Chapter 876: The White Blade
There was a ripple in the Void—subtle at first, like the disturbance of still water—and then, in the next heartbeat, thirteen figures appeared in its endless black expanse.
At their forefront stood Marshal Maximo, his aura vast and commanding, a living embodiment of war. At his side were the five greatest champions of the Xaos Kingdom: Vlad, Jormungandr, Fafnir, Ouroboros, and Freya—the True Depravitas, embodiments of the Kingdom’s unyielding might. With them came Overlord and the ever-fierce Fang. Together, these seven were the original Legends of Xaos, the core that had carried the Kingdom through the Exilion War.
But now, they were joined by five new figures, each exuding power that shook the very fabric of the Void. They were none other than Mirena, Amara, Clasius, Roman, and Frank—the Royal Guard. In the Exilon War, they had fought ceaselessly, forced to push their bodies and souls beyond their limits. Bathed in the relentless radiance of the Red Sun of Wrath for more than a year, they had finally broken through the ceiling of the Sage Realm.
They had become Legends.
And not just ordinary Legends. The genetic and alchemy alterations to their bodies and souls had forged them into warriors whose might brushed the threshold of High Legends. Individually, they rivaled the greatest of champions. Together, they were a storm incarnate—capable of wonders.
It took the group a few moments to recover. After all, leaping through an Interstellar Teleportation Formation directly into the Void Between Worlds—instead of a stable planetary anchor—was punishing even for the strongest. Their bodies felt heavy, their minds momentarily clouded by dizziness. But once they shook off the disorientation and raised their eyes, the sight before them stole their breath.
What emerged from the darkness was no mere vessel—it was a colossal warship, vast enough to dwarf mountains and continents alike. It drifted like a predator through the cosmic sea, its presence alone bending silence into dread.
Forged of milky-white metal that seemed to drink in the surrounding starlight, the vessel resembled a divine blade cast into the heavens—a leviathan of iron and fire. Its hull stretched endlessly, angular and seamless, more weapon than ship. Every line of its construction spoke of lethality, sharpened into a spear meant not for exploration, but for piercing worlds.
From within its armored body pulsed faint red veins of light. They glowed like molten blood or the hidden eyes of some slumbering titan, burning with an almost organic rhythm. The ship felt less engineered than born, alive, in some terrible way.
Around it, drifting asteroids were reduced to insignificance, pebbles beside a god. Nebulae cast pale light across its hull, but even that was devoured, leaving only the vessel’s crimson veins to mark its shape. It was not merely a machine. It was a predator—ancient, inevitable, a harbinger of doom.
Vlad’s eyes narrowed. His voice was low, laced with awe.
"This... is the White Blade?"
He had heard the legends. The White Blade was the mightiest warship of the Graecia Empire, a weapon so fearsome that only the Emperor himself could command it. Vlad had expected grandeur, even terror. Yet what lay before him exceeded imagination.
Still, as he studied its alien lines, his gaze sharpened with thought.
"...It doesn’t reflect the aesthetics or culture of the Graecia Empire," he murmured.
It was true. The Graecian Empire, though advanced, bore the mark of a feudal civilization in its design philosophy. Their architecture was ornate, their ships grand but knightly, filled with banners and crests—a marriage of tradition and technology. This vessel, however, was something else. Pure. Efficient. Technical to a degree that felt utterly foreign.
Marshal Maximo offered a thin smile and a slow nod.
"You are correct. This warship predates the Graecia Empire itself. The Emperor discovered it during his youth, when he was still a wanderer, not yet sovereign. It became the foundation of his rise—his greatest weapon and his greatest secret."
His eyes gleamed with reverence as he gazed upon the White Blade.
"To this day, we know nothing of the civilization that built it. But they must have been titans of power, for even with all our science, magic, and resources, we cannot replicate it."
A hush fell over the group as their eyes burned with awe and curiosity. Whoever the creators of this vessel had been, they were no mere empire—they had been gods of metal and flame.
Marshal Maximo let the silence stretch, allowing his subordinates to grasp the enormity of the power they now stood before. To witness the White Blade was to understand the scale of the empire’s might—and the source of its Emperor’s dominion.
At last, his voice broke the stillness.
"Enough. Let us go. They are waiting."
With that, he turned, and the company followed.
The White Blade, wary of infiltration, allowed no teleportation directly into its interior. All who entered had to pass through its gates under the scrutiny of its defenses. As the group approached, they felt it—the touch of countless scanning beams, invisible but undeniable, crawling across their bodies and souls. Weapons stirred in response, poised to annihilate at the first sign of anomaly.
But Marshal Maximo’s presence silenced suspicion. The weapons slept once more, and the scans faded. The colossal gates parted, revealing an entrance fit for gods.
Inside, the White Blade proved even more breathtaking than without.
The walls were seamless, flawless, etched with runic lines and matrices that glowed faintly as though alive. The air itself hummed with restrained energy. As they advanced, they passed thousands of crew members, each moving with purpose, their discipline unshakable. Not one spared a glance for the Legends who entered.
Vlad frowned slightly. So many people, aboard something that should, by all accounts, have been self-operating. His question lingered only a moment before Maximo answered it.
"Normally, a vessel as advanced as the White Blade would require no crew. It was built with an artificial consciousness to govern itself. But that system was damaged long ago. To compensate, we have filled its halls with specialists. Fifteen thousand men and women keep its functions alive."
Vlad absorbed this quietly. It explained much. It also revealed the fragility hidden beneath this colossus—the White Blade was unmatched in strength, yet crippled in autonomy.
The group pressed onward through endless halls, deeper and deeper into the leviathan. At last, Marshal Maximo halted before a towering gateway, its surface carved with glyphs that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
"This," he said, voice firm, "is the entrance to the Grand Assembly Hall."