Chapter 74: The Calm Before the Storm [5000-word Epic Chapter]

Deep Sea District, Stellar Envoy Association · Deep Blue Branch, Sound of the Tides.

"No! Not an entire special operations squad—absolutely not!"

The branch chairman of the Deep Blue Branch, Great White Shark · Doterre, slammed his palm hard onto the coral conference table after hearing that the headquarters’ envoy wanted to requisition an entire special ops unit from him in one go.

The force of the blow sent shockwaves through the room. The luminous pearls suspended above the meeting hall began to sway violently, casting flickering shadows across the faces of those present.

In the trembling glow of the swaying lights, the others in the room stared in silence at Doterre, locked in a tense standoff with the headquarters envoy, Unbreakable Body · Byron.

No one dared breathe. The air was thick with unspoken dread—anyone who made a wrong move might be dragged into the storm brewing between the two titans.

But Doterre, though furious, wasn’t truly ready to defy headquarters.

After all, Byron alone was strong enough to take down the entire Deep Blue Branch single-handedly.

After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Doterre sat back down, his expression hardening. He locked eyes with the masked envoy standing across the table.

"Byron," he said, voice low and firm, "I can give you half a squad at most. And the leader will only be a deputy captain-level agent."

"Reason? We have only one low-risk exploration zone surrounding Deep Blue Metropolis. That means our roster of Stellar Envoys—both in number and capability—is far weaker than other cities in the New Federation."

"More importantly, our precious personnel are needed to guard the deep blue ore veins. If word gets out that the Deep Blue Branch is missing a full special ops unit, those with ill intent will definitely take advantage."

Safe Zone. Low-Risk Zone. High-Risk Zone. Fallen Zone. Forbidden Zone.

These were the five-tiered risk classifications established jointly by the Stellar Envoy Association and the New Federation government for exploration zones.

The first three—Safe, Low-Risk, and High-Risk—were publicly available. The latter two, Fallen and Forbidden, were strictly classified.

Safe Zones were, as the name implied, relatively secure. Cities like Deep Blue Metropolis, and the Stellar Envoy Association’s headquarters in First Floating City · Star Track Corridor, fell into this category. Danger was rare.

Low-Risk Zones hosted only Stellar Beasts of level two or lower, consistently.

High-Risk Zones saw beasts of level three or lower.

But Fallen and Forbidden Zones?

These were areas the Association itself could not observe.

Unlike the transparent nature of the lower-risk zones, these regions were shrouded in mystery—places where the very presence of Stellar Beasts defied detection.

The distinction between Fallen and Forbidden Zones?

It came down to survival rates.

Any zone where level-four or higher Stellar Beasts were active, and where at least one Stellar Envoy had ever returned alive, was classified as a Fallen Zone—only for elite-level Envoys to attempt.

Zones where no Envoy had ever returned?

Those were Forbidden Zones—banned from exploration altogether.

And the most staggering fact?

Over two-thirds of all recorded Fallen Zones were the result of one man’s legacy—the current Supreme Leader of the Association.

The title of "Greatest of All Time" was not just earned. It was earned in blood and legend.

Back in the meeting hall, Doterre had laid out his case.

But Byron seemed unfazed. He’d expected resistance.

After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Doterre, have the others leave. I need to speak to you alone."

"Fine."

Doterre gave a curt nod. The six Stellar Envoys from his branch—Goen among them—stood up and exited without protest.

Two additional Envoys, brought in from Steam Capital by Byron himself, followed suit, stepping out with practiced silence.

In moments, the vast meeting hall was reduced to just two figures: Doterre and Byron.

Once the room was truly empty—no ears, no eyes, no listening devices—Byron reached into his coat and placed a shielding device on the table.

A faint hum pulsed from it. The room was now sealed off from all external surveillance.

Only then did Byron speak—his voice low, deliberate.

He shared information.

Information so shocking, so earth-shattering, that even Doterre, a man who had seen it all, felt his breath catch in his throat.

His eyes widened. His jaw dropped.

For ten long minutes, silence reigned.

Then, Byron spoke again.

"That’s all I can tell you. Nothing more. You must not know more. Not knowing is your protection."

