Intergalactic conquest with an AI

The question of what it means to be a conqueror had truly, deeply, undeniably puzzled scholars from prestigious academies across the galaxy. Even when discussing it bordered on the illegal, the most curious minds couldn’t resist probing the truth.

One of those scholars was a man who went by the audacious title The Great Micha. Yes, he’d clearly chosen that name himself, but no one dared make much of it, given the type of knowledge he’d acquired.

Forbidden knowledge. The kind that made people whisper about his origins. Some said he was a rank-three or higher. Others muttered that he was a noble. And a few speculated he was a bored CEO of some megacorp, playing around with ancient secrets for kicks. Whatever the truth, he became infamous for one thing: his forbidden book.

The true conqueror.

In it, Micha drew a sharp line between a "conqueror" and a "true conqueror." To him, a conqueror was just some rich kid with too much money, some noble with every path laid out before him. A pampered soul chasing glory for show.

The book included two hundred pages, two hundred pages, of Micha mercilessly mocking the nobility, using words so disgusting that most schools opted to skip those chapters entirely for the sake of their students’ mental health. But after that colorful tirade, the real content began.

"A true conqueror," he wrote, "is not some pampered fool with a golden spoon shoved in his mouth from birth. No, this is someone born in the gutters, clawing their way up from the trash heap of society."

"While nobles hide behind walls of wealth and order their troops with fear, a true conqueror leads by example, inspiring loyalty with the sweat and blood they spill on the frontlines. The kind of king who goes into battle himself. That’s someone the troops will follow."

"Not because they’re paid to, but because they want to. A true conqueror owns the world through sheer grit and fire, driven by a motivation so fierce it burns anyone who dares to stand in his way."

"Ys thighsssss!" Rex thought, practically vibrating with excitement as he plunged his bare hand into the skull of a K. Skydancer, feeling the crunch of bone and mandibles.

He leapt through the air, landing atop a towering K. warrior, and drove his claymore down with such force that the blade went right through its armored head.

Then, with a grin that would’ve scared a lesser man, Rex hefted the claymore that was still embedded in the warrior’s skull and swung the entire corpse like a battering ram, smashing it into other K. warriors. Carapaces cracked, limbs flew, and as he wrenched the sword free, the warrior’s head split open with a wet, satisfying crunch.

"Onward!" Rex bellowed, charging into the thick of the sandstorm with his troops close behind. The storm was a chaotic mess of stinging grit and shadowy figures, obscuring everything. He’d already lost too many men to the random shots fired by the K. warriors lurking in the sand.

Even the gunboats above couldn’t risk giving cover fire; in this sandstorm, it was impossible to tell friend from foe.

"Carlos! How’s your side? Can you see anything?" Rex’s voice crackled through the communicator in Carlos’s helmet, barely audible over the sandstorm’s howl. Explore stories at мѵʟ

"Negative! Same hell over here as everywhere else!" Carlos yelled back, firing his gunshield at a Skydancer swooping down toward him. "Though on the bright side, these damn bugs are shooting at us less than yesterday. I’ll take what I can get!"

Rex chuckled. "Hey, remember that time we went to that smoker bar?"

Carlos snorted. "How could I forget? Couldn’t see past our own hands in there. And if I remember right, someone plopped himself down right on top of an octopus lady."

"Hey, she was sitting low! Anyone would’ve made that mistake!" Rex laughed, dodging a plasma blast from a K. warrior.

Carlos rolled his eyes, slamming his hammer down on another Skydancer that tried to latch onto him. "Whatever you say, Rex. Anyway, that’s the situation here. The only thing is, we’re getting swarmed by the flyers now. I guess the air support’s having as hard a time as we are with this blasted storm."

"But you got it handled, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. We’re fine."

"Good. Keep pushing forward. Try to get to the worm and plant that charge, baldy!"

"You got it, sissy!" Carlos grinned, firing off another round.

Rex switched frequencies. "Ys! How’s it going on your end?"

"Oh, just peachy, darling～," came Ys’s silky voice, cool and calm. She was riding a captured K. Skydancer, piloting it expertly toward the worm’s gaping maw. "They haven’t noticed me yet."

"How long do you need to finish the job?"

"Hmm…" She thought it over, her voice still carrying that sweet, teasing edge. "Maybe two or three imperial hours?"

