Legacy of the Void Fleet

Meanwhile, aboard the Minotaur flagship...

The Void Fleet’s space marines were now deep inside the Minotaur command vessel, along with its two protector-class escorts. The objective: seize control for research and strategic advantage.

A few hours earlier, in the Sol System...

Before the fleet departed the Regal Star System to confront the Minotaurs, Imperial Commander Kallus convened a critical meeting with the Alliance and its member states. Not partners—members. The distinction mattered. Partners implied equality or the power to influence the Void directly. These nations didn’t have that. When the final phase of the Alliance was being structured, that clause was added to keep the balance of power clear.

Still, the members were promised benefits—potentially even majority stakes in future Void-Star-Earth operations, especially those coordinated with the Star Alliance. A tentative 49% stake had been discussed. Kallus, previously more idealistic and open-handed, had initially supported this. But that changed after he emerged from his 25-year seclusion.

Upon returning, Kallus had new clarity. He’d spent that time not just in training, but contributing to policy and long-term planning. His views had hardened. The promises made earlier were now under review.

Member states were also promised permanent positions in the new governance model—similar to permanent members of the old UN Security Council. The difference? No veto power. Yet the structure still echoed the familiar geopolitical framework.

Access to technology was another incentive: Tier-2 and Tier-3 systems were made available—if a member earned enough emetics, the Alliance’s currency. Emetics could be gained by making real contributions: discovering rich resource fields on dead celestial bodies or locating habitable planets.

But most hadn’t done that yet. So, their influence remained limited.

The changes were significant—massive, even. At first, Kallus hadn’t realized the full impact. Back then, he lacked experience. But after 25 years in isolation, everything was different. He had returned with deeper knowledge and was now ready to lead differently.

Now, to the matter at hand.

Commander Kallus had called a meeting with the Alliance partners. The agenda was light—he had already issued warnings about the dangers of mana, its environmental consequences, and the long-term changes it could bring. What mattered now was ensuring humanity wouldn’t become a problem for his mission.

More than 98% of Earth’s population had been prepared. Those deemed compatible were injected with the Gene Awakening Serum. Many were taking their future seriously, actively learning the foundational knowledge provided by the Void Fleet—material required to advance in the new social system.

This knowledge wasn’t optional. Mastery of it determined one’s social tier. Tier-3 civilians had access to basic benefits. Tier-2 and Tier-1, however, gained far more—technological privileges, authority, and generational advantages. Even people in their 40s and 60s were trying, thanks to their enhanced learning abilities from the genetic upgrades.

Only a few knew the full scope of what was coming—mainly the royal families and elite circles. Still, whispers of the coming ”Void Academy” had begun to spread. Some major powers, like the Avalon State, the Indra Empire, the Jinag Dynasty, and the Bear Imperium, were actively promoting this education within their populations. Even non-member nations, seeking future entry into the Alliance, were following suit.

Why? Because these empires had their own internal tier systems too. Advancement within their state structures mirrored the Void Fleet’s model:

State Development – measured by infrastructure, economy, and governance.

Technological Mastery – how advanced the nation’s grasp of science and engineering was.

Population Quality – how educated and capable their people were according to Void standards.

States were ranked just like individuals:

Tier-3: Developing states

Tier-2: Stable, advanced powers

Tier-1: Dominant, elite empires

There were higher classifications beyond that, but those weren’t relevant—not yet.

The Tier System Wasn’t Just About Status.

Each state’s classification—Tier-3, Tier-2, or Tier-1—was based on three core metrics:

Technological development

Military strength

Economic power

The more advanced a state was, the higher-quality resources it received from the Alliance. That, in turn, determined whether it could become an interstellar nation—and at what level.

But if a state remained at Tier-3, the consequences were hard to ignore. Even if they managed to collect the raw materials needed for advanced technology, they wouldn’t be allowed to purchase or build Tier-2 or Tier-1 systems. The restrictions were hard-coded into the supply chain. A Tier-3 nation couldn’t legally operate Tier-2 tech without meeting Alliance standards.

Yes, they could try to develop that tech themselves—but who would stay behind to do it? Talented minds—those with the potential to rise—would leave for Tier-1 worlds where resources, infrastructure, and recognition were far greater. Why remain in a crumbling system when there were better futures elsewhere?

