Chapter 169: ASTRID

Aaron exited the spaceship, compressing it to a little bracelet with a thought. A functional and creative design by Leonardo, the genius creator making the best of his mind, turning the vessel into a compact accessory that fit snugly on his wrist. Aaron stored the bracelet in his inventory, a spatial pocket that swallowed it without a trace, as he flew discreetly toward the planet, his form blending with the shadows of space.Aaron reached the atmosphere of the planet, the air thickening around him with a faint barrier of energy. Bending time to his will, he time-stepped, moving from the void of space to within the planet in an instant, his actions unnoticed by anyone below, a ghost slipping through the veil.

Planet Astrid was a world much like Bluestar, home to humans with supernatural abilities, their powers manifesting in bursts of energy that lit the night skies. But unlike Bluestar, they lacked the conventional dungeons that provided structured challenges and growth. Instead, Astrid faced invasions at successive intervals, unknown foes emerging through rifts in timed waves, their arrival heralded by tears in reality that spewed forth armies bent on conquest.

The invaders appeared and beset the inhabitants of Astrid to conquer the world, their forces relentless and organized. At first, Astrid’s natives warded off the threats, their unity and power ensuring safety. But the death of their strongest and only god-rank being shifted the scales dramatically, tipping the balance toward the invaders.

With the aliens gaining the upper hand, the natives slowly lost their planet, the invaders claiming land after land, exploiting resources with ruthless efficiency. In desperation, Astrid’s people clustered together for defense, forgoing vast swaths of territory and belongings. They built strongholds, fortified enclaves huddled close, protecting what remained of their society while hoping for a miracle to turn the tide against the ruthless foes.

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"I’m tired of us being held up within the stronghold while our enemies are out there exploiting our resources and killing our own! We starve and risk sending people out every now and then to scavenge for food while the enemies live at large! We can’t allow this to continue anymore, Father! We have to fight back!" Edmond said fiercely to his father, his voice echoing in the dimly lit room of their modest home within Stronghold 12. The anger burned in his eyes like a unquenchable fire, his fists clenched at his sides, the wooden table between them creaking under his grip.

"We are not having this conversation again, Edmond! They are stronger than us. We can’t fight them and risk having all of us killed. Do not let your young impulsive blood get in the way of your decision making," Janryc cautioned his son, his voice weary but firm. Janryc, leader of Stronghold 12, which housed thousands of desperate souls, bore the marks of his burden—large dark circles under his eyes, his once-handsome face now lined with age and stress from sleepless nights managing the enclave, avoiding conflict, and preparing for inevitable alien attacks.

That responsibility alone was a grueling task, but his son’s constant nagging made him wish for the release of death every day, the weight pressing on his shoulders like the stronghold’s fortified walls.

Edmond was a brilliant and talented son Janryc was proud of, his skills in combat and strategy shining even in these dark times. But his impulsive nature was the one flaw Janryc wished could be erased, a spark that threatened to ignite everything they had built.

"Are we really going to allow those bastards to do as they please? Those bastards are the reason Mother is dead! I didn’t train every day just to be unable to retaliate!" Edmond fired back, his voice rising, refusing to back down as his father hoped. The memory of his mother’s death fueled his rage, her image flashing in his mind—hacked apart before his eyes, her blood staining the ground.

"You are not strong enough, Edmond. None of us are. They have a god-rank being on their side. Without one of our own, fighting them is nothing more than a death sentence," Janryc shook his head, speaking softly, his eyes tired but filled with a father’s concern. He understood his son’s impulsive nature all too well—the young man had watched his mother die brutally right before him. Seeking revenge was natural, and Janryc harbored the same hatred, wishing for the invaders’ demise. More than anything, he yearned to march with every able fighter and lead a decisive battle against the aliens.

But as leader, privy to information others lacked, he knew it would be suicide, leading multitudes to slaughter—a decision he couldn’t bear.

"Thought as much. You’ll never do anything and just talk about your duties as the leader," Edmond snapped, the docile nature of his father fueling his anger even more, his face flushing with frustration.

Edmond stormed off, knowing his father’s mind was set and unchangeable, the door slamming behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through the stronghold’s corridors.

Edmond left the building, returning to his own home, shutting the door with a deliberate click, the sound sharp in the quiet.


"That will throw them off the surveillance for probably four hours or so," Edmond muttered, lying on his bed, processing his course of action. The room was sparse, a simple cot and table, the walls reinforced with metal scraps, a faint light from a small window illuminating his determined face.

The impulsive action of Edmond, as well as his argument with his father, were all a staged act to ensure his father placed surveillance on him to monitor his actions. The heated exchange was calculated, a performance to draw attention and suspicion in the obvious direction.

The reason? The best way to hide anything is to place it in a very conspicuous place, and that was Edmond’s plan, a clever ruse born of desperation and cunning.

Edmond had a secret, one no one, not even his father, was aware of. From time to time, he left the stronghold under the cover of night or deception. His goal? To eliminate any alien he met along the way, striking from the shadows, a lone avenger chipping away at the invaders’ hold, his blade stained with their blood in silent defiance.