Emperor's Bane

Chapter 917 The Day the War Begins (14)

Admiral Asir-Plesich, a naval commander from Kzonia, has a unique hobby.

Stamp collecting.

It's not that I collect real stamps.

After all, as a long-established brand that had fought on the battlefield for over a hundred years in the Great Expedition, the admiral's collection could not possibly be those inferior imitation antique papers. However, he also did not have the money to acquire genuine items from tens of thousands of years ago: that was a luxury hobby that only high lords could enjoy, and a mere admiral was far from qualified.

According to rumors heard by the admiral, the oldest existing postage stamp in human history, the "Penny Black" issued on Holy Terra 30,000 years ago, is now kept in the private villa of the Imperial Minister of Finance: it is the first genuine postage stamp of all human civilization, personally examined and certified by the Emperor.

(The Penny Black was the world's first postage stamp: that's true.)
It is said that in order to obtain this priceless treasure, a local powerful clan in the Storm Starfield, to be more specific, a pocket empire that chose to submit to the Great Expedition, was even willing to offer the permanent development rights of two or three [unlimited] uncolonized worlds, transferring them to the Minister of the Interior's private name as a form of exchange; but all they received was the High Lord's ruthless rejection.

Of course, the admiral had also heard different versions of the rumor, namely that the Pocket Empire's terms of the deal contained a few insignificant lines of text: they wanted several talented younger members of their families to work in the expanding Terra Council, and also hoped to obtain a small, insignificant priority in the Imperial Ministry of the Interior's paper supply.

It must be said that this is indeed what an excellent imperial governor should do. Therefore, even though the contents of the private transaction were eventually leaked, neither the Minister of the Interior nor the governor was punished. The latter was even regarded as a source of pride by his family, and even the Holy Terra highly recognized his pragmatism and ambition.

Such generosity and magnanimity are naturally beyond the reach of a minor figure like Asir.

He was just a naval admiral.

This is not an excessive act of modesty.

Within the behemoth that is the Imperial Navy, the admiral is certainly not at the very top rank.

The highest-ranking officer of the Imperial Navy is the Supreme Admiral of the Imperial Navy, who holds the position of Chairman of the High Command. Then there are the five Supreme Admirals who command all fleets in the five major star sectors. Next are the Lord Admirals whose responsibilities span several star sectors and the senior admirals under them who are responsible for commanding several fleet battle groups. Under normal circumstances, the latter two are the highest-ranking officers in the Imperial Navy who will appear on the front lines.

In addition, the navy has a special position called the Sun Admiral, which is limited to one person. His responsibility is to command the direct fleet of Holy Terra. In various special military operations that are directly accountable only to the High Lord, the Sun Admiral is often the highest-ranking person in charge, which gives him actual power far greater than his nominal status.

Beneath these high-ranking and powerful figures were ordinary naval admirals.

As for the duties of a naval admiral, they are often just subordinates of senior admirals, responsible for commanding a battle group in their fleet, or leading an independent force in charge of a sector that is not particularly important: what awaits them is often a series of long and tedious patrol and security tasks, and it is simply wishful thinking to think that they can be promoted through this.

Therefore, given the chance, no admiral with even a modicum of ambition would be content with the position of a security commander in the rear. Commanding a fleet battle group on the front lines is dangerous, but if done well just once, it can rewrite one's destiny: this is what an ambitious admiral should be doing.

Unfortunately, Asir belongs to the latter category.

His position was the highest-ranking officer of the large naval base known as the Belis Coronation District, and he was also responsible for maintaining order throughout the entire Belis sector.

The sector he was in charge of was a place that was relatively far from the defense line... but not too far either.

"simply put."

"Low status, lots of trouble."

When no one is around, General Asir likes to use this phrase to describe his current position.

For him personally, being transferred to this naval base as commander was definitely not a good thing. Not only was it far from any opportunity to make a name for himself, but the living conditions were also far inferior to those in the more fertile areas further back: Belize Crown District was a purely military port, where the residential areas offered virtually no opportunities for luxury or pleasure.

Admittedly, there are a few dedicated entertainment areas on the planet's surface. After the officers and sailors on the ships finish their charades of patrol duty, these money pits line up to drain their wages: whether it's fine wine or gourmet food, gambling or beautiful women, at least for the soldiers of the Imperial Navy, living for the moment is the eternal truth.

Who knows if you'll be able to come back from the next voyage?

But for a general, the situation is a bit more complicated.

