Its first instinct was to flee.
In this civilization, the population was relatively small, and each individual possessed a personal warship.
At this moment, the optimal choice should have been evacuation.
Yet it chose not to flee. Instead, it returned to its residence and entered the consciousness stream.
As expected, nearly 90% of the civilization's individuals were already there, and none were panicking.
They claimed their central structure housed over one million warships.
Theoretically, every individual could escape in their own vessel.
But in practice, it was impossible.
No civilization would build one million exit ports. The ships would have to depart one by one, forming a queue.
And starting up a warship was not a quick process—each required between thirty minutes to an hour for full activation.
The structure had only 700 exits in total.
At that rate, it would take at least one month for all one million ships to exit.
Under ordinary conditions, a month would not be a critical delay.
But the stellar material from the exploding star would reach their structure far sooner.
In fact, their Core was less than 20 million kilometers from the star.
Even if the ejected material moved at just 100 km/s, it would reach them within two or three days.
A full evacuation within such a short window was impossible.
Everyone had already run the calculations. That's why they remained in the consciousness stream.
There, they began revoking the authority of the individuals who had attempted to flee.
Why "revoke"?
Because leadership, in this society, was not innate. Authority was granted by collective consensus.
This civilization had no hierarchy in the traditional sense.
Leaders were merely functionaries, selected to carry out specific tasks.
If every decision required the involvement of every citizen, it would be inefficient. Delegation was necessary.
So they elected individuals to serve as decision-makers. It was a profession—nothing more.
Now, with authority rescinded, collective control over the Core was reestablished.
Their habitat-structure was called the Core—meaning "the omnipotent place."
Functionally, it was similar to a Federation city.
But its capabilities extended far beyond.
The entire structure operated as a factory, powered by stellar energy. It could manufacture almost anything.
It also included weaponry, surveillance systems, energy collectors, and large-scale storage.
The defenses designed to counter a Confinement Weapon were part of the Core itself.
"Evacuation is no longer an option. We resist."
Though the Core's overall strength was not overwhelming, it was built to endure. It could withstand most forms of stellar ejecta.
Still, a sense of pessimism permeated the consciousness stream.
This wasn't an ordinary solar event. It was the aftermath of a stellar detonation.
Calculations estimated that 27% of the star's total mass had been ejected.
And given the Core's sheer size—comparable to the star itself—it would receive roughly 8% of that mass as direct impact.
An amount that defied comprehension.
A star releases energy every second on a scale comparable to the total output of a Type 2 civilization over the same duration.
In other words, the total energy stored in a star is equivalent to roughly 24 to 400 billion years of continuous energy generation by a Type 2 civilization—depending on the star's size.
The star in question was not a small red or white dwarf, but a yellow dwarf with a mass approximately 1.1 times that of the Sun.
This meant it would take a Type 2 civilization around 3.3 billion years to match its total energy output.
To put this in perspective: that same energy is equal to 330,000 years of output by a Type 2.6 civilization, such as the Federation.
8% of that energy alone would correspond to 26,400 years of the Federation's production capacity.
The energy released in this stellar event directly impacted the enemy.
Its magnitude far exceeded the energy of any Confinement Weapon.
This represented the two extremes of energy warfare:
One path involves achieving high energy density by concentrating limited energy resources.
The other is raw, overwhelming energy—regardless of density, the sheer quantity is sufficient to devastate.
The Core's defensive layers were activated in response.
In the end, defense was fundamentally a contest of energy.
Although the Core held substantial reserves, they were still minuscule compared to the energy of a star.
After all, their civilization had only developed for just over 40,000 years.
More than two days later, the stellar storm reached the Core.
...
Dimensional Gateway.
Clone #23973 exited hibernation.
It felt like an eternity had passed.
While its physical systems did not require prolonged rest, it had deliberately suppressed its sense of time—deceiving its brain into inducing a long hibernation cycle.
The purpose was simple: to avoid interruption.
Short sleep would inevitably lead to distractions upon waking. But by staying dormant long enough, external events would resolve themselves.
Still, this time was different.
"Theoretically… the Confinement Weapon destroyed their star?" Clone #23973 was genuinely surprised.
The weapon was never intended to cause total annihilation—merely to provoke a response.
It was fully aware that the Confinement Weapon wasn't a top-tier strategic asset. Its only advantage was its compatibility with four-dimensional environments.
In theory, a four-dimensional civilization should have been able to counter it.
"Unless this is disinformation."
It reviewed the incoming data with suspicion.
