When I contacted Dooku and reported what had happened, he was suspiciously pleased — far too pleased for someone whose enemy had just blown up a couple of expensive ships and freed two Jedi, one of whom was Windu. It's not like I expected him to start cursing me out, but I did expect at least some kind of reprimand, and I'd even prepared counterarguments. But… nothing. No reaction at all.
"I'll send you new instructions on where to deliver the Jedi. After that, you'll take on a new assignment. As you've seen, the Neimoidians are extremely mediocre fighters. They excel at their craft — trade — but waging war is a little beyond their qualifications. That's why your next task will be strategically important. Go to Concord Dawn, incognito. There are no Jedi there, only Mandalorians. Earn their trust, and give them what they've always dreamed of — the ability to wage war. A sensible man like you, someone who can seize advantage even in defeat, is the best candidate for this mission. Upon arrival, contact my agent; he will brief you. Once you learn the details, you may request additional resources for the task, up to and including an invasion army."
"As you command, Count," I replied with the faintest hint of irony — completely hidden by the helmet's vocoder.
No, Dooku clearly held a grudge against me. And he sent me on this mission. No plan, just a vague "earn their trust," sure. I agree something needs to be done about the merchants in command, but this approach… Still, I can understand Dooku's logic. If this were about hiring a handful of mercenaries, the CIS could simply pay them. But something bigger is being prepared. I don't know how he plans to integrate Mandalorians into the army if I succeed, but he must have some plan ready. All that remains is the small matter… to conquer them— no, that's stupid — to win their trust. That's our option.
I quickly found a brief summary: Concord Dawn — one of the worlds once conquered by the "Mandalorian Crusaders," still inhabited by an unknown number of their descendants. The planet is technologically backward, covered in deserts and jungles, with plains suitable for agriculture. That was all the information provided.
Well then, everything here needs to be thought through very carefully. First of all, in galactic history, the Mandalorians have repeatedly acted as a kind of "third force" in the conflict between Sith and Jedi. And considering that in SWTOR mercenaries were in no way inferior to Force‑users — ignoring some nuances — it's safe to say that a properly trained fighter with a bunch of gadgets can absolutely hold their own against a Jedi. Not to mention that, unlike the Neimoidians, Mandalorians are trained in the art of war from childhood. Although, it seems to me, most of them are loners. I'll need to check that too — how effectively they can command an army.
During the flights I didn't just sleep — I read books too — so I know of a historical precedent for how the Sith once brought these stubborn warriors into their service. Though finding that kind of literature wasn't easy. The method is primitive, but it never loses effectiveness: you need to befriend and support the most important leader during his rise, and he will unite all the Mandalorians and lead them into battle. And that's where the problems begin. Whom do I choose?
From vague memories of my past life, I recall that in later episodes of the series, some Mandalorian appeared with that unusual black‑and‑white lightsaber of theirs. And he seemed to be one of the strongest Mandalorians. And then there's Boba — who knows where he is now, whether he's already active or still too young, hiding somewhere and training. Honestly, I don't understand his timeline at all. But what I am well‑versed in now, thanks to the downloaded database, is the dirty laundry of these mercenaries. I read it and thought it over. Here's what it looks like:
Even before the Clone Wars, the Mandalorians split into two camps: the Death Watch and the True Mandalorians. The former supported the idea of statehood and military militarism — to put it simply — and the latter chose to be mercenaries squared. A good example of the latter is the Fett "family."
And with this new information, there's no question whom to approach. If Dooku needed mercenaries, he would have hired every True Mandalorian he could find. But no — this mission was handed to me. So I need to contact the Death Watch (to be honest, the name gives me goosebumps and unpleasant Warhammer associations) and support their leader. Although… no. First I need to learn more about them.
A less reckless sentient in my place would have dug through informants before poking his head into a metaphorical tiger's den. Maybe I would even dig up something interesting, but I'm broke right now, and it's not ideal to leave a bloody trail behind me. Yes, I don't get paid a salary, if anything. I already sent a quiet request to my "red" friends, but I don't have much hope for them. The network hasn't grown that much yet.
I need to make a note — ask Dooku to introduce me to CIS informants. Or at least someone I can get money from for these purposes.
