Garden, Pasteur Villa.
The garden of the Pasteur Villa was home to over a thousand species of exotic alien flora—a serene world filled with birdsong and fragrant blooms, its air crisp and the surroundings pristine. The average life expectancy of the Umojans was significantly higher than that of the Terrans or Kel-Morians, thanks to their holistic environmental preservation and advanced medical technology.
During Augustus's stay at the Pasteur Villa these past few days, he increasingly felt the beneficial effects of the Umojan environment on both mind and body.
Compared to Tarsonis or Korhal IV, Umoja was not originally a garden world suitable for human habitation. Extreme weather frequently ravaged settlements, and usable land was severely limited. But with technological advancement—especially breakthroughs in anti-gravity technology—these conditions had seen dramatic improvement.
"I'm sorry, Uncle."
Panting, the seven-year-old Valerian was drenched in sweat. He wore a white training uniform with a black belt tied at the waist, his trembling hand gripping a small wooden sword.
At this age, Valerian was frail and slender to the point of looking downright delicate, lacking muscle in both arms and legs, and his figure so slight he resembled a little girl. The intense training had turned his already feminine face beet red.
In Valerian, Augustus saw echoes of himself—not of his father, Arcturus, who had been bounding and agile from a young age, always chasing after the house staff with boundless energy.
"Hold your sword again, little Val," Augustus said, calling him by his nickname, which Catherine also sometimes used for him. "This was your choice. If you've decided to walk in the footsteps of your forebears, then you must first forge a strong body."
"When you come of age, the Koprulu sector will enter the most chaotic era in countless cycles. You will fight enemies of mankind. You will traverse the stars. You will stand shoulder to shoulder with your friends. You will die for those you love—and those who love you."
"What should I do?"
Valerian gripped the wooden sword tightly, looking into the same steely grey eyes that mirrored his own.
He idolized this man.
His uncle, Augustus Mengsk, was a soldier—a brave and selfless warrior. His ideals lay far beyond even the stars Valerian had gazed upon in the night sky.
Augustus had let Valerian choose for himself—whether to live carefree under the shelter of his mother's wings or to strive for his dreams. Forcing such a young child to make a life-defining decision might have seemed hasty, even reckless, but Augustus believed his nephew was different.
Exploring the stars was nothing like the romantic verses found in books of stellar poetry. Harsh alien environments, wild beasts, and terrifying cosmic phenomena could easily reduce an exploration fleet to drifting metal wreckage in the void.
An adventurer needed both a clever mind and the skills to battle unknown threats. Reality had taught Valerian the importance of having the strength to protect himself.
He loved the mysteries of alien knowledge and was deeply fascinated by it—but his uncle told him that sometimes, ancient relics and precious wisdom could only be seized or defended through force.
The real universe was brutal. Humanity thrived in a fragile garden world, blissfully unaware of the danger beyond.
A true adventurer must be both a learned scholar and a courageous warrior.
"Will I have to kill those aliens?"
Valerian knew his uncle was one of the few who genuinely believed in the existence of extraterrestrials.
In the past, due to his mother's education, Valerian hadn't even understood what death or war meant. He only read books on history, geography, and literature, imagining the stars to be a pure, dreamlike realm of beauty and wonder.
"We shall conquer worlds through war," Augustus said. "But remember, war is not the only way to achieve your goals. Use your wit and cunning. Forge alliances with friends. Fight to the death against your enemies."
Augustus swung the wooden sword in his hand toward Valerian. The boy deftly twisted his wrist and raised his own sword in a horizontal block, managing to intercept the blow—yet the sheer force of it knocked him to the ground. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as he looked up, ashamed.
"You did very well," Augustus said, lowering his sword and helping Valerian back to his feet. He offered gentle reassurance: "You're agile, and you're picking up the fundamentals of swordsmanship quickly. Just like your father, you have real talent. What you need now is a stronger body."
