Volume One, Chapter 40: Count Oroke

The vessel departed from Nuunapi, heading south and arriving at a chaotic asteroid belt. This belt formed a stellar ring, its center empty and desolate.

With practiced ease, the vessel slipped inside. As it neared the center, the spaceman shouted, “I’m back! Open the door!” No sooner had his words echoed than an entrance appeared ahead. He guided the vessel through, opened the hatch, and leaped out.

He failed to notice that an abnormal spatial ripple followed him off the vessel.

The spaceman strode forward, stopping before an opulent room. He knocked.

“Come in!” a voice called from within.

With permission granted, the spaceman pushed the door open and entered.

Thus, Mistaki finally beheld the true face of the master here.

He—it was none other than Count Olorok!

Dressed in immaculate military uniform, posture erect and imposing, his visage stern, Olorok sat in a chair, his expression lost in some decadent pleasure.

Faintly, the sound of water could be heard.

Mistaki could hardly believe his eyes.

He’d seen Count Olorok before: one of the twelve senators of the Interstellar Alliance, wielding power that touched the heavens, a vital figure within the Galactic Government.

Such a high-ranking official, indulging in corruption in this remote star system?

Mistaki sneered coldly, revealing himself, and struck the spaceman hard at the neck.

Bang!

The spaceman collapsed limply before he could react.

Count Olorok stared, stunned for a full three seconds before jolting upright from his chair.

“Oh!” a woman cried out in alarm behind the table.

Mistaki’s expression turned peculiar.

To think—a count, in broad daylight, engaged in such acts?

“Who are you!” Olorok demanded, his voice nervous, oblivious to the fact that his own dignity was exposed to the air.

Glancing downward, Mistaki replied impassively, “Count Olorok, why are you here instead of commanding within the Interstellar Alliance?”

“Who are you!” Olorok repeated, still wary.

Mistaki withheld his name, instead revealing three simple words: “Land of Light.”

Olorok’s pupils contracted, exclaiming, “You’re an Ultra—” He stopped midway, then slammed his fist onto a red button atop the table.

Bang!

A wall beside them exploded, revealing four spacemen playing cards in the adjacent room.

Before they could react, Olorok shouted, “Get him!”

At his command, the four snapped to attention and charged Mistaki.

They were Olorok’s personal bodyguards, all at least Stellar Level Four, the strongest already at Level Seven. In the past, Mistaki might have hesitated, but now, their strength was less than that of ants to him.

He cast a cold, sidelong glance.

Crack... crack... crack... crack...

In an instant, a layer of ice enveloped the four, freezing them midair.

The room’s temperature seemed to plummet by dozens of degrees, making Count Olorok shiver—his previously limp pride suddenly standing tall again.

Mistaki’s lips curled, almost smiling. “Count, you needn’t be nervous; I bear no malice.”

Hearing this, the terrified Olorok paused, incredulous. “What did you say?”

Mistaki moved closer, standing before the table and looking him straight in the eye. “I said, we might cooperate.”

“Cooperate!” Olorok’s eyes widened.

An Ultra Warrior seeking cooperation from him? Impossible!

Wait—a traitor from the Land of Light wasn’t unheard of. Could this be...

Seeing the suspicion in Olorok’s gaze, Mistaki declared bluntly, “You guessed right. I am Torekia.”

Even knowing beforehand, hearing it said aloud left Olorok shaken.

He drew a deep breath and steadied himself. “What do you want from me?”

To his mind, this Ultra Warrior, a traitor to the Land of Light, must be seeking something from him. Over the years, Olorok had amassed plenty of valuable items outside official channels. Beyond that, he could think of no other reason.

Yet Torekia shook his head, smiling. “As I said, I’m here for cooperation.”

“What do we have to cooperate on?” Olorok snorted, clearly unconvinced.

Mistaki said no more, shifting his gaze beneath the table to the half-naked, trembling woman.

His eyes narrowed, and a thin layer of frost formed over her.

Olorok’s expression tightened. “What are you trying to do!”

“Cooperation, naturally.” Mistaki raised his eyes, his smile unchanged.

Bang!

The woman suddenly exploded, blood mingled with ice crystals spraying into Olorok’s sight like a blooming crimson rose.

For a moment, Count Olorok’s breath ceased, his pupils shrinking and then abruptly dilating.

“You—”

He tried to speak, but his throat seemed clamped shut, unable to utter a sound.

“Cooperate or die. Make your choice,” Mistaki said calmly.

Olorok’s face stiffened, his body trembling. After several breaths, he nodded slightly, “Cooperate... I’ll cooperate.”

It wasn’t the death of his lover he mourned, but his own fear of dying.

“That’s better.” Mistaki reached out, patting his face, then added, “We’re on the same rope now; don’t do anything foolish.”

“Otherwise, I might survive, but your fate would be far less certain.”

Mistaki wasn’t bluffing.

His identity was now precarious—anyone who saw him knew he was a traitor to the Land of Light.

And in many ways, Olorok was no different.

To outsiders, Count Olorok was a champion of justice, but in private, he engaged in illicit deeds—not only keeping secret bodyguards, but also profiting off unseen minor planets.

If any of this ever leaked, it wouldn’t just mean disgrace; it would mean death.

Mistaki, familiar with the Interstellar Alliance, knew well that such crimes merited capital punishment.

But the reverse was also true.

As a count, Olorok held immense power and status within both the Alliance and the Galactic Government.

That was precisely why Mistaki sought to recruit him.

Like light and shadow, there must be an opposing presence.

Thus, in the wars to come, more people would witness the real and enduring truth.