Sky Dragon Year 0006, early April. One billion light-years from the Sky Dragon System's edge, alien fleets appeared. Red alarms blared, summoning elders, legion commanders, and district chiefs to a video conference. I, wrestling dinosaurs in an armament on White Dragon Star, rushed to Black Dragon Legion headquarters.
"Here's the captured warship imagery. My research confirms they're the same aliens we repelled before," the system defense monitor said, pointing at the screen's warship schematics. "This region rarely sees foreign fleets, but today, these ships are popping up frequently, heading southeast toward a vast empty zone, less than 5,000 light-years from our Rapid Response Legion. Their numbers keep growing."
"Damn, we'll crush them this time," the God King roared, seething at the old enemy. He wanted them obliterated. Gods and demons fought for millennia, losing under 10 million total, yet these aliens killed 30 million gods in one go. Everyone was shocked the refined God King cursed, but no one laughed—they felt his pain.
"I order the Rapid Response Legion renamed Purple Dragon Legion. The new Red Dragon Legion, led by Commander Wenbo, will rendezvous with them. Upon arrival, Wenbo is appointed front-line commander, Purple Dragon's Tengyun as deputy, and Kele and Hongyu as Red and Purple Dragon Demon-God Generals. Your mission: investigate enemy warship numbers. If they outnumber your combined forces, evade and lure them into the void stone belt's center."
"Yes, we'll complete the task, Majesty!" Wenbo and Tengyun saluted.
"Dissolve all military districts. Per wartime emergency orders, reorganize: Dragon Island and Yanhuang Districts merge into Green Dragon Legion, Mengjiang as commander, Bailie as deputy and Demon-God General; West and East Continental Districts merge into Blue Dragon Legion, Baizhan as commander, Lang Wuyu as deputy and Demon-God General. Green and Blue Legions form a column under Makino Bao as commander, Mengjiang as deputy. Your task: block enemy escape westward."
"Yes!" The named generals saluted.
"I'll make sure not even a mosquito gets through," Mengjiang boasted.
"Appoint Makino Long as new Gold Dragon Legion commander, Yuri as White Dragon Legion commander. Gold, White, and Black Dragon Legions form a column under me as commander, Yuri and Makino Bao as deputies. Mosha, Falande, and Tang Tian are their Demon-God Generals. Your task is critical—you face the main enemy thrust and must not retreat an inch. Appoint Trank as Yellow Dragon Legion commander, Gaga as deputy and Demon-God General; Makino Hu as new Silver Dragon Legion commander, Lalan as Demon-God General. Your legions guard ahead of the Twin Stars to block enemy flanking. Everyone clear on their roles?"
"Clear!" I'd prepped three elite legions—Gold, Silver, and Palace Guard—with 55,000 troops and 50,000 warships each, 10,000 more than others. Gold and Silver were reorganized for rapid combat readiness, while Red, Yellow, and White Legions were new. My setup paired veterans with fresh units, using seasoned generals. To boost warship command, I sent god and demon senior officers to a three-month military academy course.
This campaign deployed ten legions: 5.1 million troops, 30 million robotic warriors, 420,000 warships, and 300,000 Demon-God Armaments. Thanks to 0001 metal smelting straight from mining, we met the 30,000 armaments per legion quota—otherwise, we'd have fallen short.
As everyone prepared, I studied the system map, pondering enemy tactics. Luring them into our encirclement would be ideal, but after last time, they wouldn't bite. If Gold's three legions faced them head-on, it'd be toughest. If they won't come, I'll set a trap.
"Orderly!" I shouted.
"Here, Majesty. Your command?"
"Open comms to Silver and Yellow Dragon Legions."
"Yes." The Palace Guard activated the link.
"Majesty, your orders?" They were mid-shift.
"Ah Hu, combine your legions into a column, you as commander. Head to the god realm's upper corner, forming a diagonal with Purple and Red Legions. Forget defending the Twin Stars." If the enemy came from there, we'd know.