"But I can't do anything right," Valerian murmured. "At first, I couldn't even hold the wooden sword steady. I can't run fast—I'm out of breath after just a short distance. I'm too much like a girl. Others look down on me because of that. I like reading books, so they call me nothing but a bookworm."
"No, you're excellent."
Augustus scooped him up and placed him on his shoulders—Valerian was so light that Augustus could lift him as easily as a baby. "As long as you put in the effort, you can excel at anything."
"If you can't hold your sword properly or swing it with strength, then swing it ten thousand times. If you run every day, you'll get faster. Reading builds your knowledge and sharpens your mind," Augustus said with warmth in his voice.
"And if someone calls you a sissy or a girl—then knock them all down."
"Oh… but that's too rude. Grandmother and Mother don't like it when I fight with others," Valerian said, nodding hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of it.
"What if it's your father who says that?"
"..."
Augustus was carrying Valerian on his back as they strolled through the garden, but suddenly stopped, falling into thought.
"Maybe you're not strong enough to face him yet. But you can wait. Grow up, and one day—beat him."
"Oh…"
In just a few days, Augustus had become Valerian's hero.
This uncle—sometimes stern, sometimes gentle—fit Valerian's ideal vision of a father more than the real one ever had. Augustus held him to high standards, but never forced him to do anything he didn't like.
He was incredibly patient, even joining Valerian in childish games, taking him on walks through the beautiful Umojan countryside and the livestock-filled pastures nearby, spending whole days at his side.
This was the happiest time of Valerian's life. He truly admired and loved his uncle.
He barely even looked forward to seeing his father anymore.
The uncle and nephew chatted as they strolled through the garden until noon. Just as they were about to return to the Pasteur estate for lunch, a soldier from the Umojan Home Guard approached Augustus.
Dressed in gleaming white powered armor with joints and a helmet glowing softly in pale blue, the soldier delivered a message that left Augustus elated:
A Behemoth-class battlecruiser from the Terran Federation had just crash-landed on a nearby hot planet due to a navigation system failure, and the Home Guard was already deploying ships to the crash site.
This was enormous news—because neither Korhal nor Umoja currently possessed the full technology required to build a battlecruiser.
...
As the boarding ramp descended, a sand-laced gale struck against the visor of Augustus's powered armor. This was a planet cloaked in an amber-hued atmosphere and covered in dusty soil. Relentless, unending winds swept across the land, constantly reshaping its surface.
Augustus looked up ahead. A colossal, near-ruined steel beast lay sprawled before him. Amid the hazy storm of sand, dozens of massive cranes and hoists flickered with red and green lights. Thousands of National Defense Force engineers and workers were perched on scaffolding extending from the warship's bow, stern, and flanks.
"An old Behemoth-class battlecruiser," he murmured. "Even among her sisters, she's far from young."
Just then, Ailin Pasteur, who had rushed back from Umoja, stepped down the ramp behind him. Clad in a heavy space-environment suit rather than powered armor, his movements were slow, and he leaned on a National Defense Force soldier in white armor for support.
"She arrived at just the right moment," Augustus said. "A blessing in our hour of need."
"But she needs repairs—a major overhaul," Ailin replied, glancing at the bustling workers and the battlecruiser's wreckage less than 1.5 kilometers away, a smile forming on his face.
"Fortunately, we've got the finest engineers and workers in the entire Koprulu Sector. She'll be back in the combat fleet in no time… and under our banner, of course."
At that moment, a Umojan combat vehicle—skimming across the desert like a hoverboat—raced toward them from the direction of the ship. It came to a halt beside Augustus and Ailin. A lieutenant general of the Umojan National Defense Force stepped down, dressed in a grey-white leather military uniform.
Although the Umojan National Defense Force had only officially been established after the war with the Confederacy, its predecessor—the Umojan Militia—was a highly professional, armed organization under the command of the democratically elected Umojan Assembly.
When the Terran Confederacy began revealing its imperial ambitions, the Militia received unprecedented military funding, and its technological development began to focus heavily on defense.
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