I slowly stepped away from the interstellar comm terminal and activated the detonator — Dooku's instructions had been unambiguous: erase all traces. Of course, I didn't exactly "read" the Jedi's actions — I simply nudged him into behaving the way I needed, so his droid and ship had already been destroyed in orbit by Vizsla's men, and for now the Jedi still had no idea we were working together.
In general, this was my first successful attempt at persuading a "light‑sider" while acting as Brut, and I'm clearly making progress. Before, I couldn't even convince a scruffy padawan of anything, and now I've gained (probably) a future ally. I told Dooku the same thing — that the Jedi had become disillusioned with the Council but wasn't ready to join the war yet. Let him wander off wherever he wants, as long as he doesn't get in the way. Judging by the Count's expression, he didn't love that logic, but he didn't argue — he only emphasized that full responsibility for the upcoming Mandalore operation now rested on me.
And the operation has to be carried out together with Pre Vizsla, who, as it turns out, is the actual governor of Mandalore's moon — Concordia. What was he doing here on Concord Dawn? Now that I know this, it's obvious Dooku already had some sort of contact with him, and that's why he suggested meeting on "neutral territory." Or maybe Vizsla had other business here. Ugh, once again I don't have the full picture. I should've spent more time digging through the local network before blowing everything to hell.
A few minutes later, the predatory silhouette of a ship flashed across the sky, and soon a Kom'rk‑class fighter‑transport landed on the small platform that served as a spaceport here. Vizsla's men picked me up. Some of them still had scorch marks on their armor — so I quickly realized these were the same guys I'd had that "small" conflict with earlier.
I instinctively rested my hand on my lightsaber, but the one who seemed to be in charge walked up and tapped my shoulder with his fist, grinning: "Relax, Brut — or whatever your name is. You fight well, I'll give you that. We got carried away. But now we're allies, so let's leave it behind. And now we know what each of us is capable of." He shot a look at the others — not all of whom seemed thrilled — and walked toward the cockpit. Looks like Vizsla chewed them out and sent them to "make peace." Well, I did wreck my own ship, so they'd have to give me a ride anyway.
After that, at my insistence, we flew back to pick up Kem, and then headed straight toward some unknown coordinates. I'll check the star map later. While we flew, I talked to the more approachable warriors (the ones who didn't reach for their blasters when I got close) and finally learned why the governor of Concordia had come all the way out here. Turns out he'd been here long before I arrived, leading one of Death Watch's operations. Which one — no one bothered to explain. But judging by the helmets nailed into the cave walls during our first meeting, I can guess the general theme. Why he couldn't just command remotely via hologram — I have no idea. Must be a local cultural thing.
Speaking of key players, I should mention someone: Satine Kryze — Duchess of Mandalore and one of my main opponents in this "mission." Because of her pacifist policies, Death Watch wants to overthrow her. It contradicts their traditions, and apparently a portion of the population agrees with them. Right now, thanks to her, Mandalore follows a strict "non‑intervention" stance in the war — which neither side is happy about.
We didn't fly long before landing at one of Vizsla's hidden bases, where I had a rather dull conversation with him. He outlined his plan — and if you strip away all the theatrics and grandstanding that stretched the talk to a full hour, here's what we've got:
Death Watch attacks mines and loyalist supply depots (officially blamed on "government negligence"). Humanitarian aid to the needy from Vizsla (creating the image of a "protector" — the planet is struggling with shortages).
Blackmail Almec with incriminating evidence (Almec = Mandalore's Prime Minister; according to Death Watch intel, he's selling food on the black market that could solve the famine). With his help: public accusation of Satine and transfer of power to Death Watch. Block Republic/Jedi aid with a CIS blockade; feed the Republic disinformation.
Death Watch uprising with popular support, attacking all of Satine's faction and seizing control of the sector.
If I remember the show correctly, their "information war" and the rumors that Satine supported the CIS are exactly why they sent Obi‑bloody‑Wan Kenobi here. She pointed him straight at Death Watch. Naturally, the Jedi beat everyone up, confirmed Satine wasn't lying, and took her to Coruscant for further investigation — practically on a white horse. And the fandom had a field day with their "relationship." Even I got dragged into that nonsense once. If fans nearly "married" Jilimann and Ivrein, then Star Wars ships are nothing.
