Nine years.
Over three thousand long days and nights had slowly passed amidst the smell of disinfectant, the rhythmic ticking of life-support devices, and the cold lines of vital sign monitors.
For Baida, these nine years were a long journey on the edge of chaos and clarity.
The Doomsday Beast’s destructive energy clung to her like a bone-deep infection, eroding her vitality day and night.
Her body withered day by day.
The small hands that could once easily lift Herta and bend alloy with her bare hands were now nothing but skin and bones, pale and almost translucent.
Most of the time, her consciousness was clouded, sinking into dreams woven from pain and fragmented memories, barely sustained by the complex life-support systems that kept her faint flame of life flickering.
For Herta, these nine years were a desperate race against fate and the laws of the universe.
She had abandoned almost all research unrelated to “defense.” She poured all her wisdom, all her resources, the Seeker, and even the remnants of Blue’s forces she had later consolidated, into two things: finding a cure for Baida, and building an ultimate defense system strong enough to withstand the main force of Destruction and protect the fragile planet beneath them.
Her lab had become a combination of medical ward and command center.
One wall was covered with Baida’s vital signs and records of failed treatment plans against the destructive energy.
The other wall held complex star charts, fleet deployments, and blueprints for a defensive platform scaled up from the Wanderer’s combat data—the “Universal Bulwark” project.
She tried every known scientific method, even venturing into dangerous, fringe cosmic arts, trying to dispel that destructive energy.
But it was as if the energy had a life of its own, stubbornly rooted deep in Baida’s life source.
Any external intervention had little effect, and a few attempts nearly accelerated its collapse.
“Energy signature cannot be analyzed…
Structure incompatible with any known universal constants…”
“Attempted neutralization with imaginary energy…
Failed, rejection reaction detected…”
“Tissue regeneration rate far below erosion rate…”
Each failure report was like a cold chisel, carving deep helplessness into Herta’s heart.
She could calculate star orbits.
She could deduce the birth of the universe.
But she could not snatch her only sister from the grasp of death.
“Herta…” On the hospital bed, Baida would occasionally murmur weakly.
Even in her coma, she always called her sister’s name.
Herta would immediately put down everything and walk to the bedside, taking that cold hand and softly replying: “I’m here.”
She looked at Baida’s pained sleeping face, at the tubes keeping her alive.
A fury and sorrow she had never known burned deep in her cold eyes.
She hated the Antimatter Legion.
She hated Nanook.
But most of all, she hated her own helplessness.
During this time, small-scale harassment from the Antimatter Legion never stopped, but it was always repelled by the preliminary defense system Herta had built.
Everyone knew this was only a probe before the storm.
The true test was yet to come.
On Baida’s thirtieth birthday, Herta placed a small, energy-simulated cake by the hospital bed, with a faintly flickering candle on it.
“Baida, you’re thirty now,” Herta said softly, her voice carrying a barely noticeable hoarseness.
Baida seemed more lucid than usual.
She struggled to focus her gaze on the illusory cake.
Her pale lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she could only manage a weak smile and gestured with her eyes for Herta to come closer.
Herta leaned down.
Using all her strength, Baida raised the hand without the IV and, with extreme slowness, gently touched Herta’s cheek.
Her fingertips were ice cold.
“Herta…
so pretty…” Her voice was barely a whisper, yet her gaze remained pure, as if nine years of suffering had never changed what was most essential inside her.
At that moment, Herta nearly broke down in tears.
She held that hand tightly, as if she could hold onto the warmth that was slipping away.
But fate would not even grant them this brief tenderness.
Not long after Baida’s birthday, the piercing, highest-level alarm signaling total catastrophe once again sounded across Blue’s entire defense network.
This time, the despair in the alarm was thicker than ever before.
“Warning!
Ultra-large-scale spatial jump signal detected!”
“Warning!
Identified as the Antimatter Legion’s main fleet!”
“Warning!
Energy readings exceed monitoring limits!
Doomsday Beast signals…
multiple!
On the star chart, the crimson representing the enemy spread like a sea of blood bursting through a dam, instantly drowning every defense node.
They had arrived.
The main force of Destruction had finally come.
