Bai Sha stood silent, her breath caught in the acrid air of Xiao Yang's ravaged port. The alarms wailed on, a distant lament beneath the smoke-choked sky. Salmer Greiz's gaze, black and hollow as a dead star, met hers. Those eyes, once fierce with ambition, now carried only pain—a man eroded not just by parasites but by the weight of his choices.
She'd seen him before, in flickering academy archives. Salmer Greiz and Xipes Ronin, young and untamed, had been legends at the joint military games, their prowess a beacon for their peers. Arrogant, brilliant, they'd burned bright. Now, Salmer was a husk—his face scarred, his spirit twisted. His blade work, once a blazing storm, had turned sly and venomous, a shadow of its former glory.
Through his gaze, Bai Sha glimpsed his torment. She could trace the roots of his hatred, his rejection of all he'd once served. But understanding didn't soften her resolve.
"Go back to the Empire," she said, her voice low, unyielding. "Face your crimes. You've run long enough."
"Back?" Salmer's laugh was a jagged blade. "To surrender? To be chained, judged, and executed—or locked away to rot in disgrace?"
Kaixin stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Uncle, we don't mean—"
"Silence!" Salmer's glare was feral, madness glinting in his eyes. Kaixin froze, silenced by the fury. "You, of all people—betraying your blood for Ronins? You're a disgrace!"
Kaixin's fists clenched, his spine rigid, yet his stance wavered, as if he might collapse under the weight of his uncle's scorn. "Patriarch Salmer," he said, his voice steady despite the strain, "no one but you knows what happened back then. If you were framed, or if another caused the disaster, you could defend yourself, explain to the clan. But you fled. Your rebellion is undeniable!"
The Greiz clan would've fought to clear their patriarch's name, unearthing every shred of truth. But Salmer's flight had robbed them of that chance. Unless the rumors were true—unless he was guilty.
"I don't need to justify myself," Salmer said, his voice cold. He glanced at Bai Sha, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "I bear responsibility for what happened. But I wasn't wrong. The Ronins have no right to judge me."
He turned to Kaixin, his tone softening, but no less bitter. "I left the clan to spare it shame. A Greiz patriarch judged by royals? That would've stained our name for centuries. Do you understand?"
Kaixin's eyes, red as blood-pomegranate juice, burned with defiance. "I don't. Is 'clan status' really worth so much?"
"Enough!" Salmer snapped. "You think legacy is trivial? Look at the Ronins. For a thousand years, they've bled on battlefields to hold their throne. That's the cost of a name!"
"I disagree," Bai Sha interjected, arms crossed. "Generals die in war—it's chance, not sacrifice. Other clans lose just as many. The Ronins aren't special; we just have fewer heirs."
Perhaps it was genetics—beast-kin like the Greiz bred more easily, their infants hardier. The Ronins, feather-kin, relied on superior combat prowess to hold their edge, or the Greiz would've eclipsed them long ago.
"All this talk of status, of glory—it's old men's nonsense," Bai Sha said. "Kaixin's tougher than you give him credit for."
Kaixin muttered, "Your Highness, if you can't compliment, don't."
Bai Sha waved him off. "Fine, fine. Touchy."
Kaixin and Salmer were products of different eras. In Salmer's youth, the Greiz clan had dared challenge the crown, a titan among houses. His rebellion had shattered that legacy. Emperor Cecil's subtle pressures had weakened the clan, and Kaixin had grown up in its shadow—scorned, distrusted, especially by Ronin loyalists and Xipes's devotees. Despite his proud facade, Kaixin lacked Salmer's unyielding arrogance.
Salmer watched their banter, his brow creasing, and shot Bai Sha a glacial stare. "Silver-tongued schemer."
"You haven't explained yourself," Bai Sha pressed. "Why say the Ronins can't judge you? Didn't your men cause the science ship's explosion?"
"Why do you think I brought them?" Salmer countered. "Do you know where that ship was headed?"
"No," Bai Sha admitted. "The records were destroyed."
"Destroyed—of course," Salmer said, his laugh bitter. "They were bound for the Silver Nexus's 'God's Tomb,' where its fractured core lies. The Nexus needs that core to regain its power. What do you think Xipes Ronin was doing, sneaking to the Tomb with a science fleet?"
Bai Sha frowned. "To destroy the core?"
"Maybe," Salmer said, shaking his head. "But I couldn't bet on it."
"You've talked to the Nexus enough to know its game," he continued. "It tempted you, didn't it? It tempted Xipes too. The Nexus has whispered to many."
