1268 Mission Of Dreams
"Sir, the two captains died."
"Get out."
"But sir, the morale is—"
"Fucking out!" A heavy fist slammed the table and nearly broke it into two.
"…" The captain practically ran out of the room with a pale face.
Prince Oleg slumped back into his chair and placed his feet on the blood-colored desk. It was still his familiar room in his spaceship. But it felt so different today.
The painting near the door—the Zion royal family—stared back at him. His father, Duke Jataur stood at the center.
His brothers and sisters, born much later than him stood closer to their father while he…
A young Jataur stood at the boundaries of the picture, his position only better than the bastards his father fathered from whores.
'Talent…whoever said hardwork beats talent, they're fucking lying. They've never seen real talent.'
Jataur laughed, his fists balling tight and the corner of his eyes growing red.
Closest to his father, even holding his father was Prince Xoler. Less than half his age, that boy got more affection and respect than he could ever dream of.
The worst part?
Oleg had seen this younger brother of his waste a full hundred years in indulgence. Women, drinks, gambling—no one admonished him. Heck, the finance minister gave him loans for freaking bets!
But when he finally turned around and started putting in a decent hardwork—nothing exceptional—he got results that Oleg could only dream of.
Only his father was the figure of Oleg's respect. The dependency developed to a pathalogical level after his mother's death.
'For my father, for my future, for everything…this mission must be a success.'
Oleg raised a bottle of wine and poured it on himself. The cool liquid dripped down his forehead and cooled down his boiling mind.
When he reached the secret base, the remaining eight captains—the rank 6 scouts—were waiting for him. The ten surviving prisoners looked on with lifeless eyes. They knew they were going to die anyway.
What promise? What pardon? They didn't even have the energy to scoff at the hope they needlessly had.
Unlike them, Hazel felt a tinge of gratitude. At least, she was able to survive so far. Even though she's going to die soon…
Oleg noticed their situation. No speeches would change their opinion now. So, he decided to save himself some calories and focus on the issue at hand.
"Report."
The oldest captain—not the strongest or most competent—stepped forward and said.
"Since the last explosion, we've began searching the entire place. Soon, we'll have searched the complete area within four light year radius."
"This time, I'll go in myself." Oleg hummed.
"But Pr—"
"That's an order." He waved his hand.
"Who should accompany you?"
Oleg glanced at the ten remaining prisoners, his gaze stopped on Hazel—who stood out tall among the short Zions.
Even though her wings were folded and her head was lowered, among the purple skinned, she couldn't hide herself.
"That bitch."
"S-Sir, before we send her to die, should we…" The captain said with a hesitant but expectant tone.
Oleg's face twisted and he slapped the man with the back of his hand. Two teeth flew out.
Hazel looked up in surprise. She never thought she'd be allowed a dignified death.
"You want to fuck a dog and lower the standards of our race? If you really have problems holding it in, cut it off."
Oleg sneered and walked away.
Clutching his cheek, the Captain, along with Hazel stared at the back of the prince with complicated gazes.
'Should I feel honored or humiliated?'
— — — —
"The space portal would be done in a week. I can't wait to participate in the raid." Finar rubbed his palms and laughed with a malicious expression.
In front of them was a fluctuating purple vortex fighting against the tear in space that was trying to close itself.
It was still at an early stage but the most difficult phase was already over. Even if their construction fails, thanks to their joint efforts, the space crack would remain open for at least two weeks.
By then, the princes would already be here. With their arrival, the construction of a space portal would be a matter of when.
Unlike their gear, the princes carried precious treasures that would ensure 100% success.
"Killing those bastards in Ja…their kingdom, that'd be enough merit to jump over those old guys in the court. My dear uncle will pay the price for belittling me." Finar turned to his colleagues and raised his arms.
"You two better be prepared, my combat record is far better than yours combined. I'll be leaving you in the dust."
Ashley's expression crumpled at his words. Because he was right, even though all of them were newbies in the court, Finar had an experience surpassing them by a full century.
If he's going to battle, then surely—
"Idiot."
"Huh? What's that?" Finar glared at Edison who looked at him with his aloof gaze as usual.
At a glance, the 8' blue man glaring at the 6' purple-skinned chubby guy created an impression that Eidson was at a disadvantage.
"Did I say something wrong? You two can't match my battle exploits."
"Idiot."
"You fucker! I'll crush in the expedition!"
"There'll be no expedition to participate in," Edison said calmly but his words caused Finar's eyeballs to bulge.
"W-What the—"
"The Princes are in a competition to get the most merit. They will not allow us to participate and steal some of it away."
"But we are their subordinates, our merit counts as theirs!"
"Not here." Edison shook his head and glanced at the vortex. "The princes could simply bring some rank 8s supporting them and level the world on the other side of the portal.
Why go through the trouble of coming here despite their busy schedule? They have to prove themselves. Only themselves"
"…Fuck." Finar's shoulders deflated.
Ashley bit her lip and looked into the dark, unfeeling, indifferent space that reminded her of the scary ocean at night. "Princess…will she be fine? After all, this is where her elder sister…the legendary princess died."