Several Doomsday Beasts, far larger than the previous one and with even more terrifying energy reactions, slowly emerged from twisted space like moving death stars.
Behind them stretched an endless, sky-darkening swarm of Antimatter Legion soldiers and heavy particle troops.
The light of the entire Blue star system seemed swallowed by this tide of destruction.
Herta stood at the main command post, her face cold as iron.
Only her hands, clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, betrayed the turmoil inside her.
The “Universal Bulwark” she had painstakingly built crumbled layer by layer under the assault of the main force, like paper.
The newly constructed defense fleets were being devoured before her eyes by the enemy tide.
“Defense platforms one through three have lost contact!”
“Orbital cannon array overloaded and collapsed!”
“Seventh and Eighth Fleets…
completely annihilated!”
Battle reports came in like an avalanche, each word hammering the survivors’ last nerves.
Despair, like the cold vacuum of space, gripped everyone’s throat.
Herta personally piloted the enhanced Seeker—now renamed the Ark of Wisdom—and led the last elite forces into the front line of battle.
Using her years of research on destructive energy and the tactical models she had built, she precisely commanded the remaining fleets, trying to find any chance of victory.
But the gap in power was hopeless.
Concentrated fire from multiple Doomsday Beasts instantly crippled the Ark of Wisdom’s shields.
The massive ship shook violently, with multiple compartments breached and fires breaking out everywhere.
Herta’s flagship was surrounded by at least three Doomsday Beasts and a large number of enemy ships.
Its energy shields were on the verge of collapse, and its room for evasion had been compressed to the limit.
She calmly calculated various breakout plans, but the success rates were despairingly low.
“Shields at 7%!
Structural integrity down to 45%!”
“We’re locked on!
Can’t break away!”
The adjutant’s voice trembled with despair.
Herta stared at the screen, at those vicious, ever-approaching beasts of destruction.
For the first time, a flicker of…
bewilderment appeared in her eyes.
Was this, after all, the end?
Her, Baida, and this planet…
At this most critical moment, deep in the heavily protected medical center far behind the lines—
Baida, lying on the hospital bed, connected to countless life-support tubes, her consciousness clouded most of the time, suddenly opened her eyes!
Those eyes, always carrying a dazed innocence, now burned with a resolute light.
Deeper within them, there seemed to be a clarity and wisdom that had been long suppressed and had finally broken free.
Like the final flicker of a candle before it goes out, or a soul’s full bloom at the end of its life.
Herta was a genius.
As her twin sister, how could Baida’s source of wisdom be mediocre?
It had simply been buried under the extreme purity of her “foolish” nature and the BUG-like [I Reckon] ability, like a pearl hidden in mud.
And now, under the dual stimulus of death and her obsession to protect, that wisdom finally broke through its bonds, emitting its last and most brilliant light.
She could clearly sense Herta’s danger.
That pulse of blood connection was more accurate than any monitoring device.
“Herta…” She used the last of her remaining strength to let out a hoarse cry.
Without hesitation, she reached out her trembling, skeletal hand and grabbed the life-support tubes that were keeping her alive, one by one, she pulled them out without hesitation.
“BEEP BEEP BEEP—!!!” The vital sign monitor let out a piercing alarm.
The lines representing her life signs plummeted sharply, almost flatlining.
Intense pain instantly swept through her entire body, like a thousand steel blades twisting inside her, nearly knocking her unconscious on the spot.
But she held on, relying on the last bit of physical foundation [Strength Enhancement] had given her and that stubborn will to protect her sister.
She bit her lip so hard it bled.
The taste of blood and the pain kept her lucid.
She rolled off the bed, her body crashing onto the cold floor.
She felt no pain.
Using her arms to support herself, dragging her completely useless legs, like a broken doll, she crawled—slowly, painfully, but unshakably—toward the dock.
Medical staff tried to stop her along the way, but they were frozen by the desperate, terrifying light in her eyes.
No one dared to approach.
Deep in the dock, the Wanderer—repaired on and off over nine years, with more weapons and armor added to its exterior, making it even more vicious and massive—stood silently in the shadows, like a sleeping giant. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Baida crawled to its feet and looked up at this familiar steel body.
