Ch. 201..205: Interstellar_ Return of the Villain Chapter 201-205
Chapter 201: The Chief Justice
No one knew Lyra had the guts to pull a move like that.
She didn’t just shed light on the chaos—she turned the whole thing upside down.
Chief Justice Ron was in charge of the military’s law system. He was stunned when he heard what happened.
"Should we inform the Admirals?" Ron’s secretary asked, his voice shaky with concern.
Ron gave a cold chuckle. "Of course! It’s their mess; they need to deal with it."
The audacity—they were out there bullying Lyra while their own world was falling apart.
"And then?"
"Then we do what we always do—hold the trial."
Ron’s gaze shifted to the hurricane of outrage swirling online. No way was he about to let the reputation of the military court take a hit, especially not now.
Right as he finished speaking, his phone buzzed—Admiral Dale.
The old man didn’t bother with formalities. "Ron, buddy, push the trial back for a bit."
Ron’s eyes flashed with anger, but his tone stayed in check. "It’s not that I don’t want to give you some breathing room, but have you seen what’s happening online? If I delay, by tomorrow, protesters will be at the court’s gates—mark my words."
"I’ll handle the online stuff," Dale said, his voice calm and full of confidence.
Ron let out a dry laugh. "Well, you better start now."
Within thirty minutes, like clockwork, every mention of Constan Dale’s illegal arms deals and Randal Marty’s human trafficking disappeared. The former one was a relative of Admiral Dale, and the later one was Admiral Vince’s nephew.
Articles, posts, even the most minor comments hinting at the scandal were wiped clean off the web.
But outside, on the streets and in buses, people were fired up.
"Wow, classic admiral move. Ruthless."
"Hah! If they’re erasing the news like that, it’s gotta be true. Is the government covering for criminals now?"
"They always said the Reserved Corps were dirty, but now they’ve dragged the whole military down with them."
"Wait, is this why my daughter went missing? And they’re covering it up?"
As night fell, Lyra sat, unfazed, in the command center of the tech division. Her voice broke the tension like a sharp blade. "Let’s begin."
Across social media, posts exploded, tagging the military court, Admiral Dale, and Admiral Vince.
Not even the patrol guards or Frederick were spared as everyone demanded answers.
The flood of mentions crashed social media platforms left and right. Servers couldn’t handle the load.
But that was just the opening salvo. By the next day, the streets were flooded with the voices of the victims—women saved from trafficking, families who’d lost loved ones to space pirates.
They rallied in protest, streaming their demands live, waving signs in the air. Eventually, they all converged in front of the military court, their chants for justice echoing across the city.
They weren’t just angry—they wanted blood. They were ready to take on the military itself, no matter the cost.
Over 100,000 people had gathered, their sheer numbers like a tidal wave crashing against the court’s walls.
Chief Justice Ron, who hadn’t slept a wink, finally stepped forward.
He was dressed in his robe, and the emblem on his chest sparkled in the first rays of morning light.
"Please, calm down! This afternoon, we will hold a public trial for Constan Dale, Randal Marty, and their accomplices," he announced, his voice cutting through the crowd with firm authority.
He stood tall, embodying the law itself. "I swear by our most sacred laws, we will never allow evil to go unpunished, and we will never bend to the will of the powerful!"
Just then, a voice from the crowd shouted, "We demand the trial be live-streamed!"
The crowd erupted in agreement, hands shooting up in support.
Ron could feel the weight of their demands, like the heat of a flame licking at his skin. "Fine!" he finally agreed, his voice tight.
"We’ll be waiting!" the man shot back.
Ron glared at the man for a moment before turning and marching back into the courthouse.
He had just sat down when his screen lit up with calls from both Admiral Dale and Admiral Vince.
Before the Admirals could fire off their demands, Ron beat them to it. "This is what you call handling the situation? Sure, you’ve dodged public outrage, but you’ve thrown the entire military court under the bus!"
The bitter irony wasn’t lost on him—a judge, sitting here negotiating with military brass to protect criminals who were undeniably guilty, all to shield them from facing the full weight of the law.
Vince, the more hotheaded of the two Admirals, snapped back, "That clever little witch, Lyra, is behind all this chaos. We’ve already got people working on dispersing the protesters. Just stall them for a while."
As if it were that easy.
In Vince’s mind, all it would take was greasing a few palms, getting a few protest leaders to accept the right bribe, and the whole movement would collapse like a house of cards.
Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Deal with them? What, are you planning to have blood spilled in front of the sacred halls of justice?"
"Relax," Vince shot back, though his voice had all the sincerity of a snake oil salesman. "It won’t come to that."
What neither Admiral realized was that outside, things were spiraling out of their control. The internet was ablaze with praise for the protestors, who were being hailed as brave warriors standing up against corruption.
Journalists swarmed the scene, and local business owners brought food and water to the crowd.
The heat and fatigue were real, but the outpouring of public support only strengthened the resolve of those gathered.
When the protest leaders were approached with bribes to step down, they didn’t just refuse—they exposed the bribes on social media.
The backlash was immediate, with hashtags trending, calling out the Admirals and military brass for their underhanded tactics.
Amid the sea of demonstrators, a few shady figures lurked, inching closer to the leaders of the movement. But before they could act, they were taken down—swiftly and silently—by unseen protectors.
The leaders, realizing what had just happened, cried out, "Look! They’re trying to take us out!"
The whole thing was live-streamed in real-time, showing several Peculiars caught red-handed, armed and ready to attack.
