While the Minotaurs had already mentally committed to fleeing, they didn’t make a reckless dash for open space. Instead, they began maneuvering with calculated cowardice. They turned their ships slowly, creeping toward the massive silhouette of the Star Fortress.

Their plan was twofold: first, by moving at a sluggish pace, they hoped to avoid attracting the predatory eyes of the Void Fleet. A sudden surge in speed would mark them as targets for immediate elimination, wiping away any chance of survival.

Second, they intended to use the Star Fortress itself as a gargantuan physical shield. By tucking their vessels behind its bulk, they would have a solid cover to safeguard them from incoming fire as they prepared for their final run.

They were fully aware that this manoeuvre would place everyone inside the Star Fortress in extreme danger, turning the station into a lightning rod for the enemy’s wrath.

But the fleeing crews no longer cared for those lives. In their minds, the Star Fortress command had already betrayed them by cutting off communications and support. To the survivors, those inside the station were already traitors to the race; leaving them to burn was not just a tactic, but a silent act of revenge they carried out without hesitation.

The atmosphere across the remaining Minotaur fleet had soured into a bitter, vengeful resentment.

Many Minotaurs within the defending fleet around this star system considered those inside the star fortress—which served as the acting command center for the entire fleet—to be traitors to their race. Upon further consideration, many others who initially disagreed eventually came to the same conclusion.

After all, since the battle began, nothing but the slaughter and destruction of their fleet and people had occurred at the hands of this unknown enemy. They still had no idea who they were fighting; they knew neither the enemy’s identity nor the purpose behind their aggressive nature. Despite this mystery, many had followed the orders of command and laid down their lives. They acted as a warrior race was supposed to act. No matter how much others considered their people to be mere brutes, they were not just mindless beasts.

They all understood what it meant to follow the rules of a martial race and how to obey the hierarchy that led them into battle toward victory, no matter the price. This discipline was something all Minotaurs were accustomed to; it was engraved in their very bloodline. To them, war was a sacred place, the blood of the enemy was a holy elixir, and victory provided their only sense of true achievement and fulfillment.

Even then, throughout the battle—despite the blood of their people being splashed across the coldness of space—none of them felt they were moving toward a victory, even at a steep cost.

Instead, they obeyed every order from command until the transmissions stopped, following a plan intended to slowly counter-attack the enemy. Until that point, despite the massive losses suffered during the initial ambush, most of them still believed they could defeat the enemy or at least force a retreat.

But who could have known the enemy was so overwhelmingly strong? All the plans and deployments made by the leadership were nothing but a dog’s fart, sending many of their comrades to their deaths without achieving anything. When they witnessed the destruction of the left flank—consisting of more than 200 ships and even more fighter craft—by a single attack from that enemy Mech, they finally knew the truth. This was an enemy they had no hope of defeating. Any chance of victory was gone.

Despite being a martial race, they did not give up easily. However, every move they made only further solidified the grim reality in their minds: their pride as warriors mattered little when the enemy was this overwhelming.

The command center should have recognized this. Yet, they made no move to flee the lost battle or regroup elsewhere. Instead, they continued sending the fleet to their deaths. Even when many ships were barely airworthy and the crews were decimated, the leadership still dared to order them forward—essentially telling them to go out and lay down their lives without a second thought.

This infuriated the fleet. Then, the command center stopped giving orders entirely. When asked for direction, the only answer the soldiers received was to wait while leadership “formulated a plan.”

In that silence, the enemy began hammering the frontal battle lines with a new, terrifying intensity. The Minotaurs grew furious; they were being provided with no solid strategy and were instead being treated as meat shields to cover someone else’s retreat. This realization pushed them to take the final step—a move that would normally be considered a betrayal of their own people’s interests. At that moment, however, they couldn’t have cared less.

They moved slowly toward the Star Fortress, which was also in poor condition. It remained standing only because the enemy, for some reason, was not targeting it, nor the seven other main battleships of the fleet. The enemy was even avoiding the vessels near those ships, as if they feared hitting the fortress or the capital ships by mistake.

Many found this behavior strange, especially after the enemy had nearly obliterated the secondary command ship, the Taurus Prime. During the chaos, a ship orbiting the Taurus Prime had been disabled; due to severe damage, it had come crashing down directly onto the Taurus Prime and exploded. Had it not been for the exceptionally strong shields of the Taurus Prime—the most technologically advanced ship of their race—everyone believed it would have been destroyed.

Its survival was a relief to the survivors, for on that ship was Admiral Thorax. He had taken charge of the fleet and was providing reassurance about their retreat. He even promised he would vouch for their actions once they escaped. He intended to join them in their flight and was simply waiting for the right opportunity to turn his ship around.

But suddenly, a new concern arose among the fleeing Minotaurs. For some reason, they had lost all contact with the Admiral. It had happened only moments ago, but no matter how many communications they sent, they received no reply. The fleet was left perplexed and deeply unsettled.

While the Minotaurs were quick to blame the “Void Fleet” for the sudden breakdown in their communication, their theories were far from the truth. If the humans of the Void Fleet had known, they would have laughed at the absurdity. To the humans, the Minotaurs were simply masters of inventing non-existent theories and treating them as logical soundboards when they were anything but.

The desperate movement of the Minotaur fleet—the slow, cowardly retreat under the cover of their own hulls—did not escape the sharp eyes of Ezra and his officers. However, Ezra didn’t waste his focus on the fleeing stragglers. He left the cleanup of the retreating ships entirely to Joshua, Jasmine, and Michael. This was their task, and he trusted them to know exactly how to handle the remnants of a broken enemy.

Instead, Ezra’s gaze was fixed on the true prize: the gargantuan Behemoth Star Fortress.

The fortress was a monstrosity of metal and fire, relentlessly spewing torrents of energy and heavy projectiles toward the Void Fleet’s flanks. Explosions bloomed against the Void Fleet’s shields, but the attacks were futile. Not a single strike managed to do meaningful damage. Ezra’s ships continued their unstoppable march toward the Minotaur line, cutting through the space like a hot blade.

“Eclipse,” Ezra called out, turning to the woman standing beside him. She was staring at the battlefield with a cold, neutral gaze, her mind likely processing millions of data points a second. “What are the stats on the ship’s main batteries? Are they ready to show their true might?”

“They will be ready in about a minute. We can proceed with the attack then,” Eclipse replied, her eyes never leaving the tactical displays.

Ezra nodded, though a hint of impatience colored his voice. “Why the delay? The main batteries should have been cycled by now.”

“The Shadow Divisions,” Eclipse explained calmly. “Sectors One and Two are just finalizing their takeover of the enemy’s main battleships. While only the cleanup remains, those vessels are currently drifting directly within our line of fire. That is the only thing preventing the strike; the weapons have been charged and ready for some time.”

She adjusted a holographic slider, highlighting the positioning of the captured ships. “In two minutes at most, those ships will be moved out of the firing corridor. Our flanks are already rushing forward to provide a screen for them, ensuring the transition is safe—though at this point, nothing should go wrong.”

“I see,” Ezra murmured, his eyes narrowing as he watched the distant heat signatures of the enemy. “Then they need to move quickly. I can see the Minotaurs’ intentions from a mile away. They’re planning to tuck tail and flee.”

Eclipse allowed a rare, ghost of a smile to touch her lips. “They certainly intend to, Sir. But where could they possibly go?The worlds behind them are already under fire, and those that aren’t will be soon. There is no sanctuary for them. Let them try to escape… it makes the hunt more enjoyable, don’t you think?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep