Chapter 18: The Trial's True Objective
1316 Words
“My name is Lucien Vance. Get it right,” Lucien Vance snapped.
“Is that your Earthling alias?” Glenna rasped.
Lucien Vance ignored the question, his gaze spearing her. “Access the Galactic Network. Change Crimson Fortress to Blue Zone status.”
Glenna sneered. Silence.
Lucien Vance gave a humorless chuckle. “Personally? Torture bores me. But this is the Judicator Citadel. You grasp the implication. They possess... methods. Perfected for breaking wills like yours.”
“These primitives will pay!” Glenna spat.
“You’ll pay first,” Lucien Vance countered, his voice dropping to glacial cold. “And the cost will be far steeper.”
Their eyes locked—defiance against glacial resolve. Glenna wilted. Beneath the Academy elite veneer, she was just a student. Cruelty came easy against Earthlings, born of perceived superiority. Strip that away? Fragility remained. Trembling fingers danced over the projected Galactic Network interface. Crimson Fortress pulsed, then shifted to cool blue on the Earth map.
Lucien Vance studied the display. Patches of blue already dotted the planet—pockets secured by students. Not all willingly, he knew. Some coerced into changing status, like Glenna. But coercion was likely rare.
His gaze narrowed. The region labeled Lakeheart Province... blue.
Leon Shaw... Had he bent the knee? Or had they simply broken him?
“The heavy hitters among the students,” Lucien Vance demanded, locking onto Glenna again. “Names. Strength.”
Glenna shook her head, greasy hair clinging to her pallid face. “I don’t know. The Planetary Evolution Trials are run by the Great Yu Imperium. Students come from dozens of academies. I only know the top tier from First Military. Treyce Valmont was elite. The others?” A helpless shrug. “Unknown.”
Lucien Vance let it drop. The true storm was the second wave. This first batch? He felt confident weathering them.
The Judicator Citadel buzzed with relentless energy. Lucien Vance personally led sweeps beyond the walls, hunting Skyforger-level mutants flagged by combat scanners. Five brutal days bled away before the frantic pace eased.
He convened the Legion Commanders. All eight attended, including Rowena, freshly returned from the Northern Front.
Silas Third watched Lucien Vance with newfound awe. From recruit to Citadel’s shadow ruler in weeks? This man seemed forged from starlight. His own promotion to Terra-tier (courtesy of Lucien Vance’s favor) felt like stepping onto a starship. Lucien Vance’s approving nod? Pure rocket fuel. Reach Scout Tier. Become indispensable.
No dissent marred the council. Challenging a man who’d walked the Sky-Sovereign’s path? Madness. The two Legion Commanders who’d sided with Glenna sat stripped of rank, demoted to grunts—redeem themselves or perish.
“We abandon the northern push,” Lucien Vance declared, his voice slicing through the war room. “All resources funnel into expanding Crimson Fortress. Westward.”
A grizzled commander shifted uneasily. “But the Judicator’s core strategy—forging a link to the Northern Bastion—”
Quinn pushed her glasses up, sharp eyes meeting Lucien Vance’s. “I concur. Our strength is fractured. Consolidate the core first.”
Marcus Flint and others rumbled agreement.
Lucien Vance rose. “Decision made. Recall every soldier. We reclaim the west. Step by fortified step.” He paused at the door, tossing over his shoulder: “Find me a stellar cartography core. Solar System. Highest resolution available.”
Thick silence hung as he left.
Quinn watched his retreating back, a chill tracing her spine. More steel than the Judicator. And he treats Crimson Fortress like his birthright. Zane Shaw had asked him to guard, not reshape. What happens when the Judicator wakes?
“Marcus,” she murmured, pulling the burly commander aside. “Guard the Judicator. Day and night. No one else.”
Marcus frowned. “Why?”
“Just... ensure his safety,” Quinn evaded, the image of a convenient ‘accident’ flashing in her mind.
Across the room, Rowena observed the exchange, her expression unreadable.
Zoya Rain had vanished days prior, heading northeast alone. Foolhardy courage, Lucien Vance had termed it. Admirable, but likely fatal.