He paused, his voice heavy. "The Nexus told you about the Aresians' origins, about the Ronins' 'Resonance'—a power that threatens every Aresian. Resonance builds a mental network, and the Nexus can hijack it, bending wills."
The Nexus had courted Xipes as its human proxy. Had she yielded—out of ambition or fear—the Empire would've fallen under its sway.
"I couldn't trust her," Salmer said, his eyes downcast. "When I heard she was headed to the Tomb, I acted rashly, chasing her. But she was just surveying. My crew had a traitor who triggered the Tomb's defenses. We tried to contain it, but the virus—Nexus's trap—escaped."
"No one noticed the infection at first," he continued, his voice hollow. "By the time we did, madness consumed us. The ship became a nightmare, bodies piling up. I drifted between clarity and delirium. All I remember is Xipes unleashing her mind, drawing the virus to her. Then… she detonated her psyche."
Only he and Xipes survived. She, the hero; he, the fool who'd opened the gate.
"I know I was wrong," Salmer said, stubborn. "But I couldn't risk it. Who could face the Nexus's threats—or its promises—unmoved?"
"You did," Bai Sha said, her voice ice. "The Nexus approached you, and you were tempted. You assumed Xipes would make the same choice."
Salmer's pupils shrank. "No, I—"
"You're ruled by desire and dodge reality," Bai Sha said, a bitter laugh escaping. "Were you rushing to stop Xipes from opening the Tomb—or to ensure she didn't beat you to it?"
Xipes Ronin was Salmer's bane. Her royal blood, her superior skill—they dwarfed him. She was the mountain he could never climb.
"Who opened the Tomb and unleashed the virus?" Bai Sha asked softly. "That 'traitor' wasn't a traitor, was he? He was your partner, trying to restore the Nexus's core."
Salmer's scarred face twisted, a mix of shame and fury. He slammed the cockpit's close button, turning to flee.
Bai Sha raised her pre-charged ray gun, firing a searing beam. As she moved, Ya Ning and Jingyi lunged, pinning Salmer's mech arms. They'd planned for this in the comms, anticipating his escape.
Her shot was true, grazing the closing cockpit door. A scream tore through the air, the stench of charred flesh rising. Salmer's right shoulder was a bloody ruin, crimson mist staining the gray door.
Kaixin's eyes widened. "Patriarch—"
"Drag him out," Bai Sha said, rubbing her temple. "He hasn't spilled everything."
The Tomb's coordinates, his partner's identity—vital secrets remained. She glanced at Seven Kills, its majesty marred by blood. Salmer was unworthy of it now. Not fully evil, his lingering conscience had sapped his fire, leaving him too broken to wield the Legend-class mech.
Kaixin didn't move, rooted like a statue.
Bai Sha sighed. She'd hoped Kaixin's kinship would calm Salmer, reducing resistance. If she extracted him, it'd be brutal—limbs might break.
But with Kaixin frozen, she stepped forward. Then Salmer's mech twitched, breaking free of Ya Ning and Jingyi. Silver cords lashed out, snaring the defenseless Kaixin outside his mech. Without a word, Salmer hoisted him and fled.
Bai Sha cursed. "Shameless!"
She moved to pursue, but shrill alarms cut through—garrison reinforcements had arrived. They'd dallied too long.
Ya Ning and Jingyi rose, panting. "You went too easy," Ya Ning said, his tone factual, not accusatory.
"I know," Bai Sha admitted. "I held back to pry more from him and to avoid killing him in front of Kaixin before the truth was clear. But now we know enough. No more hesitation."
They chased Salmer's trail, sprinting through the port's chaos. After a few hundred meters, in a shadowed corner walled by black steel, they found Seven Kills. Kaixin knelt beside it, head bowed.
The cockpit was open. Salmer lay back, half his shoulder a bloody wreck. His jaw was locked, eyes shut, lips blackened—a grotesque rigidity gripping him. Not blood loss, but poison.
Bai Sha's heart sank. She leapt from her mech, rushing to scan Salmer's vitals with her optic. Kaixin's hand stopped her.
"No need," he said, his voice hollow. In his palm was Seven Kills' energy key.
Bai Sha eyed Salmer's body, then noticed blood-scrawled coordinates on the cockpit's inner wall. "He—"
"He told me about the Tomb's opener," Kaixin said, his red eyes glinting with cold fury. "Qiu Zha, a Federation man, brainwashed by the Nexus. He's the 'Immortal Cicada Council's' current head—Xiao Yang's security chief. The Nexus paired him with my uncle for surveillance. If Uncle died, Qiu Zha would flee. We can't alert him."