And so, as soon as I handed the Jedi over to another prison‑converted "Generosity," I flew exactly where I was told. Let's see what the informant tells me "on site." Dooku isn't a fool — if he didn't have some special information, he would have sent me to their capital world. But he didn't. Some backwater planet instead.
By the way, when I handed the Jedi over, I managed to wheedle a couple of droidekas and four B2s from the captain of that rust bucket. Of course, in deactivated form — I would've taken more, but alas, they didn't fit. Kem, with his heroic dimensions, takes up almost two calculated slots. The captain wasn't thrilled with my request, but I waved Dooku's decree in his face — that I could use any forces — and with a little help from my not‑at‑all‑terrifying hulk, the timid Neimoidian agreed to everything.
Unfortunately, the rest of the journey was very unpleasant. Every now and then I felt a strange sensation of someone else's gaze, although Kem was too far away, and there were no other sentients on the ship. When only a few minutes remained before the end of the hyperspace jump, my entire consciousness suddenly burned with a chilling feeling of fear, which immediately vanished and everything "calmed down."
Of course, I'm no genius, but even my cognitive abilities were enough to realize — this is what people call "spider sense"… oh, a Force warning, I meant to say. So my ship dropped out of hyperspace ready for battle, and I tried to activate the built‑in deflector as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, all my precautions weren't enough. On the other hand, they were already waiting for me. But surprisingly, not a dozen fighters supported by larger ships — just one tub slightly larger than mine. Of course, it had half as many guns, so the alarm signal sounding a minute later — indicating a dangerously fast‑decreasing shield level — was natural.
Kem burst into the cockpit, cursing space travel and the impossibility of showing the unknown attacker the depth of his delusions right now, but I calmed him down as best I could, asked him to buckle up, and under constant fire, using the Force, began the difficult descent toward the planet — so close and yet so far.
The enemy followed us and fired with surprising accuracy, but fortunately my courier was in perfect condition, and only in orbit did luck finally smile on the enemy.
The ship jolted as if a giant fist had slammed into the ribs of the iron beast we were sitting inside. Metal screeched, sirens wailed, and the red glow of emergency lights flooded the cockpit. I clutched the controls, feeling the Star Courier losing thrust — the entire left wing, engine included, had been torn clean off, turning into a cloud of smoking debris in orbit. On the scanner, the pursuer's icon pulsed, sticking to us like glue.
"Think that's enough to stop me?" I hissed, digging my nails into the leather of the pilot's seat. The Force churned in my veins like acid.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, stray thoughts flickered: Who am I even talking to? What am I so afraid of?
And the answer came immediately.
Damn spaceflight — that's what.
Despite all my power, the idea of simply vanishing into the endless void… it always gnawed at me. But never this strongly.
The Courier finally broke through the atmosphere, the hull howling from the friction. Through the viewports I saw smoke and flashes of fire — either the plating was burning, or the planet itself was greeting us with hellfire. The sensors shrieked warnings about overheating. Behind us, the enemy ship danced through the turbulence, almost mocking us. Its shots struck with surgical precision, stripping away the last of our shields. This wasn't a mercenary. And definitely not a pirate.
No — this one was far too methodical.
"Show yourself!" I snarled, as if the enemy could hear me, throwing the ship into a spin.
The g‑forces crushed me into the seat, but the Force kept my mind sharp. And then it hit me — a wave of emotion not my own: hostility, cold and clean as a blade. A Jedi… but not quite. There was intent to kill, sharp and focused, but without hatred. Like a surgeon removing a tumor to save the patient. A very unusual mind.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard a crack — the navigator screen had split. Below us, the planet was a green sphere with patches of desert. Landing pads? No. Ahead were only canyons, narrow as wounds.
Looks like luck was finally on my side.
"Want to play hunter?" I cut the remaining engine for a second, letting the Courier drop like a stone. Enemy lasers skimmed past the hull by centimeters. A blast rocked the cockpit — a hit to the stabilizer.
My hands trembled, but not from fear. From rage. The Force poured through my fingers into the control panel, forcing the crippled systems to obey. The targeting cursor blinked on the screen — the enemy ship, arrogant in its untouchable distance.