Anyway, by steering the conversation carefully, I figured out that their propaganda campaign had started long ago — so long ago they didn't even bother listing it in the plan. Meaning the Jedi visit was probably unavoidable…
…or so I thought, until Vizsla added that a Jedi had already arrived from the Republic to investigate the rumors — and we needed to "neutralize" him if possible.
Yeah, sure. Let me just drop everything and go fight Kenobi! "Yeah! Right now! Absolutely!" As the saying goes: "Yeah, right, buddy."
I already have ideas on how to get out of this without a fight. Seems I'm getting used to solving problems with my head instead of my fists. Probably a good thing. Definitely healthier.
"Soon there will be a fight, little Sith. I can feel it," Kem grinned, sitting quietly in the darkest corner — a place even Vizsla's seasoned warriors avoided.
I just snorted. No way, big guy — not happening.
But even if a fight did come… I wouldn't run. Even if it's Obi‑Wan Kenobi himself — I'm not the same clueless kid who first landed in this world, unable to enhance my body without pain.
And I'm not alone.
Time to begin the first step of our plan.
XXXXXXXXX
The fog of Concordia curled around the cliffs like the cold fingers of a warrior gripping his weapon after death. I stood at the edge of the ravine, watching the Kell‑Darak mine — a massive "wound" in the planet's body, from which the Mandalorians tore out the resources that fed the illusion of their independence.
Below, in the darkness, Vizsla's men moved like shadows between the support beams. Their movements were precise, sharpened by years of training under seasoned instructors. But I saw more than warriors: I saw pawns in a game that would change the course of galactic history. Every termite charge they planted at critical structural points wasn't just explosives. They were seeds of chaos that would grow into a harvest of revolution. And revolution, in a way, is already my specialty. Their task was to create the appearance of negligence by Satine's government. Mine was to make sure that harvest didn't rot before it sprouted.
I inhaled the cold air, feeling it burn my lungs, and quickly checked the sensor readings. The camera droids were already in position. The last of the saboteurs reported he was done and leaving the mine. Time: 04:17 in the morning — shift change overlap, but most workers were still in their barracks. Perfect. I checked the wrist chrono synced with the detonators. In seven minutes, the mine would become a symbol of the pacifist government's failure. Seven minutes — enough time to rethink the strategy if something went wrong.
Right then my communicator vibrated — a short, almost inaudible pulse. Bo‑Katan Kryze, commander of the Night Owls, reported from orbit: "Unidentified ship approaching. Signature masked, but trajectory matches a Republic corvette. Possibly the Jedi, Kenobi."
At that news… my pulse didn't even twitch. I wasn't afraid, though there was a hint of nerves. But it didn't matter. He had arrived, and I was waiting for him. The question was how he would change the situation — and why he came here specifically, when similar operations were happening at other mines. Could he have sensed the Dark Side here? But I was concealed.
Well, there was only one way to find out:
"Cancel detonator synchronization," I ordered calmly, my voice betraying no doubt, then continued:
"Fall back to point Bravo. Leave one charge — the one at the main conveyor. It detonates in ten minutes, on my signal."
My words went through a secure channel, but I was already mentally shifting to the backup plan I'd prepared. Obi‑Wan would save the workers — excellent. The more witnesses who saw a Jedi interfering in Mandalore's internal affairs, the better for Vizsla's propaganda. But evidence of sabotage had to remain. One explosion, even a small one, was enough for fake news.
I smiled to myself in the darkness. In an information war, I definitely wasn't losing to the local "professionals."
Slowly, we moved down the slope — my black cloak with its Mandalorian pattern hid my silhouette, and the makeup I'd applied beforehand turned me into practically a different person. The role of "Pre Vizsla's advisor" required a bit of theatrics — an open posture, measured speech, a slight Concordian accent. But the most important thing was suppressing the Force. It's no secret that Jedi sense the Dark Side the way hounds smell blood.
I'm no Sidious in that regard, but as long as I kept my emotions muted, even an experienced Jedi would have trouble detecting me. Apparently Taales originally had this ability, but the memory of it surfaced only recently — after the fight with that "dark" Jedi. And honestly, I don't remember this skill existing in the game. Gradually, like a switch flipping, I suddenly understood how to do it. Theoretically, it still needed a lot of training, but even at its current level it could be useful.