As the highest-ranking officer of this naval base, and also in charge of the fleets throughout the entire sector, Asir naturally wouldn't be like his ordinary soldiers, making a trip to the void every few months: although the Beliss sector wasn't a dangerous place, it was said to have been free of large-scale warfare for over a hundred years since it was conquered by the human empire in the early days of the Great Crusade.

However, celestial anomalies, even the slightest ominous sign from a pirate fleet or the subspace can easily claim the lives of an entire ship.

Of course, as a naval admiral, he was not bound by such dangers, but that did not mean that Asir's life was particularly pleasant: he never frequented brothels, nor did he keep mistresses like his subordinates, he did not smoke or gamble, and he was not picky about his daily diet, because these things could not arouse his interest.

As a veteran who participated in the entire expedition and enjoyed a long period of carefree living in the most prosperous and fertile region of the galaxy, the Beliss Sector was no different from an uncivilized countryside in Asier's eyes. The enjoyment here was not worth mentioning to him: even the manor on the surface that belonged only to him was not as comfortable as the cramped commander's office in the spaceport.

At least, the office is decorated in the latest and most fashionable style of Holy Terra.

By staying here, he could at least pretend that he was at the very center of the galaxy and not the unlucky guy who had been exiled here by Terra.

That's right: exile.

For the general, the position of base commander was nothing more than a nice-sounding exile, and he himself was nothing more than a prisoner in fine clothes.

Given that, what interest could there possibly be?

What he lost was the opportunity to roam freely on the pages of history and legend. How could worldly pleasures possibly fill this void? So, all that remained was a person who cared about nothing, a person who had no interests in the conventional sense.

No, you can’t say that either.

As mentioned before, General Asir actually has one hobby: stamp collecting.

However, what he collected wasn't stamps, but...

"grown ups."

"This is the roster for the next patrol fleet: your signature is required here."

The sound interrupted the admiral's thoughts, but it did not anger the centenarian.

Because when the admiral shut out his surroundings and ordered everyone out of his huge office to fall into deep thought, there was only one person in the entire Beliss Coronation Base who could push open the door again without the admiral's permission and ignore his attempt to have some peace and quiet.

"I understand, Chief of Staff."

Asir turned around, took off his navy hat, and stroked his increasingly thinning hairline with some emotion, pointing to the table next to him. When he spoke again, his tone was somewhat affectionate, like a father doting on his only son.

"Same as always, just put it on the table."

The chief of staff nodded and smoothly carried out the base commander's request.

Compared to the already aged Asir, the Chief of Staff had an excessively youthful face.

He looked no older than sixty, but the epaulets on his shoulders indicated that he was already a vice admiral.

"You look troubled?"

With Asir's tacit approval, the young chief of staff signed the document on his behalf, and then looked at his superior with some curiosity.

"Hmm...I guess so..."

Asir was spinning in circles: he suddenly had a craving for two glasses of chilled fine wine.

He then looked at the chief of staff, staring directly into the young man's eyes: this abrupt action caused the chief of staff to instinctively stiffen.

That's strange, he seems a bit out of sorts today?
Asir muttered to himself, but outwardly he still enthusiastically pointed to the office sofa.

He called out the chief of staff's name to indicate that what followed was a private matter between them.

"Do you have time now, Pickman?"

"Please wait a moment."

Chief of Staff Pickman saluted respectfully, then picked up the document and walked to the door, carefully closing it behind him. After a few quiet requests and repeated instructions, Pickman pushed the door open and entered, standing before the admiral like a true soldier, his posture impeccable.

“Now we have time, sir.” “Ha…it’s always like this.”

The admiral shook his head, unsurprised.

"Since you have time, why don't you chat with this old man for a while: do you know where the wine is?"

Pickman nodded, but instead of immediately getting the wine, he followed closely behind Asir, like a child following his frail old father. Only after confirming that the fleet commander was sitting securely on the sofa did Pickman take out the wine and glass, fill Asir's cup, and then humbly sit down in the side seat.

"You're always so cautious: as if I were some old man who's about to die."

Asier swirled his glass and realized it was the best wine in his cellar: How strange, given Pittman's personality, that he would bring out such a wine today?
Didn't he always dislike drinking alcohol that makes people get drunk so easily?
The admiral didn't think much of it: anyway, he wasn't against getting drunk anymore.

The sturdy crystal glass is half a finger's width thick, and the priceless wine flows slowly within it, as if it were real gold. A wonderful fragrance, like the stamens of a thousand flowers, fills the entire room, making one involuntarily recall their most beautiful memories: the wine is mellow and rich, and every sip is like tasting the stars in the sky, or like dancing in the most beautiful moment of one's life.

Asir likes this wine.

Or rather, no one would dislike it.

