The space around the colonizer convoy had become a theater of the absurd. On one side, the formidable Vanguard fleet stood still, its cannons silent—a pack of wolves abruptly ordered to sit and watch. On the other, the four crippled ships of the Specter Cell drifted like hollow carcasses of metal, witnesses to their own humiliation. And in between, the small, defiant Star-Mite—an unlikely shepherd guarding the flock her own hounds had tried to tear apart.
Ishtar's offer to the "Steel Hounds" hung in the silence for a long minute. To General Ares, it was insult layered upon injury. It wasn't enough that Ishtar had neutralized an attack right under his nose—now she was hiring mercenaries to unravel his plans in front of him. It was a display not of military power, but of economics and influence. She was playing five-dimensional chess, while he only knew how to knock pieces off the board.
At last, the gravel-edged voice of Zark, leader of the Steel Hounds, answered on the open channel. His fleet, several systems away, now lit up on every listener's map.
"Black Ladybug, this is Zark. Your offer is generous. Triple the standard rate, you said? Payment up front?"
"Half now, half upon successful completion of the escort," Ishtar replied without hesitation. "Transfer is being initiated."
On his command deck, Ares watched the Steel Hounds' fleet icon shift toward Gryphon-7. Hiring the same mercenaries he had indirectly gotten fired to sabotage his plans was a masterstroke of audacity. He wanted to give the order to fire—to wipe them all from the sky. Ishtar. The traitors of Specter. The opportunistic mercenaries.
But his hands were tied.
Ninsun and the Council wanted Ishtar. But attacking the colonization ships he himself was escorting—and engaging a known mercenary guild over a contract that was, technically, legal—would trigger a diplomatic incident he could not afford.
Ishtar had cornered him with his own rules.
With a growl of pure frustration, Ares gave the order.
"Vanguard Legion, fall back to the sector perimeter. Maintain observation posture."
As the massive war fleet withdrew, Ishtar's message to Kael and the Specter Cell came—short and brutal—delivered through their now-reactivated private channel.
Remain in your positions. Do not attempt to move. Do not attempt repairs. You are in my custody. Judgment will come.
And then, silence.
For hours, Kael and his pilots drifted in the dark—ships broken, careers in ruin—as they watched the bizarre dance unfold. The Steel Hounds' fleet arrived, took formation around the colonizer convoy, and with professional efficiency began escorting it away from danger.
All under General Ares's impotent gaze.
But the true judgment was not happening there.
It was unfolding across the entire ecosystem of the Ladybug Warriors.
The Ladybug Network—Khepri's secure channel where the Thousand communicated—was in flames. The public transmission of the confrontation, captured by countless sensors and echoed across forums, spread like wildfire. The story fractured into a thousand conflicting versions.
Ishtar attacked her own!
She struck a deal with the Vanguard!
She hired mercenaries! She's becoming what she swore to destroy!
Doubt, confusion, and anger rippled through the invisible ranks. Ishtar's silence only fed the speculation. The army of ghosts stood on the edge of an ideological civil war.
Then, at the height of the chaos, the network went silent.
All conversations ceased. Every channel closed.
A single transmission window opened at the center of every member's interface.
It showed the Star-Mite, motionless in the void of Gryphon-7.
And Ishtar's voice—clear, calm, resonating with absolute authority—filled the channel.
"Today, one of our cells—the Specter Cell—attempted to assassinate hundreds of non-combatants under the guise of 'strategic action,'" she began, her tone devoid of emotion. She was not apologizing. She was stating facts. "They did so using the technology we gave them for protection, the anonymity we gave them for concealment, and the banner we gave them for justification."
She paused, letting the accusation settle.
"Many of you are confused. Many of you are angry. You ask why I intervened. Why I attacked my own. The answer is simple. Because they ceased to be 'our own' the moment they locked weapons on innocents."
The projection shifted, displaying the tactical analysis of the aborted strike—life signs aboard the convoy, torpedoes armed, firing solutions locked. The evidence was irrefutable.
"Let me be absolutely clear, so there is no room left for doubt," Ishtar's voice hardened, each word a hammer strike. "We are not like them. We do not build empires on the corpses of weaker players. We do not justify slaughter in the name of profit or convenience. We break economies. Yes. We corrupt giants. Yes. We sow chaos in the structures of power that enslave you."
The image returned to the cockpit of the Star-Mite. For the first time, the Thousand saw Ishtar's avatar—only a silhouette against starlight, but enough.
"But there is a line we will never cross," she continued. "A single line that separates us from them. We will never, under any circumstances, spill innocent blood. This is not a guideline. It is our identity. It is the soul of this movement. The moment we lose that… we have already lost the war."
She raised her hand.
On every interface, four new icons appeared—avatars of the Specter Cell: Kael, Lyra, Specter Three, Specter Four. Frozen. Gray.
"Kael. Lyra. Specter Three. Specter Four," Ishtar named them, their identities echoing into the void. "You have been found guilty of violating the one principle of this army. The punishment is not death. It is oblivion."
With a flick of her finger, she severed them.
Before a thousand witnesses, the four icons shattered into pixels and vanished from the Ladybug Network forever.
Excommunicated. Erased.
But the punishment did not end there.
"Every cycle you earned while fighting under this banner," Ishtar continued, "every mission credit, every sabotage bonus, every piece of equipment you acquired… does not belong to you."
A new window appeared: the Specter Cell's treasury account. Millions of cycles—the fruit of their labor for the rebellion.
Before everyone's eyes, the balance began to drain at a terrifying speed.
In seconds, it hit zero.
Another window opened—showing a compensation fund for families of players affected by guild conflicts. Its balance increased by the exact amount stripped from Specter.
"The money has been returned," Ishtar said. "The stain has been cleansed."
The transmission ended.
The Ladybug Network returned to normal—but the atmosphere had changed. Chaos had collapsed into a fearful, reverent silence.
The message was clear.
Ishtar's justice was incorruptible. Her authority, absolute.
She was no longer just a leader.
She was judge, jury, and executioner of her own moral code.
And her courtroom was the void itself.
In Ninsun's command suite, the execution broadcast was watched with clinical interest. Alexandre—hauled back to safety and now standing beside her like a disgraced guard dog—watched with growing dread.
He saw the strategist he knew. A woman who could be ruthless, but always operated within a code of honor.
Now, he saw her forced into tyranny to keep her revolution intact—publicly punishing her own soldiers. He saw the cost of that decision. He felt fear for her.
The weight of that invisible crown was too much for one person.
Ninsun, however, saw no pain.
She saw opportunity.
A slow smile—her first genuine one in weeks—spread across her lips. Not joy.
Predation.
She turned to Alexandre, her eyes gleaming with chilling clarity.
"Do you see it, Lex? Do you see what I see?"
He shook his head, confused. "I see her breaking apart."
"No," Ninsun whispered, almost reverent. "You see the choke point. Her morality. Her decency. That need to be 'better' than us. She won't kill innocents. She won't sacrifice civilians for strategic gain. She won't dirty her hands."
She stepped closer to the screen, her finger tracing Ishtar's silhouette.
"And that's exactly where we'll squeeze. We'll place the entire universe in her hands—and force her to choose between her principles and victory. We'll turn her greatest strength into her fatal weakness. She doesn't want to spill innocent blood? Perfect."
Her smile widened.
"Then we'll make sure the only way to reach us… is by wading through an ocean of it."