Chapter 40: 70 Hours War Part 7

Area 48 Secret Base, Ancient Superweapons Analysis and Operations Department, Ministry of Countermeasures Against the Sorcerous Empire, Vaneta Province, Holy Mirishial Empire

The mountains of the Vaneta Province concealed secrets so vast and incomprehensible that only a select few were privileged to witness. Buried deep within this cold, isolated terrain was a complex known as Area 48, a facility under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Countermeasures Against the Sorcerous Empire. Though the region appeared desolate to the outside world, beneath these mountains lay a labyrinthine structure housing some of the most potent weapons ever devised by magical civilization—an armory filled with destructive wonders whose power could easily tilt the balance of power in Novus Orbis.

The most awe-inspiring among these was the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, a superweapon whose colossal form dwarfed even the imagination of those who had only heard rumors of its existence. From the ground, the sheer magnitude of the Pal Chimera was almost incomprehensible, as its structure seemed to defy all natural laws. Encased in a circular wall over 2,600 meters in diameter, the station hovered several meters above the ground. To the untrained eye, it appeared to float serenely, as if held by an unseen force. But this was not merely a wall, nor was it floating—what stood before the few privileged enough to lay eyes upon it was nothing short of the pinnacle of magical engineering.

At the center of the circular wall lay a massive cylindrical structure, from which three immense 'arms' extended outwards, connecting the core to the outer ring. Seen from the sky, the battle station resembled a symbol of untold power—like a futuristic emblem, a colossal three-pointed star encased in a protective ring, ready to be unleashed upon the world. The very sight of it evoked awe and fear in equal measure. Towering above all else, atop the circular central structure was the bridge, perched like a crown upon a king, from where the battle station would be commanded.

The Pal Chimera was no ordinary weapon—it was a flying fortress, an orbital battleship capable of soaring into the heavens, crossing the boundaries of the atmosphere, and laying waste to any foe that dared challenge its might. The bridge, a gleaming platform bristling with magical instruments and controls, stood ready to command this behemoth. Even from a distance, the shimmering lights of the station's powerful wards and energy fields could be seen pulsating in the dim light of the mountain complex.

Director Hirkane, the man in charge of overseeing the operations of the Pal Chimera and the numerous other superweapons stored within Area 48, stood on a high balcony that overlooked the mountain hangar. He gazed silently as the monstrous structure began to awaken. For months, the Pal Chimera had remained dormant, resting within the mountains, its systems quietly humming as if it were in deep slumber. But now, under direct imperial orders, it was time for the superweapon to reveal its true purpose.

"Commence activation sequence," Hirkane ordered, his voice calm but edged with anticipation.

At his command, the hangar's massive gates began to grind open. The sound was deafening, a metallic roar that echoed through the caverns of the mountain as ancient doors, designed to withstand any attack, parted to reveal the Pal Chimera in its entirety. Lights flickered on along the length of the station, illuminating the details of its construction. Enormous rune-etched panels glowed with arcane power, as magical energy coursed through the ship's veins like blood through a living being.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the battle station began to rise. Its engines, powered by arcane reactors far beyond anything the modern world had seen, emitted a low growl—a sound like thunder held in check, ready to erupt at a moment's notice. Beneath the hovering superweapon, the ground seemed to shimmer and distort as if the very air around it was warping under the immense gravitational forces being exerted.

A vibration passed through the ground, shaking the stone beneath Hirkane's feet as the Pal Chimera, like a leviathan awakening from its sleep, began to emerge from its resting place. Despite its colossal size, it moved with a strange, otherworldly grace, as if it were not bound by the laws of gravity or physics. The thick, black clouds above parted as the station ascended higher, until its full form was visible against the sky.

Hirkane clenched his hands behind his back as he watched the deployment with bated breath. Even for a man accustomed to the spectacle of war machines and superweapons, the sight of the Pal Chimera moving under its own power was an awe-inspiring vision. As the massive circular structure finally cleared the hangar and floated freely in the sky, the arcane runes along its hull flared, bathing the mountain in a pale blue glow.