At the Pandora Galaxy's fleet muster point, 800,000 warships crowded tightly. "Marshal, we outnumber them, but our weapons aren't superior, and last defeat means they know our ships. Are we rushing this?" Pompomla asked Marshal Anla'e.
"No, my child. You think I didn't consider that? We're soldiers; we obey the Emperor. Our empire needs more energy to push warships farther for tougher wars. Know what you brought back last time? Cosmic first-civilization's coveted high-energy crystal shards, stuck to our ships after a dragon warship's explosion." The discovery rocked Pandora, fueling their aggressive push to flatten the "weak" fourth civilization and seize their crystals. A quarter of their fleet was here for a decisive grab.
Pompomla didn't flinch at "child"—Pandorans lived 200 years; at 80, he was young to 120-year-old Anla'e. He knew the marshal was right but felt this campaign wouldn't go smoothly.
"You seem troubled, unlike you. Remember your first enlistment? So vibrant. Your father and I sent you off, and you returned with honors," Anla'e reminisced.
"I just feel it won't be easy. Last time, their sudden attack left us no count of their warships—just endless swarms. Their ships are smaller, better defended. We hit their shields; they hit our hulls. That's bad. We thought their satellites were junk, yet they had a cosmic fleet and beat us. We don't know their hidden strength," Pompomla said, still shaken.
"I admire your caution, but overcaution breeds failure. War demands fearless drive, then tactics," Anla'e said, patting his shoulder before leaving. Staring into space, Pompomla muttered, "Is it really that simple?"
Pandoran ships, limited by energy, jumped 10 million light-years max, then recharged. With high-energy crystals, they could jump continuously until depleted, far beyond 10 million light-years. (Flying Dragon's long jumps stemmed from first-civilization remnants and bold spatial theories, accidentally crafting advanced subspace and hyperspace teleportation—superior to first-civilization tech. Without flying ships, they reached other planets, limited to 2 billion light-years with coordinates. Warship jumps couldn't sync thousands simultaneously; 20,000 was the max. Still, it was enviable—dumb luck pays.)
Four days to reach the target. Hope nothing goes wrong, Pompomla sighed, heading to his quarters. Only warship pilots stayed on duty.
War's looming aura rushed everyone. "Majesty, Silver and Yellow Dragon Legions reached their positions," Ah Hu reported on-screen. With war on, commander screens stayed open for swift global command.
"Majesty, spatial energy's shifting," the monitor said.
"They're coming, but still a billion light-years out. How long—one hour, half?" We didn't know their jump range.
"Likely under 20 million light-years. Remember their escape jump? That far, with rear ships shielding the flagship. They recharged later. Our lab dissected their ships—decent materials and defense, but far inferior otherwise. Spatial energy shifts suggest they're 2 billion light-years out, needing three days," Cohen analyzed sharply.
"Why not hit them now? Save waiting, catch them off-guard," Alang hollered.
Idiot. That'd let their rear escape. We didn't know their base. To fight, we'd cripple them, grabbing materials—warship scraps were our lifeline. Last time's 10,000+ wrecks fueled our factories; without them, we'd have lacked resources. This energy shift hinted at a massive fleet—small ones wouldn't ripple space, like a needle versus a boulder in water.
"Patience. Three days pass fast. We aim for total annihilation, not another escape," I warned. These hotheads needed a reminder. We weren't at a loss—300,000 armaments equaled 300,000 mid-tier warships. This new unit's battlefield role was unclear; war was unpredictable. One thing was certain: armaments couldn't stay in warships. A ship's explosion would waste hundreds inside, costing us dearly even with mega-warships. Unlike armored melee troops waiting for chances, armaments should fight like warships, seizing opportunities. Post-war, small warships needed retooling—armaments outclassed them. Armaments couldn't jump far, maxing at one light-year, unlike warships. Every strength has a flaw. Armaments excelled in close-quarters space combat. If enemies used outdated space fighters, they'd fail—armaments were as agile as humans in space. Warships targeting armaments? Like cannons swatting mosquitoes.
