Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 129: Admiral Whyte

Chapter 129: Admiral Whyte

Lyra zipped through the main street on her hoverboard, her school uniform catching the wind.

She wasn’t just out for a ride though—four level-seven fighters and one level-eight were hot on her trail. Escape? Not likely. Unless, of course, she could stir up enough chaos.

Wind whipped past as she weaved through the traffic, dodging Levs and buses. Wherever she flew, cars swerved, crashed, and exploded in her wake.

"What the—!" one driver yelled. He stumbled out of his wrecked vehicle, only to dive for cover as an ice spike shot past him.

Lyra quickly threw up a light shield, but it wasn’t enough. She was slammed into the side of an office building, glass shattering around her as the people inside screamed.

The sharp pain in her back was nothing compared to the panic rising in her chest.

She couldn’t stop. Pushing herself forward, she sprinted through the building, Schedar armor covering her completely now.

With a twist, she shot into the sky, but her path was already blocked.

The level-eight, a Peculiar with Aerokinesis, was waiting for her. With a flick of his wrist, two tornadoes crashed into her, slamming her back to the ground and snapping the sky rail above.

"Ugh! Cough, cough!" Lyra struggled to her feet, but the Peculiar wasn’t done. More whirlwinds tore through the streets, shattering glass all around her.

Panic gripped Lyra, but she forced herself to fling out a light ribbon, pulling herself out of range just in time.

She landed hard, but there was no break. The level-sevens surrounded her in seconds, cold and emotionless, ready to finish her off.

Wiping blood from her mouth, Lyra steadied herself.

If they thought she’d go down easily, they were dead wrong.

Her weapon split into countless sharp blades. A surge of psychokinesis followed, crashing down like a storm.

The fighters froze for just two seconds—enough time for the blades to slice through them. They dropped like puppets with cut strings.

She still had some fight left in her.

The level-eight barely glanced at his fallen team, laser-focused on her. As Lyra darted back into the street, a passing Lev blindsided her, sending her flying.

’She dead?’ Excitement flashed across the level-eight’s face as he moved in to finish her, but before he could, an invisible force slammed him to the ground.

’Gravity?’ He couldn’t move a muscle!

A black Lev rolled up, and out stepped a middle-aged man in casual clothes. But his presence made the whole street freeze with fear.

"I leave Elden Prime for less than two months, and now we’ve got military students being hunted in broad daylight?" The man’s voice was cold, and the fighters quaked at his words.

Just then, the security patrol showed up—way too late. They froze when they saw the man. Faces pale, they saluted, their voices shaking.

"Sir...no, Admiral Whyte!"

Frederick Whyte’s frown deepened, making the officers shrink in terror. This was bad.

"Who’s in charge here?" Frederick asked, scanning the trembling officers. "Have him in my office by tomorrow. Clean this mess up, and then head to the military tribunal. Turn yourselves in."

"Turn yourselves in." Those words crushed them. They knew they were done. Maybe slacking off had been the norm, but today, of all days, they had to run into the Admiral himself.

As for Lyra, she was whisked away to a hospital, placed in a secure ward under the admiral’s watch. No visitors were allowed without his permission.

When the assassins were captured, Ansel already knew the details. He was watching the city’s surveillance footage and saw Lyra calmly slipping away from the killers.

With a deep sigh, he muttered, "If only she didn’t have Calvin blood in her veins."

Even without her powerful superhuman abilities, and burdened by the Soul Spike, she had survived. She was tough, almost too tough for his comfort.

Her survival gnawed at Ansel, making his rest uneasy.

’Why does she have to keep defying the odds?’

Erin rushed downstairs, her voice tinged with urgency. "Grandpa, what do we do now?"

Although the authorities had quickly hushed the incident before it spread online, they both knew the military would eventually trace things back.

"Erin, how many times have I told you? Never leave a trace," Ansel responded, eyes glinting with cunning. He already knew those assassins wouldn’t survive long enough to be questioned.

Lyra’s good fortune was the only reason she was still breathing. With the Admiral in charge of Planet Nagano, Ansel had to be cautious. He couldn’t afford any reckless moves—not when Lyra was now under Frederick’s protection.

As he stroked the ring on his finger, Ansel’s mind worked over the possibilities. "No need to rush. There will be other opportunities." Yet, he couldn’t shake the suspicion. ’Is Frederick’s involvement just luck? Or something more deliberate?’

...

Meanwhile, Lyra hadn’t planned on things turning out this way. Her strategy had been simple—create enough chaos for the patrol guards to get involved.

If they hadn’t shown up, she was ready to storm the nearest government building herself. She didn’t expect to end up in Frederick’s protection.

"You’re awake? I’m sorry for what happened," said Frederick as he entered her room.

Lyra hadn’t expected the visit. Despite his legendary reputation for being an unstoppable force, in the hospital, Frederick appeared almost serene. His usual intimidating look was nowhere to be found.

But Lyra knew exactly who he was. This was the man who had issued the order to execute her parents.

Under the bedsheet, her hand tightened into a fist before she relaxed it. Sitting up, she saluted formally, "Student Officer Lyra, reporting for duty."

With a gentle wave of his hand, Frederick dismissed the formality. "No need for that. You’re Thierry’s classmate and Cohen’s friend. He asked me personally to look after you." He managed a small, rare smile, though it seemed out of place for someone of his stature.

They both knew the real story behind her parents’ deaths. But neither of them spoke of it.

"I’ll be sure to thank him," Lyra replied, her voice steady.

Frederick gave a short nod, clearly busy. "I have other matters to attend to. You take care," he said, and left without another word.

Outside the room, his adjutant’s face showed concern. "Sir, she’s Tyro Shedd and Bree Calvin’s daughter. Are we really going to let her join the military?"

Frederick’s commanding presence snapped back into place. His tone left no room for argument. "The past is done. This child knows nothing of it. Besides, with talent like hers, it would be a waste not to."

His gaze drifted out toward the city, thoughtful and distant. "The military needs fresh blood."

Without it, the system would stagnate, and eventually, this region would fall under the Empire’s control. The adjutant remained quiet but sighed heavily. "We understand that, but Ansel—that old fox won’t make this easy."

Frederick’s face grew hard. Though he held immense power within the military, he knew better than to think he could control everything.

Since the Alliance’s founding, true power had always been in the hands of the great families. Navigating those deep-rooted connections required finesse. Even someone of his rank had to tread carefully, lest he disturb the delicate balance of power.

For now, Ansel had remained quiet. Maybe the public attention on the attack had forced him to lay low, at least for the time being.

However, Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that this silence was only temporary. It was like the calm before the storm, and she knew it wouldn’t last until the AMAT event.