"Prepare for high-altitude ascent," Hirkane muttered to himself, his eyes following the battle station as it continued to rise into the heavens. From this point on, it was no longer bound to the ground—it was ascending toward its true purpose, the skies above, where it would rule with absolute power.

Beijing Aerospace Flight Control Center

Lin Kunming, a seasoned operator, sat before his terminal, monitoring satellite images as he had done hundreds of times before. Novus Orbis was a far larger planet than Earth, and the sheer scale of it meant that China's limited number of reconnaissance satellites had to work tirelessly to gather and analyze any intelligence from hostile nations. Hours had passed since the latest batch of images had come in, and Lin was in the middle of his routine scans when something caught his eye.

His eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on a series of pictures taken over the Vaneta region in the Holy Milishial Empire. The images appeared normal at first—just mountainous terrain and a few military installations. But then, he noticed something strange.

At the center of the image was an object—something large, artificial, and unmistakably out of place.

"N-No fucking way!" Lin exclaimed, his voice shaking with disbelief as he leaned closer to the monitor. "Hey! Take a look at this!"

His colleague, Xu Shiyou, looked up from his own workstation, clearly annoyed by the outburst. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

Lin didn't answer immediately. Instead, he brought up a comparison of images taken 20 seconds apart. The first image showed a massive disc-shaped object emerging from the mountain range—its scale was unbelievable, far larger than any military installation they had previously identified. The second image showed the object completely out of the mountain, floating several meters above the ground. And the third image… The third image showed the colossal object rising into the sky, leaving the base far behind as it ascended toward the atmosphere.

Xu's eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing.

"What… the hell am I looking at?"

Lin zoomed in further, running a series of diagnostic checks on the satellite's integrity. "I thought it was a mistake… or some kind of optical illusion… but look at the size of this thing! It's like a city… a floating city."

Xu leaned in closer, his face pale. "This… this is impossible. How can something that big fly?"

Lin swallowed hard, his mind racing. "It's not just flying. It's heading toward China."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. This was no ordinary military base, no mere installation. What they were seeing was a superweapon, the likes of which no modern technology on Earth could explain or replicate. And now, it was on a direct course toward their homeland.

"We need to inform the Central Military Commission. Now."

Lin didn't waste another second. He slammed the emergency communication button, opening a direct line to the highest levels of military command. Xu continued to stare at the screen in stunned silence as the images of the Pal Chimera continued to update, showing the superweapon gaining altitude with terrifying speed. Every second that passed, it climbed higher and higher, edging ever closer to the atmosphere.

Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station - HMES Nova Aurora

The Nova Aurora was an overwhelming spectacle of engineering and magic, unlike anything the world had ever seen. Its colossal 2600-meter diameter disc hovered above the ground, quietly defying gravity as it ascended from the mountain base below. The ascent was slow and methodical, each movement of the enormous station deliberate, guided by unseen forces that combined the arcane and the mechanical in perfect harmony. The mountain, once thought immovable and eternal, now seemed insignificant as the Pal Chimera cast its vast shadow over the landscape, its polished metal skin gleaming in the fading afternoon light.

The engines, massive hovercraft-like thrusters that powered the station, barely emitted a sound, producing only a low, rhythmic hum as they lifted the behemoth higher into the sky. The silence was unnerving, a stark contrast to the immense power required to move such a colossal structure. It was as though the Pal Chimera moved with the will of a god—an ancient celestial being reborn, indifferent to the world beneath it.

Inside the ship, however, the scene was a different story altogether. While the outside view was one of divine majesty, the interior was filled with the quiet monotony of military routine. The sparse crew went about their tasks with a kind of detached professionalism, their movements precise and deliberate as they prepared the station for its ascent into high orbit. The bridge, a starkly elegant chamber of sleek lines and shimmering magical interfaces, was the nerve center of the Pal Chimera, and it was there that the crew of elves operated in near silence.

