Chapter 268: Lyra’s Strategy

Frederick had built his legacy on being the ultimate chess master of warfare. Known for his razor-sharp caution and meticulous planning, he was the reason the Alliance had survived the chaos thus far. Nothing about his leadership was left to chance.

But as Chuck stood before him now, facing his cousin’s cool, calculating stare, he couldn’t shake that familiar knot in his gut. That gaze could unnerve the bravest of souls. Still, Chuck was a battlefield commander, and this was no time for hesitation.

"Sir," Chuck began, choosing his words with care. "I’d like to propose a tweak to our formation. If we spread the defensive line during the march, it’ll give us the space to hit the enemy with our full force."

Frederick’s face was unreadable, the silence heavy.

Before Chuck could press further, another voice cut through. "Sir," said Cohen, "I need to speak."

Frederick gave a measured nod. "Go ahead, Captain."

Cohen inhaled deeply, his voice calm but with a weight that demanded attention. "Even if we manage to pull off the rescue of Admiral Dale, we’re still stuck in a bad spot." He let that sink in before continuing. "The enemy’s retreat is a ruse. They’re scared of Ensign Lyra picking off their officers, but they’re using the downtime to rally reinforcements—more Peculiars, stronger ones. When they’re ready, they’ll hit us with everything they’ve got."

His words sent a chill through the room, but Cohen wasn’t done. "If we wait for that moment, we lose. Plain and simple. Our only shot is to go on the offensive now, while they’re still vulnerable."

Frederick’s stoic face didn’t so much as twitch, but his silence was an invitation for Cohen to explain further.

"The Empire and Stellar Devourers have formed an alliance. Their tech and weapons were much better than ours now, and their advance has been brutal. Right now, their vice-admiral alone can rival our Legion Glory. Meanwhile, they’ve got six admirals and ten Supremes. And we?" Cohen’s voice hardened. "We’ve got one Legion Glory and one Lyra. We can’t win this the old-fashioned way."

He took a step forward, his tone daring anyone to argue. "We need bold moves. They’re biding their time to launch a massive attack on Wyrmtrace, but we’ve got a chance—just one—to strike first. If we coordinate with Admiral Dale and hit them from both sides, we could tip the scales."

It was a bold proposition, the kind that had likely crossed others’ minds but died there, smothered by caution. Yet Cohen had said it out loud, leaving no room for doubt: this was a gamble, and they were already running out of safe bets.

Frederick’s gaze sharpened as he addressed his son. "Captain Whyte."

"Yes, sir." Cohen’s voice didn’t waver.

"You’ve thought this through?"

"I have, sir."

Frederick nodded once, his voice as solid as his reputation. "Then draft me a detailed plan in the next ten minutes. Minimize risks. And make sure Captain Rymes locks down the line and monitors enemy activity."

It was a measured compromise—bold enough to take a risk, careful enough to keep safeguards in place. Zarek, standing nearby, saluted crisply, silently acknowledging his new orders.

As Frederick ended the communication feed, the war room exploded into motion. Officers huddled, working through every aspect of the operation. Yet one major hurdle loomed: how to move their forces without setting off enemy alarms.

"Maybe optical camouflage could work?" an officer suggested.

"No," another cut in. "Their sensors would shred right through it. It could even tip them off."

The problem was clear: sneaking a large force past the enemy unnoticed was like trying to hide a flare in the middle of the night.

Cohen turned to Lyra.

"Ensign Lyra," he said, his voice steady, "any ideas?"

The room stilled, all eyes locking onto her. Lyra didn’t flinch.

"I do," she replied, her tone calm but with a quiet confidence that drew everyone closer.

Her plan was simple yet brilliant. "The enemy is watching our ships, not our people. So, we leave the main ship behind as a decoy and send out two auxiliary ships instead."

For a beat, no one spoke. Then—

"... That’s genius," Chuck blurted out, his tone filled with renewed energy.

