Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 208: Joining the Special Force

Chapter 208: Joining the Special Force

Ever since Dale and Vince touched down on Elden Prime, Lyra had barely set foot outside the Calvin family, except for the royal dinner.

She kept herself on lockdown, like a turtle hiding in its shell, avoiding any unnecessary drama.

The royal bodyguards tailing her every move, so for now, there was nothing Dale and Vince could do to her.

"Hmph! If she wants to join the military, let her. We’ll see how long she can hack it!" Admiral Dale grumbled, setting his plans against Lyra in motion. He stormed back to his post, still fuming with resentment.

Not long after the Alliance Assembly wrapped up, a whole wave of new regulations hit the military.

Lyra hadn’t even settled back into the Reserved Corps when news broke that her issue had been dissolved.

The military brass wasted no time reassigning its members based on their powers and combat skills, scattering them into other divisions.

And for those who’d been skating by without pulling their weight— They were kicked to the curb faster than you could blink, the military sending a very public message to the noble houses.

But that was just the way things rolled now. The noble families had to suck it up and figure out how to regain their influence within the reformed system.

During the restructuring, Kritt, once again, tried to snag Lyra for his division but came up short. Instead, she was shipped off straight to the Special Force.

The moment she got that assignment notification, Lyra almost laughed out.

Admiral Dale’s heavy-handed schemes were painfully obvious. He was either trying to box her out entirely or send her straight into the lion’s den, expecting her to fail.

His attempts were so transparent, they were almost charming in their stupidity.

The Special Force wasn’t just any unit—it was the top-tier group that handled all the dirty work no one else could manage.

Whether it was a rogue bioweapon, a new viral outbreak, or some shady mission involving espionage, the Special Force was thrown into the thick of it.

Simply put, they were the military’s ultimate problem solvers, but with the most dangerous jobs came the highest stakes.

Promotions were there for the taking, but only if you lived long enough to climb the ladder.

The mortality rate in this unit was a jaw-dropping fifty-six percent, and in the past ten years, the Special Force had seen three full wipeouts on missions.

It had earned them a dark nickname: "The Expendables."

Admiral Dale thought he was sending her to her doom, but he had no idea that this was exactly where Lyra wanted to be.

When Lyra finally showed up to report for duty at the Special Force, she was met with stares and whispers, much like when she first joined the Reserved Corps.

"No way! She’s fresh off the ship? And she’s that young? And a woman too?"

"I heard she caused so much drama in the Reserved Corps that they actually disbanded it."

"Seriously? She must be a handful."

"Isn’t she straight outta the NMA? I remember hearing about her from the AMAT competitions."

"Yeah, she’s got some kind of crazy healing superpower or something."

But unlike the Reserved Corps, which was full of entitled nobles, the Special Force was a whole different beast.

These soldiers weren’t just tough—they were built like brick walls, all muscle and experience. Even the women looked like they could bench press a small car.

The real giveaway was in their eyes. These weren’t the eyes of average soldiers. No, these people had seen things—ugly, brutal things. Their gazes were cold, sharp, always calculating the best way to take down a threat. It was the kind of hardened look even the most seasoned grand army vets struggled to achieve.

As Lyra stood there, the squad eyed her like she was a newborn lamb dropped into a den of wolves.

There was a mix of scorn for her lack of experience and curiosity to see if she’d survive her first mission.

"Ensign Lyra Shedd, Reporting for duty," she announced, knocking firmly on the office door of Unit T9’s administrative officer.

Unlike the loosely organized mess that was the Reserved Corps, the Special Force ran like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew their role, and the chain of command was clear.

"Come in," came a woman’s voice from behind the door.

Hazel, the officer in charge, seemed to be in her mid-forties, with a sharp efficiency that matched her no-nonsense attitude.

She barely gave Lyra a glance as she began entering her records into the system.

Even though Lyra’s resume looked pretty good for someone her age, in the Special Force, those kinds of credentials didn’t hold much weight.

In this unit, only the most high-stakes missions counted for anything.

"Unit T9 has 200 members. You’ll be filling the spot of the Seventh Squad leader—the last one was KIA," Hazel said, her tone flat as if this was just another Tuesday.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting such a big role on her first day. Even with her reputation, she was still a newbie, and in a group packed with seasoned elites, getting assigned as a squad leader seemed... unusual.

Catching Lyra’s puzzled look, Hazel stamped her assignment papers with a heavy thud, offering a slight smirk. "In the Special Force, it’s all about power. If you weren’t so young and green, you’d be the vice-commander of the Force, easily, based on your combat strength alone."

The hierarchy in this unit wasn’t just for show. The Special Force commanders were serious heavy-hitters—level eight Peculiars ranked as Captains, while their deputies hovered around level seven.

Even the lower-ranking soldiers were nothing to sneeze at, most being level four or higher. It was clear this division didn’t mess around; it was filled with the best of the best.

Lyra felt a spark of excitement in this cutthroat environment. Strength and survival were the only currencies here. The stronger you were, the further you went. No politics, no games—just raw ability.

"Understood," Lyra replied, saluting before grabbing the unit’s rulebook and heading off to meet T9’s leader, Wolf. He was a giant of a man, dark-skinned, with curly brown hair and hands that could easily be mistaken for frying pans.

When she found him, he gave her a once-over and chuckled. "Holy hell, you’re even smaller in person than you looked in the vid. And prettier too. Good luck keeping those animals in Squad No. 7 in check, Ensign."

Lyra kept her expression neutral, but internally she was a bit surprised. She hadn’t encountered the pushback she was expecting from such an elite unit.

"I’ll try my best, sir," she said, already wondering when the real challenge would start. So far, no one had tried to put her through the wringer—yet.

Wolf’s teasing grin slowly faded as his tone shifted. "Don’t say ’try,’ kid. Around here, every day’s a fight for survival. You don’t just try—you do. Trust me, out of the batch I came up with five years ago, I’m the only one still breathing."

He made a lazy motion to slap her behind, but Lyra was quicker. She caught his wrist mid-swing, locking eyes with him, her voice cold. "I don’t do close."

Wolf pulled his hand back, a thin smile on his face, but his eyes told a different story. They had lost their warmth. "Alright, sweetheart. Go meet your squad. They’re training right now."

As Lyra made her way to the training grounds, she mentally ran through the profiles of her new squad members—names, ranks, their powers, and notable combat experiences.

Squad No. 7 had seventeen members: five women, twelve men, and none of them seemed the least bit welcoming.

When she arrived at the training field, she paused by the fence, observing.

The soldiers were decked out in standard military gear—white tank tops, green pants, and scuffed black boots.

The first five squads were off on a mission, leaving only squads six through ten behind.

Lyra immediately spotted the vice of T9 lounging under a parasol like he was at the beach. He had sunglasses on and a beer in hand, clearly unconcerned about what his squad was up to.

The rest of the leaders were equally relaxed, going through the motions of training, but their attitude screamed experience—these soldiers had walked the line between life and death so often that today’s drills were almost a joke to them.

No one was really watching their men too closely.

Lyra stood quietly, waiting. It didn’t take long before the soldiers began to notice her. Heads turned, eyes lingered, and soon enough, the other squads started shooting her curious glances, some even amused by the fresh face.

But her squad—the Seventh—they weren’t curious or amused. Their eyes were hard, their expressions almost hostile.

Clearly, they weren’t thrilled about their new leader.

Disdain rolled off of them in waves, and it was obvious they thought very little of her.

The real challenge had officially arrived.