Unlike most warships of such scale, the Pal Chimera required only a minimal crew to function. The elves aboard the station, descendants of ancient noble lines, prided themselves on their ability to command this marvel of magical technology with an air of regal efficiency. They wore robes embroidered with gold and silver runes, luxurious garments that would have been more appropriate at a royal court than aboard a warship. But to these elves, this was not merely a vessel of war—it was a symbol of their civilization's mastery over both the arcane and the technological.

Each crew member wore a pristine white mask, an emblem of their sacred duty as custodians of the Pal Chimera. These masks, smooth and featureless, hid their expressions from view, reinforcing the image of stoic, impassive soldiers carrying out their duties with perfect discipline. But beneath those masks, the elves were still very much alive—living beings with thoughts, emotions, and, above all, the very human need to combat the monotony of life aboard a war machine.

At the helm of the station stood Duke Valandor Illisthar, the commanding officer of the Pal Chimera. He was tall and regal, his every movement exuding authority and grace. His ornate robe shimmered with the light of the magical interfaces around him, the arcane symbols woven into the fabric glowing faintly as if they held some latent power. His mask, unlike the others, was adorned with intricate designs that denoted his rank, the captain of the station and the final authority aboard the vessel.

Beside him stood his second-in-command, Marquis Calithor Veyraen. Though slightly shorter and less imposing than the Duke, Calithor's presence was no less commanding. His own mask, decorated with sapphire gemstones, marked him as a figure of significant importance. Together, they oversaw the ascent, their eyes—hidden behind their masks—focused on the various readouts displayed on the ethereal screens that floated before them.

"Prepare for phase one of ascent," Duke Illisthar commanded, his voice calm and measured. The crew responded in unison, their movements synchronized as they activated the next phase of the ship's climb.

The station's engines shifted in tone, the hum deepening as the Pal Chimera began to accelerate. Outside, the once imposing mountains of Vaneta shrunk, their jagged peaks becoming mere ridges as the station rose higher and higher. From this altitude, the world below began to blur into a patchwork of greens and browns, with the occasional glint of rivers or lakes reflecting the dying light of the sun.

Yet, for all the grandeur of the Pal Chimera's ascent, it wasn't the station's size or power that was most unnerving. It was the homunculi.

These artificial beings, crafted from the most advanced arcane sciences, were the very heart of the Pal Chimera. Numbering 10,000 in total, they were designed to maintain the ship's systems, operate its functions, and perform every menial task that would have otherwise required a crew of thousands. But unlike the homunculi employed by other elven vessels—creatures that were functional, efficient, and largely formless—the homunculi aboard the Pal Chimera were anything but ordinary.

Isolation, as it often does, had taken its toll on the elven crew over the centuries. Cut off from the world below, stationed in the remote mountain stronghold where the Pal Chimera had been birthed, boredom had eroded their once pristine professionalism. The long years of solitude had fostered a strange, almost grotesque relationship with their creations. The elves, ever the masters of magic and craftsmanship, had begun to mold their homunculi into forms that satisfied not just their practical needs, but their desires as well.

The result was a ship filled with homunculi that resembled twisted, hypersexualized caricatures of women. Each one was a mockery of femininity, crafted with exaggerated proportions that bordered on the absurd. Their bodies were sculpted to please the eye, though there was an eerie, unnatural quality to them—an over-exaggeration of curves and contours that was unsettling. Dressed in scandalous outfits, they floated through the corridors of the ship, their glassy, vacant eyes reflecting nothing as they performed their tasks with mechanical precision.

Some homunculi were draped in silken robes that clung to their bodies, their skin glowing with an otherworldly, almost bioluminescent light. These figures glided through the halls as though they were dancers on a stage, their movements graceful and fluid, though their faces remained expressionless. Others wore tight leather garments that accentuated their exaggerated forms, their features twisted into permanent, seductive smiles. Chains of gold and silver adorned their necks, wrists, and ankles, shimmering in the dim light of the ship's corridors. And still others were adorned with exotic jewelry, their bodies wrapped in translucent veils that left little to the imagination. Each homunculus seemed to serve not only a function but also a dark, voyeuristic purpose.