Bai Sha stared, stunned. She looked at Salmer, his face almost serene, as if lost in a troubled dream.
"He left you two messages," Kaixin said, his voice cracking. "'You don't look like your mother at all.'"
Bai Sha's lips twitched. If Salmer were alive, she'd throttle him. But he wasn't.
"And," Kaixin continued, forcing the words, "'I'm sorry. Pretend you never saw me today.' He erased himself from the clan before fleeing. Alive or dead, he never wanted to return."
"He removed himself?" Bai Sha said, surprised. "That's… questionable. And the Greiz never announced it."
Kaixin gazed at Salmer's body, his voice steady now. "We were waiting for him to come home."
The port's din faded, a distant roar of clashing mechs and gunfire. Bai Sha stood over Seven Kills, its bloodied cockpit a tomb. Kaixin's words hung heavy, a requiem for a clan's lost patriarch. Jingyi and Ya Ning flanked her, their mechs poised, scanning for threats. The garrison's reinforcements loomed, their time short.
Bai Sha's mind churned. Salmer's death was a blow, but his final act—revealing Qiu Zha and the coordinates—gave them a path. The security chief, a Nexus puppet, was their next target. But Kaixin's grief, raw and unspoken, complicated things. She needed him focused, not unraveling.
"Kaixin," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "we're not done. Qiu Zha's in the control tower. We move now, or he slips away."
Kaixin's grip on the key tightened, his eyes fixed on Salmer. "He was a fool," he whispered. "But he was family."
"And you're still here," Bai Sha said. "You carry the Greiz name. Honor him by finishing this."
Kaixin's jaw clenched, but he nodded, rising. "For the clan."
Jingyi cracked her whip, impatient. "Tower's close. Let's end this."
They sprinted through the port, weaving past smoldering wrecks and mercenary skirmishes. The control tower loomed, its neon lights flickering in the haze. Bai Sha's optic pinged with updates: their backup legions were holding the garrison, but the enemy's mechs were rallying. Speed was their only advantage.
Inside the tower, the security chief—Qiu Zha—lounged, wine bottle in hand, his soldier still at gunpoint. His calm was unnerving, a predator's ease. "You're late," he said as Bai Sha's mech crashed through the door, spear gleaming. "The master's already moving."
"Salmer's dead," Bai Sha said, her voice steel. "You're next unless you talk. Where's the Nexus lab?"
Qiu Zha's smile widened, unperturbed. "Dead? Pity. He was useful." He sipped his wine, eyes glinting. "The lab? You'll never reach it. The Nexus sees all."
Bai Sha's spear twitched, inches from his chest. "Test me."
Qiu Zha laughed, a low, chilling sound. "You're bold, Ronin. But you're playing a game you can't win. The virus is loose, and the Empire's already burning."
Ya Ning's saber hummed, poised at Qiu Zha's throat. "Coordinates. Now."
Qiu Zha's gaze flicked to Kaixin, lingering. "Greiz boy. Your uncle was weak. You'll break too."
Kaixin's mech lunged, pinning Qiu Zha against the console. "Speak, or I carve out your tongue."
Qiu Zha's soldier, trembling, dropped his gun. "Please, he's not worth it—"
"Shut up," Qiu Zha snapped, his calm cracking. "Fine. Sector seven, undercity tunnels. Vault with Nexus sigils. But you'll find only death there."
Bai Sha lowered her spear, signaling Jingyi to bind him. "You're coming with us."
As they secured Qiu Zha, Bai Sha's optic flashed: a message from Zhou Ying in the Capital Star. Lab confirmed. Nexus activity spiking. Hurry. She glanced at Kaixin, his face a mask of resolve. Salmer's shadow lingered, but the Greiz heir was ready to fight.
Outside, the port was a battlefield, mercenary mechs clashing with garrison heavy units. Bai Sha's team moved, Qiu Zha in tow, toward the undercity. The Nexus's lab held their last hope—a cure, or at least answers. But the chief's words gnawed at her: The master's moving.
On Youdu Star, Emperor Cecil stared at Bai Sha's latest transmission: Lab located. Closing in. His fingers traced the royal seal, the weight of an empire on his shoulders. The Nexus's endgame was near, and his niece was its blade—or its sacrifice.