It was like throwing gasoline on a fire—the crowd erupted, furious.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of town, Lyra crouched low with her special ops team outside a villa.
This was the home of one of the protest leaders’ families, and something felt off. The air around them seemed to shimmer, a sign of something sinister closing in.
Without hesitation, Lyra sprang into action.
Bright points of light streaked through the sky, and an invisible Peculiar was taken down. But that was just the beginning—within moments, a dozen more Peculiars appeared, surrounding her.
"Open fire!" Lyra’s voice was like steel.
Her team didn’t need to be told twice. Bullets tore through the air as Lyra, clad in sleek silver armor, moved like a storm through the chaos, cutting down enemies with deadly precision.
In mere minutes, the entire group of Peculiars was captured, their wrists bound with suppressor cuffs.
With a swift motion, Lyra gave the command, "Take them all to the military court."
Now, it was up to the court and the military to face the growing storm. This was their fight to finish.
Lyra’s expression remained steady—cold and unreadable. Not a hint of emotion flickered across her face.
Rubens and the rest of her team followed in her footsteps without a word of complaint. She had them all under her spell.
And here she was, playing both Admirals like puppets on a string.
God knows how they would ever hope to salvage their dignity in the military after this.
Back at the military court, Ron’s mood darkened as each wave of detainees was brought in.
The pressure was building, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He picked up his comm and called Lyra, his voice low and laced with frustration. "Kid, you’re pushing this way too far."
She was using him as a tool to carry out her agenda, and it was becoming clearer by the minute.
Lyra shielded her eyes from the sun, her tone light but sharp. "Your Justice, isn’t it your job to judge criminals and rid the world of evil? I’m simply doing my part."
The subtle edge in her voice was unmistakable—this was a game of survival, and she wasn’t going to pull any punches.
Then she added, her voice turning colder, "The military court has always stood independent of the three factions. Why are you so tangled up in their mess?"
—’Just stick to your duty, and leave the rest alone.’
Because at the end of this, Lyra knew, the two Admirals would turn their fury on her.
Ron paused, thinking it over. She had a point. ’Why should I care about the power struggle playing out in front of me? It’s not my fight.’
So, he decided to let it go—let them duke it out. Whoever came out on top didn’t matter to him in the slightest.
And so, the afternoon trial finally arrived.
Despite the overwhelming evidence, the long delay had given both families plenty of time to maneuver behind the scenes.
They pressured the pirates into altering their testimonies, found scapegoats to take the fall, and shifted as much blame as possible onto the pirates.
In the end, what should have been a lifetime sentence or even the death penalty for their crimes was reduced to a mere twenty years of imprisonment.
The other party involved in the crimes—those less connected and without powerful allies—was swiftly executed that very afternoon.
It was all smoke and mirrors, a loud show that ended with a soft punch. The public wasn’t fooled. The leniency toward Constan Dale and Randal Marty sparked outrage.
Heated debates flared up everywhere, from the streets to the media, as people questioned the integrity of the military court.
What had been intended to quell the situation only fueled the flames of discontent.
Chapter 202: Running Away
"Can you believe these people? The military court already handed down its ruling, yet they’re still whining for more. Don’t they have lives to live?"
"Seriously, what more do they want? The evidence was right there, and justice was served. They paid compensation, the guilty were executed—what else are they looking for?"
As Lyra observed the online conversation being skillfully redirected, she gestured to her tech team to ease off. "We don’t need to keep pushing," she said calmly. There was no need to maintain the pressure any longer.
But while Lyra remained composed, Norman was a bundle of nerves.
"So, uh... what’s the next step, Ensign? What’s the plan now?"
His voice was laced with desperation. After all, Lyra had just publicly humiliated some of the most powerful military figures in the Alliance. Surely there had to be some kind of follow-up, right?
Lyra’s response was icy, almost indifferent. "I’m just a lowly Ensign, following orders," she said, her eyes glinting slightly before she added, "Oh, and SIR, don’t forget—the Alliance Assembly is coming up soon."
"...Huh?" Norman blinked, completely lost as she and her team walked out the door, leaving him hanging with more questions than answers.
In reality, Lyra was leveraging her noble status, positioning herself in the ongoing power struggle.
It may have looked like she was winning lately, but her victories were circumstantial.
The two Admirals, bound by strict military law, couldn’t just leave their posts to take her down without proper clearance.
Admirals Dale and Vince had been on Eden Prime to attend the ceremony honoring the Rose just a few days ago, so there’s no way they’d be back again now.
However, Lyra knew all too well that once they had the time and freedom to act, they’d come for her with full force.
That’s why she needed the backing of the old nobility to shield her just a little longer.
In the days that followed, Lyra doubled down, unearthing even more dirt on military officers and their families—particularly those loyal to Admirals Dale and Vince.
Scandal after scandal surfaced, causing another massive wave of public fury to wash over the Alliance. Each new revelation chipped away at the military’s already crumbling reputation.
In the past, the military elites might have been able to stomp out this kind of uproar. But now, they were up against the noble families—though weakened over the years, they still wielded considerable influence.
And unlike ordinary citizens, these nobles couldn’t be silenced through threats or violence. Assassinations and intimidation wouldn’t work on them.
With the once-in-a-decade Alliance Assembly looming, military leaders found themselves shackled, forced to rein in their own factions.
They had no choice but to hold their anger, unable to act openly. They seethed in silence, wishing they could crush Lyra underfoot, but for now, all they could do was bide their time.
