Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 278: Bringing Orson Down

Chapter 278: Bringing Orson Down

Lyra stayed silent, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Words wouldn’t change a thing—these soldiers answered to Orson, and Orson alone. Fighting them would be a waste of time and energy, especially in the middle of a war.

Instead of getting tangled up with them, Lyra turned her focus elsewhere. Without hesitation, she headed to the war statistics department.

"I need the battlefield satellite surveillance data for the vanguard regiment," she demanded.

Battlefield satellite data served as the primary evidence for tracking military achievements and key events at the frontlines. If Orson had made a mistake, she needed solid proof to expose him.

But Orson wasn’t a fool. He had already erased the data and gone as far as destroying the satellites themselves.

When Lyra checked the mecha’s monitoring records as a backup, her suspisions were confirmed—the mecha had been scrapped and dumped in the recycling facility. Its serial number was wiped clean. Soon after, the summons she’d been expecting arrived: Admiral Frederick wanted to see her.

Outside the command room, Orson waited, unnervingly composed. He shot Lyra a cold glance before stepping inside. The moment he entered, the vibe changed, heavy with Frederick’s authority.

"I want an explanation," Frederick said, his voice sharp as steel. "Why was the report about the Supreme’s appearance during the battle delayed?"

Seated at the head of the room, Frederick looked like a stone statue brought to life, his piercing gaze enough to cut through flesh. His overwhelming presence made the air feel suffocating.

The vanguard regiment, stationed deep in enemy territory, was responsible for detecting any enemy activity first. Missing the emergence of a Supreme was unthinkable—especially under Lyra’s command.

Lyra stayed silent, letting the weight of the question settle. Orson, clearly confident no evidence could tie him to the failure, stepped forward.

"I never received a report," he stated firmly.

Lyra’s icy glare met his, but her voice remained calm when she finally spoke. "I reported it immediately."

If Orson wanted to dig his own grave, she wasn’t going to stop him. With measured composure, Lyra presented the mecha’s external monitoring records.

The evidence was damning. The records showed that Lyra had sent her report the moment the Supreme appeared.

They also revealed her repeated calls for reinforcements while she risked her life trying to hold off the Supreme on her own. No support ever came.

The room’s tension shifted. The three other Vice Admirals, who had stayed silent until now, turned on Orson with open hostility.

"This is outrageous, Orson!" one snapped.

"What the hell were you doing?!" barked another.

Though they typically aligned with Orson, their loyalty didn’t extend to a situation that jeopardized the Legion’s honor. Orson’s actions had crossed a line they couldn’t ignore.

"I—I..." Orson stammered, clearly shaken. He hadn’t expected Lyra to produce evidence, let alone monitoring records. He didn’t even understand why his allies were so quick to abandon him? He never knew there would be such severe consequence.

"Vice Admiral Whyte," Frederick said, his tone colder than ice, "do you know the casualty numbers from this battle?"

"I haven’t had time to review the full report," Orson admitted, his voice faltering.

"Then now." Frederick enlarged the display screen, filling the room with the grim statistics.

The numbers were staggering. Orson’s regiment had suffered the highest losses—nearly a fifth of his forces were wiped out. Across the battlefield, nearly 100,000 soldiers were dead. Of those, over 60,000 came from Orson’s command.

"How... how is this possible?" Orson stuttered, staring at the report in disbelief. The Supreme had only been active on the battlefield for ten minutes.

His hands shook as Frederick’s searing gaze bore down on him.

"I—I..." Orson’s voice broke. He couldn’t afford to take the fall for this; the disgrace would ruin him completely. "It was a communications failure! Yes, Lyra may have sent the report, but I never received it!"

He clung to this excuse, relying on the destruction of the mecha to erase the evidence. Once dismantled, there would be no way to confirm or deny his claim.

But Orson had gravely underestimated Frederick’s wrath.

"Relay my command: halt all operations at the recycling facility. Locate the mecha Lyra piloted—no matter what!" Frederick’s voice was as cold as ice, his piercing gaze locked on Orson. "Check every detail—let’s see if this ’missing signal’ story holds up."

A chill ran up Orson’s spine, creeping from his feet to his head. His confidence was starting to crack.

Just then, Lyra stepped forward and spoke calmly. "Admiral, I remember the mecha’s serial number."

Orson turned to her in stunned disbelief.

Military mechas in the Alliance were countless, their serial numbers used mainly for tracking against illegal resale. Since mechas were often shared and reassigned, pilots rarely bothered memorizing those long, complicated codes. But, of course, Lyra wasn’t like most people.

Frederick gave her a long, deliberate look. "Very well."

Even with the serial number, tracking down a single mecha among tens of thousands would be a monumental task.

For the moment, Orson narrowly avoided immediate consequences. But as the meeting ended and they exited the command room, his composure cracked entirely. He shot Lyra a venomous glare.

"Lyra, you planned this from the beginning, didn’t you?" he hissed.

She met his fury with icy calm. "Let’s just say, Vice Admiral Whyte, you’ve made my planning worth the effort."

Her cool parting words left Orson fuming, but she didn’t spare him another glance. She returned to her regiment, leaving him to stew in his anger.

Orson’s retaliation came swiftly.

When the battlefield achievements were compiled, Lyra’s hard-earned merits were reassigned—not to her, but to Reck, her direct superior and, conveniently, Orson’s nephew.

It was a blatant attempt to bolster Reck’s reputation at Lyra’s expense, reducing her to nothing more than a stepping stone.

Thierry, a fellow officer, was furious. While his own accomplishments remained intact, he was livid on Lyra’s behalf.

"That bastard! First, he gets soldiers killed, and now this? Scum! Absolute scum!" Thierry spat, pacing furiously. Then, with a determined look, he added, "I’m going straight to Uncle Fred!"

Lyra stopped him with a steady hand. "We have no satellite footage, what’s the point of confronting him?"

Thierry paused, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you planning, Lyra?"

"Nothing—for now," she replied evenly.

The next battle arrived quickly, bringing even greater chaos. This time, the enemy unleashed multiple Supremes.

While some were intercepted by allied forces, Lyra found herself facing a Stellar Devourer.

Her mecha activated a unique defense, its surface glowing with a green luminescent shield that rendered the black hole’s pull ineffective.

Moving with precision, she darted through the battlefield, weaving through destruction.

Then she spotted her target: Rear Admiral Reck.

Reck’s mecha was deep in the fray, his movements seemingly heroic. But within moments, his unit veered uncontrollably toward the Stellar Devourer.

Before he could react, a green-glowing mecha zipped past him. Moments later, his mecha—and his body—were consumed by the black hole.

In the command center, Orson received the report of Reck’s death. His vision darkened as rage and panic consumed him.

Gripping the microphone, he bellowed, "What happened?!"

"Sir... the monitoring satellites were damaged during the battle. There’s no footage of the incident. All we know is that the Stellar Devourer was responsible."

"The Stellar Devourer?!" Orson’s voice was nearly a growl. "Wasn’t that Lyra’s responsibility? Get her on the line—now!"

When the call connected, Orson’s fury practically radiated through the screen. He gripped the microphone so tightly it looked like he might crush it. "Lyra! How dare you—"

"Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to," Lyra interrupted, her tone frosty. After a brief pause, her voice grew even icier. "But I’ve already eliminated eight Stellar Devourers. Don’t forget to log my achievements."

’Credit her? Over my dead body,’ Orson seethed silently.

The enemy’s Supremes had caused massive destruction, and Lyra’s contributions were undeniable.

Reluctantly, Orson was forced to log her achievements. But he wasn’t done scheming. Once again, he redistributed the bulk of her accolades to others.

However, Lyra’s successes came with a curse. Every soldier who falsely claimed credit found themselves marked as a prime target.

One by one, they fell in their next battles, unable to match the weight of the expectations thrust upon them.

Eventually, no one dared take credit for Lyra’s achievements. It became clear that doing so was a death sentence.

Cornered, Orson stopped assigning credit altogether. But as the next large-scale battle approached, Lyra’s exceptional performance forced him to reconsider his strategy.