"Because the more you know, the greater the danger. It won’t help you—it’ll only get you killed."

Doterre didn’t answer.

He was still reeling. His mind raced, trying to process the weight of what he’d just heard.

He closed his eyes. His gills flared, then slowly retracted—sealed shut.

When he opened them again, the anger, the doubt, the fear… all had vanished.

In their place?

A fire. A hunger.

"Alright, Byron," he said, voice now steady, resolute. "One squad. Just one. But if your promise holds… then you can have more than that. If you need me to go myself? I’ll be there."

Byron, ever calm, ever calculating, gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"No. Not necessary, Doterre. It’s not that I don’t respect your strength. Or that I don’t want you on my side. It’s that they might know more than you think."

"Moving one squad? It’ll draw attention. But not enough to trigger a full evacuation."

"But if you, the branch chairman, start acting? With your deep roots here, your network… they’d sense it immediately. They’d vanish—before we even got close."

"And once they’re gone? Catching them again? That’s impossible."

Doterre frowned. A question formed on his lips.

"Byron… if you’re so afraid of tipping them off, why don’t you just ask your family? Or the headquarters? The Ironcrown Family. The Stellar Envoy Association headquarters. They’re stronger than me. They have more elite Envoys. Why not call in the big guns?"

Byron exhaled slowly.

"Because we made a promise."

"To the Supreme Leader."

"Only if he betrayed the New Federation, would we be allowed to act. And for years, he’s done things that… well, from the perspective of the Federation and the Association? He’s helped. He’s advanced our cause. Pushed boundaries. Discovered new zones."

"Breaking that promise—even quietly—would be catastrophic. The Supreme Leader has eyes everywhere. Even in headquarters. Even in our own family."

"Only in places like Deep Blue Metropolis and Steam Capital, far from the Seven Floating Cities, can I be sure there are no spies."

"Otherwise, even under the guise of exploring a high-level Fallen Zone, I couldn’t guarantee silence."

Doterre finally understood.

The truth. The stakes.

The real danger.

And the real reward.

He nodded.

"Got it. Speak up. Who do you want from my branch? Name them. I’ll make sure they’re ready."

"Goen."

"Goen?" Doterre blinked, surprised.

"Are you sure? Goen’s powerful, yes—but he’s bound by Perfect Awakening. He can’t unleash his full strength. Not unless he breaks the condition."

"Which is why he chose a remote branch like ours over the core cities."

Byron didn’t flinch.

"Relax. I have a way. I can get him to fight at full power—without breaking the condition."

Doterre narrowed his eyes. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Alright. You’ve got my word. But I can’t promise he’ll agree. His personality… it’s not easy to persuade."

"Understood."

The deal was sealed.

The screen shifted.

Cut to the hallway outside the meeting room.

In the dim light, Dimensional Audience members watched in quiet anticipation as the camera focused on a man they’d never seen before.

A middle-aged Stellar Envoy.

And beside him, a simple, almost comical introduction:

> Name: William Howard (Clock Knight)

> Affiliation: Stellar Envoy Association · Steam Capital Branch

> Rank: Second-Class, Mid-tier

> Base Stellar Energy Value: 7,500

> Stellar Source: Transformation Class · Black Iron Clock

William leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on his left wrist.

He was carefully adjusting the time on a pink children’s watch.

The watch was childish—its face covered in crooked, uneven strawberry stickers.

It clashed violently with his imposing frame: black heavy armor, a massive sword strapped to his back, his entire presence radiating authority.

“William,” came a voice.

He looked up.

Standing before him was Benjamin Ironcrown (Explosives Expert), the new captain of Steam Capital’s first squad, just arrived from headquarters a month ago.

The screen flashed his profile:

> Name: Benjamin Ironcrown (Explosives Expert)

> Affiliation: Stellar Envoy Association · Steam Capital Branch

> Rank: Second-Class, Upper-tier

> Base Stellar Energy Value: 8,500

> Stellar Source: Intelligent Mechanism Class · Metallic Detonation

Though they weren’t close, William smiled.

“Captain,” he said, “this isn’t just a kid’s watch. It’s my daughter’s gift. My most treasured possession. I’m not taking it off.”

