They fled at full tilt, pushing their engine cores past redline despite the risk of catastrophic explosion. With their power savagely compressed, they achieved subspace warp speed a full three minutes ahead of the Holy See’s dreadnoughts.

Across the public channel, the crew of Pol Pot’s vessel, still reeling from the impact, erupted in a clamor of furious voices. They unleashed the most venomous rhetoric of the Roman people upon the ancestors of every Terran Federation citizen, reserving special vitriol for the clergy of the Holy See and the Pantheon Alliance, wishing upon their future children three anuses each.

Simultaneously, all the young nobles began loudly boasting about their steadfast courage in commanding the fleet against a formidable enemy. They flaunted their supposed valor and bragged about their unshakeable composure and decisive command during the crisis. In the blink of an eye, the fleeing fleets of the Holy See and the Pantheon Alliance were utterly forgotten as they squabbled amongst themselves, fiercely debating who deserved the most credit for the enemy's successful retreat.

Pol Pot, who had previously basked in the spotlight during earlier engagements, instantly became the target of universal scorn. Members of the Eight Electoral Families converged on him, attacking in unison, all accusing him of contributing nothing to the current operation, claiming all the glory for themselves.

Pol Pot’s face went ashen with rage; he nearly ordered his guns to fire upon his own allies.

As the Roman commanders dissolved into mutual accusations and curses, the Honghuang-class battleship, commanded by Gu Xichen, slowly emerged from behind a stellar dust cloud spanning a hundred thousand kilometers, like some colossal, primordial beast.

Gu Xichen’s smiling face appeared on the public channel: “Gentlemen, my apologies. You have all been captured by me!”

The six-thousand-meter-long Honghuang-class vessel, encased in an energy shield a hundred meters thick, shimmered as thousands of weapon muzzles simultaneously erupted with blinding light. It drifted languidly before the Roman fleet, directly into the horrified gaze of Pol Pot and his men. Roman ships that managed to regain their senses immediately opened fire, unleashing a barrage of high-velocity missiles and torpedoes. Yet, against the Honghuang's preposterously resilient energy shields, these attacks merely sparked insignificant pinpricks of light before vanishing without effect.

Gu Xichen held his vessel steady at a distance of less than ten kilometers from the Roman warships. In the void of space, for vessels of this immense scale, this proximity was tantamount to a close-quarters brawl.

A long-charged secondary cannon delivered a single, effortless shot toward a Roman warship. That vessel, which had its energy shields pushed to maximum capacity, instantly atomized into a brilliant fireball.

The brothers Borujin and Yakjin, direct and practical, immediately raised their hands in surrender, shouting: “We yield! But as noble Roman aristocrats, you must guarantee our… honor!”

In the next instant, every Roman ship save for the one commanded by Pol Pot surrendered. They voluntarily powered down their energy shield generators and deactivated their main engines, leaving only auxiliary power running in their command pods to maintain communications.

Pol Pot’s face cycled from ashen to a sudden, wild excitement. He became inexplicably galvanized.

To the spectral looks of utter disbelief from the other Romans, Pol Pot hurled himself at the command console, punching the operator preparing to shut down the main engines flying aside. He wrestled the flagship into a clumsy trajectory, using Borujin’s and Yakjin’s surrendered vessels as makeshift shields, and furiously drove toward the Honghuang-class battleship.

Gu Xichen watched the listing ship surge toward him in astonishment, crying out, “Pol Pot, you intend to ram my ship? Is there such a convenient opportunity?”

Dozens of secondary cannons locked onto Pol Pot’s flagship. But caught in the crossfire were several of the already surrendered Roman vessels, whose crews screamed in terror, howling, “We have surrendered! We have surrendered! You cannot fire on us, you cannot do this! We will pay a massive ransom!”

Before their pleas had even ended, Pol Pot shrieked maniacally over the public channel: “Ducat! Seize their ships! Return to Mars, and I will ensure your mother is interred in the family mausoleum… I… I will have Father acknowledge your mother’s status!”

A sound like a cuckoo’s death cry echoed through the channel: “Shaaa—~~”

To the horror of the surrendering Romans like Borujin and Yakjin, a blinding silver beam erupted from the bow of Pol Pot’s flagship, which was now less than ten kilometers from the Honghuang. Ducat. Holsum, encased in silver armor nearly three meters tall, burst forth. Four massive metallic wings unfurled from his back, transforming him into a celestial war god. Nine spheres of intense, crimson light, each spanning several meters, coalesced behind him, tearing through the surrounding stardust as he charged unstoppably toward Gu Xichen’s flagship!