"Two hours max, then. We’ll be there." Rex nodded, already mentally calculating their next steps. "Keep me posted if anything changes."

"Understand, darling～," she said before disconnecting.

Rex took a deep breath and scanned the horizon. Dust and sand whirled in every direction, visibility barely extending past 200 meters. It was like trying to fight in the middle of a dirt-filled blender. He keyed in another channel. "Cleo, any word on when this sandstorm’s letting up? Or maybe something you can whip up to cut through it?"

Cleo’s voice was as blunt as ever. "Negative. With the resources I’ve got, there’s no way I can build anything like that. The ship assembly line is already on overdrive making ammo and energy cells."

"Great," Rex muttered, watching a nearby blast tear up the sand. "Guess we’re doing this the hard way. Alright, Cleo, keep the supplies coming, and good luck up there."

"Good luck to you too, Rex. Try not to get yourself killed."

"Hey, hang on before you go—patch me through to everyone on comms. Got a message for the team."

There was a short pause "You’re live."

Rex cleared his throat, then spoke up in a booming voice. "Attention, squad 201! It’s your sexy, handsome, philanthropist, and humble captain speaking. As you’ve probably noticed, we’re in a bit of a pickledown here. HQ’s not sending reinforcements because, well, they see us as cheap meat with a clearance tag!"

The channel erupted in grumbles and curses from his troops.

"So listen up! We’ve got two options: stay put and get buried in this godforsaken sandstorm, or charge forward at full speed and beat the odds ourselves! Miracles aren’t coming, people. The only way out is through."

He paused, letting that sink in, then grinned. "So, if any of you want to live, I suggest you run! Run like your life depends on it, because it does! Don’t stop, even if your legs are screaming. Run until you see that worm!"

With that, Rex cut the communications and looked out over the shifting sands, grinning as his troops started to rally; their spirits fired up. He hoisted his claymore, his eyes blazing with determination.

Rex ran at a steady, human pace, careful not to leave his troops behind. The squad surged forward through the chaos, sprinting as if the devil himself was following them close behind, even as the air buzzed with searing plasma bolts from the K. warriors.

Their footsteps pounded through the storm, no one daring to slow down, not even when one of their own fell to a plasma shot in the leg, calling out for help.

There was no time to be merciful. If you got shot, you were on your own. If you ran out of breath, you were on your own. And if you lost your way in this swirling, blinding hell of sand and death? Well, you might as well be dead already.

Rex had learned this hard truth long ago: in war, compassion was a luxury, one that could get you killed. There were no miracles here. Only a raw, stubborn will to survive.

Far above them, on the bridge of the allied flagship, Leena Valrix watched the battle unfold on her display screens, her gaze cold and impassive as she tracked the chaotic mess of movement below. The sandstorm distorted the images, but she could see enough. An officer at her side hesitated before speaking.

"Ma’am, do you really think they can make it with those numbers? And in that sandstorm?" His eyes flicked from the monitor to her, nervous but curious.

Leena didn’t even look at him. "Impossible. That fool’s too reckless. They may call him a ’conqueror’ in the news, but he’s just a reckless kid who’s out of his depth." Her tone was colder than space itself.

The officer glanced back at the screen, watching as the squad struggled forward, dodging the relentless plasma fire. "But… why do you say that, ma’am?"

She sighed, irritated. "First, they don’t have the firepower to take down that worm. And second, he led them into the heart of that sandstorm without any cover. Amateur mistake."

The young officer shifted uncomfortable. "But, ma’am, isn’t it because if they refused to fight, they’d be in breach of their recruitment contracts?" He looked up, realizing he might’ve spoken out of turn.

Leena’s eyes narrowed, her lips twisting into a humorless smile. "Hmph." She gave no further answer, though she knew he was right. But she wasn’t about to admit fault in front of a mere junior officer.

The officer, emboldened, pressed on. "Then, ma’am, why don’t we send reinforcements? One well-aimed shot from our cannons could obliterate that worm. They’d have a real chance."

She raised an eyebrow, looking at him as though he’d just suggested something obscene. "Under intergalactic law, orbital strikes are forbidden when a ground-based war of conquest is in progress. Besides, I’m not wasting our elite forces on a fool’s errand." Her tone turned mocking. "The first waves always look like this. Disposable. That’s the point."

A tense silence fell over the bridge for a moment, until a new voice, low and unyielding, cut through the air like a blade.

"I have heard enough."