Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 269: Saving Dale

Chapter 269: Saving Dale

Admiral Barrett was neck-deep in shame, his reputation in tatters after failing to capture Wyrmtrace. What should’ve been a defining victory had slipped through his fingers, leaving him a pariah among his peers.

"Well, well," a fellow Admiral drawled during the holographic meeting, his voice thick with mockery. "Weren’t you bragging about taking Wyrmtrace in a day? How’s that working out for you, Barrett?"

Barrett’s jaw tightened, his darkened expression barely masking his irritation. Still, he managed to mutter through clenched teeth, "Frederick’s Legion Glory is already on the move. You’d better prepare."

His eyes flicked to the silver-haired man at the head of the table, the unease in his chest mounting. Trying to steady himself, Barrett nervously rubbed his fingers together, his voice dropping to a quieter pitch.

"Sir, if Lyra isn’t neutralized soon, she could become a real problem."

The response was immediate—and brutal. Snickers rippled through the room as the other Admirals exchanged knowing glances.

"Ah, yes," one said with exaggerated patience. "The same Lyra who forced you into a retreat and cost us the upper hand at Wyrmtrace. Excellent work, Barrett."

Another Admiral leaned back with a smirk. "She’s just an lab rat, isn’t she? Barrett’s acting like she’s the second coming of Nemesis. Our tech can easily overwhelm her. He’s just too timid to push forward."

Barrett’s patience snapped. Guilt had kept him quiet until now, but the relentless insults ignited his temper.

"Easy for you to talk from your cozy command centers! You weren’t the ones facing her in battle!" He leaned forward, practically growling. "Next time, why don’t YOU stick around and fight instead of running?"

The room erupted, another Admiral barking, "Whoever flees is a coward!" The meeting spiraled toward chaos.

Then the silver-haired man lifted his gaze. One sharp, icy look from him silenced the room like a sudden freeze.

"Wolfe will be dispatched to Wyrmtrace shortly," he announced, his voice cold and clipped. "Lyra is his responsibility. The Stellar Devourers will not be involved in this matter."

The air grew heavier. Wolfe’s name carried weight—an enforcer with a reputation for efficiency and merciless precision. Even the boldest Admirals stopped their sniping at the mention of him.

Barrett, however, furrowed his brow. No Stellar Devourer support? Without their interdimensional travel tech, Wolfe would take at least seven days to reach Wyrmtrace. That was an eternity to hold out against Frederick’s forces and Lyra’s unrelenting strikes.

The silver-haired commander wasn’t done. "Admiral Tauras is to dispatch reinforcements immediately. Prepare to secure the battlefield."

"Yes, sir," the Admirals chorused in unison. Barrett, grateful for the shift in attention, ended the call as quickly as protocol allowed. He slumped in his chair, exhaling in relief.

"Relay the orders," he told his staff wearily. "No more reckless attacks until Admiral Tauras arrives. Hold position." His tone left no room for argument—he wasn’t about to risk another embarrassment.

*****

Outside Wyrmtrace, the vibe aboard the warships was a mix of triumph and exhaustion. Chuck and Cohen’s forces had returned victorious, their narrow journey aboard two auxiliary ships culminating in a decisive victory.

Now, they were aboard the Legion of the Apollo’s ships, riding high on their hard-earned success.

But in the command room, the mood was far from celebratory. Admiral Dale sat stiffly in his chair, his face drawn with worry. His adjutant stood nearby, echoing his unease.

"Can’t we do anything?" Dale muttered, frustration lacing his words.

The adjutant shook his head apologetically. "Sir, we’re in the middle of space. Supplies don’t just appear."

The dire situation weighed heavily on them. After the prolonged battle, resources were almost non-existent. They’d barely managed to scrape by as it was.

The door slid open, and Chuck strolled in casually, brushing crumbs from his jacket. "Admiral Dale," he called out, his tone annoyingly cheerful, "you got any more food? My brothers are starving."

Dale froze, his face shifting through disbelief, exasperation, and then outright rage. He shot to his feet, jabbing a finger at Chuck.

"FOOD?! You’ve eaten everything! My soldiers are practically collapsing from hunger, and now you want more?"

Chuck cocked his head, feigning surprise. "Wait, you’re saying there’s nothing left?"

"Nothing! None! Zero!" Dale roared, his voice echoing. He couldn’t believe the audacity. They’d barely managed to keep themselves fed before Chuck and his reinforcements had shown up—empty-handed, of course. The sudden engagement had completely derailed their plan to restock at Snowfall, leaving everyone scrambling.