Watching the chaos unfold, Ansel smirked. When his adjutant gave him the latest reports on the Admirals’ frustrations, he chuckled to himself. "She’s young and reckless. She’ll regret it soon enough."
The Admirals had spent decades, even centuries, mastering the art of military power plays. Their influence ran deep, with loyalists embedded at every level.
Yet here was Lyra, audaciously leading a ragtag group of nobles in direct opposition, like she had nothing to fear.
’But when the fall comes,’ Ansel thought, ’she won’t even see it coming.’
Meanwhile, the nobles were basking in their newfound public support, but they knew the reprisal was inevitable.
As the Alliance Assembly neared, officials, military leaders, and royal families began making their way back to Elden Prime, the capital star—including the two looming threats: Admirals Dale and Vince.
Sensing the storm on the horizon, Lyra swiftly submitted a request for leave.
"You’re asking for leave NOW? With everything falling apart?" Norman stared at her in disbelief.
He knew exactly how valuable Lyra was—she was the perfect tool, the one person who could tackle every tough situation they threw her way. And now, when the chaos was at its peak, she wanted to bail?
Her response was blunt, almost chilling. "If you don’t want me dead, SIR, you’ll approve my leave."
Lyra had no illusions about what was coming. The second those two level-nine Admirals returned, they’d be gunning for her. So her strategy was simple—disappear before they had the chance to act.
Realizing just how deep the danger ran, Norman didn’t hesitate. He approved her leave on the spot, the seriousness of her words sinking in.
And so, with little more than a nod of thanks, Lyra packed her things and fled for the Calvin family castle, leaving behind the chaos she’d helped ignite.
As soon as Albert spotted Lyra, his face lit up with a broad smile. "His Lordship was just wondering when you would return, My Lady."
Without missing a beat, Lyra handed her coat to a waiting maid. "I’ll be on leave until the Alliance Assembly wraps up."
Upon hearing this, Benedict wasted no time. He summoned a maid to help Lyra change into something more comfortable, then invited her to join him in the garden for a moment of relaxation.
"You’ve been busy lately. Are you feeling worn out?" he asked, his voice warm and soothing, perfectly matching his refined demeanor.
He gestured for the maid to pour tea, then personally offered Lyra a delicate pastry from the tray before them.
"I’m not tired. It’s just been a few minor matters," Lyra said, eyeing the pastry before taking a tiny, almost reluctant, bite.
As they sat in the tranquil garden, a soft breeze picked up, sending pale pink and white rose petals floating gently through the air.
Some settled in Lyra’s hair, enhancing the serene beauty of the scene as the evening light bathed the garden in a golden glow.
Benedict’s gaze softened as he watched her. "If only you smiled more, you’d look just like your mother," he mused quietly, brushing a stray petal from her hair with a nostalgic smile that hinted at a deeper sorrow.
Lyra remained silent, her expression unchanged, and sensing that she wouldn’t engage, Benedict smoothly shifted the conversation. "Several old friends have been inquiring about you. They’ve expressed interest in inviting you to some of their gatherings."
Lyra’s recent bold actions had caught the attention of the noble circles, and her popularity had skyrocketed as a result.
"With all the goodwill directed toward the nobility lately, even the stocks of the Laberry family business have soared."
In this era, nobility wasn’t about land or titles anymore. With most territories under military control, the nobles had pivoted to business, though their ventures often faced roadblocks from the military’s overwhelming influence.
It wasn’t until Lyra met the Calvin family that she fully grasped the depth of this power struggle.
"I’m not interested in parties, Grandpa. Kindly decline on my behalf," Lyra said flatly, making her disinterest clear.
As their conversation continued, a Lev adorned with a golden crest quietly pulled up to the fountain outside the garden.
Lyra’s gaze shifted, recognizing the young man stepping out in elegant, silver-gray noble attire. He seemed familiar.
The young man walked around the car with smooth grace. Then he opened the door for his companion, Isadora, who accepted his hand as she stepped out.
"Thank you, my dear Second Prince," Isadora said sweetly.
The young man was Prince Lucien.
With Isadora by his side, Lucien exuded charm and elegance—a stark contrast to the brawling prince who had once fought his brother at AMAT.
His smile was poised and polished. "It’s an honor to accompany you, My Lady. And for tomorrow’s banquet, I’d be privileged to be your escort."
Isadora’s eyes sparkled with delight as she nodded shyly. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."
Lucien’s gaze drifted toward the pavilion, where Benedict and Lyra were seated. "Since we’re here, I should pay my respects to the Marquis."
Isadora’s smile faltered momentarily, but she quickly recovered. "Let’s go together, then," she said, linking arms with Lucien as they made their way over.
Benedict stood as they approached, offering a respectful half-bow, with Lyra gracefully following suit, lightly holding the hem of her simple, cream-colored lace gown.
In that moment, she looked as pretty as the roses surrounding her.
Lucien had only seen her fierce, battle-hardened side in the competition arena. Now, seeing her in such an ethereal light, he found himself momentarily stunned.
"Your Highness, would you care to join us?" Benedict asked, gesturing to an open seat.
"I’d be honored," Lucien replied smoothly.
He moved to sit next to Lyra, but Isadora quickly slipped into the spot between them.
Lucien, unfazed, circled around to take the seat on Lyra’s other side instead.
Lyra took a small sip of her tea, casting a brief glance in his direction. Then, she stood up with quiet grace. "Pardon me, but I have other matters to attend to. I’ll take my leave."