Lyra’s idea turned the enemy’s assumptions against them. By keeping the main warship stationed as a distraction, the enemy’s attention would stay locked on it.

Meanwhile, the auxiliary ships, small and seemingly unimportant, would slip by under the guise of routine supply runs.

The catch? Those auxiliary ships were cramped, with just enough room for personnel, mechas, and fighter jets—no luxuries, no extra supplies. It was a tight squeeze, but a sacrifice they could handle.

"Alright, it’s settled!" Chuck declared, his voice brimming with determination.

The pieces were in place. Now all that was left was to execute—and to see if this gamble would pay off or bring everything crashing down.

The plan was finalized, and no time was wasted.

Soldiers packed tightly into the auxiliary ships, leaving no space unused. Even the corridors were crammed with personnel, their expressions resolute despite the discomfort.

Before boarding, Lyra took a moment to leave a subtle but unmistakable trace of her superpower on the medical ship, crafting the illusion that she hadn’t left at all.

"This should make them hesitate," she remarked quietly.

Cohen couldn’t hide his astonishment. They were about to travel an immense distance—tens of thousands of miles—and yet Lyra’s psychokinesis would remain active here, undetected. Just how powerful was she?

With everything in place, the two auxiliary ships departed, leaving the main ship behind.

Zarek, tasked with holding the line, initially felt a pang of disappointment. But as the auxiliary ships disappeared into the void, he became acutely aware of the vast emptiness around him.

The main ship, along with its accompanying smaller vessels, stood eerily quiet. They were effectively a bluff—a toothless wolf baring its fangs.

Even the patrols outside the battle line had been left in place to avoid raising suspicion, but inside, the ships were completely deserted.

It felt as though they were holding a broken weapon against an encroaching predator, hoping the enemy wouldn’t call their bluff.

Zarek’s nerves were stretched thin. He avoided monitoring enemy movements too closely, fearing even the slightest misstep might reveal their ploy.

An hour crawled by before scouts reported back: the enemy had made no moves.

Zarek exhaled deeply, tension momentarily easing from his shoulders. "Keep scouting," he ordered, his resolve hardened.

Thus began his grueling vigil, alternating between hope and dread as the hours dragged on.

By the fifth hour, Zarek was nearly at his limit when he spotted the familiar silhouette of Legion Glory’s warships on the horizon. Relief surged through him so powerfully that he almost wept.

*****

Meanwhile, Lyra and her team had already arrived at the outer edges of Legion of the Apollo’s battlefield. Their timing was impeccable, and the moment Admiral Dale received the news of their arrival, he slammed his hand on the table with triumphant force.

"Finally! Begin the counterattack at once!"

For too long, he had been forced into a defensive stance, and now his chance for retaliation was here. He wasted no time in rallying his forces, striking the enemy before they could react.

The momentum shifted rapidly. As the Alliance forces closed in, the Empire’s troops found themselves ensnared in a deadly pincer.

Caught off-guard, the Stellar Devourer commander attempted a desperate escape. Activating an interdimensional portal, he surged forward, only to crash headlong into a shimmering green energy shield. His eyes widened in shock.

The faint hum of a light mecha filled the air. It moved with deadly precision, closing the distance between them.

The guy paled. "Isn’t she supposed to be on Wyrmtrace?!"

The realization struck too late. In the next instant, his world ended.

*****

The battle left Legion of the Apollo’s forces battered but victorious. Despite suffering heavy losses, they quickly rallied under Chuck’s people, turning the tables on their enemies.

Together, they pushed back the Empire’s forces, driving them into a chaotic retreat.

News of the defeat reached Barrett, and his fury was immediate. He had been preparing to launch a decisive assault on Wyrmtrace when the reports arrived.

"Legion Glory... has arrived at the battlefield," the scout announced.

Barret’s face twisted with rage, his plans unraveling in real time. Overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation, he roared, clutched his chest—and fainted.

By the time the Empire fully grasped what had happened, their once-formidable offensive had crumbled into disarray.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by Aunomay Read