They were everywhere.

In the hallways, homunculi floated silently by, their limbs moving with eerie grace as they operated control systems, cleaned surfaces, or simply stood by, awaiting their next command. Their movements were synchronized, perfect in their precision, yet utterly detached from any sense of personality or individuality. It was as if the ship itself had come alive, its functions carried out by an army of bizarre, sexualized automatons. The elves, ever the picture of stoic professionalism, barely seemed to notice their presence. To them, the homunculi were simply tools—extensions of the ship, nothing more. And yet, the absurdity of the situation was inescapable.

In the bridge, the dichotomy between the elven officers and their homunculi servants was even more pronounced. The elves, dressed in their ceremonial robes and white, featureless masks, moved with the grace and poise of seasoned officers. Their masks, which hid their expressions from view, gave them an air of detached authority. The bridge itself was an impressive display of magical and technological prowess, with floating rune-etched panels, shimmering holographic displays, and control systems that seemed to respond to the slightest touch.

At the weapons station, a particularly voluptuous homunculus stood, her red hair cascading down her back as she manipulated the ship's vast magical energy systems with the grace of a dancer. Her body, barely covered by the tight leather outfit she wore, shimmered in the dim light of the command chamber. Her fingers, delicate and precise, glided over the controls with practiced ease, as though she were performing some sort of ritualistic dance. The elves nearby paid her no mind, their attention focused solely on the task at hand. To them, she was nothing more than a tool, a means to an end.

Yet there was an unspoken tension in the air. The elves' professionalism, though admirable, was not without cracks. Boredom had a way of creeping in, even in the most disciplined minds, and life aboard the Pal Chimera was often unbearably dull. For all its power and grandeur, for all its potential to shape the fate of Novus Orbis, the day-to-day routine aboard the station was often monotonous. And while the elves carried out their duties with precision, there were moments—brief, fleeting moments—when their eyes would linger just a bit too long on one of the homunculi as she floated by.

The elves, of course, would never openly acknowledge their strange relationship with their creations. To do so would be to admit that they were no longer the perfect, detached beings they had always prided themselves on being. But beneath their masks, behind closed doors, there were whispers. Quiet conversations, exchanged in the dark corners of the ship, where officers would joke about the absurdity of their situation. They would laugh at the ridiculousness of the homunculi's outfits, at the way they moved with such exaggerated grace, and at the thought that these artificial women were the true heart of the ship.

But the laughter was always brief, always hushed. There was an unspoken understanding aboard the Pal Chimera that while the homunculi were a product of boredom, they were also a reflection of something darker—a sign that the isolation of their post had begun to take its toll on the crew's minds.

As the Pal Chimera continued its ascent, the elves remained focused on their tasks. Outside, the ship surged higher, breaking through the last remnants of the atmosphere and into the cold, dark void of space. The world below—Novus Orbis—became a distant memory, its sprawling continents and vast oceans shrinking into a mosaic of blues and greens, barely visible from the station's new vantage point.

"Altitude at 550,000 meters," Marquis Calithor Veyraen reported, his voice calm and reverent. "Engaging high-orbit thrusters."

Duke Valandor Illisthar nodded, his gaze fixed on the control display before him. The ship surged upward once more, its engines roaring to life as it broke free from the planet's grasp. The dull hum of the thrusters reverberated through the ship, a constant reminder of the immense power at the elves' command.

"Status report," Illisthar commanded.

"Orbital insertion in T-minus fifteen minutes," responded Lieutenant Eldarin, the navigation officer. His fingers danced over the floating rune-etched panels in front of him, adjusting the ship's trajectory with effortless precision. Eldarin, like all the officers aboard the Pal Chimera, wore a pristine white mask that concealed his face, his voice carrying the same detached professionalism that had come to define the crew.

