Chapter 211: Ch 207 plans and ambush

Still, it wasn’t a bad deal for the rest of them either. If she turned out to be lucky, then so be it—she was just lucky. And if not, they would at least know that among the remaining five slips, one still held what they each desired.

Grand Admiral Elira stepped forward—it was her turn, and she was the first to draw the lot. She knew this was both an advantage and a disadvantage. Advantageous because she was the first to go—if luck was with her, she could land the bumper prize. But also disadvantageous, because with only one out of seven chances, if fortune didn’t favor her, she would walk away with far less.

She took a calming breath as the thought passed through her mind, steadying herself. Even if I don’t get the best mission, it won’t be the end of the world, she reassured herself. Elira approached the white table where the ballot box was placed. She hovered her hand over it, hesitating for a brief moment before pulling herself together. Closing her eyes, she reached inside and grabbed one of the seven floating slips.

Holding her breath, she forced her eyes open, slowly unfolding the slip in her shaking hands. As the coordinates revealed themselves, her lips pressed into a thin line, and she let out a long sigh.

“Such bad luck I have today,” she muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

And everyone did hear her words. They all sighed in relief, patting their chests as if their hearts had nearly burst from the tension. Now, faint smiles crept onto their faces.

“It looks like Grand Admiral Elira has a bit of bad luck today,” said Grand Admiral Alexander with a slight smile tugging at his lips. Though it might have sounded like he was trying to provoke her, he wasn’t—he was simply being straightforward, as always.

The others chimed in too, though they weren’t as blunt as Alexander. Some offered a few words of consolation for her misfortune—”Better luck next time,” one said. And Elira heard it all.

But she didn’t complain. She had hoped for more, yes—but what she received wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was luck, and today, luck simply hadn’t been hers to claim. She accepted it without bitterness, without excuses.

And just like that, with the slip in her hand bearing the coordinates of her assigned mission, Elira quietly stepped back to her original position. She said nothing—there was no need to.

As Elira returned to her spot, Grand Admiral Ezra looked over at Granite Ryn and spoke, “It’s your turn. Go on—and be quick about it.”

Grand Admiral Ryn nodded and strode confidently to the white table where the ballot box rested. Without hesitation, she reached inside and pulled out a slip just as swiftly as she had arrived. There was no trace of the doubt or hesitation that had marked Elira’s draw—Ryn was simply different. Direct in her approach, firm in her choices

She unfolded the slip without pause. Unlike Elira’s, which had coordinates written in plain black ink, hers were inscribed in shimmering gold—highlighting a list of high-priority targets: Minotaur Prime, critical star systems, and other top-tier objectives.

She smirked, then smiled broadly and declared with unfiltered joy, “Looks like today’s my day. Hehehe!”

Her voice was loud enough for all to hear.

Grand Admiral Elira let out a long, weary sigh, a pained look passing briefly over her face. Still, she said nothing. Meanwhile, those who were more expressive than her clutched their chests in shared agony—it felt like they had already lost the battle before it even began.

Admiral Alexander, ever the blunt one, muttered, “Ugh, looks like we lost our chance to score big. More merits down the drain. Damn it, I didn’t even get my turn and I’ve already lost.”

Grand Admiral Benjamin sighed. “Next time, we should consider a different method of assigning missions—if we’re not being directly assigned or more collectively chose ourselves like today.”

Grand Admiral Benjamin sighed. “Next time, we should consider a different method of assigning missions—if we’re not being directly assigned like today.”

“We could,” he continued, “use seven separate boxes. Each with ten slips, but only one golden slip per box. The first person to draw the golden one would win the top mission.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Grand Admiral Varyn Larkovis added thoughtfully.

“As good as the idea is, I don’t think this will happen again,” replied Grand Admiral Ezra, his voice calm but firm. Without giving anyone time to question him further or ask why he believed that, he shifted his focus to the quiet and visibly downcast Grand Admiral Kael Throne.

“It’s your turn,” he said simply.

Then, turning to the cheerful Grand Admiral Ryn, he added, “Come on, stand back at your place and celebrate there—let the others draw their slips and get their missions.”

Grand Admiral Ryn, hearing Ezra’s words, turned to him and gave him a quick hug before skipping back to her spot—humming and hopping like a little kid who’d just won a chocolate prize for doing a small chore.

The others watched her in stunned silence.

Does she, in any way, resemble someone with a strong and commanding personality? one of them thought. No… right? We’re all just too confused and taken aback by this…

That thought echoed among the Grand Admirals—including Ezra—and even a certain someone who had been watching everything unfold from the shadows, unnoticed by the rest.

Kael Throne looked at him with hollow, lifeless eyes before nodding like a puppet with no soul left in its body. But the reason for his deep depression wasn’t just because he had missed out on the bumper prize before even getting his turn.

No, it was something else—something simpler, and perhaps more painful.

Kael carried a title among the fleet: the Lucky One. It wasn’t just a nickname—it was a fact proven many times. By that logic, if he had drawn earlier, there was about a 70% chance he might’ve pulled the golden slip—the same one that Ryn now held. And that thought haunted him.

Like a marionette without strings, he walked stiffly toward the table, picked up a slip without even looking, turned around, and returned to his position—soulless, defeated.

The others followed in rotation, quickly taking their slips and learning their assignments. With the golden opportunity already gone, no one made a fuss. They blamed their luck quietly—muttering under their breath, sometimes throwing a joking jab at Grand Admiral Ryn’s ridiculous fortune.

They all felt a sting—a small but sharp pain at the loss of a rare chance. But none of them dwelled on it more than necessary. After all, they knew this wasn’t the end of the world—nor the end of their race. There would be more missions to come.

Finally, seeing that everyone now held their mission slips in hand, Grand Admiral Ezra clapped his hands. With that single motion, the table he had summoned vanished—along with the ballot box that had rested atop it.

He looked around at the gathered admirals. Most wore expressions of disappointment. Some were already lost in thought, considering how to prevent such a selection method from repeating in the future. And then there was one—Kael—who looked so utterly crushed, it was as if the Reaper himself had stolen his soul and dragged it into hell.

Ezra’s gaze lingered on Kael, and despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. While many didn’t know the truth behind Kael’s so-called “lucky” title, Ezra did. It had been mentioned once—accidentally—in passing. But it stuck with him. And now, seeing Kael like this, he understood all too well. If he had such an ability and missed out on what he was almost guaranteed to receive, he would’ve been devastated too—maybe even more so.

Ezra then turned his eyes toward Ryn. To see the strongest woman in the fleet skipping like a little girl who’d just been handed candy—it was unexpected, absurd even. But… he decided not to dwell on it.

Clearing his throat to draw their attention, Ezra finally spoke. “Alright, everyone. You have your missions. You know your targets—the ones you’ll need to eliminate or secure to the best of your abilities.”

He gave a brief pause, then added, “Now that that’s done, let’s move on to strategy—primary plans and fallback contingencies. We don’t have any solid intel on what lies beyond Sol once we launch our attack on the Minotaur Clan. There could be ambushes. We must be prepared.”

With a snap of his fingers, a large circular table materialized in the center of the room, surrounded by seven chairs.

He gestured toward the seats and said, “Take your seats. Let’s get focused. We’ve already wasted hours debating things that didn’t need so much time. We don’t have that luxury anymore.”

Everyone sighed upon hearing those words and nodded in agreement before quickly taking their seats around the table. Without delay, they began a structured and focused discussion—covering every detail they might need to know or prepare for in the war ahead.

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