Benjamin—ever the picture of professionalism—tilted his upper body back by exactly 15 degrees.

His facial muscles adjusted with mechanical precision, forming the perfect expression: wistful, slightly envious, quietly sentimental.

A flawless performance.

But beneath the surface?

Cold. Calculated.

Benjamin Ironcrown had undergone emotional suppression surgery at age six—his amygdala, the seat of human emotion, removed by family doctors.

He felt nothing.

Yet, his body reacted.

Because his Human Emotion Simulation Program was running.

> [Emotion Simulation Module Activated]

[Optimal Emotional Expression Generated: 5–10% increase in target’s favorability]

> [Recommended Expression: Pensive concern + subtle admiration]

The program had already calculated the perfect response.

Benjamin lowered his head, staring at the watch.

“William,” he said, voice soft, “your watch… it looks like it’s off. Maybe the internal gears are rusted? Old age?”

William sighed, almost wistfully.

“Yeah. The humidity here in Deep Blue Metropolis is terrible. Nothing like Steam Capital’s dry air. My little girl’s gift… it’s already struggling.”

“But no worries. Once we’re back in Steam Capital, I’ll fix it with my tools. It’ll be good as new.”

Benjamin tilted his head. “Why wait? You’re a master watchmaker. You could fix it right now.”

William chuckled. “You’re thinking like a craftsman. But I’m thinking like a father.”

“Fixing the watch? That’s important. But watching my daughter’s eyes light up when she sees me try? That’s priceless.”

“So I’ll wait. For her.”

Benjamin stared. Then, after a beat, said, voice thick with simulated emotion:

“I… don’t have a daughter. I can’t understand that.”

William grinned. “Don’t worry. One day, Captain—you’ll find someone. Someone worth protecting. And then you’ll understand.”

Benjamin gave a small, almost robotic nod.

“…I hope so.”

> “I hope so.”

The screen cut to the Dimensional Audience in the real world.

They watched. They listened.

And they knew.

These weren’t just background characters.

They were signposts.

And the clues were piling up.

> “A daughter’s gift… a broken watch… a need to return home… Not just a ‘daddy’—why’s this guy looking like he’s about to die?”

>

> “Seven Floating Cities… Fallen and Forbidden Zones… Steam Capital suddenly appearing… Is the second season already being set up? Is Steam Capital the main stage?”

>

> “The envoy specifically asked for Goen? So Fish Pond Guy’s about to enter the high-stakes game. How’s he gonna handle it?”

>

> “Wait—what if Goen’s not actually a fish? What if he’s been holding back? He’s beating second-tier opponents with ease, but he’s clearly not from that tier. Could he be a hidden ace?”

>

> “Human Emotion Simulation? Holy crap. The AI in this world is terrifying. Why would anyone choose to be human when you can just run a program and fake it?”

>

> “Could this whole thing be the trigger for Tian Dao’s bad dream? Why else would they show this now?”

>

> “If so… Tian Dao’s team is about to face a Fourth-Class, Upper-tier envoy… four Second-Class elites… and a bunch of First-Class support? How the hell are they supposed to survive Yujin Base now?”

>

> “Fourth-Class? Please. Doctor’s always been either Level 4 or Perfect 3. That’s how he built the Stellar Plan.”

>

> “True. That makes sense.”

The debate raged.

But just as the chatter peaked—

The screen cut to the meeting room door.

Graaaak—

The door creaked open.

The light inside was dim.

The ceiling pearls flickered, as if veiled by storm clouds.

The beams of light bent slightly—distorted, warped.

The walls, carved with tidal motifs, seemed to pulse, like waves gathering before a typhoon.

Once a simple meeting hall.

Now, a chamber of impending doom.

The camera swept forward—slow, deliberate—until it centered on Byron, standing at the heart of the storm.

"Alright," he said, voice echoing through the silence. "I’m done with Doterre. You may enter."

Then—

The screen went dark.

Only two eyes remained.

Two glowing, ancient, piercing eyes, burning in the blackness.

And beneath them, the sound of the tide, rising.

A deep, rhythmic pulse.

The world held its breath.

And the Dimensional Audience knew—

The storm was coming.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end