Our troop types blended countless fantasy novels with analysis. Energy-based weapons, not missiles, minimized transport ships, though space mines needed some. Melee troops, evolved from ground units over months, shifted to space combat. When enemy ships were breached but functional, melee troops stormed in, capturing leaders and soldiers. The 0001 metal in the demon realm was scarce—millions of tons only. Equipping melee troops with Dragon Armor would skyrocket combat power, but it depleted fast. Emergency mobilization demanded one per soldier, and we'd run short. Issues piled up pre-war.
Each legion had 200,000 melee troops. At Tier 4, 2 million troops needed 200,000+ tons. Post-war, I'd order 10 million sets for reservists. Current melee armor couldn't withstand laser guns or blades.
Three days—enough time. My troops were precious, unlike others' endless fodder. With 50+ large factories, each producing 40,000 sets, we'd hit 2 million Tier 4 and 100,000 Tier 5 in days. Act on thought.
"Cohen, have all factories produce 2 million Tier 4 and 100,000 Tier 5 Dragon Armors urgently, styled like Earth's colorful uniforms for melee troops."
"No problem. Tell the military industry department, or they'll extort me again," Cohen said.
"I'm Feitian. Military industry, fully support Dean Cohen these days." Hanging up the secure line, I felt calmer.
By day one afternoon, Silver and Yellow Dragon Legions' melee troops upgraded. Purple and Red followed. By day three, all melee troops were equipped. Only non-brigadier clerical staff lacked Dragon Armor. Melee troops swarmed warship training rooms, thrilled. Though trained with armor, owning one felt different—yours unless you died. In emergencies, they'd grab guns and fight. Fleet commanders capped training at 50% power. Built to Tier 6 standards, training rooms could handle it, but the limit calmed them.
"Majesty, enemies sighted," Purple and Red Legions reported, closest to the jump point. "Send visuals." Warships poured from the jump mouth. "All legions, hold until all enemies enter, then act." Legions retreated, clearing space.
"Go with some forces; we'll stay to avoid ambush," Anla'e said, seasoned. "Wise, Marshal. Last time, their ambush crushed us," Pompomla admired.
"Spread wide over there," Anla'e instructed.
"Majesty, they're in formation. No more ships incoming. Numbers seem equal," Alang blurted, reckless. One loss, one lesson. They wouldn't stroll in without reserves.
"Ah Hu, Wenbo, send small warships 20 million light-years behind them to scout. Armaments, prepare." Their jump origin would reveal if their full force arrived.
"Majesty, they're advancing toward the god realm," Ah Hu reported. Surveillance showed them in formation, spaced out, aiming for a steady push to overwhelm us with numbers. "Along, deploy your three legions' armaments, aim cannons like last time. Front mega-warships, raise shields."
"General, we can jump again," Pompomla's aide said.
"No, wait. How far to the planet?" Pompomla, heeding Anla'e, stayed cautious. "One hundred light-years," the aide replied precisely.
"Order the fleet: advance at max speed, no jumps." Jumping so close would be idiotic—too detectable.
"They'll take hours. Once in range, fire," I said. First, a shock.
"Majesty, trouble—400,000+ warships back there," Mengjiang reported. Scout ships jumping there were attacked, losing contact.
Damn, I knew it. "Ah Hu, Wenbo, send armaments to hit the incoming enemy's rear, with Yellow Dragon Legion support. Other legions hold formation. Silver, Purple, Red Legions, close on their jump point, bring them into range."
"Kabo, order the Palace Guard Legion to jump full-speed to one light-year before their front." My 50,000-warship Palace Guard had 30,000 mega-warships, 10,000 each large and medium, no small ones.
