Lanna Star, a speck in the Federation's frontier, was unremarkable—its economy stagnant, its governance chaotic, its security a patchwork of negligence. Yet its strategic position, a cosmic crossroads, made it a haven for interstellar mercenaries seeking respite. To these wanderers, Lanna was an oasis in the galactic desert, a place to regroup, resupply, and lick wounds before plunging back into the void. An unspoken code bound the mercenaries: no one shattered the fragile peace of such sanctuaries. Like caravans sparing a desert spring, they preserved Lanna's neutrality, knowing its loss would strand them all.
But peace was conditional. Lanna's small size meant it could host only a handful of crews before tensions flared. Mercenaries, hardened by rivalry and vendettas, were not known for restraint. Too many in close quarters, and the oasis became a battleground.
The trouble began with Mercenary Legion A, a name whispered with dread across the frontier. Fresh from a lucrative contract, their leader—an Imperial named Auros—led his elite squad to Lanna for a high-stakes meeting. As they stepped from their ship into the docking bay's acrid air, fate dealt a cruel hand: Legion B, their sworn enemies, stood across the tarmac. Legion B matched A in infamy and firepower, their feud rooted in a murky past of betrayals and blood. The air thickened, charged with the promise of violence, as both sides locked eyes like beasts at a contested border.
Auros, a young man with jet-black hair and sapphire eyes, bore the casual charm of a rogue, his only flaw a faint scar across his nose. His mind, sharp as a blade, weighed the risks. The galaxy teetered on the edge of war—Federation and Empire at odds, their conflicts drying up mercenary contracts. This deal was their lifeline, a chance to bankroll a hiatus until the chaos settled. A fight now would jeopardize everything. He signaled his deputy to stand down, ready to cede passage, when Legion B's leader—a volatile firebrand—spoke first.
"You go," the rival said, his voice flat, weapons lowering. "Move."
Auros raised an eyebrow. "What's this, manners?"
"Shut up and walk, or we will," came the curt reply, devoid of malice.
Suspicion flickered in Auros's mind, but pragmatism won. With a nod, both crews parted, their truce a fleeting anomaly in a history of bloodshed.
Yet Lanna's strangeness was just beginning. Auros's scouts, dispatched to their usual vantage points, returned with alarming reports. The star wasn't just hosting Legions A and B—Legions C, D, E, F, G, and more prowled its streets. Lanna, a sleepy outpost, buzzed with the galaxy's deadliest crews. A walk through its neon-lit alleys revealed half the faces as mercenaries, their eyes glinting with guarded menace.
The overcrowding shattered the oasis's code. Fights erupted—bar brawls, street skirmishes, vendettas reignited. But as quickly as chaos flared, it subsided. By the third day, a realization dawned: too many crews lingered, their motives opaque. Continued conflict risked exposing them all to Federation or Imperial forces, eager to sweep the frontier clean. Survival demanded order. The three mightiest legions—A, B, and C—brokered a verbal ceasefire, enforced by a grim promise: break the truce, and face collective retribution. Lanna's uneasy peace returned, a powder keg awaiting a spark.
Auros, meanwhile, contacted his client, confirming their arrival. A deposit hit their account, substantial enough to ease his doubts. The job was simple: neutralize a "nameless" organization on a nearby star. The client's dossier described a low-profile group, unremarkable and obscure—easy prey for Legion A's seasoned operatives. Auros accepted, envisioning a quick strike and a fat payout.
"Our client wants to meet tomorrow at the No-Doze Bar," Auros told his team, a grin spreading across his face. "This is a goldmine. They pay fast—no chasing invoices with these folks."
Mercenaries knew clients varied. The best were prompt and uncomplicated, a rare breed. Most who hired interstellar muscle sought dirty work—assassinations, sabotage, theft. Auros, an Imperial exile who'd built Legion A from nothing, knew better than to expect upstanding patrons. At thirty, he radiated youthful vigor, his easy demeanor masking a cunning that made lesser men shiver. His blue eyes, sharp and sly, missed nothing.
"After this, we disband for a bit," he added, his tone sobering. "Anyone wants out for good, they're free to go."
His strategist, a laconic figure whose silence belied a labyrinthine mind, nodded. "I trust your instincts, boss. But Lanna feels… off."
"It's more than off," Auros said, his voice low. "Everyone's tight-lipped, and I don't like it. Still, our target's not here. We close the deal and leave—no meddling."
A less cautious leader might've probed Lanna's secrets, chasing rumors of treasure or power. Auros, however, valued survival over curiosity. The deposit cleared, and the next day, per the client's request, they headed to the No-Doze Bar—lightly armed, a small crew, as instructed.
