From the outside, the grand architecture of the ngsk family estate resembled a Danish castle from dieval Earth. Yet, stepping inside revealed an entirely different world: solemn, understated hallways connected by spiral staircases led to spacious chambers crowned with glass dos, where chandeliers cast a golden glow like molten light.
After Augustus embraced his mother, her elderly steward, and the master of cold weapons hired to teach the ngsk children the art of swordsmanship, he felt relieved that his sword instructor didn’t choose this mont to test whether he had been keeping up with his daily training. In truth, even his younger sister might now be able to defeat him easily in the training hall.
Augustus then began introducing a few of his subordinates to his mother. These Heaven’s Devils—rootless and familyless, drifting like duckweed—were destined to beco his trusted aides in the days ahead.
Lisa Cassidy had clearly studied Tarsonian noble etiquette in secret. She carried herself with grace and restraint, her bright, youthful gaze as refined and elegant as any aristocratic young lady—not at all like the daughter of a butcher.
Ward maintained his usual calm composure, only bowing slightly when faced with Augustus’s mother. Harnack looked like a monkey desperately trying not to blurt out anything inappropriate, while Zander was completely dumbstruck by the opulence of their surroundings.
Katherine sincerely thanked Lisa and the others, invoking the traditional blessing for the Holy Spirit to be with them. Dorothy, anwhile, clung to Augustus’s arm just as she had when she was a child—clingy and affectionate.
Leading his wide-eyed subordinates, Augustus passed through a red-carpeted corridor and entered the guest banquet hall. Along the hallway, statues of Korhal wolves and gilded-frad oil paintings told the epic tales of the original Korhal pioneers—legendary exploits passed down for generations among the Korhali people.
The banquet hall itself featured blue marble walls patterned with silver-leafed cloud motifs and climbing vines inlayed with silver, dominated by a massive oil painting. The portrait depicted a gray-haired middle-aged man clad in a crimson-hooded hunting cloak from the colonial era, a long-barreled hunting rifle slung across his back. At his feet lay a slender native Korhali hound, and on the thick padding of his shoulder perched a golden eagle.
It was a portrait of the first generation of the ngsk line, painted during the early colonial period when settlers still fought savage wolves and fierce beasts with outdated weapons. Whether in taming the wilds or building civilization, the ngsk family had always stood at the forefront of Korhal’s colonial leadership.
Two full walls of the banquet hall facing the sea and mountains were made entirely of glass. Beyond them, towering cliffs overlooked the deep-colored ocean; under the sunlight, the waves shimred like flowing gold, capped with white foam. To the north, a chain of undulating mountains stretched into the distance. It was autumn at this latitude, and the fla-red pseudomaple trees of Styrling blazed like fire.
Whenever he saw such a breathtaking scene, Augustus couldn’t help but think of Korhal during the era of StarCraft II. Unlike the deep green planet it had now beco, the Korhal that had endured the fury of a thousand apocalypse-grade nuclear warheads from the Terran Confederacy had been reduced to a realm of radioactive wastelands.
The most brutal—and most direct—form of punishnt.
Just as Augustus, Lisa, and the others sat down in silver-gilded chairs, a middle-aged man in a formal suit entered the banquet hall. On the chest of his uniform glead an insignia: two overlapping triangles and a circle, colored blue and white.
He had a gentle deanor and a clean-shaven face—clearly soone who took great care in his appearance. Though his features remained youthful, his hair had already turned almost completely white, like that of an old man.
This was Ailin Pasteur, Umoja’s diplomatic ambassador to Korhal IV and a mber of the popularly elected parliant.
In recent years, Ailin had traveled frequently between Umoja and Korhal, bringing with him a steady stream of aid and political support from the Umojan Parliant on behalf of the ngsk family.
Augustus’s earliest mory of this man dated back to when he was only eight years old—those mories were now hazy at best. But what he rembered far more clearly was the man’s daughter. She was a beautiful girl, around the sa age as his brother Arcturus, with striking golden hair and bright, expressive eyes that left a lasting impression.
Of course, what made that impression so lasting wasn’t so childhood crush on an older girl. It was sothing far more embarrassing. Ailin’s only daughter, the young, kind, and charming Juliana Pasteur, had genuinely believed that Arcturus had two little sisters.
"It’s good to see you, young Augustus ngsk. You’re growing into soone as dependable as your father," Ailin said as he walked up to Augustus and embraced him warmly.
"One day, you’ll inherit your father’s legacy—the glory of the ngsk na, and the enduring achievents passed down through your lineage," he added, generous with his praise.
"To catch up to my father, I still have a long way to go," Augustus replied with a smile. Just as he expected, that line brought an imdiate look of gratification to his mother’s face.
"You truly believe that?" Ailin looked even more pleased than Katherine.
"The Umojan Parliant is always concerned about Angus’s health. If sothing were to happen to him, we wouldn’t even know who could take his place," he said quietly to Augustus.
"It seems the war has changed you."
"The war is over—and with it, so ended my ambition," Augustus said. "I will never beco a general in this lifeti, but perhaps I can still have the chance to pin sashes and dals onto those who are."
"Please, have a seat, Uncle Ailin."
Augustus and Ailin sat down and continued their conversation, turning to topics like Umoja’s military assistance. Cunning and seasoned as always, Ailin repeatedly emphasized the economic downturn in Umoja, yet conveniently avoided ntioning the dramatic surge in foreign trade during the Guild Wars.
"I’d like to know," Augustus asked, "how is Umoja’s research on CMC-powered armor progressing? Are you close to mass-producing your own version of it?"
"We’ve made so progress," Ailin answered vaguely. "But I can assure you—when it cos to weapons, ammunition, vehicles, ships, dical support, even personnel—we won’t be lacking in any of it."
"I hope that’s true," Augustus said with a faint smile. "And I hope the friendship between Korhal and Umoja lasts for generations to co."
Not in a hurry to press for more intelligence or aid from Umoja, Augustus shifted the topic to lighter conversation.
"I still rember Juliana," he said with a smile. "She once told she wanted to beco a lawyer. How is she these days?"
"She’s... fine. Doing well—" Ailin’s expression changed abruptly, his face darkening. "Juliana never beca a lawyer. She gave up the career she spent half her life working toward."
Augustus imdiately noticed the drastic shift in Ailin’s tone, though he had no idea what had triggered it.
"And speaking of that," Ailin continued, his voice tight, almost grinding out the words, "your brother—Arcturus ngsk."
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes. Arcturus is still alive. He retired with the rank of colonel and is now off exploring the galaxy," Augustus said carefully, choosing his words to avoid further provoking Ailin.
"Is that so?" Ailin let out a complicated sigh. "How wonderful."
Augustus racked his brain, trying to understand what had caused such a dramatic change in Ailin’s deanor. Then, suddenly, an image flashed through his mind—a young man with golden hair. The Terran Dominion heir from the ga. Valerian ngsk.
Arcturus ngsk’s child with a woman from Umoja.
He had nearly forgotten.
Valerian—son of Arcturus and Juliana.
The problem was that no one in the ngsk family—neither Angus nor Katherine, not even Augustus or Dorothy—had ever heard a word about it. Even Arcturus himself had never ntioned it.
What was going on?
Had his brother really acted like so scoundrel? Gotten Juliana pregnant and then disappeared? Or was it just a careless night with no protection, and then once he returned to military life, he’d simply forgotten about it?
Doing the math, Valerian—who was already twenty years old after the Battle of the Brood—should have been born by now. And yet, the ngsk family knows nothing about it. If Augustus hadn’t encountered Ailin, he wouldn’t have rembered this matter at all.
He decided he needed to ask.
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