Starting with God's perspective, how to lose an interstellar war?

Federal rescue ships moved like busy worker bees among the wreckage.

They unleash tractor beams to collect identifiable friendly remains, salvage valuable fragments of Imperial equipment, and mark dangerous areas where unexploded ordnance may still be present.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the battlefield, the main fleet of the Iron Fist Division had regrouped.

Seventy-five starships were arranged in a neat review formation, with the Indomitable as the center.

The battle damage on the hulls has not yet been repaired, and some armor plates still have shrapnel from Imperial cannons embedded in them, but the bows of each ship are raised high, like triumphant warriors returning home.

A special fleet meeting is currently being held in the central conference room of the flagship Indomitable.

The conference room is circular, with a diameter of thirty meters.

At the center is a real-time star map of the Elvira system generated by holographic projection, clearly marking the trajectory of the battle that just ended.

From the ambush on Agbart to the final battle at the seventh jump point, every step is precisely outlined with bright blue lines.

Seated around the circular conference table were the commanders of all the sub-fleets of the Iron Fist Fleet and their adjutants.

All 12 seats are now occupied.

But the seat to Yang Shao's left, the main seat, is still empty.

The meeting room was quiet.

No one spoke, and no one flipped through the data panels.

All the commanders sat upright, their gazes unanimously turning towards the entrance of the conference room.

Some of them still had traces of smoke on their faces, some had bandages wrapped around their arms, and some had bloodshot eyes.

These are all marks left by eight consecutive hours of high-intensity combat.

But at this moment, these marks are no longer symbols of fatigue.

It is a medal of honor.

The meeting room door slid open silently.

Qin Beiwang walked in.

He changed into a brand-new dark blue fleet uniform, the silver bar and star on his epaulettes carefully polished, gleaming coldly under the overhead lights of the conference room.

His face was expressionless, his steps were steady, and his gait was even somewhat casual—creating a subtle contrast to the solemn atmosphere in the conference room.

But the moment he stepped into the conference room...

All the commanders, including Yang Shao, stood up in unison.

The movement of standing up was so synchronized, as if it had been rehearsed.

Ten figures dressed in military uniforms stood upright in the conference room, their eyes all focused on Qin Beiwang.

Yang Shao took a step forward.

The commander of the Iron Fist Fleet, a veteran who had been through countless battles, looked at Qin Beiwang with a complex and indescribable expression.

There was shock, relief, guilt, and a sense of relief.

"Everyone!"

Yang Shao's voice rang out in the silent conference room, solemn and clear.

"To our heroes!"

Major Qin Beiwang, Commander of the Pluto Fleet, pays the highest respect to all Federal soldiers.

There was no applause, no cheers.

Only 11 commanders saluted in unison.

The angles at which their arms were raised were exactly the same, and the fingertips touched their temples precisely.

This isn't a mechanical movement that can be trained; it's a heartfelt respect for the victor.

Qin Beiwang paused for a moment.

He looked at the saluting arms, at the eyes that were fixed on him.

Just a dozen hours ago, the emotions in those eyes were mostly contempt, skepticism, or indifference.

Now, only pure respect remains.

He raised his right hand and returned a standard military salute.

The movements were clean and crisp, but without any unnecessary force.

"The ceremony is complete."

Yang Shao said.

Lower your arm.

But no one sat down.

Qin Beiwang walked to the empty seat in front of him, but did not sit down immediately.

He glanced around the conference room, his gaze lingering briefly on each person's face, before speaking in a calm voice.

"This victory does not belong to me alone."

These belong to all the crew members of the Pluto Fleet who persevered to the very last moment.

This belongs to the warriors of the Uranus Fleet who used their flesh and blood to stop the enemy's charge, and to every officer and soldier of the Iron Fist Squadron who fought on the battlefield.

He paused.

"It also belongs to those who were unable to come to this meeting room."

Captain Li Zhen of the Lightning is still receiving emergency treatment in the medical bay, while the 327 officers and soldiers of the North Star will forever remain in the stars.

They are the true heroes.

After saying all this, he sat down.

The others then took their seats.

But one figure remained standing.

Zhao Rui.

The commander of the Uranus fleet, the bearded man who once publicly questioned Qin Beiwang and once believed him to be nothing more than a gilded waste.

He stood there, his back ramrod straight, but his head was bowed.

He had a new scar on his face.

That was left when the bridge of the Ironback was hit by shrapnel, running from the right eyebrow to the cheek. Although it had been treated, the stitches were still clearly visible.

All eyes in the conference room were on him.

Zhao Rui took a deep breath, then looked up at Qin Beiwang.

The unruly glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by a heavy honesty.

"Major Qin."

His voice was a little hoarse, but he spoke each word clearly.

Before you say anything more, I have a few words to say.

Qin Bei looked at him without saying anything, only nodding slightly.

Zhao Rui took another deep breath, as if he needed to use all his strength to say what he was about to say:

"I've looked down on you ever since you were assigned to the Pluto fleet."

I think you're a good-for-nothing who rose to power because of your father's influence, a spoiled brat who will kill all your subordinates.

During the war council, I publicly contradicted you, questioned you, and even cursed you in my heart to get out of here soon.

His voice grew softer, but more resolute.

"I was wrong."

Three words.

In the silent conference room, it was as clear as metal falling to the ground.

"When you annihilated the Dragon Lizard fleet on Agbart, I thought it was thanks to Deputy Commander Zhuang."

When you were chasing Wells, I thought you were giving bad advice.

When you ordered us to fire at the coordinates in the smoke, I thought you were crazy.

Zhao Rui's eyes began to redden, not from anger, but from some more complex emotion.

"But every time, you're right."

Every time, you proved just how terribly wrong I was.

He paused, then did something that stunned everyone.

He stepped forward and bowed deeply in the direction of Qin Beiwang.

That wasn't a polite, slight bow; it was a deep, almost full bow, a solemn one.

I apologize for all my previous rudeness, prejudice, and foolish questioning!

Zhao Rui's voice came from below, somewhat muffled, but incredibly sincere.

"You are not a good-for-nothing, not a spoiled brat, not a gilded young master."

You are a true commander, a soldier worthy of your father's name, Marshal Qin Qianfan.