Jarkon's voice dropped to a whisper, as if the truth itself carried weight.
"They weren't just powerful. They were… confident. That man… that commander… he spoke as if their power wasn't theirs by nature, but inherited. I believe—no, I'm certain—they've uncovered the legacy of an Ancient Race. One that once ruled or lived within the Holy Regio
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
"And that," Jarkon said, "is the only thing that could explain how such a lowborn race could rise to wield such strength."
But it can't be even close to the truth.
But there was one unspoken truth in the chamber—one that none of the Elders could see, and that even Jarkon himself had long lost track of.
It wasn't misinformation he was spreading.
It was something Jarkon believed.
The idea that the humans had uncovered some ancient legacy… that they had inherited the power of an extinct civilization native to the Holy Region… that Marcus, that infuriating human commander, was somehow the one leading it all—it was a fantasy. A justification his mind had constructed in the aftermath of trauma, humiliation, and the crumbling of pride earned over a lifetime.
He had needed to believe it. That their defeat was not by the hands of a race his people had long considered inferior, a race they deemed barely worthy of slavery in some regions of the galactic frontier. That the humans, who had no right to grow, let alone thrive in such a dead zone, could never become this powerful on their own.
And so, what Jarkon saw…Was what the Supreme Elders chose to believe.
Not because it was true.But because to believe otherwise would be to betray everything their pride stood upon.
The Minotaur race was revered across many systems and feared in countless sectors—though their influence was largely confined to the galactic rim. Still, the fact remained: they had grown powerful. Despite being considered a lower-class Tier-2 interstellar power, they were, undeniably, a Tier-2 power nonetheless—and that alone couldn't be ignored.
But their rise wasn't the result of centuries of struggle or the hard-fought progress that most civilizations endured. No, it was pure luck that had propelled the Minotaur clans to such heights. It was the ancient inheritance they discovered on what is now their mother planet—once the sacred world of the Feathered Ancients.
That discovery changed everything.
The vast trove of knowledge and high-tier technologies they unearthed from the ruins was not born of their own genius but gifted by fate. And even then, they hadn't been able to fully decode or utilize that knowledge, limited as they were by their own understanding and capabilities.
All in all, the Minotaur Clan was a power not forged through might and struggle, but rather one that had inherited the flame of an ancient civilization. It was this legacy—combined with their naturally warlike nature—that allowed them to become what they were today.
And now, to accept that a race they had always seen as beneath them—humans, scattered across the galaxy, insignificant and even enslaved by other powers—had somehow developed the capability to annihilate one of their elite fleets? That was unthinkable.
A mere handful of human ships had destroyed a force of over 10,000—a reality too absurd for any of the Minotaur elders to initially accept. And yet, they could not deny the truth.
They eventually conceded that Jarkon had been right all along: this unknown human fleet had likely uncovered the legacy of a forgotten race—perhaps one that once dwelled within the Forbidden Zone, the so-called "Holy Land."
That idea alone gave the Minotaurs a new narrative—one that salvaged their pride as a Tier-2 power. After all, if their defeat came at the hands of a race wielding the inheritance of an ancient godlike civilization… then perhaps it was not their weakness, but the will of fate itself.
But just as relieved as they were, a grim realization began to settle in—one that quickly shifted the mood in the chamber. It was the Second Elder, ever the scholar and tactician, who first understood the implications. His expression darkened immediately, his tone sharp as he directed a seemingly obvious but loaded question toward Jarkon—who was still sprawled on the floor, bruised and bloodied, held gently in the healing grip of the Supreme Elder.
"Jarkon," the Second Elder said coldly, "tell me one thing… you failed to secure the Holy Region entirely, didn't you?"
The chamber fell silent. The other elders frowned, slower to catch on, but the First Elder's face had already turned grave.
The Eighth Elder reacted first, his tone filled with restrained fury. "Second Elder… what are you implying? Isn't that obvious already?" he snapped. His voice held a personal edge—after all, Jarkon was also his grandson. Questioning him in front of the entire council only further tarnished the young warrior's reputation.
The Second Elder arched an eyebrow, his tone laced with warning. "Eighth Elder, be mindful. The question wasn't directed at you."
He turned back to Jarkon, ignoring the sour expression on the Eighth Elder's face, and repeated more firmly, "Answer me, Jarkon."
Jarkon's face flushed red with shame and fury, his body trembling as if torn between pride and humiliation. His voice cracked, but he forced the words out.
"No… Second Elder," he admitted bitterly. "As I said, we were ambushed in the Rigid Star System—just along the boundary of the Holy Region.
We never even entered it. We didn't touch the sacred grounds at all."
The other elders, especially the Sixth, ignored Jarkon and turned their attention to the Second Elder, who had just lashed out at the Eighth Elder. "Why such a question?" the Sixth asked, clearly confused. "And why react so harshly?"
The Second Elder shook his head in frustration. "Why?" he muttered. "Why are all of you ? Even you, Fifth Elder—for all the planning you've done, now that things are collapsing, you still don't get it."
The Fifth Elder frowned. "What are you talking about, Second Elder?" he asked, his tone edged with displeasure.
"Shh... let me spell it out for you," the Second Elder snapped. "Just moments ago, we received confirmation—representatives from the Star Empire, the Dark Elven Empire, the Mountain Dwarves, the Alchemy Association, and even the Forger Guild have all agreed to join the alliance. That's five powers."
He paused, letting that sink in, before continuing in a bitter tone.
"But now, the very foundation of that alliance—the Holy Region—is becoming an uncharted, unstable land. And if we don't reclaim it soon, if we don't act, then to those powers… it'll look like we played them. Like we were never serious to begin with."
The Third Elder exhaled slowly, the cold breath hitching in his throat as the full weight of the Second Elder's words settled on him. His eyes widened in dawning horror. The others weren't any different—expressions darkening, bodies tensing, as a cold sweat began to pour down their backs like rain.
They all understood what the Second Elder had implied.
They hadn't just lost a battle—they had poked a hornet's nest. And not just any hornet. Five unknown powers… entities beyond their comprehension or control. Beings that could not be fought—at least not by a mere Tier-2 civilization like theirs.
"If those powers even think we're trying to toy with them," the Fourth Elder said hoarsely, wiping the sweat from his trembling face, "they won't just be angry… they'll feel humiliated. And that humiliation will turn into hatred. And that hatred… will become our extinction."
The Eighth Elder's voice broke as he stammered out his fear. "W-what should we do then, Second Elder? We… we can't let that happen, right? We can't… we can't afford that."
"Exactly," added the Seventh Elder, his voice equally shaken. "We can't let those powers even suspect our involvement. We need to delay them. Distract them. Buy time."
But the Third Elder slammed his fist down in frustration. "And then what? What good is delaying them? We need a solution! We need to retake the Holy Region from those humans!"
"How?" the Fifth Elder countered, narrowing his eyes. "From Jarkon's description, they wield technology that rivals the top Tier-2 states. You want to fight that?"
"That may be true…" the Third Elder admitted, "but one thing is clear—they are few in number. If we can't match their tech, we can bury them in numbers. Ten thousand ships may have failed, but what about… one hundred thousand?"
A hush fell over the chamber.
Then the Sixth Elder leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with desperation and possibility. "That's a possibility. Overwhelm them. Drown them in sheer force. No matter how advanced their ships are… they can't shoot forever."
"They can't possibly have enough energy reserves to fight against such numbers," the Eighth Elder said quickly, nodding with growing confidence. "Yes… if we send a hundred thousand ships, even they will crumble. They have to."
The others began murmuring in agreement, a dangerous sense of consensus forming among them.