Oh yes. Right now I was simply Zarek Von — temporary security advisor, loyal to the idea of a "new Mandalore." No Darkness, only reason and cold calculation.
Suddenly, chaos erupted below. The explosion hadn't gone off yet, but evacuation sirens cut through the silence, and the floodlights pierced the fog, illuminating the workers' faces — old men, seasoned laborers, teenagers in worn jumpsuits. They ran, not understanding what was happening. And at the entrance to the mine stood the main cause of the commotion — Obi‑Wan, his blue lightsaber reflecting in the puddles of condensation on the ground. He shouted to the panicking workers: "Stay calm! Everyone to the exit! The explosion is inevitable, but we have time!"
His voice was firm, but I heard tension. He sensed me. Not as a Sith — no, but as a threat. His eyes slid toward me when I approached the workers with a group of "rescuers" — protocol droids and my "security."
"Master Kenobi," I extended my hand, my voice carrying a hint of worry,
"I'm Zarek Von, security advisor to Governor Vizsla. Thank you for arriving in time. These terrorists from the clans… they'll stop at nothing!"
But Obi‑Wan didn't take my hand. His gaze passed through me like a laser through fog.
"Advisor Von… is that your real name?" he asked politely, but with steel beneath the words.
He knew. Or suspected. I felt the Dark Side stir inside me, like a snake ready to strike anyone who reached for it. But I also remembered a line from a tactics book I'd read during a hyperspace flight:
"…true cunning is letting the enemy win in small things, distracting him from the real blow."
I allowed myself a touch of confusion, furrowing my brow:
"My real name? The governor entrusted me with inspecting the safety of his mines — I've been flying around here for days. But you…" I smirked, showing a personal holo‑ID on my wrist, then lowered my voice:
"How did a Jedi get here so quickly? Seems the Republic is watching Mandalore more closely than we thought?"
It was a risky move — striking first. But Obi‑Wan didn't flinch. He turned away, checking something on his datapad, and said:
"I came at the request of those who still believe in Mandalore's autonomy. But right now…" he pointed at the scorched wiring on the wall, continuing with the same tense expression:
"These charges were placed very professionally, and they look… familiar. These aren't 'clan terrorists.' CIS?"
My mind assessed the situation instantly. We had planned for this too. I had planned for it.
My hand slipped under my cloak to the belt, activating a miniature pulse emitter. A quiet, barely audible hum — and the datapad in Obi‑Wan's hand went dark. The Jedi blinked, surprised by the malfunction.
"Perhaps you're overtired, 'Master,' and mixing things up. Even machines fail sometimes — let alone people. But you're right, the detonators were placed very professionally. However, I can't be sure the CIS is responsible — it could just as easily be the Republic. I've heard your clone commandos are far more skilled than any droid army."
I said calmly, stepping closer. His expression twitched. He felt the lie — but couldn't pinpoint where.
Meanwhile, the fog thickened, hiding us from the workers' view, though they definitely heard everything I'd said earlier.
A pity I couldn't use the Force — that would expose me instantly.
At that moment, the explosion came — a dull, muffled boom through the rock. Not exactly as planned. Too early. Looks like one of the miners triggered a charge prematurely. The ground trembled twice more, and stones fell from the ceiling. Obi‑Wan instinctively raised his lightsaber to shield me.
A noble gesture.
A foolish one.
I stepped aside, avoiding the falling debris, and allowed myself a tiny smile as the dust settled:
"You're too late, Master Kenobi. This is the work of terrorists who want to destroy our autonomy. First the mines, tomorrow the government. And who will protect us? The Republic? Or you personally?"
Obi‑Wan spun around sharply. Understanding flickered in his eyes: I was playing him. But he couldn't attack — not without proof. Not here, not now, surrounded by frightened civilians.
He extinguished his lightsaber, and his voice carried weary wisdom:
"I'm not here to protect autonomy, Advisor. I'm here to protect lives. And I know this attack wasn't done by simple terrorists. I sense… a shadow. A shadow hiding behind your words."
"A shadow" — he phrased it surprisingly well. I almost laughed. Instead, I took a deep breath, letting genuine despair tremble in my voice:
"Maybe that's the shadow of your own conscience, 'Master' Jedi? Satine promised prosperity, yet the mines collapse, children starve, while she and her cronies live in luxury! And you Republic spies only fan the flames, taking away the only work our people have! Their only way to survive! Now I'm almost certain you had a hand in this!"