Beside him, one of the homunculi stood, her form a mockery of elegance. She was draped in a gossamer-thin robe that barely clung to her exaggerated frame, her body shimmering with an unnatural glow. Her hands glided over the control panel, mimicking Eldarin's every movement, though her expression remained blank. Her glassy eyes stared straight ahead, reflecting none of the intelligence that her tasks required.

"Maintaining speed and altitude vectors. No significant fluctuations detected in the arcane drive," Eldarin continued, his voice steady. He didn't spare the homunculus a glance, though her presence beside him was impossible to ignore. Her body, posed in a way that seemed designed to catch the eye, shifted slightly as she bent over the console, her nearly transparent outfit rippling with the motion.

Captain Illisthar said nothing, his focus unwavering. He had long since grown used to the strange sights aboard his station. The bizarre nature of the homunculi no longer fazed him; they were part of the ship, just as much as the engines or the shields. What mattered now was the mission. Novus Orbis lay below them, a world ripe for conquest, and the Pal Chimera was the key to the Holy Milishial Empire's supremacy.

"Shield integrity?" Illisthar asked, his voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the bridge.

"Shields holding at ninety-five percent, Captain," responded Sergeant Thelen, seated at the station to Illisthar's right. A homunculus stood behind him, her form draped in an exaggerated version of an elven knight's armor. The armor, a mix of polished steel and tight leather, served no practical purpose—it was a twisted parody of the true armor worn by the elven military. Her helmet sat at a jaunty angle, revealing an immaculately designed face, her lips twisted into a mock smile.

"The arcane barriers will stabilize once we enter stable orbit," Thelen continued, utterly unfazed by the Homunculus's hand.

"Good," Illisthar said. His voice betrayed no emotion, though his eyes briefly flickered over the knight-like figure in amusement before he returned to the ship's trajectory display.

At last, the Pal Chimera reached its destination. High above the planet, it settled into its orbital path, its massive form casting a long, dark shadow over the world below. The engines powered down, the vibrations ceased, and an eerie silence fell over the ship.

"We have reached designated orbit, my lord," Veyraen announced softly.

The vessel leveled off as it reached its designated altitude, 30,000 kilometers above the surface. From here, it could strike at any target on the planet with unparalleled precision. Its weapons systems, designed to devastate fleets and entire armies, lay dormant for now, but their power was palpable. The Pal Chimera was not just a weapon—it was a statement of the Holy Mirishial Empire's dominance, a symbol of their mastery over magic and technology. Below, the planet spun slowly in its eternal dance, a breathtaking view that would have inspired awe in lesser beings. From this altitude, the curvature of the world was stark and unmistakable, a sphere wrapped in swirling clouds and glistening oceans. The greens of vast forests, the browns of deserts, and the whites of snow-capped mountains blended together in a patchwork of life. The sun, now barely a sliver over the horizon, cast a golden halo over the edge of the planet, its rays shimmering across the surface of the atmosphere. Day was fading into night, and the twilight zones stretched across the continents in soft shades of violet and blue.

"Weapon systems?"

"Weapons are online and fully operational. Energy reserves at 98 percent. Shields holding at 100 percent. We are ready to engage at your command."

Captain Illisthar nodded, though the gesture was almost imperceptible beneath the mask. His gaze flicked briefly to the homunculus at the weapons console, her red hair catching the dim light of the bridge. For a moment, he considered how absurd it all was—this grotesque parody of beauty operating one of the most advanced weapon systems ever created by the elven empire.

But, like Eldarin, he quickly dismissed the thought. There were more important matters at hand.

"Prepare Zeus Cannon systems," he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative. "Ready to fire on my signal."

"May the gods have mercy on this world," murmured one of the masked elves, a sentiment shared by all in that moment.

And so, the Pal Chimera, the ultimate symbol of elven power and hubris, floated silently above the world, its vast arsenal of arcane and technological weaponry ready to unleash devastation upon any who dared to challenge the supremacy of the elven race. This was no mere display of power; it was a proclamation of their dominance, a reminder to all that the elven race would not be trifled with.

