Page 65 of New World

Manta nodded once before turning to his second-in-command. “The bridge is yours.”

Without another word, he followed Andri into the command room adjacent to the bridge. The moment the doors slid shut, Andri crossed the room to the sleek bar built into the far wall. He poured himself a glass of dark amber liquid and swirled it idly, watching the way the light caught the surface. He turned to Ri, who stood silently, waiting.

“Drink?” Andri asked.

Ri Manta shook his head. “Never while on duty.”

Andri smirked, impressed. “Good.” He took a slow sip before setting the glass down, then folded his arms, studying the man before him. “Tell me about yourself, Captain.”

Ri Manta remained utterly composed. “I was recruited into the Legion at thirteen. Attended advanced training immediately after my seventeenth birthday. My studies were focused on military history and strategy. I served under several commanders, including General Roan Landais.”

At the mention of Roan, Andri’s fingers twitched. He inhaled sharply. “And what do you think of my nephew?”

Manta’s answer was immediate. “He was brilliant in battle. His strategies often followed classic military doctrine, but he knew how to adapt. He had an instinct for it. It’s why he won as often as he did.”

Andri let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening. “Won? He lost to an Ancient Knight. A species from another world.”

Manta nodded. “True. The Ancient Knight outmaneuvered him—but there were mitigating circumstances. General Landais adapted, learned from it. That was his strength. He changed direction in real-time without hesitation. That’s what made him dangerous.”

Andri studied Manta for a long moment. “Made….” He studied Manta’s face. “Do you believe you can defeat Roan?”

Manta inclined his head slightly. “Yes.” His voice was unwavering. “General Landais is at a disadvantage now. He no longer commands elite Legion soldiers. He has patchwork rebel fighters—many of whom distrust him. He must constantly prove himself to them. That hesitation alone gives us the advantage.”

Andri’s lips curved into a slow, approving smile. Yes… this one understands. “Good.” He turned to the star chart projected in the center of the room. The blue holographic outlines of the Legion fleet stretched across the void, converging toward Cryon II.

“Stay the course. Destroy any freighters or rebel ships you encounter. And when we reach Cryon II…” He looked back at Manta, his eyes gleaming. “We raze it until there is nothing but debris floating in space. I want no survivors. Everything must be destroyed. Dorane LeGaugh and his empire will burn. Do I make myself clear?”

Manta saluted, sharp and precise. “It will be done.” He turned and strode from the room without hesitation.

Andri watched him go, his smirk widening. Yes… this one will serve me well.

Silence settled over the command room as Andri turned back to the viewport. The fleet moved in perfect formation outside. Close to a hundred massive warships cut through the void like a sea of unstoppable destruction.

My fleet. My power. My legacy.

His fingers flexed around his glass as the knowledge and might of everything he built surrounded him. He lifted the glass again and sipped the fiery liquid, embracing the burn as it slid down his throat and hit his empty stomach.

Then—he heard it.

A dry chuckle.

Andri froze.

The sound was faint, like a whisper in the recesses of his mind. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the empty room. Nothing.

Then it came again.

Soft, knowing, filled with amusement.

Coleridge’s voice.

“So confident, big brother.”

Andri’s breath stilled in his throat. His grip tightened around the glass.

“Still convinced you’re the only one who sees the future.”

The voice was inside him—woven into the very fabric of his mind. A ghost of the past.

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