But after evaluating the report, no clear flaws were found.
If it was a fabrication, the level of detail would be extraordinarily high. And fabricating such information served no strategic purpose.
Trying to appear weak to lure an attack? That didn't align with any known logic.
A direct counterattack would've made more sense.
This left one conclusion:
The report was accurate.
"Then we've likely overestimated them."
"The enemy may not be as powerful as we believed. Possibly just Type 2.5—maybe even 2.4."
That, it concluded, would explain their inability to respond effectively.
According to the report, the enemy's massive orbital structure had been shattered by the energy from the stellar ejection.
Large sections of debris were flung out of the star system, while the remaining structure was still orbiting the red dwarf remnant formed after the explosion.
Casualty counts remained unconfirmed.
But the damage was evidently severe.
It was still within reason for a colossal structure to fail against stellar material. Even the Federation's Mobius Ringworld couldn't withstand the force of stellar matter.
However, the star's explosion itself should never have occurred.
It was preventable.
Even without sufficient preparation time, a high-level civilization—with its vast technological accumulation—should have been able to at least divert the event, if not prevent it outright.
Yet the evidence now stood before Clone #23973.
"Transmit the information back to three-dimensional space. Our leadership will make a rational judgment."
Clone #23973 was just as perplexed.
There was no further speculation to be made.
Besides, direct engagement was off the table.
Constructing the Dimensional Bridge remained the top priority.
But this event might influence the Swarm's directional strategy going forward.
...
In three-dimensional space.
Within the observation station, Ayla received the data packet from four-dimensional space.
Her first reaction upon seeing that an entire star system belonging to a four-dimensional civilization had been destroyed—by a long-range, four-dimensional strike—was disbelief.
The initial assumption: there must be an error in the data.
But these were not standard clones. Even in 4D space, they were elite units. They wouldn't transmit unverified intelligence lightly.
The report included their doubts.
Still, the information was relayed as fact.
And statistically, it leaned toward credibility.
The data wasn't complete.
The Dimensional Bridge remained unfinished, and dimensional crossover introduced distortions—meaning Ayla could only derive a vague outline, not a precise picture.
"The report suggests the enemy wasn't lying. There's no strategic benefit in fabricating this."
"But their interpretation may differ from ours. What we deem impossible might not be viewed the same way on their end."
"In any case, we must treat this scenario as a viable possibility."
"Even if its probability remains low."
One question persisted:
"If this so-called four-dimensional civilization is genuinely weak, then what explains the dimensional invasion tens of thousands of years ago?"
Such feats of transdimensional warfare implied a technological capacity far beyond anything a weak civilization could muster.
Their adversary had shown clear mastery of dimensional mechanics—capable of bypassing gateways and transmitting data directly between four and three dimensions.
Ayla estimated their technological standing to be at least Type 2.8.
It was precisely this estimation that had pushed the Federation to accelerate its own dimensional research.
Waiting for the opposing civilization to descend into three dimensions would be tantamount to inviting disaster.
Yet now,
The observed outcome contradicted that entire line of reasoning.
"Where exactly is the error?" Ayla pondered.
Her computational capacity allowed for exhaustive hypothesis modeling, but without sufficient empirical data, all possible models held equal weight—rendering them effectively useless.
"We must wait for the Dimensional Bridge to be completed. Only then can we send personnel into four-dimensional space and assess the situation firsthand."
Until then, any judgment remained pure conjecture.
Ayla would not allow this anomaly to disrupt her existing strategic plans.
Overestimating the enemy was always preferable to underestimating them.
There was another reason Ayla refrained from speculation.
The intelligence from Denal and the findings from this expedition were inconsistent.
Although separated by tens of thousands of years, the discrepancy was too significant to ignore.
Something had clearly been misunderstood—somewhere, something didn't align.
"But overall, this might be a good sign. It suggests that our future four-dimensional explorations will be significantly easier."
"Everything here is proceeding smoothly. I wonder how Luna is doing."
...
Hossie Eternal Cycle Star Nation.
Hossie and Chu had assumed human avatars, seated with Luna on a sofa in a cozy room.
Sunlight streamed in through a nearby window, casting a gentle warmth across the space.
It was a virtual world—anything could be created.
Even the scenery beyond the window.
Outside, a vast ocean of pink blossoms stretched across the landscape. At its center, a clear blue lake reflected the sky above. Towering white phoenixes soared and danced through the air. Beneath the lake, a massive stone golem sat cross-legged. Emeralds shimmered where its eyes should be. With outstretched hands, it upheld a palace—within which another fantastical world existed.