"Wait!" Lucien called after her quickly. "My mother is hosting a banquet tomorrow evening. Would you honor us with her presence?"
Chapter 203: A Royal Invitation
To be honest, Lyra couldn’t quite make sense of Lucien’s motives.
He was, after all, the distinguished Second Prince. Why would he overlook someone like Isadora, a proper marquis’s daughter, and instead focus on her—a woman surrounded by controversy and complications?
"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said with careful politeness, "but I’ve been unwell and am taking this time to rest. Attending social events is not convenient for me right now."
With a graceful nod, Lyra turned on her heel and walked away, cutting off any further discussion.
She had no interest in getting tangled in royal games. Her goal was to use the nobles as leverage, not to become one of their pawns.
However, it was becoming clear that Lucien had other plans—plans that involved drawing her deeper into their world.
By the next morning, the situation had escalated. A royal butler arrived at the Calvin estate, accompanied by an entire fleet of royal carriages. They formally extended the Queen’s personal invitation to Lyra for a banquet.
The news spread quickly, causing a buzz throughout Central City.
Benedict, ever composed, exchanged pleasantries with the butler but couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. "May I ask what this is all about?"
The butler’s response was diplomatic yet firm. "Her Majesty holds Miss Shedd in high regard and would like to meet her personally."
It was clear: they weren’t leaving without Lyra.
Understanding the delicate line she had to walk, Lyra knew refusing the Queen could cause trouble she didn’t need.
"Give me a moment to change," she said, accepting the situation.
The butler smiled. "Her Majesty has already selected a gown for you."
That alone was a rare honor—a signal that this wasn’t just any ordinary invitation.
Watching from a distance, Isadora barely concealed her irritation. Her eyes followed Lyra as she stepped into the royal carriage, and with a huff, she stomped her foot in frustration.
Storming back to her room, she vented her anger to her mother, Genevieve, while rifling through her dresses in preparation for the evening.
"Why would the Queen take such an interest in HER?" Isadora fumed, pacing back and forth.
"Silly girl," Genevieve replied, giving a dismissive wave as she appraised the red gown Isadora had chosen. She motioned for the maids to fetch another. "If the Queen were considering a match for the Second Prince, YOU would obviously be the first choice."
"Then why send the royal butler after Lyra?"
"It wasn’t the Queen’s doing."
"His Majesty, then?" Isadora frowned, trying to piece it together. "Is it because of all the noise she’s been making lately?"
Genevieve only hummed in response, clearly dissatisfied with the current dress selection. She finally rose and plucked a stunning violet ballgown from the wardrobe herself.
As Isadora allowed the maids to help her into the dress, she muttered under her breath, "I wish I’d gone to military school, too..."
Her complaint was cut short by the sharp look her mother shot her.
"You are a real lady. You should aspire to be a refined miss, not one running around with swords and guns like some common mercenary."
Isadora pouted but sighed, her defiance fading. "Still, with everything going on right now, it might’ve been smart to have military training."
Before Genevieve could deliver another lecture, Isadora twirled in front of the mirror. "This gown feels a little heavy."
"A little weight is a good thing. It fits you perfectly," Genevieve remarked, fastening a lavish necklace around her daughter’s neck. She smiled in satisfaction. "Tonight, you will be the most beautiful woman at the banquet."
Meanwhile, Lyra had arrived at the palace.
The royal gardens were breathtaking, with their lush greenery and vibrant blossoms. But Lyra, focused as ever, paid little attention to the scenic beauty around her. She followed the butler silently, her mind already turning over strategies.
The butler led her into an opulent fitting room, where rows of gowns—each more exquisite than the last—hung like treasures waiting to be chosen.
Lyra wasted no time. She brushed past the elaborate, voluminous gowns with hoops and heavy skirts, uninterested. Instead, she selected a sleek, floor-length slip dress made of creamy white satin.
The gown hugged her figure in all the right places, with a draped neckline that gave it a relaxed, effortless elegance. A daring slit ran up one side, adding a touch of boldness to the otherwise understated look.
She chose simple accessories—a silver arm cuff set with icy blue gemstones and a matching gold bracelet.
Her shoes were minimalist, pearl-strapped sandals with slender heels.
Her dark hair was swept into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and she completed the ensemble with a delicate necklace and earrings, both adorned with the same icy blue stones.
In the span of moments, Lyra had transformed into a vision of cold, ethereal beauty.
The sleek lines of her dress and the icy elegance of her jewelry made her look like a queen in her own right—someone who could command a room without uttering a single word.
The stylists and makeup artists around Lyra stared in awe.
"It’s like we’ve barely touched her, and she’s already a masterpiece," one of them whispered, marveling at how naturally she carried herself with grace and beauty. She needed only the barest enhancements.
The butler, regaining his composure after his initial shock, bowed slightly. "My Lady, if you’ll follow me to meet His Majesty."
Lyra lowered her gaze in acknowledgment and quietly fell into step behind him.
As she suspected, it was not truly the Queen who wished to meet her—this was King Edmund’s doing.
They passed through a grand corridor lined with intricate murals, the ceiling soaring high above. The path ended at a pair of golden doors with ornately carved handles.
The butler bowed once more and announced her arrival. "Your Majesty, Miss Lyra Shedd has arrived."
"Enter," came the deep, commanding voice from within.
Lyra lifted her head as she stepped inside the chamber, taking in the scene before her.