The Citadel’s forces, once 80,000 strong, now mustered barely 50,000 after Northern Front losses. Concentrated around Crimson Fortress, under the Legion Commanders’ watch, the fortress became a fortress-like bastion.
As dusk painted the sky in bloody hues, Lucien Vance stood atop the reinforced battlements of Crimson Fortress. Energy beams lanced out, incinerating winged mutants. “Use the heavy ordnance if hordes gather,” he ordered, voice carrying over the wind. “Spare nothing.”
“Aye, Commander Vance!” two Legion Commanders barked.
SKREEEEE!
A bone-jarring shriek ripped the air. Below, Ghouls were shredded into gory spray as a colossal winged shadow—a Crimson Roc Mutant—swept low, talons like scythes aimed at the fortress wall!
Panic erupted. “FIRE! NOW!”
Adrenaline surged. Lucien Vance moved. A blur against the dying light. Odon’s sword flashed in his grip. He launched himself, not up, but out, meeting the monstrosity head-on in mid-air.
SHIIING-KRAK!
A Probe Tier-enhanced s***h hammered down like a falling star. CRUNCH! The Roc’s skull twisted violently. It plummeted, earth shaking on impact. Lucien Vance landed atop its shuddering form, driving the sword deep into its brain. One final tremor. Silence.
A breathless pause. Then—roaring cheers erupted. “VEILED PARAGON!” someone bellowed. The cry ignited like wildfire through the ranks. “VEILED PARAGON! VEILED PARAGON!”
Lucien Vance winced internally. Paragon? That title was a target. He waved them down, but the name—Veiled Paragon—was already taking wing.
With the surrounding lands purged of major threats, the Judicator Citadel turned west. Half the Legion Commanders took point, spearheading the reclamation. Survivors flooded into Crimson Fortress. Augurs swelled their ranks.
Fifteen days bled into the void. Less than seventy remained until the second wave descended.
Lucien Vance had absorbed half his stash of Astrilith, pushing his Combat Rating to 1500. The rest he saved.
CR was a vanity metric, he knew. Astrilith’s true worth fueled Combat Arts and powered high-end tech. Direct absorption was crude—a shortcut for the desperate. True strength lay in honing Arts. A masterful Combat Art could shatter expectations, making a CR 1500 strike hit like 3000. Treyce Valmont had hoarded crystals to refine his Shockwave Palm. Failed. His failure was my opening.
Lucien Vance’s goals: Push the Stellar Palm further. And… attempt that experiment.
After fifteen days in the lightless Augur prison, fed rancid mutant rat, breathing air thick with despair, Glenna broke. Utterly.
When Lucien Vance entered her cell, she was a wraith—pale, trembling, stank of filth and defeat, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “I’ll help,” she croaked, voice raw. “Anything. Protect the Fortress. Spy. Just... get me out. Please.”
Lucien Vance gazed down, impassive. “How?”
“Anything!” Desperation cracked her voice. “Just name it!”
Lucien Vance leaned closer, the cell’s chill deepening. “The Trial’s real objective. Not the sanitized version. The truth.”
Glenna’s eyes widened fractionally. “You... you really aren’t a student? How did you even get here? The Imperium monitors this rock—”
Cold fury ignited. Lucien Vance turned sharply to leave.
“WAIT!” Glenna shrieked, chains rattling. “I’m sorry! Stupid! I’ll talk!” She sucked in a ragged breath. “We’re here... to hunt a fugitive.”
Lucien Vance froze. Slowly turned. “A fugitive?”
Glenna nodded, the movement jerky. “Notification came the day before the Trial. Someone slipped the Imperium’s net. Came here. And they... changed Earth. Triggered its Evolution. The Great Yu Imperium never planned this rock for us. But the Evolution happened... so they scrambled. Shifted the Trial site. That’s the months’ delay.”
Lucien Vance’s mind reeled. The implications detonated like a nova-bright flare. “The Evolution... It wasn't you? The students didn't cause it?"
- Writer
