Chapter 51 - Chapter 51: Chapter 51, Phoenix on the Brink of Death

Chapter 51: Chapter 51, Phoenix on the Brink of Death

In a void of the universe infinitely distant in physical space, a fiery red spaceship was sailing.

It was scarred, it was not huge, and it carried a battle group on the brink of death.

The Phoenix Battle Group had ended their long redemption expedition and now their glory had been restored.

The Tribunal of the Eastern Star Domain, representing the Central Empire, personally announced this to the world.

But what of it?

“We have won the victory of the hundred-year redemption expedition and achieved the victory we most desired, yet we are about to be annihilated,”

Salas Matins, the leader of the Phoenix Battle Group, would always think sorrowfully.

He was the 64th leader of the Phoenix Battle Group. This battle group, with its countless glorious histories, was very likely to come to an end in his hands.

What was life like for the battle group before the redemption expedition?

Back then, the Phoenix Battle Group was glorious and powerful, they guarded their mother star, received the worship of countless mortals, selected the most excellent youths from among them, subjected them to gene seed modifications, and turned them into one of their own.

All the manpower and material resources of the entire planet were at their disposal. Besides being responsible for the defense of their mother star, they would also answer the call of The Emperor, heading to all corners of the universe, participating in one glorious and great war after another. They either crushed each of The Emperor’s enemies to dust or defended one world after another on the brink of destruction.

He and his brothers were called The Emperor’s Angels.

This glory, accumulated over thousands of years, came to a sudden halt a hundred years ago.

Matins bore no resentment.

In the ‘Crape Myrtle Catastrophe,’ the Phoenix Battle Group found themselves on the wrong side. By the grace of the Divine Emperor, they were not purged as traitors, but they were still guilty, and the Tribunal sentenced them to a hundred-year redemption expedition.

The so-called redemption expedition meant sending the convicted battle groups on the most difficult and casualty-heavy assault missions without support, supplies, or reinforcements. Once assigned, the mission could not be refused and must be carried out with all effort until death.

The vast majority of battle groups sentenced to a redemption expedition could not even last until the end of their punishment.

But the Phoenix, true to their name, were indomitable—they miraculously endured the redemption expedition.

They fought in one brutal war after another for a hundred years. During these days, they were still fighting for the empire, but without any honor to speak of. Their battles were for redemption, for a death sentence.

During the century-long expedition, the leader of the battle group changed hands six times, and it finally fell to Matins—a man who considered himself of little talent.

A few months ago, in the final battle of the redemption expedition, the previous leader launched a suicide charge with the last of the battle group’s elite. They won, but the cost was that no one survived except for Matins and six others who had been left behind.

He would always remember the look in his mentor’s eyes when he passed on the medal symbolizing the leader of the battle group before the charge. It was a look filled with expectation, with hope; the future of the battle group weighed heavily on his chest.

He was determined to rebuild his battle group, yet he didn’t know how.

Their homeworld had long been assigned to another battle group; the fleet had all been destroyed, leaving only the ‘Burn Feather,’ a small spacecraft that could not even be considered an escort ship; power armor, the armory, the gene seed vault—all had been lost with the crash of the flagship…

Perhaps no battle group has ever been in a more miserable state than they were.

They could only drift aimlessly in the cosmos like headless flies.

Indeed, there were many forces that wished to ‘help’ them. However, Matins could see through the malicious intentions of those people. They only wanted the seven remaining members of the Phoenix Battle Group to serve as their high-level enforcers.

There was no glory, let alone any hope to speak of.

Matins thought of the chance to rebuild the warband, the opportunity to continue fighting with honor.

Unfortunately, those who tried to help them fell silent when these topics came up.

Recently, their spaceship had passed through a Spirit Network tunnel, aimlessly arriving at the Tianma Star Sector. It was just like many other star sectors they had drifted through over the past few months, nothing special.

However, it was then that the warband’s priest approached him, claiming that during prayer, he had received a revelation: the hope for the Phoenix Battle Group’s rebirth was right here.

Hope rose in Matins’ heart, like a drowning person clutching at a straw.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t believe it.

What was so special about the Tianma Star Sector? An obscure star sector with neither special resources nor a glorious history, nor had any other warband ever been stationed there.

How could the hope for the warband’s rebirth lie here?

Yet emotionally, he almost instantly believed it.

It was only a matter of months, trivial compared to the modified, elongated lifespans of interstellar warriors, but he felt he had already endured an endless ordeal. This emptiness was even more painful than the punitive expedition.

Given the chance, he was eager to seize it.

The warband’s priest, also his most trusted battle brother, had been holed up in the prayer room for two days without any sign of activity.

Matins’ anxiety gradually intensified.

But now, at this moment, the anxiety found its outcome.

He heard heavy footsteps, turned his head, and saw someone clad in the distinctive black power armor of a priest, with a helmet shaped like a skull, and large shoulder pads painted in the warband’s fiery red colors and the Phoenix design, symbolizing their identity.

It was Rizzo, the eldest of the surviving seven, who had fought with the warband for four hundred years. He was supposed to have joined the final battle to the death, but the former warband leader had forcefully held him back. The warband needed his experience, to assist Matins.

“Priest Rizzo, you’ve finally emerged. Was your prayer fruitful?”

“Yes, warband leader,” Rizzo’s voice was tired but also held a hint of anticipation, “I have received a more precise revelation. The Phoenix’s chance of rebirth lies right here!”

The priest’s finger came to rest on the star map.

There, was Rage Owl Star.

Matins looked bewildered, scouring his memory and coming up with nothing special about this world.

He couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure there’s no mistake?”

“I’m certain,” Rizzo confidently replied, “The Divine Emperor’s revelation states that the chance for the Phoenix Battle Group’s rebirth is there—at the hands of that world’s governor.”

Matins paced back and forth, then finally made a decision, “Alright, change course. To Rage Owl Star, we go!”

The revelation received by Priest Rizzo was the only opportunity in the past few months that Matins had been looking forward to.

Although he had never heard of the world of Rage Owl Star having any particular significance, since it was a revelation by the Divine Emperor, surely it meant a powerful governor, who might be willing to help the warband in its reconstruction!