At the far end of the room, seated on a raised platform, was King Edmund. He looked younger than expected, his sharp features exuding authority.
His piercing dark eyes, framed by thick brows and a neatly trimmed mustache, seemed to evaluate her at a glance.
Next to him sat the Queen. She was draped in a lavish golden gown, her lips painted a deep crimson. Though her smile was warm, her gaze was distant, calculating.
To Lyra’s surprise, Aurelius was here too, watching her entrance.
With perfect poise, Lyra performed the formal noble greeting—a flawless combination of grace and precision.
A flicker of approval crossed King Edmund’s eyes, followed by a chuckle. "So Calvin wasn’t exaggerating. You are truly a remarkable young lady."
The Queen nodded in agreement. "Your manners surpass many of the noble ladies I’ve encountered."
Even Aurelius, who had seen Lyra in action countless times, was momentarily taken aback. The fierce competitor who had once knocked him to the ground now appeared as someone entirely different—poised, calm, and almost untouchable.
A chair was set for her, and after a gesture from the King, Lyra sat with perfect posture, her every move controlled and elegant.
"Your Majesties, your praise is too generous," she said smoothly, her tone respectful yet distant.
Edmund laughed heartily, slapping the armrest of his throne. "I’ve seen how decisive and formidable you are in your work. Why the sudden modesty now?"
Without missing a beat, Lyra replied, "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I suppose the grandeur of this place makes even me feel a bit nervous."
Aurelius, standing stiffly by the side, couldn’t stop the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
There she was again, delivering sharp lines with the utmost composure, making it impossible to tell whether she was being sincere or mocking.
Realizing she wasn’t one for small talk, Edmund got straight to the point. "I’ve heard of your recent accomplishments and admire your capabilities. I hope you’ll continue to excel in your work."
His words, though polite, carried a clear message: ’Keep stirring up trouble in the military—it’s what we want.’
The Queen extended her hand, offering Lyra a small, gleaming Space Button. "A token from me, for our first meeting. It contains some jewels and rare plants from my personal collection. I trust you’ll find them suitable."
Lyra accepted the gift with a gracious nod. "You honor me, Your Majesty."
With that, the brief audience came to a close. Edmund turned to his son. "Aurelius, since both you and Miss Shedd serve in the Direct Force, I’ll leave her in your care for the evening."
Aurelius stepped forward, bowing low. "Yes, Your Majesty."
He approached Lyra, extending his gloved hand. "Miss Shedd."
Without hesitation, Lyra placed her hand in his, showing no signs of discomfort as they left the grand hall together.
The doors behind them closed with a heavy, echoing thud.
Once outside, Aurelius couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at her. Their eyes met, and he was immediately caught off guard by the cold intensity in her gaze—her dark eyes seemed to pierce right through him, as if reading every thought he had.
"So, it seems Your Highness’ only remaining utility is for political marriage, then?" Lyra remarked coolly as she withdrew her hand. "I thought that role was usually reserved for princesses."
Aurelius stiffened, his expression darkening.
"We’re all pawns in the end," he muttered, his tone bitter. After a pause, he added, "My father believes you have a future in the military. The royal family may not wield as much power as it once did, but we can still help you escape the Reserve Corps. After all, I’m just a pawn myself, placed in the military by the crown. Why not take the opportunity?"
To him, the offer was logical—a mutually beneficial arrangement. She could secure her position, and the royal family could gain a valuable ally.
But Lyra merely gave him a sidelong glance, her voice steady and firm. "I haven’t fallen so low as to trade my body for influence."
Her words were calm, but the strength behind them was undeniable. She wasn’t someone who could be swayed or bought so easily. For now, everything remained firmly under her control.
Chapter 204: The Banquet
In a world where everything and everyone could be used as a bargaining chip, not even bodies or marriages were sacred.
Yet to Lyra, such things held little value.
Beautiful bodies were a dime a dozen, easily replaceable. And the most dangerous enemies were often disguised as friends, partners, hiding in plain sight.
To her, the only way to operate at full strength was to steer clear of emotional entanglements—intimacy was just another set of chains, ones she refused to wear.
...
When Lyra and Aurelius walked into the banquet hall, the shimmering crystal chandeliers overhead bathed the room in warm light, illuminating clusters of well-dressed guests engaged in hushed conversation.
The space was filled with stunning people, but Lyra didn’t stand out as the most glamorous. Still, the moment someone called her name, the uniformed soldiers scattered throughout the crowd turned their heads, all eyes now fixed on her.
It was clear her reputation had spread throughout the military.
Before she could fully take in the room, a sharp wave of psychokinesis came crashing toward her, slicing through the air like a blade.
Lyra’s eyes narrowed for just a split second as she met the attack with her own force, the two unseen powers colliding midair with enough tension to ripple through the crowd.
Drinks spilled, and conversations faltered, as the invisible clash sent tremors of unease across the room.
Among the startled crowd, Admiral Dale stumbled, his expression barely hiding the shock behind his tired eyes. ’How can a woman so young possess such overwhelming power?’
"Admiral Dale, are you alright?" Admiral Vince, a stout man with a face to match, quickly grabbed his arm to steady him.
Vince glanced at Lyra, who stood unfazed in the middle of the room. He couldn’t help admiring her strength. "She’s something else, isn’t she?"
But Dale, still stung by his loss of composure, scowled. "Hmph, we can’t let her continue to run amok in the military."