That inner world was currently being projected as a hologram atop the coffee table where the three sat.
It was purely decorative.
None of them paid it any attention.
Instead, all three were focused on reviewing the intelligence they had received.
The information had been transmitted from the Flyer Civilization to the Federation, and then relayed here.
"Do you think the information is reliable?" Luna asked, addressing Chu and Hossie.
The message had been received by another version of Luna.
The crux: the Flyer Civilization had already formed alliances with other civilizations.
This development would make it far more difficult for them to form alliances of their own.
The civilization the Flyer had contacted was not far from their current location. If alliances were already in place, it was highly likely that the civilization they were targeting was already aligned with the Flyers.
To propose an alliance now would make them appear naïve—out of touch.
"It's very likely true," Chu replied.
"The Flyer Civilization absolutely has the capability to contact others. At the very least, this is a way to break the deadlock we're in."
"And the fact that they cited this as a reason shows they've already considered this angle. If they've thought it through, I don't see any reason why they wouldn't act on it."
To the Flyer Civilization, this was a move of pure strategic benefit.
Given that, the moment they began to contemplate the matter, action would inevitably follow.
By now—after such a prolonged silence—it was no surprise that they had formed alliances with several other civilizations.
"I agree," Luna said. "The Flyer Civilization has no reason not to cooperate."
"But I don't think we're necessarily the clowns here," Chu replied.
"Cooperation is based on the exchange of benefits. The true ally is whoever provides the greater value."
Chu paused in thought.
He had recently developed a fascination with ancient human strategy games—particularly Go—and his understanding of tactics had deepened significantly.
"That's true," he continued, "but convincing others you can deliver those benefits is an art in itself."
"The Flyer Civilization has the advantage of striking first."
"If we attempt to negotiate cooperation now, the other party could just as easily sell that information to the Flyer Civilization. Not only would they profit, they might even use it to escalate the conflict between us."
Hostility among civilizations hadn't disappeared—it had only gone dormant.
A third party would be more than happy to watch humanity and the Flyer Civilization tear each other apart.
They'd gain from the fallout.
And though all parties claimed to share a common goal—resisting the dominant civilization at the galactic core—everyone knew that was a hollow ideal.
It was a distant, likely unattainable objective.
And when certainty is lacking, immediate interests always take precedence.
"So, we abandon the original plan?" Hossie asked, visibly frustrated.
It had been a solid plan—one that could free them from their current constraints and even offer a chance to break free from this multidimensional war entirely.
Both turned to Luna.
She was, after all, the final authority—the one who decided.
"The difficulty has increased," Luna acknowledged, "but it's not beyond what we anticipated."
"Our original objective was to absorb the Flyer Civilization, and their resistance was always expected."
"If the third party wants to sit back and watch tigers fight, then let them watch."
That would ensure the Flyer Civilization couldn't secure outside support.
In the end, the result would be the same.
Chu and Hossie hadn't thought that far ahead.
Clearly, there was still much to plan.
"Sending the intel directly," Luna said, "signals that we don't have time for diplomacy."
She had set the tone—and the direction.
Lay everything bare. Resolve it quickly.
That was the best outcome.
Even after the decision was made, the meeting did not adjourn.
"A large number of deaths have occurred in Star City 4. The situation there is becoming highly unstable."
"I believe I need to go and assess it myself," Hossie said.
"Star City 4 is 589 light-years from Star City 1. A conventional vessel would take around 2,100 years to reach it."
"Why not transfer your consciousness into a subluminal flight vehicle?" Chu suggested. "That would compress the travel time to approximately 620 years."
It was, indeed, a faster solution.
Hossie gave it some thought.
2,100 years was far too long.
Originally, the Eternal Cycle Star Nation had kept all its Star Cities clustered closely together.
But in this new era, Hossie had initiated a gradual expansion—pushing the boundaries of the Eternal Cycle sector and spacing the Star Cities further apart.
Star City 4 wasn't even the most distant.
Star City 7, for example, lay 722 light-years from Star City 1.
Even so, compared to the full span of Human Civilization's current sector, the Eternal Cycle's footprint remained relatively compact.
The longest linear distance across the Human Civilization domain already stretched to 3,193 light-years.
With the Federation's fastest manned vessels, that would take no less than 11,300 years to traverse.
For a standard warship, the journey would take 16,500 years.
As the sector continued expanding, travel times would only increase.
However, the Federation had already begun research into faster-than-light travel—specifically, wormholes.