The battle itself had been grueling, stretching over fifty relentless hours. When they finally won, there was no time to savor it. Soldiers were forced to ration their meals so tightly that even compressed food bars were split in half.

"A whole battalion under an Admiral," Chuck grumbled, loud enough for Dale to hear, "and we’re still running out of food. We save the day and now we’re starving too."

Dale’s face flushed a deep red, equal parts fury and humiliation. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for Chuck’s reinforcements—he truly was. But this situation was an absolute nightmare.

Finally, with a dismissive wave of his hand, Dale barked, "Get out! Just get out! You’ve earned your commendation—now go starve with the rest of us!"

Lyra strode over with her usual sharp demeanor, her gaze locking onto Chuck. "No food?" she asked bluntly.

Chuck spread his hands with a wry smile. "None."

Her expression turned colder as her eyes flicked to Dale. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving the old man fuming.

"Don’t think you can show me attitude just because you saved my life!" Admiral Dale bellowed after her, his face red with indignation.

Chuck, ever the mediator, laughed it off. "Oh, come on, sir. Isn’t she always giving you that look? Relax. You know she really did save your skin back there."

The memory was still fresh. Trapped by three level-nine Peculiars and with a Stellar Devourer lying in wait, Dale had been cornered. His mecha had been destroyed, and death seemed inevitable when Lyra arrived. Though she had hesitated to intervene, the situation demanded it.

She’d been nearby, and with so many eyes on her, ignoring Dale’s danger would’ve invited criticism she couldn’t afford.

After all, she’d worked too hard to regain her place in Frederick’s forces. Beyond that, rescuing an admiral came with significant merits, ones that could prove invaluable later.

For Lyra, the decision to save Dale wasn’t personal—it was pragmatic. As for his grumbling now, she couldn’t care less.

Fortunately, the battlefield was close to Wyrmtrace, and after five grueling hours of hunger, supplies finally became available.

The enemy had temporarily withdrawn from Alliance space, allowing the legions to regroup on Wyrmtrace for repairs and resupply.

*****

Admiral Dale, now on Wyrmtrace for the first time, marveled at the progress. His eyes scanned the infrastructure rising across the planet, and he couldn’t help but comment.

"They’ve built so much already. Not bad," he muttered, as though inspecting the place like a superior officer on a casual tour.

Chuck rolled his eyes. The others ignored him entirely, much to Dale’s irritation.

A few muffled grumbles later, his mood turned peculiar as the group passed through Wyrmtrace’s New Central City and approached the military base. Everywhere they went, workers stopped to call out greetings to Lyra.

"Miss Shedd!"

"Morning, boss!"

Out of every ten workers, at least half seemed to acknowledge her as their superior.

Dale’s frown deepened as they passed teams of laborers working on ambitious engineering projects. His gaze darted to Lyra, walking beside Cohen with her usual composed air.

"You’re abusing your authority!" he accused, unable to hold back his frustration.

Lyra met his glare with icy calm. "Eddie’s smuggling weapons didn’t seem to bother you much, Admiral Dale. Or did you think no one noticed?"

Her words hit him like a hammer. Wyrmtrace was far from the only planet where personal interests had influenced decisions.

Dale’s garrisoned planet was practically under the thumb of his family’s dynasty, a far cry from the relative order Lyra had maintained.

The accusation left Dale speechless, his face contorted in anger and embarrassment. His teeth clenched as he shot her a venomous look. If it weren’t for her, Eddie wouldn’t be rotting in a cell right now.

Chuck caught Cohen’s eye and flashed a grin, clearly enjoying the exchange. It was rare to see someone put Dale in his place, and Lyra seemed to do it effortlessly.

After the team disbanded to rest, Lyra returned to her command center at LE Energy’s base, heading straight for the bio-laboratory on the lower level.

Unlike the bustling mecha workshop, the bio-research team was small, composed mostly of eccentric scientists drawn by her unique healing abilities.

"She is here," the department director, Rachel, called out. She rushed to greet Lyra with barely concealed excitement.

"I’ve tried everything I can think of, but I can’t dissect her," Ming Zhan explained with a mix of frustration and awe. "Looks like we’ll need your help directly."

Lyra nodded. "I’ll handle the scalpel. You record the data."

The two moved into the sterilization chamber, donning spotless white lab suits before entering the brightly lit operating room.

At the center of the lab was a surgical table surrounded by glowing green restraints, holding a woman captive. Her eyes snapped open as Lyra approached, and terror instantly replaced any semblance of composure.

"No... no, no!" Suxie stammered, her voice trembling as the realization of what was about to happen sank in.