As is well known, the Quadis world in the Calithis sector produces the nation’s finest wines: the Mourning of the Aged, the Golden Dry Red, and the greatest Catalin White, a wine that exists only in dreams, which even the High Lords of Holy Terra are devoted followers of, and which must be included in the collections of even the Marksmen.

It is said that Catalin white wine can kill an overindulgent drinker with pure pleasure, but many more die in the struggle for this wine. In the hive world of those who excessively pursue luxury and taste, there have been thousands of murders and thefts among nobles, all for the sake of obtaining a bottle of genuine Catalin white wine.

Even for an admiral, such wine would be far too precious, something that shouldn't be offered in a casual conversation. But Asier's generosity had its reasons: once upon a time, even priceless treasures like Catalin white wine weren't particularly valuable to Asier.

Unfortunately, times have changed: only the fine wines piled high in the cellar can remind us of yesterday.

This is one of the few genuine things he possesses.

Of course, it's not just alcohol: there's something else.

The admiral looked at his chief of staff, his eyes always filled with undisguised admiration and trust.

Asir never hid his doting affection and unconditional trust in Pickman. Their daily interactions were like those of a truly close father and son: a magnanimous father and a filial and reliable son. Many people in positions of power dreamed of having such a day, and Asir enjoyed this kind of family bliss every day.

Of course, there were always rumors within the base that Pickman was actually Asir's illegitimate son from his early years, but this was just a complete rumor: Asir never married or had any children in his life, and there was no blood relation between him and Pickman. He simply trusted his chief of staff as much as he would his own child, and Pickman always proved that his judgment was correct.

"Aren't you going to check the patrol roster?"

Even after they sat down and began talking like father and son, holding wine glasses, Pickman still carefully avoided escaping the topic of work: he was always so serious that he had almost no other hobbies, and even the intoxicating Catalin white wine couldn't elicit any expression of delight from the chief of staff.

Even Asir didn't know that Pickman didn't actually have any real hobbies.

Perhaps he has no desires or wants?
Asir was amused by himself, and also by Pickman's obvious question.

"Checklist?"

The fine wine flowed down the admiral's throat.

“You’re asking a very unnecessary question, Pickman.”

"Weren't our responsibilities clearly defined more than a decade ago? The day after I asked them to transfer you to the Belis Coronation District, I already told you all your responsibilities: you are in charge of everything in this base and this fleet, while I am responsible for enjoying the convenience and leisure you provide, and cleaning up any messes you might make."

“I should feel honored.”

The chief of staff's smile was somewhat awkward.

“In all these decades, I have never created a mess that required your personal intervention.”

"After all, you're a genius."

Asir was very serious when he said this.

“I already knew about this when we first started working together.”

The admiral leaned back, the soft sofa cushions reminding him of the past.

"Do you remember? At that time, the Emperor had just left the front lines of the Great Expedition. To be honest, you were unlucky. You missed the truly glorious moment of the Great Expedition. You only caught the mopping-up phase after the Battle of Ulano, which was insignificant to the entire Empire."

"Insignificant?"

Pickman finally smiled genuinely.

"If I remember correctly, the first battle in which the two of us cooperated involved a total of thirteen expeditionary fleets and two thousand warships."

"Yes: there are four lords and generals present."

"A rare spectacle after Ulanuo: using only the power of mortals to raze a pocket empire."

Asir laughed too: the grander the battle, the more proud one feels when recalling it.

“Do you remember, Pickman? Back then you were just a captain, not even a commodore.”

"And at that time you were already a general."

The chief of staff responded with a smile.

"You made a name for yourself during the Great Expedition: everyone says you're about to be promoted to general."

"A senior general? More than that!"

Asir gave a smug snort.

"At that time, I was already considered a shoo-in for the position of Lord General. It wouldn't be impossible for me to even get close to becoming the Supreme General. They even nominated me to run for the position of Sun General: the Emperor above, the chosen one who can only be one in the entire galaxy. They actually thought I was capable enough to command Terra's fleet."

“Even the high lords think so.”

Asir squinted his eyes in enjoyment; it was undoubtedly the most glorious period of his life.

"Of course, I think so too."

"How many admirals could have won ninety-three naval battles for the Empire during the Great Expedition?"

Having said that, he shook his head again.

"Of course, this doesn't include the one we're talking about."

“In our first collaboration, you were the protagonist of the entire war, Pickman.”

"It surpassed me, a general."

"It surpassed a group of high-ranking generals."

"It even surpassed those four lord generals."

"Just like Napoleon in history books: those present will never forget your stunning debut."

(End of this chapter)