Though clearly shaken, Dale was too seasoned and proud to start a confrontation with Lyra in such a public, formal setting.
A little ways off, Frederick observed the situation with amusement. "Cohen, your friend’s quite the firecracker," he said with a smirk.
Cohen, visibly flustered, tore his gaze away from Lyra. "She’s always been like that," he mumbled. She never retreated out of fear, only when there was something to gain or when the odds weren’t worth the fight.
"Why don’t you invite her to join us?" Frederick suggested, catching Cohen off guard.
His father wasn’t known for offering olive branches, and this sudden change in attitude was unexpected.
Cohen glanced over at the two Admirals nearby, both of whom looked like they’d happily tear Lyra apart if given the chance.
"Sure," Cohen said hesitantly. Then he headed over to Lyra, who was standing by the champagne stand, drawing more attention than she probably intended.
All eyes followed Cohen, the Admiral’s son, as he walked through the crowd and approached Lyra.
After a quick exchange, the two returned together, making their way toward Admiral Frederick Whyte.
Admirals Dale and Vince immediately stiffened, realizing they had crossed a line.
Both the military and the royal family wouldn’t tolerate any kind of scandal breaking out during the banquet.
"Hmph," Dale grumbled under his breath, deciding to drop the issue for now.
Meanwhile, not far from them, Isadora sat surrounded by a group of young noblemen, all competing for her attention.
Her fingers tightened around her feather fan as she watched Cohen escort Lyra through the crowd, jealousy burning beneath her polished smile.
One of the men beside her leaned closer, his voice dripping with charm, "Isadora, you’re absolutely stunning tonight. How about a date tomorrow?"
Another chimed in eagerly, "Kuro, you wish! My Lady, come surfing with me instead!"
A third quickly jumped in, "No, no, it should be me who takes Isadora out!"
Isadora giggled behind her fan, her shoulders shaking lightly as she relished in their flattery. "Sorry, boys, but I’ve already promised His Highness I’d be joining him tomorrow," she teased, her voice laced with playfulness.
The men groaned in disappointment. They knew all too well that Isadora, as one of the most sought-after socialites in noble circles, was always juggling a full calendar of dates and outings.
As Lyra neared the seating area, she prepared to salute out of respect. But before she could do so, a woman in a crisp white military uniform waved her off with a flick of her hand.
"There’s no need to be so formal when you’re dressed this beautifully," the woman said with a grin. "If you keep that up, none of the men here will ever dare approach you."
The woman, thin but not frail, had deep crow’s feet and laugh lines that added character to her sharp features.
She sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, a glass of red wine in hand, her other arm draped casually over the back of the sofa.
Her smile was warm but mischievous, like someone who had seen it all and wasn’t afraid to play along.
This was Valeria, the only female Admiral, a woman who had carved out her own legend in the military world.
Lyra, however, shook her head lightly. "Courtesy must not be neglected."
She saluted Frederick, then turned and saluted Valeria as well. Frederick gave a slight nod. "Have a seat," he said.
Valeria, on the other hand, couldn’t help but purse her lips. "After all the bold things you’ve done, I thought you’d be more interesting. Turns out, you’re even more stiff than I am, and I’m an old woman!"
The things Lyra had done recently had nearly driven Admiral Dale and Admiral Vince to madness. Even Cohen felt a bit embarrassed for her.
But Lyra remained calm, composed even in the presence of high-ranking admirals. There was no sign of nervousness, nor did she make any attempt at small talk.
Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, breaking the silence. "Uncle Fred, Grandma Valeria, I’m late!"
A young man in a military uniform appeared, flashing a wide grin that revealed his bright, almost goofy smile. "My dad said the banquet was boring, so he decided not to come."
Valeria smiled with amusement but shot him a sharp look. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me Grandma!"
"Well... how about Admiral Valeria?" he suggested, eyes twinkling.
At this, Valeria almost fell back, waving him off with annoyance. "Get out of here, you brat! Just looking at you makes me tired."
Thierry wasn’t truly as dim-witted as he appeared. He plopped down next to Valeria, grabbing a glass of wine.
Just as he was about to take a sip, he noticed the young woman sitting next to Cohen, and his eyes widened in shock.
"Who on earth dares to cozy up to Cohen?" he thought, his brows furrowing in confusion.
After a second glance, he squinted, finally recognizing her. "Wait a second... you look familiar."
He took a sip of his drink, only to spray it out in shock.
Cohen burst into laughter beside him.
"Thierry, yes, it’s me," Lyra said calmly.
Thierry, now bright red, scrambled to wipe his face with a handkerchief.
Valeria wasn’t so lucky—she was caught in the spray, shoving him away with a laugh. "Ugh, you disgusting kid!"
But Lyra had noticed something else. In the instant before the wine splattered everywhere, an invisible barrier of air had formed in front of her, deflecting the liquid. ’A level-nine Peculiar’, she thought, recognizing the control of air.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Thierry coughed, still rubbing his face. "You look so stunning today, I didn’t even recognize you."
He glanced at her again, eyes sparkling with admiration. "Really, you look amazing," he added, chuckling.
Then, clapping his hands as if he suddenly remembered something, he said, "Oh right! Zinnia was supposed to come with her brother Zarek today. Let me check if they’ve arrived."
The royal family traditionally held grand banquets before each Alliance Assembly, inviting not just nobles, but also distinguished military officers and government officials.
Zarek, known for his contributions on Wyrmtrace, had recently been gaining attention and was among those invited.