Giotto's transit through a black hole had confirmed the potential existence of wormhole passages. The Federation had since launched a full-scale wormhole research initiative.
If successful, this would mark Humanity's true entry into the FTL era—an essential step for further expansion and advancement.
According to Luna's estimates, mastering such technology was likely the baseline requirement for a top-tier civilization.
Still, Hossie had concerns.
"The drawbacks of subluminal flight vehicles are clear," he said. "They're extremely vulnerable to damage."
"To be honest, it might be safer just to accelerate my physical body to near light speed and make the trip myself."
The universe might appear empty and uneventful, but the incident in Star City 4 cast a long shadow.
Subluminal flight vehicles lacked self-deceleration capability. If Star City 4 failed to deploy a deceleration ring on time, the vehicle would simply continue drifting—eventually exiting the range of Human Civilization and flying indefinitely until it struck something.
That impact would release enough energy to obliterate a planet—and naturally, he wouldn't survive it.
"It's the only viable choice... unless you're considering super-antimatter displacement?" Chu offered, though his tone made it clear he wasn't serious.
That approach was even less reliable.
Meanwhile, Luna had pulled up a new data stream on her terminal.
Inspection technology in this era was highly advanced—it could search by abstract concepts, not just keywords, and filter out irrelevant information with precision.
After linking to the Star City 1 network, she quickly located a relevant research paper.
"I've told you time and time again to regularly review regional research content," Luna said coldly. "But it seems you haven't taken it seriously."
"Take a look at this."
She pulled up a file and threw it upward.
The entire space around them shifted drastically.
They were now inside a virtual laboratory. Dozens of figures moved about, working around a massive piece of machinery.
This machine was colossal—over 400 kilometers in length and 200 kilometers high. Its full extent couldn't even be seen at a glance.
A man walked out of the lab, approached them, and began to explain.
"Greetings. I'm the lead researcher for the Angola Project."
"What you're looking at is a revolutionary advancement in rocketry."
"This is the heart of the Angola Project: the Angola Funnel."
"As you can see, it's part of a colossal propulsion system. Its core function is to concentrate and compress energy to generate a black hole, which is then used for propulsion."
"Follow me, and I'll explain how the Angola Funnel truly works…"
This was not a simple video.
It was a spatial simulation—fully interactive. One could move freely within it, inspect details up close, and interact with the environment.
This meant you could manipulate almost anything inside. Write notes. Operate instruments. Even dissect the virtual people if you wished—each atom of their virtual bodies had been meticulously recorded.
Despite this, it was still called a "video," because if left untouched, the simulation would follow a pre-recorded narrative.
"Black hole engine?" Chu and Hossie both froze. Their expressions shifted.
They had never heard of any such research within Star City.
How could a black hole be used for propulsion?
The virtual presenter continued.
"The Angola Funnel is a bold innovation. As you know, black holes absorb all forms of energy—they are the ultimate sink."
"Logically, creating a black hole would only cause everything nearby to fall into its event horizon."
"But we've turned to another property: the death of a black hole."
"A black hole is still a celestial object. The energy it absorbs is stored in the singularity. When it dies, the singularity vanishes—and all that stored energy is released."
"If we create a high-mass but highly unstable black hole that exists only for a brief moment, we can harness the resulting burst of expelled energy for propulsion."
That concept birthed the Angola Funnel.
At its core is a massive sphere with a funnel-shaped nozzle.
Energy is poured into the chamber, forming a black hole that immediately collapses. The resulting explosion is contained within the sphere and vented through the funnel.
The energy released from such a detonation surpasses any known energy source in the universe.
The Angola Funnel's energy efficiency is 0.003%—in other words, 99.997% of the energy is used just to stabilize the reaction and suppress the blast.
Even with that, the system still requires the entire output of a planet-class warship just to function.
Luna pulled up the comment section.
Millions of user responses appeared, overwhelmingly hostile.
[Thought this was cutting-edge tech. Turns out it's just sci-fi garbage!]
[Making this kind of video—don't you feel embarrassed?]
[At this rate, its energy loss isn't 99.997%, it's more like 199.997%! You need a planet's worth of energy to make the black hole, then more energy just to keep it from blowing everything apart!]
[What kind of clown lab came up with this? Go back and research for a few more millennia before you show your face again!]
[...]
The wave of insults left Chu and Hossie speechless.
But upon further thought, the criticism made sense.
In practical terms, the system was nearly useless.
So why had Luna shown it to them?
Could there be some unique application for this technology?