That brain drain alone could stall a Tier-3 empire’s progress for centuries. Their military would stay small. Their voice in the Alliance weak. Their reach in galactic affairs—almost nonexistent. They’d have no choice but to rely on stronger member states for technological scraps. And the gap between tiers was enormous—almost like heaven and earth.

Economically, they’d be moderate at best. Their influence confined to a few star systems, and even those would be underdeveloped. Over time, as other states advanced, Tier-3 nations would become stagnant—left behind, used as pawns in larger power struggles.

Even the Alliance might abandon them eventually.

No leader on Earth wanted that fate. Even now, a Tier-3 nation under Void standards was far ahead of Earth’s old baseline—but no one wanted to settle for just being ”better than before.” Not when they had the chance to leap to Tier-2, even Tier-1, if they moved fast and sacrificed smart.

That’s why every major state—Avalon, Indra, Jinag, the Bear Imperium, and others—was investing heavily. They weren’t just promoting the education system; they were actively rewarding citizens for pursuing it. Because the benefits weren’t abstract—they were real, generational, and within reach.

For many leaders, this wasn’t a burden. It was a bargain. A sacrifice worth making.

Back to the meeting...

There wasn’t much left on the agenda—just precautionary briefings. Kallus wrapped it up by introducing the project he’d been working on: the Void Academy.

He explained its purpose, what kind of value it would add, and how it would shape future leadership. The Academy wouldn’t just teach—they’d forge individuals capable of commanding fleets, leading interstellar negotiations, and mastering mana-based science.

After that, he shifted to a more urgent matter: the Minotaur fleet.

As Kallus detailed what intelligence had gathered, the room reacted with a mix of awe and fear. Terrified murmurs spread. Even Chancellor Bai Zongqi, commander of the Star Fleet, flinched slightly—not that he let it show.

Still, he tried to lighten the mood.

”So that’s why you’ve been expanding like a lunatic,” he said, smirking, mimicking a manic gesture with his hands. He was referring to the asteroid mining around the Sol System and the nonstop warships pouring out of the Void Fleet shipyards.

Kallus gave a simple nod.”Yes. That’s exactly why.”

Then, without missing a beat, he moved to the next point: the Orcs.

Kallus sat back in his command chair, facing the leaders of Earth’s four superpowers:

The Indra Empire

The Bear Imperium

The Jiang Dynasty

The State of Avalon

And alongside them stood Chancellor Bai Zongqi of the Star Fleet—a force Kallus had mostly overlooked until now.

After some routine discussion, Kallus—still wearing the same neutral expression he’d held since the meeting began—shifted the tone.

”This next point is more of a test,” he said flatly. ”Not a formal one, but something close.”

He tapped a control on the arm of his chair, and a new projection shimmered to life above the table.

”We’ve long known about them—aside from the Minotaurs. A fleet, Orcish in origin, is en route to the Sol System. And Earth… will be one of their targets. When they scan the system and detect human life, they’ll come straight for it.”

The Bear Emperor blinked, leaned forward, and said with disbelief,”Orcs? Did I hear that right? Did you say Orcs?”

He caught himself. ”My apologies, Imperial Commander Kallus. It’s just… I’ve only seen orcs in fiction—books, old media. To think they’re real…”

Kallus gave a nod. ”You’re not the first to react that way, Emperor.”

The President of Avalon leaned forward. ”You’re serious then? Creatures like that actually exist? Why would they be coming here?”

Kallus smirked, just slightly.

”No offense taken, Bear Emperor. And yes, President—species like orcs exist. And many others you thought were just myths. Beasts and beings you know from fantasy stories, anime, and dusty books—real. Very real.”

He paused, letting that settle in.

”You wouldn’t be asking these questions if any of you had bothered to acquire the Book of Races. But then again, none of you currently hold the merits to purchase it. I’d suggest you earn some. Nothing worthwhile comes free.”

His voice turned heavier as he glanced at all five leaders, including Chancellor Zongqi.

”As for why the orcs are coming? I don’t know. When they arrive, feel free to ask them yourself—on my behalf.”

That last line dripped with sarcasm. The President of Avalon’s face flushed. The Bear Emperor’s jaw tightened.

Silence fell across the room.

Then the Emperor of the Jiang Dynasty broke it.”This is… ominous. Imperial Commander, what is your plan? We know your main fleet will be leaving the Regal Star Sector soon. What happens to the Sol System then?”