on the defender’s side though. 

With no air in the Void Ocean, Wyllan had to imagine the thunderous roar of the rail cannon’s slug. If it had been fired while in the atmosphere, the shockwave would have flattened trees and buildings for longstrides along the flight path. As it were, the heavy slug slammed into the station’s shield and dispersed. The impact caused ripples across the surface, as well as a few sparks of electrical discharge along the station’s surface, but did little else. Until the second slug shot from the other destroyer, followed by another three from the light cruiser, struck close to where the first one hit. The last slug managed to penetrate the field and it slammed into the station’s surface. Molten metal and shredded parts, followed by more lightning discharge, erupted from the new crater, and Wyllan assumed a bit of the station’s energy shield integrity had fallen. It would take more than half a dozen slugs to down the station, but that was fine. Destroying it or taking it over wasn’t the goal anyway. 

The defence fleet milled about like flies, taking potshots at the capital ships, but the fighter screen prevented them from focusing on a single ship at a time. The bomber squadron unleashed their torpedoes onto a hapless frigate, which shredded its shielding, then its hull. The Voidship leaked air and other substances from its ruptured hull, but it managed to limp away before the fighters could get at its thrusters or engine block. 

“Waste of munitions,” Wyllan muttered to himself. 

Then, a group of three corvettes focused their kinetic rounds on a passing fighter, which overwhelmed its shields, then tore apart the smaller hull. The fighter crumpled as it drifted away, dead in space. A quick glance at one of the counters showed that there were still life signs inside the stricken craft, but the pilot would have to wait while the vanguard chased off the defence fleet so they could retrieve the wreck. 

“Such is battle,” he muttered to himself. No matter how advantaged one side was, casualties could always happen. The Fighter 1st-D was broken but the pilot was alive. As long as they didn’t take too long to retrieve them, they would fight another day. 

In the meantime, the Illustrious and her escort approached close enough to the resource planet that their sensors could finally penetrate the Veil. 

“Begin the raid.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep