[Oliver's PoV]

  Back to the present

  “We’re fucked,” Four muttered, as he leaned against the wall and thumped his head against the metal. “What are the chances some Borderlands idiot decides to attack right when I infiltrate?”

  Oliver sat in the command chair. His eyes flicked between the displays. Around him, the Hoplites marched into the room one by one.

  “Any of them talk?” Oliver asked, his voice calm but edged with fatigue.

  One of the Hoplites stepped forward. “Same as the others, Governor. No one’s seen the Khan's face or his real name. They claim they scavenged the equipment during raids.”

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “What do we actually know about the Khan that didn’t come from the prisoners?”

  Hermes-1 responded immediately. “Mercenary. Appeared two years ago. No confirmed identity or visual profile. Attacks all Houses indiscriminately. No known allies. Currently holds dominance over the Borderlands.” His hologram was projected in the middle of the ship's command center.

  “No appearance?” Oliver pressed. “Then no past. Does he have training?”

  “None that can be confirmed,” Hermes-1 replied.

  Before Oliver could respond, another hologram flickered to life beside Hermes, projecting Midas-3.

  “Yeah, we heard you talking,” Midas-3 said. “I’ve got intel.”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “This mercenary has been making waves with the Mega Corps,” Midas-3 continued, pacing in its projection field. “Before he started hitting the Houses, he was targeting trade fleets. Commerce ships, convoys, and even escorted routes. Hundreds of bounties on his head now, none collected.” The holographic figure leaned forward, smirking faintly. “H.I. is assembling a strike team to take him down, but the market consensus? They’re going to fail.”

  Before Oliver could respond, Midas-3’s form flickered once, then vanished.

  Oliver sat forward in the command chair, his brow furrowed. “Do we have any idea where he got a Green Armor?” he asked, his tone heavy with unease. “Or which Great House did he steal it from?”

  “The last ships attacked belonged to the Meridius and the Lot Houses,” Hermes-1 explained. "If we had to bet, it was in one of them."

  Oliver rubbed his temple, thinking aloud. “Which of the two would’ve discovered it first?” His eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair. “Are either of them sending expeditions beyond the Borderlands? Anywhere near Elven territory?”

  “Not them,” Hermes-1 replied. “But the Yorks have been dispatching missions increasingly close to that region.”

  “The Yorks?” Oliver repeated, his confusion evident. “What the hell are they doing that far out?”

  No one on the bridge answered.

  “Has anyone made contact?” Oliver asked after a moment.

  “Not officially,” Hermes-2 answered, its voice slightly higher. “But mercenaries operating along the Borderlands have reported contact with other species. It’s not yet public knowledge, but it’s becoming… increasingly common.”

  Oliver’s stomach tightened. The idea of Houses pushing that far beyond mapped space was reckless enough. Contact with civilizations outside the Grand Game might not be as peaceful as they hope.

  Before he could respond, another holographic figure materialized beside the Hermes.

  “One critical information,” Deadalus-2 spoke. “I can at least confirm that none of the three Houses have found a Green Crystal.”

  Oliver turned sharply toward the new hologram. “What do you mean?”

  “The energy signature the Khan left behind wasn’t from a Unique Crystal. It was something attempting to imitate one.” Deadalus-2 explained.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Oliver’s pulse quickened. “Imitate?”

  “If I had to guess,” Dedalus-2 continued, “it was something similar to what Mordred used during the Senate. Not a true Z Crystal, but a derivative. An Emerald Crystal.”

  Oliver leaned forward in his chair, one hand pressed against his face as he exhaled slowly. “They attacked the Lot, right?”

  “Yes,” Hermes-1 confirmed.

  “Damn it… damn it,” Oliver muttered, his voice tight with frustration. He straightened, eyes narrowing as the realization hit him. “Then the Lot are producing copies of Unique Crystals. Those sons of—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

  “Returning to a subject we’ve discussed before,” Daedalus-2 said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. A quiet hunger for the unknown. “If you can recover that Crystal, it would be… highly beneficial.”

  Oliver sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thalos,” he said, turning toward the android standing by the navigation console, “if Six is still stationed at base, use him to start tracking the Khan and his fleet. First, we deal with the Dardanus situation here, then we focus on that.”