Imperial Summer Palace, Sankt Milishial, Holy Milishial Empire

Beneath the towering spires of the Imperial Palace, where banners of blue and gold fluttered in the wind, the air was thick with tension. The grand hall, adorned with murals depicting centuries of Milishial's rule and glory, was packed with courtiers, generals, and emissaries from across Novus Orbis. Yet all eyes were on the center of the room, where the imposing figure of Emperor Milishial VIII prepared to speak.

This was no ordinary day. This was not the usual pomp and ceremony that so often filled these halls. No, today, the world would hear the Emperor's fury—unleashed not only against those who dared challenge the Holy Milishial Empire, but as a warning to any who might even contemplate doing so in the future.

The Emperor, a figure of almost mythical presence, stood tall behind a podium made of dark, polished wood inlaid with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His robes were resplendent, shimmering with gold and azure—the colors of the Empire—while his crown, gleaming with jewels, sat heavily on his brow. Behind him, a vast tapestry depicted the Empire's triumph over a long-forgotten foe, a reminder of the legacy he bore on his shoulders.

The world watched. From the homes of the common folk of Milishial, to the war rooms of rival nations, to the bustling streets of distant cities, all of Novus Orbis was glued to their magical viewing orbs, anticipating the Emperor's words. The very air seemed to buzz with anticipation, the quiet before the storm.

"Citizens of the Empire," Emperor Milishial began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steely resolve. "People of Novus Orbis. Today, I speak to you not as a ruler, but as a guardian—your guardian. For millennia, the Holy Milishial Empire has stood at the vanguard of this world's safety and stability. Not out of greed, not out of lust for power, but because we must. It is our sacred duty, bestowed upon us by the very gods, to safeguard this realm from chaos and destruction."

His words echoed through the hall, each syllable resonating with purpose. The cameras zoomed in, transmitting his solemn expression to every corner of the world.

"We have fought countless battles to maintain the peace of this world. We have bled and wept, but we have never faltered in our mission to protect all peoples—whether they call themselves our friends or our enemies. For even those who oppose us benefit from the order we impose."

He paused for a moment, letting his words settle. The tension in the room thickened, and across Novus Orbis, hearts raced in anticipation.

"And then, two years ago," the Emperor continued, his voice now edged with a quiet fury, "a new nation was cast into our world. China, a land from another realm, disoriented and lost, found itself in Novus Orbis. Did we turn our backs on them? Did we exploit their vulnerability? No. We extended our hand in friendship. We offered them knowledge, resources, and a place in this world."

His tone darkened, his eyes narrowing as though the weight of betrayal had settled deep within him.

"But how did they repay us? With treachery. With arrogance. With violence."

The hall was utterly silent, the weight of the Emperor's words pressing down on all who were present. The atmosphere was electric, and outside the palace, even the streets of Sankt Milishial seemed to hold their breath.

"In the South Irnetia Sea, the Holy Milishial Empire sent a task force to ensure peace. We sought no conflict; we only desired to maintain order in a region fraught with instability. But what did China do? They launched an unprovoked, cowardly attack on our fleet. They fired the first shot."

The Emperor's fist clenched as he spoke, his knuckles white against the polished wood of the podium.

"Our ships, crewed by brave men and women of the Empire, were destroyed. Good soldiers—fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters—were sent to a watery grave by this treacherous act. An act of war against the very guardians of Novus Orbis."

The screens around the world flickered to images of the aftermath. Wreckage drifting in the blue waters of the South Irnetia Sea, flames still licking the ruined hulls of once-mighty Milishial warships. In homes and taverns across the Empire, tears filled the eyes of the people, while others clenched their fists in anger.

"We gave them everything," Emperor Milishial thundered, his voice rising with righteous indignation. "And they spat in our face! They fired upon the very ships that protected the seas they traveled. They dared to defy the Holy Milishial Empire, thinking us weak. They believed we would do nothing. That we would stand idly by and let their barbarism go unanswered."