Not long after Thierry sent the message, Zinnia arrived, dragging her brother behind her. "Haha! I knew you’d be here!" she called out, beaming.
As soon as Zarek spotted the admirals and high-ranking officers seated around the table, his scalp tingled with anxiety.
Tugging on his sister’s arm, he whispered, "Zinnia, we’re in the presence of the admirals. Show some restraint."
Valeria, seeing his discomfort, waved dismissively. "Enough of these formalities. It’s just a banquet, no need for all the bowing and scraping."
The constant salutes and greetings from junior officers had worn her out, leaving her neck stiff from nodding all evening.
"Exactly!" Zinnia chimed in, always quick with flattery. As she sat down, she couldn’t resist adding, "Admiral Valeria, you really are the most enlightened leader!"
"Oh, stop it, you cheeky girl," Valeria laughed, clearly amused.
"Not at all! You’re as charming as ever!" Zinnia winked playfully.
Zarek was cringing so hard, he feared he might tear through his boots. His sister’s carefree flattery made him want to sink into the floor.
But Zinnia, utterly unbothered, quickly turned her attention to Lyra, pulling her to her feet.
"Alright, Admirals, we’re off to have some fun. Bye-bye!" she announced with a mischievous smile, giving Thierry a meaningful glance as she left.
Thierry grinned. "Looks like I’m heading out too!"
Valeria, fond of the young woman’s boldness, smiled warmly at them. "Go on then, enjoy yourselves, kids."
With that, the three young people made their way out, leaving Zarek behind, frozen in place, staring at the admirals.
He wanted to run after them, but it was too late.
Thankfully, Cohen, sensing his unease, stepped in. "Admirals, we should go mingle with our colleagues."
The words were a lifeline, and Zarek wasted no time in following Cohen’s lead, bowing slightly to the admirals before quickly trailing after him.
Chapter 205: Smashing the Challenger
The trio wandered into the garden, their strides easy, matching the laid-back vibe of their reunion.
Zinnia, eyeing her friend with curiosity, started circling Lyra like a playful predator. Then, without warning, she reached out and gave her friend’s chest a cheeky squeeze.
"Hmm, still flat as ever," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.
Lyra looked down at herself, completely unbothered. "Well, it’s not like I can make them grow."
Body issues? Yeah, she couldn’t care less about that.
Not far off, Thierry’s face flushed bright red. "Uh, hello? I’m standing right here! Could y’all maybe turn it down a bit?"
Both girls turned to him in perfect sync, amusement glinting in their eyes. Thierry, for the umpteenth time, was reminded that these two were far from your typical girls.
"Oh yeah, speaking of trouble, Lyra," Zinnia said, slinging an arm over her friend’s shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Word’s been traveling fast. Heard all about your little escapades, even up in Snowfall."
Thierry opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp, mocking laugh echoed from behind them.
"Troublemaker? That’s an understatement! You wrecked my brother’s crew, Lyra."
Strutting toward them was a guy decked out in a sharp military uniform, backed by a gang of equally smug-looking goons. Their eyes locked on Lyra with venomous glares.
The leader strolled forward, making a big show of it, before nodding to a pudgy guy next to him.
With a flick of the chubby guy’s wrist, a shimmering "Aegis Shield" snapped into place, encasing the majority of the garden. A serious defensive superpower—definitely not something to mess with.
The carefree vibe between Thierry, Zinnia, and Lyra disappeared instantly. This wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill confrontation. These guys were packing heat—two level-sevens at least. Serious business.
The guy in charge? Eddie Dale. And just hearing that last name was enough to know they were in for a rough ride.
Eddie sneered, stepping closer to Lyra. "Don’t go whining about us ganging up on you. You’re the one causing chaos all over the place."
Zinnia’s playful demeanor vanished. "Lyra, they’re clearly here for you. You need to leave."
"Yeah, no kidding," Thierry added, already trying to send out a distress signal. His face darkened when he saw it wasn’t going through.
"Whyte boy," Eddie’s voice dripped with disdain as he stared down Zinnia and Thierry. "This doesn’t concern you two. Stay out of it."
Before they could respond, another barrier shot up around them, locking them away from the looming fight.
Zinnia and Thierry were trapped, powerless to intervene. They couldn’t risk involving anyone else either.
"Damn it! Let us out!" Zinnia roared, slamming her glowing, armored fist against the barrier, but it didn’t budge.
Lyra held up a hand to calm them. "No, stay out of it. I’ll handle this."
Eddie let out a dark chuckle. "How very heroic of you."
With a lazy wave, his crew activated their powers, energy crackling as they readied for the attack. But before they could even think about launching their assault, a dazzling light exploded within the shield, brighter than the stars overhead.
Lyra was at the center of it all, her slender fingers, painted with cold pink polish, tracing graceful, intricate designs in the air. The light scattered, flickering like wild fireflies, weaving erratically through Eddie’s crew.
What followed was chaos. Agonizing screams shattered the stillness of the night as Eddie’s gang dropped like flies.
Soldiers who had strutted in with cocky grins now squirmed and thrashed helplessly on the ground, their once-pristine uniforms caked with dirt.
In minutes, they went from proud fighters to groaning, pathetic wrecks, unrecognizable from the arrogant bunch they had been just moments earlier.
Zinnia crouched by the barrier, peeking at the defeated crew with a raised eyebrow. "Sheesh, that was... vicious."