  Thalos inclined his head, his metallic voice calm but edged with concern. “It would be wise to proceed carefully. If the Lot are already mass-producing synthetic Crystals, it’s a crisis. But if this is just a prototype…” He paused, folding his arms. “Then this is the perfect time to remove their advantage.”

  Oliver nodded grimly. “No doubt.”

  He turned his chair toward the far end of the bridge, where Four stood with his arms crossed and a scowl carved into his face.

  “Now,” Oliver said, his tone shifting from frustration to command, “back to Four’s problem.”

  Four raised an eyebrow. “My problem?”

  “Our mission,” Oliver corrected. “We still need the tech they’re using to identify Unique Crystals. If we can get it, we can speed One's and Three's mission.”

  Four let out a sharp breath, half a laugh, half disbelief. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? They’ve got hundreds of soldiers crawling all over that facility now.”

  “And it’s only going to get more packed,” Oliver said, his tone grim. “Every Great House arriving for the wedding will bring their own soldiers. Escorts, guards, honor divisions. There’ll be eyes and guns on every corner.”

  He leaned back. “But more soldiers don’t mean more control. It means more chaos. The more you pack into one place, the harder it’ll be to contain when something goes wrong.”

  Four stood by the viewport, arms crossed. “Even if something does go wrong,” he said, his voice edged with cynicism, “they’ll just flood the lower levels with troops. Lock it down. It wouldn’t be that hard to hold the perimeter.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe. But with that many Houses together, so many soldiers, so many weapons, so many old grudges. One spark is all it takes.” He paused, his voice lowering. “One spark, and they’ll be too busy trying to keep from killing each other to notice what we’re doing.”

  Oliver didn’t want to ignite a war. Not here. Not during the wedding. But the opportunity, the distraction, was too perfect to ignore.

  “If we provoke something between the Great Houses,” Hermes-1 said worried, “it would be like throwing gasoline into the flames. The situation could spiral beyond control within minutes.”

  Oliver exhaled through his nose, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “I know,” he said. “That’s why we don’t start a fire. We just… let the air get thick enough that one lights itself.”

  Then, with a flicker of light, Midas-3’s holographic projection shimmered once more into view. Its eyes gleamed with mischief.

  “Maybe,” Midas-3 said, its tone dripping with satisfaction, “maybe I have something.”

  Oliver leaned forward in his chair, his expression cautious. “I’m listening.”

  “You know how we sometimes collect… information,” Midas-3 began, pacing lazily within its projection field. “Dirt on people. Things we can use to nudge the markets and influence decisions. The usual.”

  Oliver nodded slowly. “And?”

  “Well,” Midas continued, “some dirt is useful. Some isn’t. And then there are certain… stains that are just too volatile to touch.”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Get to the point.”

  Midas’s smirk widened. “Marco of House Ravell. You’ve heard of him, yes? A notorious womanizer. Recently married to Emilia of House Vellor. The union’s a facade, of course. A political maneuver to bind the two Houses together.”

  “Alright,” Oliver said, his tone clipped. “But what’s the catch?”

  “Marco,” Midas said, drawing out the word with relish, “has a mistress. Lia of House Raine.”

  “Unfortunately,” Midas went on, feigning innocence, “the Raines are part of the Republican Faction, while the Vellors belong to the Militarist one. They’ve had… disagreements in the past. Not open war, but enough tension that a scandal could light a few fires.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting we expose him.”

  “Not exactly,” Midas said, tilting its head. “I’m suggesting that perhaps, purely by coincidence, Emilia happens to discover her husband in a compromising situation with Lia. At the wedding.”

  Four let out a low whistle. “That would do it,” he said.

  Midas’s hologram shrugged. “With both families present, tempers would flare. Nothing that would spark a war, but enough chaos to draw soldiers out of the lower levels.”

  Oliver glanced at Four, whose expression had shifted from skepticism to reluctant admiration.

  “I think it could work,” Four admitted.

  Midas’s eyes gleamed golden. “Of course it will. Now that I’ve done your job for you,” it said with mock cheer, “I’ll get back to mine.”

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