I pointed at the ruins behind us, adding:
"This wasn't an accident. It was murder. Murder of hope. And if you won't help us stop the real culprits, Mandalore will die."
Obi‑Wan remained silent.
He knew I was manipulating him.
But he also knew I was telling the truth… part of it.
The people were starving.
The mines were collapsing from corruption.
I hadn't lied — I simply didn't mention that I had orchestrated this explosion myself.
The Jedi couldn't arrest me for words.
He could only watch as his presence became a tool in someone else's hands.
"I will find whoever is behind this. And it won't matter who protects them," he said quietly.
"I wish you luck, Master. But remember: on Mandalore, the Force doesn't rule. People do. And their anger isn't something you can stop with a lightsaber." I bowed and stepped back into the fog, closer to the shaken crowd.
Vizsla was already on approach, so I could finally withdraw — to avoid anyone accusing the governor of "waiting in advance," he had to fly all the way from the planet's capital. As for me… I was just a humble "temporary security advisor" sent to personally inspect the mines, who just happened to be here and immediately reported the incident to his superiors.
Unfortunately, only I could take this role, considering Jedi were masters at clouding the minds of the non‑gifted — something the Mandalorians knew very well. According to our original plan, I was supposed to "adjust" the miners' thoughts a bit after the explosion so they'd express their anger more loudly, but things turned out even better.
Well then, even if our plan didn't go exactly as intended because of a new variable — the Jedi, who somehow learned about the operation and rushed here to "save the innocent" — I still found a way out. And I consider this round mine. Except for one thing…
By preliminary estimates, about five people were left under the rubble, one of whom tried to disarm the planted bomb on his own and triggered the explosion early. I can't say I felt no guilt at all, but its "voice" was so faint I was surprised.
I never would've thought that being involved in the deaths of five people would leave not even a drop of sympathy in my heart. And they had families — people they worked to feed. How will their children live now?
Is this the Dark Side affecting me, making me stop caring?
Or am I becoming a monster?
I definitely need to meditate on this…
With those heavy thoughts, I walked toward the ship Kem had brought — still annoyed he hadn't been able to attack the Jedi immediately. Unfortunately, "removing" Kenobi would have to wait. For now, he was more useful alive.
Finally, once the ship lifted off the ground, I allowed myself to relax. Clearing my throat, I sent a message to Vizsla, speaking in my normal voice, without a trace of the Mandalorian accent:
"The Jedi somehow learned about the planned operation. I had to improvise. Now we have a new media angle: 'A Jedi personally invited by Satine caused an explosion at the mine, depriving our citizens of their jobs to showcase our supposed weakness.' Sounds catchy enough that all of Mandalore will be talking about it soon, don't you think? I hope your propaganda department isn't planning to sleep tonight. Load them with this. Tomorrow Satine will lose support. And Obi‑Wan… for now he's a very convenient symbol of the Republic — we'll still need him. I have a plan for the next steps, and I know exactly how to use him in it."
I looked at the Jedi's ship rising through the fog and smirked crookedly.
I quickly stepped into the washroom and finally removed the "Zarek Von" mask completely, washing my face clean. That persona had to disappear. The reflection in the mirror was calm, but a cold fire burned in my eyes. Obi‑Wan remembered me. He remembered my lies. Excellent. Let him follow that trail — he doesn't know he's hunting not a Mandalorian, but a shadow that has already woven its web around everything.
The author of that tactics book had been right:
"…true cunning is letting the enemy win in small things, distracting him from the real strike."
And today's battle?
Today Vizsla "lost" a mine on the planet he governs, but in exchange he won the hearts of the people. And once the people believe the Republic is sending Jedi to suppress them… the real victory will be ours.
But public anger doesn't ignite so easily — I still needed to finish a few preparations for the final touch.
Returning to the cockpit, I quickly entered coordinates into the navigator.
Next destination — Mandalore, the city of Sundari.
Time for the next move.
Time to show the Jedi, the Mandalorians, and everyone else that true power isn't in armor or blasters.
True power is in a mind that can endure, plan, and wait.
Even if it means letting a Jedi win a small victory by arriving at that cursed mine early.
And Obi‑Wan Kenobi had just handed me the perfect excuse for the next "attack":
his very presence on Mandalore would become my greatest weapon.