"Why the low profile?" Auros asked the client via comms.
"Bar's too crowded," came the reply.
Auros blinked. "…" Crowded? A client this wealthy couldn't reserve a venue? "Book the upstairs booths," he suggested, exasperated.
"How do you know I didn't?" the client shot back.
"…" A booked bar, still overflowing? Dread coiled in Auros's gut. "We should bail," he told his strategist.
"The crew's hyped for this as our last score before a break," the strategist countered. "They're counting on it. Plus, we took the deposit—backing out now ruins our rep."
Reluctantly, Auros led his team—himself, the strategist, and three elite operatives—to the bar, weapons concealed, escape plans prepped. They braced for a trap, though the client's lavish spending suggested otherwise.
Opening the No-Doze Bar's door, Auros froze. The room was a sea of silence, every table and corner packed with mercenaries—Legions A through Z, the frontier's most notorious. Their eyes, cold and calculating, tracked his entrance. This wasn't a meeting; it was a conclave of killers, a who's-who of the galaxy's underbelly.
A red-haired youth emerged from behind the counter, his demeanor unnervingly casual. "Another arrival," he said, sliding a sign-in sheet and pen across. "Name here, then grab a seat. Snacks are free, drinks unlimited."
Auros stared, pen in hand. He scrawled Auros Wilde and retreated to a corner, his team trailing. "Boss," one whispered, "we came for a shady deal. Why does this feel like a conference?"
Auros exhaled, his mind racing. "Let's hear the client out."
The contract hadn't mandated exclusivity, so multiple crews weren't a breach. But this many? Absurd. The only explanation was competition—a bidding war for the final payout. Auros bristled. Offending every major legion by pitting them against each other? This client was either a genius or a lunatic.
Where was the client? Auros pinged them, receiving an instant reply: "Head to the upstairs corridor, last booth. Your turn."
Auros smirked, downing a shot of liquor from the bar. "Let's meet this eccentric," he told his team.
The No-Doze Bar was familiar territory, its layout etched in Auros's memory. They navigated to the booth, finding a sparse setup: a worn wooden table, creaky chairs—one visibly lopsided—and three youths seated across. Two girls, one boy, papers strewn before them, they resembled a tribunal. Auros's headache intensified.
His worst fear materialized: spoiled aristocrats, likely scorned by some rival, flexing their wealth to summon mercenaries for petty vengeance. Juvenile, degrading work. Yet their posture—disciplined, military-honed—gave him pause. The girl in the center, head bowed over documents, was obscured, but her companions' cold, vigilant eyes scanned Auros with practiced subtlety. Disguised appearances, he noted. Not entirely foolish, then.
"Mr. Auros, I presume?" the central girl spoke, her voice oddly familiar, though Auros couldn't place it. "We're here to underscore the mission's risks. The target's a 'nameless' organization, but our limited intel means surprises are likely. I'm paying top credit, but I can't guarantee your safety. Accept the risk, or walk—keep the deposit, but we're done."
Auros sighed, leaning back. "Miss, I'm here, talking calmly. Show some candor. Warning us of danger without specifics is like telling explorers to expect meteor showers—useless. We're mercenaries; our heads are always on the line. But you're hiding something. What's the real threat?"
"You lied," he continued, his tone sharpening. "This isn't about vengeance. If you had a grudge, you'd know your enemy. You're acting like you've never met them."
The girl raised an eyebrow. "I have a vendetta. That doesn't mean I've met him. Ever heard of a blood feud?"
The boy beside her exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. Auros pounced. "See? Even your friend's fed up."
"Ignore him," she said coolly. "My target's his kin—he's just sulky."
Auros blinked. "…" Kin? This was messier than he'd imagined.
"I've hired many crews, each with distinct roles," she said, aligning her papers. "The strongest, like yours, will spearhead the core plan—highest risk, highest casualties. I need your commitment."
Auros's unease deepened. Most clients paid, issued orders, and waited for results. This one was orchestrating the entire operation, treating mercenaries as pawns. If her strategy faltered, they'd pay the price.
"You're building an army," he said, incredulous. "You expect us to follow your orders like soldiers?"
"Mercenaries are an army, of sorts," she replied, unfazed. "You can do anything a military can, no?"
"Industry rules," Auros countered. "Legions don't take orders from outsiders."
"If you doubt my command, let's test it." She waved, summoning a holographic war-chess board. "Beat me, and I drop the issue."
"That's childish," Auros muttered, but he engaged. Thirty minutes later, he sat, pale and defeated.
"Command stays with us," she said, nodding. "Though my companion might lead—redhead, handed you the sign-in sheet. Every legion leader before you lost to him in strategy games, war-chess included. That's why downstairs is so orderly."