"You miscalculated, Jedi," I whispered, forcing down the storm inside me as I slammed the engine back on.
The Courier veered sharply toward a cliff. With one engine gone, the controls fought me, but even this wreck was enough to outsmart the pursuer. At the last moment — a ninety‑degree turn into a narrow fissure. If I calculated correctly, the canyon walls should blind his sensors for a moment…
Impact.
The Jedi's final shot ricocheted off the remaining wing, and the Courier crashed onto the canyon floor like a wounded beast. The engine choked out. A few seconds of brutal shaking, a deafening crash, and then… silence. Nothing but the crackle of overheated metal.
I unbuckled, smelling burnt wiring even through the helmet's filters. Somewhere out there, in the yellow haze, the Jedi was landing too. The Force whispered: He's close. He wants to kill you, even without knowing your name. But he's a Jedi — he uses the Light.
"Well, persistent fans deserve a good kick right away so they don't get in the way later…" I muttered, touching the hilt of my saber. Kem's ongoing rant about space travel echoed behind me. For once, I agreed with every word.
Thankfully, the fissure narrowed overhead, forming a natural cave where we'd crashed. The enemy wouldn't be able to blast us from above — he'd have to come in on foot. Unlike the desert outside, this cave was filled with hanging vines and faintly glowing ferns.
I blasted open the jammed emergency hatch with a Force push. Stumbling, I nearly fell, but caught myself on the hot hull. The burn cleared my head, driving away the Dark Side's grip — during the chase, when helplessness washed over me, it had sunk its claws deep. Somehow, I hadn't snapped completely.
I quickly opened the cargo bay. A moment later, the B2s activated and spread out around the ship. The droidekas stayed hidden inside, ready to roll out at the first sign of danger.
Kem finally squeezed through the doorway, still cursing, and began stretching lazily. Unfortunately, the sense of the enemy's presence hadn't faded. It felt like he was right outside, waiting. My imagination even painted a ship hovering at the cave entrance, ready to blast us the moment we stepped out.
Great. A boss‑fight helicopter level… except in space.
And I'm no Starkiller — I'm not pulling ships out of the sky with the Force. He can come down here on foot.
Flames licked the Courier's hull while I stood in the half‑destroyed cargo bay, fists clenched. Four B2s stood like statues in the shadows, their blasters aimed at the jagged opening — the only entrance.
"He's here," I said quietly, more to myself than to Kem, as the feeling sharpened.
A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. No — not a shadow. A figure in a cloak, blending with the scorched sand and stone. A Jedi. His steps made no sound, but the air vibrated with the tension of the Force, like a drawn bowstring.
"Hold fire. Wait," I ordered the droids, gripping my saber.
He entered. Slowly, like a predator studying a trap. The hood hid his face, but through the helmet I saw his gaze slide from Kem to me.
Then the droidekas rolled out, unfolding with a mechanical snarl. Their rotors screamed as they filled the cave with blaster fire. Colorful bolts tore through the air — but the Jedi… vanished. No — dissolved like smoke. The shots scorched the rock where he'd stood a heartbeat earlier.
"Behind you!" I shouted — too late.
His violet blade sliced the first B2 clean in half. The second turned to fire point‑blank, but the Jedi was already airborne, his cloak snapping like a bat's wing. A Force‑augmented kick to the chestplate sent the B2 flying ten meters upward before it crashed down, flattening a droideka.
"Kem!" I yelled, unleashing lightning — but the dashiade didn't need orders. He was already charging. My lightning raced him toward the Jedi, but the Jedi caught it on his blade. The saber drank my energy like a black hole.
"You're not the first to try frying me," the Jedi said, voice cold as the vacuum I hated. He lunged at Kem, blade flashing.
Kem met the strike with his scorched sword. Metal screamed, sparks flew. He didn't back down — his armor was quickly covered in a web of cuts, but nothing fatal. If anything, it only excited him. He fought like a beast, forcing the Jedi to retreat again and again.
"Fire!" I pointed at the duel. The remaining B2s opened up — but the Jedi vanished again.