Not a single scratch or visible wound, yet Eddie and his gang lay there, like they’d been through hell and back.
"No wonder Lyra wanted us to sit this one out," Thierry muttered, shaking his head.
Suddenly, a furious shout tore through the tense silence. "What in the world is happening here?!"
Admiral Dale stormed in from the hallway, face twisted with rage.
The once-mellow garden now buzzed with onlookers who had poured in from the nearby banquet hall, wide-eyed and whispering at the sight of Eddie sprawled on the ground.
The Admiral’s fury exploded when he spotted his son among the defeated. "Lyra! How dare you?!"
With a roar, he unleashed a massive dragon of fire, roaring through the air, aiming directly for her.
It wasn’t even close to his full power, but it would’ve been more than enough to hurt her badly—if it weren’t for the barrier, which absorbed the hit effortlessly.
It was only then that everyone truly noticed the translucent barrier encasing the garden.
With Thierry and Zinnia trapped inside and the chaotic scene laid out before them, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened—those who had come to provoke a fight were the ones who got demolished.
"Macro, you fool! Why is the barrier still up?!" Admiral Vince barked, snapping the chubby young man from his shocked stupor. Trembling, Macro fumbled to deactivate the shield.
"Hey, don’t forget us!" Zinnia shouted, landing a solid kick on the barrier.
Scrambling in a panic, Macro hurriedly dropped the shield around her and Thierry as well.
But by then, the damage was done—Frederick had arrived.
He had stepped into the garden just in time to see his nephew, Thierry, trapped in that barrier.
Frederick radiated an icy authority, his mere presence enough to hush the crowd instantly.
"Macro Vince, Lieutenant Commander," Frederick’s tone could freeze oceans, "you’d better have a very good explanation for this."
Poor Macro was trembling so violently he could barely form words.
The plan had been simple: deal with Lyra, and even if Thierry raised complaints, the backing of two Admirals would protect them from any serious fallout. But no one expected things to unravel this spectacularly—or get caught in such an obvious trap.
Zarek, standing beside the Admiral, was visibly fuming. His chest rose and fell with suppressed rage as he shot daggers at the two Admirals.
Vince, clearly sweating, forced an unconvincing smile. "This is all just a simple misunderstanding..."
Admiral Dale, not missing a beat, pointed at the wreckage and the battered crew. "All this destruction? Caused by Lyra. I was just about to question her."
The crowd fell into a stunned silence at the sheer gall of his words.
That’s when Lyra chuckled softly, locking eyes with Admiral Dale, her gaze defiant. "If you’re so keen on interrogating me, maybe we should review the security footage first. For a man of your rank and age, Admiral Dale, you sure spin some bold lies."
The crowd sucked in a collective breath. Lyra’s boldness had everyone, including Dale, momentarily speechless.
Then a burst of laughter rang out, cutting through the tension. Valeria, casually leaning against a pillar, was laughing so hard she had to clutch her side. "Ha! Well said, girl!"
She ignored Dale’s growing fury and sauntered into the garden, her eyes sweeping over the crumpled bodies on the ground. "Tsk, tsk. Look at this sad mess. The youngest one here’s gotta be at least forty-five, and they’re out here ganging up on someone half their age. Who raised you lot?"
She didn’t need to call out the two Admirals by name; every word hit like a slap across their faces.
"Valeria, you old hag! This isn’t any of your business!" Admiral Dale snarled, his face turning an ugly shade of red.
"Oh, it’s definitely my business," Valeria shot back, her arm sliding around Lyra’s shoulders. "This young lady clearly doesn’t have much in the way of support. Am I not allowed to step in and make sure things are fair?"
Ansel, lurking in the crowd, cringed inwardly. Valeria had a way of cutting straight to the bone, and this time, she was spot-on.
By this point, Benedict had already escorted King Edmund into the garden to address the fiasco.
"What on earth is happening here?!" boomed Edmund, his voice dripping with authority and barely concealed anger.
Edmund was livid. The banquet he’d hosted had devolved into a full-blown military mess, right in the heart of his palace. This wasn’t just embarrassing—it was a disgrace.
Frederick shot a look at Benedict, who stood next to Edmund, his usual sly grin in place. That old fox had timed things perfectly.
The situation was spiraling fast, and the last thing the military needed was for this to blow up in front of so many nobles and officials.
"Your Majesty, this is just a minor misunderstanding between the younger generation. We’ll sort it out after the banquet—" Frederick began.
But Edmund wasn’t having any of it. He raised a hand, silencing Frederick instantly. "Since it happened in my palace, I will deal with it. Raidor, bring up the security footage!"
And just like that, the Admirals were caught flat-footed.
Raidor, ever efficient, quickly tapped into the surveillance system using his opticomputer, projecting the footage onto a large screen for the entire crowd to see.
At first, the nobles chuckled as the video showed Zinnia’s playful chest grab and Lyra’s unbothered response.
Zarek, embarrassed, slapped a hand to his face—his sister’s antics never failed to cause a scene.
But as the footage continued, and Lyra’s true power unfolded, the atmosphere took a sharp turn.
The laughter died, replaced with stunned silence.
Even among the nobles—many of whom possessed significant powers—there was a collective intake of breath as Lyra’s overwhelming display left them speechless.
She hadn’t just defended herself; she had CRUSHED her attackers with terrifying ease.
The video left no room for interpretation. What they’d witnessed was raw power, complete domination, and it was clear that Lyra had been the one provoked.
No one could deny it now.