Auros's mind flashed to the redhead—unremarkable, forgettable, a deliberate mask. "I'll follow your orders," he said, leaning back, resigned. "But back to the danger—what are we facing?"
She paused, sliding papers across. "Star-beasts, rogue AIs, viruses," she said. "Worst-case scenarios."
Auros's heart skipped, scanning the documents. The data—clinical, horrifying—detailed threats beyond mercenary paygrades. "This is military-level," he said, frowning. "Why not send this to the Federation?"
"Because the Federation's military, and him, are aligned," she said. "And they're too busy prepping for war to care about 'minor' issues."
Auros caught her sipping a juice blend—orange and pear, his keen senses noted. Not even liquor, yet she dared tackle galaxy-shaking threats. He wavered between scorn and admiration.
"So?" she pressed, setting down her cup. "Still in?"
Auros hesitated. "I need to think."
"Fair. Copy the virus data—study it. It's brutal on Aresians, so keep your Imperial members on the periphery." She handed him the files, gesturing to scan them.
Auros activated his wrist computer, then paused. "A virus this deadly—really exists?"
"It does," she said. "Our primary goal isn't destruction—it's finding the cure."
The rustle of papers filled the silence as Auros scanned, dismissing his team. They left without question.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Federation and Empire are edging toward war," Auros said, eyes locked on hers. "You say this group's tied to the Federation's military. Is this virus a weapon they'll use?"
She froze, caught off guard by his acuity, then smiled, raising a finger to her lips. "Not a word to anyone."
Mercenaries weren't apolitical. Federation-born outnumbered Imperials, their ties to homeworlds lingering despite their outlaw lives. Auros stepped closer. "You're Aresian, aren't you? Why use Federation clans to reach us?"
Imperials' territorial instincts kept mercenaries in Federation fringes or unclaimed stars, taking more Federation jobs. Clan connections had drawn many crews to Lanna, despite vague mission details.
"Common enemies," she said, her voice steady, revealing nothing.
Auros's mind raced. The Federation's military and clans were fracturing, tied to its internal chaos. A cautious man would walk away—mercenaries, mere muscle, risked annihilation in such games. But the virus data haunted him: high lethality, targeting Aresian avatars, capable of reducing Imperials to husks. If unleashed, it could enslave or eradicate his people.
"I'll confer with my crew and reply soon," Auros said. "Your Aresian ties—I'll keep quiet. How many will join, I'll bring. And your funds—enough? If not…" He grimaced, pained. "I'll waive my cut. Hire more."
The girl laughed. "Your face says you need that money. Why sacrifice it?"
"Too many crews," Auros warned. "Different tasks, different pay. Don't expect loyalty—some might collude, jack up prices."
"Let the clans pay," she said, shrugging. "If it spirals…" She paused, smirking. "I'll call my parents."
Auros's jaw tightened. "Be serious."
"I am," she insisted.
"Fine." Auros rubbed his face. "Names, at least. I'm Auros Wilde. You're no officer—whose heir?"
"You sure you want to know?" she said, her wrist computer flickering. Her form shimmered, revealing a face Auros would never forget. "I'm Bai Sha. Bai Sha Ronin."
Auros's mind blanked, the Imperial Crown Heir's name a thunderclap.
"Thanks for the advice," Bai Sha said, her smile shadowed. "I'll manage the crews. If they betray us, I'll warn them: fail me, and I'll tell the Empire's fleet they kidnapped me. What's the penalty for abducting the Crown Heir, again?"
Auros stared, speechless.
"Kidding," she said, her grin impish.
Downstairs, Yan Jingyi leaned against the bar, sipping a non-alcoholic fizz, her eyes scanning the room. The mercenaries, a gallery of scars and steel, whispered among themselves, their truce brittle. Ya Ning, beside her, murmured, "This is a circus. She's playing with fire."
"She's playing to win," Jingyi replied, her voice low. "Question is, can she control the flames?"
Kaixin Greiz, arms crossed, glared at the red-haired youth—Bai Sha's decoy, a strategist who'd outwitted every legion leader. "This is madness," he muttered. "We're herding wolves."
"Wolves hunt," Bai Sha said, descending the stairs, her presence commanding. "And we need their teeth."
In the Capital Star, Zhou Ying decrypted another message, his face grim. Zhou Wei, awake but weak, gripped his arm. "They're assembling an army," Ying said. "We need to act."
On Youdu Star, Emperor Cecil stared at Bai Sha's encrypted vow: I'll end this. The Nexus's shadow loomed, but his niece's gambit was a spark in the dark—one that could ignite salvation or ruin.