Gu Xichen fell silent.

Kanhua was silent.

Hom and Linghu were silent.

Borujin and Yakjin gasped, “That base-born mongrel… is he insane?” Suddenly, their faces flushed hot, instantly turning a pale gold.

The other Roman elites screamed incoherently, hurling vicious curses at Ducat, who was clearly marching toward his own death. These elite Romans vented their rage, furiously masking the sliver of unease—or perhaps the lingering shadow of shame—in their hearts.

A thin green light darted out, chasing Ducat from the bow of Pol Pot’s flagship. Lily, encased in a biological battlesuit, trailed four long, green ribbons of light behind her, resolutely pursuing Ducat’s trajectory.

Far away, aboard the gargantuan mothership, Porphyrius. Menepole stood motionless atop a piece of massive engineering equipment, his expression indescribably strange. After a long moment, he sighed quietly, “What a waste… Ha, Gu Xichen, you truly haven’t disappointed me… Though the flaw is that those fools from the Holy See and the Pantheon Alliance escaped too quickly!”

Beneath the mothership, within the stardust, a colossal black Buddha, nine hundred meters high, slowly materialized. Wisps of black mist diffused from its surface, gradually enshrouding the mothership and the logistics fleet commanded by Porphyrius. Menepole. Inside the Black Buddha, the naked Red Dragon King sat cross-legged, three black-and-red sarira hovering above his head, radiating cold light.

“Life, Death, Illusion, Slaughter, bound together in Nirvana!”

“Little friends, you share karma with the Buddha. By aiding my comprehension of the Nirvana Meditation Method today, you shall accrue measureless merit!”

Ducat and Lily sped side-by-side toward the Honghuang-class battleship. They were too small for the Honghuang's fire control systems to lock onto. In the span of a mere finger snap, they traversed dozens of kilometers of void, arriving just outside the battleship's energy shield. Lily shrieked skyward, and one by one, massive green eagles shot forth from above her head, transforming into streaks of green arrows that pierced the hundred-meter-thick energy shield. Amidst a screeching roar, numerous holes, several meters in diameter, were blasted open, as Lily tore a tunnel just wide enough for two through the shield with astonishing force. “This time! These fools obsessed with Roman aristocratic vanity have no right to compete with me for the throne! The glorious throne of the Roman King must be mine!”

Pol Pot roared hysterically, “Great Rome, advance! Glorious Rome, advance! For Rome, advance!”

His sharp cries echoed through the public channel, jolting the stunned Borujin, Yakjin, and the others into action. Pol Pot led his few dozen warships, exhibiting a courage and fervor impossible for the contemporary Romans, executing sudden, sharp evasive maneuvers while opening fire at maximum power on the Honghuang-class battleship!

Innumerable beams of fire washed over the Honghuang, and though they still failed to breach its heavy energy shield, the spirit was present!

Great Rome, advance! Glorious Rome, advance! For Rome, advance! Pol Pot’s subordinates operated their ships with a frantic desperation mixed with terror, dodging wildly while cautiously firing upon the Honghuang-class vessel.

What familiar, yet utterly foreign, battle cries!

Borujin gasped, “That is the battle cry of the Roman Knights!”

Yakjin hissed, “The Roman Knights… they were wiped out a thousand years ago!”

Borujin howled to the heavens, slamming his fist onto the control key for the secondary, overdriven engine ignition. He roared in a low voice, “The Roman Knights… damn it, Pol Pot, you want to be a hero? You want to be the King of Rome? No… I won’t let you succeed. Either I become King of Rome… or I die fighting here!”

Boom! Boom! Boom! One after another, Roman warships initiated secondary ignition, pushing their plasma engines into dangerous overload. Within thirty seconds, the plasma engines reached sufficient power for complex evasive tactical maneuvers.

Gu Xichen stood stunned in his command center, an overwhelming sense of absurdity making him want to burst into laughter!

Had he pushed these young Roman nobles too hard, forcing out the last vestiges of fire latent in their bloodlines? So the Romans, too, had once been brave; they, too, had once been fearless; they, too, had once fought valiantly! Bravery and fearlessness were not the sole privilege of Earthlings!

Slowly, he leaned over the console toward the communications microphone and stated coldly, “Since you have chosen glory, I shall grant you glory! You choose to be heroes? Then I shall let you die as heroes! All weapons… full firepower… fire simultaneously! The Azure Blue Crystal Main Cannon, target the mothership ahead, full power… fire!”