Behind Pompomla's fleet, Yellow Dragon's 40,000 warships and 120,000 airborne armaments trailed, staying just out of detection.
"General, bad news! Space radar shows massive enemy forces ahead," the aide rushed in. Their ambush failed—like a thief finding the homeowner waiting.
"No escape, so we fight. We outnumber them," Pompomla said, knowing it was self-deception.
"They've spotted us. Advance fast, Kabo—release armaments. Empire's warriors, it's time to kill!" Damn, war's thrilling. Like medieval battles, just in space.
Warship commanders unleashed death beams at the enemy fleet. The cosmos blazed, then dimmed, with only stray beams persisting. "Keep firing until their last ship falls!" I ordered.
"General, we're in dire straits, won't hold long," the aide reported truthfully.
"You're a leader—set an example. Signal the marshal: enemies prepared, we're suffering heavy losses. He'll know what to do," Pompomla said, eyeing the dazzling beams. "All units, approach in S-pattern."
"Majesty, they're closing," Xiao Yan squealed, excited yet scared. This girl. "They're begging to die. Order armament squads to engage closely." Haha, they prepped well. Their ships' defenses were tougher, but they never expected our melee armaments.
"Release fighters." Countless saucer-like combat drones launched from enemy tails, rivaling armaments. In the chaotic melee, despite their numbers, enemies suffered catastrophic losses after rounds of strikes. Quality over quantity. Their drones, fast but inertia-bound, couldn't match armaments' agility. Brigade leaders grabbed drone edges, blasting windows with laser cannons. Others followed, wiping out most drones.
When Anla'e got Pompomla's distress signal, he sent 200,000 warships in two waves. As they prepared to jump, countless lasers struck from all sides. Ambushed without shields, they were annihilated.
Anla'e never imagined meeting such a ferocious foe without contact. Learning the jump point was ambushed, he knew the tide had turned. His focus: save Pompomla.
"General, the marshal orders retreat. Reinforcements were ambushed at the jump point," the aide said. Pompomla nearly spat blood. Eighty million troops, gone. "How many warships can fight?"
"Under 200,000." Less devastating than prior news. "Order rear warships to blast a path." Before he finished, explosions roared behind—a flood of beams from a breach annihilated the front ships.
Seven legions encircled Pompomla's pitiful 100,000+ warships. Our losses were mostly small and medium ships; mega-warships stood unscathed, forming a protective screen.
"General, we're surrounded, can't break out," the aide panicked. "Surrender, General."
"Coward! Soldiers die fighting, not surrendering. Hit them hard!" Pompomla roared.
"Damn, pound them to death, no prisoners!" My bloodthirsty warriors were already at it.
Drones fell under laser fire. Armaments shrugged off their lasers; a single thunderbolt smoked drones from within.
"Marshal!" the marshal's aide cried, anguished. An unfair ambush war—outclassed by superior ships, 800,000 reduced to 200,000.
"Go home," Anla'e said, knowing Pompomla, his favored protege, was gone forever.
We won, but didn't cheer. We lost nearly 10,000 warriors—living, laughing comrades an hour ago, joking about girls and promotions, including Yanhuang descendants from Earth. I'd promised them happy lives, but their unborn children lost them.
"Empire's citizens, today we learned: no one lets us play nice. If fate toys with us, we'll seize it. For our children's happy future, for millions of families, to avenge the millions fallen in two battles, I declare: we march on the Pandora Galaxy, washing our pain with their blood."
Years later, a scholar asked if, without Pandora's invasion, I'd have lived carefree with my wives in the Sky Dragon System, not chasing cosmic emperorship. I smiled, silent. Maybe, maybe not. Even with near-eternal life, I couldn't fully control fate. Some things you don't want to do, but must.
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, Feitian's out for Pandora's blood! Will the Sky Dragon Empire crush their galaxy, or face a hidden cosmic titan? Can armaments dominate future wars? Drop your battle predictions in the comments—let's ignite this cosmic clash!