The Emperor's voice lowered, cold and menacing. "They were wrong."

He gestured to the large screen behind him, which flickered to life. Displayed on it was the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station, a colossal, disc-shaped structure hovering above the clouds. Its massive frame cast a shadow over the land, dwarfing the mountains and forests below. The three arms that connected its central core to its outer ring glowed with latent energy, humming with the power of a thousand spells.

"This," the Emperor said, turning slightly to face the image, "is the Pal Chimera Orbital Battle Station HMES Nova Aurora. The pinnacle of magical and technological achievement. A vessel of unimaginable power, capable of erasing entire fleets from the seas. It was designed not for conquest, but for protection. But today, it will be used to bring justice to those who defied the order of this world."

He turned back to the audience, his eyes burning with intensity. "We do not seek to destroy China. Their people are not our enemies. But their leaders—the ones who ordered this vile attack, the ones who plotted in shadow—they must be punished. And punished they will be."

The screen shifted to images of China's navy— amphibious helicopter assault ships, aircraft carriers, and destroyers patrolling the seas. Emperor Milishial's voice was calm but unyielding. "The entire People's Liberation Army Navy will be sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Not a single vessel will remain afloat. Their fleets will be reduced to rubble, their ships nothing but twisted wreckage lying at the bottom of the sea. This is not vengeance. This is justice."

The images on the screen showed the Pal Chimera preparing for deployment. Its engines roared to life, and with a low, almost eerie hum, it began to rise higher into the sky, ready to carry out its mission.

"The Pal Chimera will lead the charge," the Emperor continued, his voice filled with authority. "It will strike from the heavens, obliterating their fleets before they can even raise their weapons. And when the seas are clear of their navy, China will know the consequences of defying the Holy Milishial Empire."

He stepped forward, leaning over the podium slightly, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Let this be a lesson to all. We are not conquerors, but we are the guardians of this world. And those who challenge us, those who disrupt the peace we have fought so long to preserve, will face the full might of our Empire."

The hall was silent, the weight of his words settling heavily on all who listened. The world beyond the palace walls waited, transfixed by the Emperor's message.

"To the leaders of China," Emperor Milishial said, his tone icy and filled with barely restrained fury, "you had a chance. You were welcomed into this world with open arms, offered a place of honor among the nations of Novus Orbis. But you squandered that chance. You have chosen the path of war, and now you will face the consequences."

The screen behind him shifted again, showing images of the Chinese navy's movements. Vessels were on high alert, their crews scrambling in preparation for an attack they knew was coming but could do nothing to stop.

"We could wipe your cities from the map," the Emperor said, his voice steady. "We could turn your land into nothing but ash and ruin. But we will not. We are not barbarians. We are not conquerors. We seek only to restore the peace you have shattered."

He stood tall once more, his eyes filled with an almost divine fury. "But know this: your navy will be destroyed. Your fleets will be sunk. And when the last of your ships lies at the bottom of the ocean, you will have no choice but to beg for the peace we once offered freely."

The images of the Chinese navy faded, replaced by the emblem of the Holy Milishial Empire—a radiant star surrounded by a circle of arcane symbols.

"To the rest of the world," the Emperor said, his tone softening but still carrying the weight of command, "hear me well. The Holy Milishial Empire stands as the guardian of this world. We do not seek war, but we will defend this world against any threat, from any corner. Let China's fate serve as a warning to all. We do not tolerate treachery. We do not tolerate chaos."

The Emperor's eyes gleamed as he spoke his final words. "For the peace and stability of Novus Orbis, for the honor of our fallen sailors, and for the future we must protect—let justice be done."

As the speech concluded, the image of the Pal Chimera loomed large on screens across the world. The battle station ascended into the clouds, its engines humming with the promise of retribution.

In the grand hall of the Imperial Palace, the courtiers and generals stood in silence, absorbing the Emperor's decree. The storm was coming, and China—along with the rest of Novus Orbis—would soon feel the wrath of the Holy Milishial Empire.