He reappeared behind Kem, driving his blade into the dashiade's shoulder. Kem roared, trying to break free, but the Jedi clung to him like a shadow, already reaching toward me.
"Oh you son of a—!" I hurled a broken wing panel at him with all my rage. The debris exploded into a storm of sand and stone where he'd stood — but he slipped away untouched. Too damn agile. Definitely some Force technique — and not just a simple Dash.
Kem, hissing curses, charged forward, slicing part of the cargo bay door off. The Jedi parried, but the force of the blow sent him flying into the darkness, toward the wall.
"Fire!" I ordered the last droideka — and it delivered.
Rotors roared, a hail of bolts pinned the Jedi against the rock. He shielded himself with his cloak — the fabric burned in several places, but it was only an illusion. The shots passed through the cloth without touching him, while his blade carved circles in the air, deflecting every bolt that mattered.
"Pathetic, little Sith larva!" he shouted, anger finally cracking through his cold tone.
I answered with lightning, blasting the ceiling. Stones crashed down, blocking his escape. He leapt aside — but Kem was already there, his sword slicing through rock like paper, nearly taking the Jedi's head off.
"You're tired, Jedi," I stepped forward, gathering energy in my palms.
"Surrender, and I'll make your death quick."
He laughed — a bitter, broken sound.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with."
His blade screamed as it cut through the smoke.
I barely blocked the strike — the force of it threw me to my knees. Kem charged, but the Jedi vanished again.
And reappeared behind me. Cold metal touched my throat.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
With a furious roar, Kem slammed into him like a battering ram. The Jedi flew into the burning hull of the Courier, his already‑tattered cloak catching fire. I stood up, unable to even wipe the blood from my split lip because of the mask.
"Not over yet, holy man…" I growled, spinning my saber and readying my focus device.
I'd used it sparingly before — I was sure the enemy was prepared for this trick. Windu had probably told the entire Jedi Temple about it.
The Jedi shook off the burning cloak. For the first time, I saw his face — covered in scars, long pale hair, eyes like steel, and… something familiar. The Force trembled, as if trying to tell me something.
"You—" I began, but he attacked again before I could finish.
Our blades clashed in a deadly dance. I fell back, feeling his technique dismantling my defense. Each strike was sharper than the last. Kem tried to intervene, but the Jedi hurled him into a pile of debris with the Force. A record — no one had ever thrown a dashiade that far.
"Out of tricks?" he growled, driving me toward a fissure in the floor I hadn't noticed. Behind me yawned a drop into the canyon's depths.
At that moment, while I kept him busy, a surviving B2 fired — the bolt hit the Jedi square in the shoulder. I'd ordered them not to shoot earlier, afraid they'd hit me by accident. The Jedi staggered, and I seized the moment — lightning struck his chest for a couple of seconds. He fell to his knees, his saber slipping from his hand.
"Die!" I raised my blade.
But he looked at me. Not with hatred.
With… pity?
"You still don't see," he whispered.
The rock above us cracked. Boulders crashed down, burying the cargo bay. I leapt back, shielding myself with the Force. When the dust settled… the Jedi was gone.
"Kem!" I shouted.
The dashiade crawled out from under the rubble, clutching his wounded arm. The droids were smoking heaps of scrap.
"Coward!" Kem spat toward the cave entrance.
"Looks like you saw something in me, Jedi… and ran. Interesting," I muttered.
The truth was, he'd be dead right now if I hadn't hesitated earlier, when I had the chance to take his head. I just… couldn't. Even with the Dark Side pushing me, that feeling… Killing an ordinary sentient is hard but doable. But killing a Force‑user — for some reason — is much harder. Something I'll need to think about. And decide whether that's good or bad.
Kem growled, yanking his sword free from the boulder that had pinned it.
"Next time I won't hold back…" I hissed for dramatic effect, staring at the uneven trail in the sand leading out of the cave. After a moment, I added:
"Kem, get over here. I'll heal your wounds. We clearly have more battles ahead of us."
XXXXXXXXX
Author's note: Our protagonist has finally annoyed the Jedi Council enough for them to send someone who specializes in killing Sith. By the way, this is a completely new character created specifically for this book, so don't bother looking for any resemblance to canon or Legends.