She reached out and touched the cold armor.
The sensation briefly took her back to nine years ago.
“Old friend…” Her voice was so hoarse it was barely recognizable.
“One last time.”
She didn’t know where she found the last bit of strength.
She pried open the even heavier cockpit door, which wasn’t fully locked, with her bare hands.
Then she shoved her broken body inside.
The cockpit was still crude.
That rough neural interface platform was still there.
Without any hesitation, Baida smashed her spine and the back of her head against the platform covered in sharp probes—a self-destructive, brutal connection.
“Thud!” The sound of flesh being pierced was faint and terrible.
This connection was far deeper and more thorough than the one nine years ago.
It was no longer simple mental control, but a true, life-burning neural fusion.
She poured all her remaining consciousness, all her strength, all her obsessive will to protect her sister, completely and unreservedly into it.
“HUM—!!!!!!!!!”
The Wanderer’s eyes, silent for nine years, suddenly burst into a white light more intense than the core of a supernova.
The entire mech trembled violently.
The energy flowing through the gaps in its black-and-white armor was no longer lava red but a pure, searing white that seemed capable of purifying everything.
An overwhelming pressure, far beyond anything before, swept out like a storm.
“BOOM!!!”
The steel giant raised its head.
Its massive body shot up like it was tearing through space itself.
It became a blazing white meteor streaking across the battlefield, ignoring all obstacles, and appeared with pinpoint precision right in front of the Ark of Wisdom, which was on the verge of collapse.
At that very moment, the three surrounding Doomsday Beasts fired their charged cluster destruction beams at the same time, like three rivers of death, aimed directly at the Ark of Wisdom.
The Wanderer didn’t hesitate.
It spread its massive body like the sturdiest shield, taking all three attacks head-on—attacks powerful enough to annihilate stars—for Herta’s flagship.
“BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!”
An indescribable roar shook the entire battlefield.
The blazing white energy storm completely swallowed the Wanderer.
“BAIDA!!!” Herta’s voice cracked in the main control room, her heart nearly stopping.
But as the energy storm faded, the Wanderer stood tall.
Its external armor had melted and flaked off in large areas, revealing the even more complex structures inside—structures Baida had subconsciously reinforced.
It spun around, its blazing white eyes locked onto the three Doomsday Beasts.
The battle that followed surpassed all understanding.
The Wanderer’s fighting style was no longer the wild instinct of nine years ago.
It was fused with a kind of near-prescient precision and terrifying tactical calculation.
Every movement was simple and brutally efficient, as if it could see through all the Doomsday Beasts’ attack patterns and energy flows.
It no longer met force with force.
Instead, with minimal cost, it guided, deflected, and even used the enemy’s attacks to counterattack another enemy.
At times it moved like a phantom.
At other times it stood firm as a mountain.
Its iron fists always struck at the most critical nodes of the Doomsday Beasts’ energy circulation.
The various weapons mounted on its shoulders and back—many of which were strange contraptions that even Herta had never envisioned, created by Baida on the spot with [I Reckon]—fired in rotation, forming a web of destruction with no blind spots.
This was not just a clash of strength.
It was the ultimate duel between wisdom and the will of Destruction.
Baida, the “fool” in everyone’s eyes, was now displaying combat intelligence that could rival Herta’s, and at certain moments, was even more unpredictably cunning.
“Coordinate with it!” Herta snapped back to action, suppressing the storm in her heart and immediately adjusting her tactics.
“All units, follow my commands and coordinate with the Wanderer!”
The genius’s wisdom and the miracle of a sister burning her life merged perfectly in that moment.
The Wanderer was like an unstoppable blade forged from blazing white flames.
With Herta’s precise commands and the fleet’s coordinated firepower, it tore hole after hole through the solid line of the Antimatter Legion’s main force.
It single-handedly engaged at least five Doomsday Beasts and repelled several waves of the enemy’s fiercest counterattacks.
Its body was constantly damaged with each charge.
Armor fell away.
Limbs snapped off.
But the blazing white light never dimmed.
Instead, it grew brighter, like a burning star illuminating this desperate battlefield.