"Ensure they stay far away from the central formation! At the same time, increase the intensity of your attacks on the enemy flanks! Take down their mechanical octopuses before targeting their ships!"

"Yes, Lady Crown!" came the chorus of replies from multiple fronts…

An additional thousand to three thousand mechs were quickly launched into space by the carriers. As they rushed toward their deployment points, they surged toward the incoming attack with brutal efficiency.

Becoming another shield for the fleet, they began destroying incoming fire that slipped past the point-defense systems…

Meanwhile, the knight mechs surged ahead and beyond, cutting down missiles mid-flight without a hint of worry… absorbing beam attacks and reflecting them back toward swarms of missiles, which quickly burst into arcs of beautiful flame… constantly lighting up the dark expanse of space.

Still, many attacks slipped through and struck the shields of several vessels—particularly the generation one frigates. Yet those same generation one destroyers held their shields; despite being hit repeatedly, the damage remained within bearable limits, with their shield systems recovering faster than the damage they took…

And so, even under heavy fire, the central formation held strong.

Instead of what Pact had hoped would happen, the opposite unfolded.

Seeing this, Pact grew frustrated. Not only had his move achieved almost nothing—it was actively harming his position.

Both flanks were suffering bombardment from the human forces, which, absurdly enough, had already taken down over a dozen mechanical octopuses—units with such formidable defenses that even a super laser cannon couldn't break through them in a single shot…

"Fuck this shit!" he cursed, shifting his tactics. "Launch all the strike craft! Launch a flank assault on the human fleet's flanks—don't let them keep attacking ours!"

Receiving his orders, both wings of the hegemony fleet moved at once…

Thousands upon thousands of fighter-class vessels surged outward, sweeping across the battlefield like a tide, heading straight toward the flanks of the Fourth Battle Fleet…

"Load all missile launch pods throughout the fleet! Every single one—I want them ready! Target those damn human flanks and provide suppression support to our fighter squadrons! Let them go on a rampage…"

Pact knew his advantage—and that was numbers. There was a limit to how long the humans could keep handling this.

So this time, he bet on it. Maybe now he could break through their defenses… deal real damage to the human fleet, which hadn't suffered any losses since it first appeared on the galactic stage. That alone would be enough to send shockwaves through them—buying him the time he needed to maneuver his fleet, gain a real advantage, and shift the course of the battle… he muttered to himself.

He looked out at the battlefield—nearly ten thousand missiles rushing forward, alongside a similar number of fighter craft. That was everything his fleet could muster at this point… with barely a few hundred missiles and fighters left in reserve.

If something went wrong now… it would be disastrous.

Meglador, who had been firing a continuous barrage of pulse shots against the unrelenting assault from the hegemony fleet, suddenly froze.

"What the hell?!" he shouted in panic as his mech systems detected multiple targets heading toward them at high speed…

"Damn! Are they nuts?! Launching this many missiles at us?!" he cursed, quickly calculating their number—close to ten thousand… if not more.

And he wasn't the only one…

Hundreds of others—within mechs and ships alike—reacted the same way, cursing under their breath while rapidly calculating their next course of action, trying to come up with a way to neutralize the incoming barrage. Their displays flooded with blood-red targets…

And it wasn't just the missiles—following close behind were nearly ten thousand fighter-class vessels as well.

Meglador frowned, analyzing at rapid speed. No… with the current firepower we have, we can barely eliminate about fifty—at most sixty percent—of the incoming missiles. Any more will overwhelm our point-defense systems and support units… which means around forty percent will slip through…

That's roughly four thousand…

More than enough to devastate our frontline frigates and destroyers in one strike…

He drew in a sharp breath as he reached the conclusion. We will suffer catastrophic losses if that happens.

Without wasting another second, he reached out to command—under Lady Crown—and spoke urgently. "Commander Crown, we need immediate support, or the flank could suffer a huge setback…"

Crown, who herself was under relentless attack from the hegemony fleet, narrowed her eyes.

"Madness…" she muttered. "But still I have to admit that it's… a good plan, if it worked. If our flank collapsed… that is"

A faint, cold smile touched her lips. "Hah… but with me watching, that won't be happening."

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"All missile carriers, configure missile silos immediately! Load graviton impact missiles and cluster suppression missiles—and fire at once."

Without wasting a word or second, Crown calmly passed down her orders with sharp efficiency.

Across the entire Fourth Battle Fleet, positioned behind the central and both flank formations, multiple silos—stretching from two to two and a half kilometers in length—opened in unison. In the next instant, thousands of missiles roared to life, launching forward in synchronized waves…

Unlike the chaotic swarms of missiles from the hegemony fleet rushing toward them, these were precise—controlled.

Cutting through the lines of ships, the missiles surged ahead and made contact.

The first to arrive were the graviton impact missiles—fewer in number…

They passed straight through the dense clusters of incoming enemy missiles instead of striking them directly—and then detonated in open space. Instantly, the surrounding area distorted, forming invisible wells of suction spanning over five kilometers in diameter… 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

The disrupted enemy missiles were pulled inward by the artificial gravity, dragged into the collapsing core, and crushed under violent gravitational waves—before detonating in rapid succession…

And just like that, clusters upon clusters of incoming missiles—and even projectiles—were dragged in and compressed into a single focal point, before bursting in cascading implosions that tore through wave after wave of missiles…

This played out across the battlefield, quickly consuming nearly twenty percent of the advancing missile barrage.

Following the graviton strikes, the much slower cluster missiles arrived…

They split open mid-flight, releasing hundreds—if not more—smaller missiles, each one locking onto a separate target with ruthless precision.

With the empty pockets created by the graviton wells, the cluster systems had a far easier time selecting targets, weaving through the chaos and hunting down anything beyond the reach of the graviton field…

Soon after, explosions rippled across the battlefield—not at a single point, but everywhere at once.

Countless pinpoint detonations lit up the void… each one precise, controlled—and devastating.

And it was still continuing.

From the mech divisions and various vessels, stunned voices quickly filled the general comms—

"So powerful… those graviton missiles…! What would've happened to us if we were caught in that?" one person said, instinctively covering his upper body with his arms, shivering.

"…Good thing we're on the same side… working under the same boss."

"So powerful… those graviton missiles… what would happen to us if we were dragged into one?" one person said, covering his upper body with his arms, shivering. "Good thing we're on the same side… working under the same boss."

"Yeah… almost half of their entire missile attack has just vanished in minutes," another added, drawing in a sharp breath in awe.

"Those explosions… so beautiful," someone else said, clearly a fan of destruction.

Others, however, sighed in regret. "Too bad those fighter squadrons were so far behind… otherwise, a few of them would've been taken down too, no?"

Meanwhile, not indulging in the chatter, Meglador remained focused on the battlefield, his attention sharp and unwavering. Narrowing his eyes, he saw the destruction slowing down—still, about forty percent of the missiles, maybe a little less… nearly four thousand, were still pushing through the barrage, rushing toward them.

He let out a breath and spoke firmly, "Everyone, focus! There's still plenty of work to do—and plenty of missiles to take down…"

And he wasn't the only one giving such orders. Across the flanks and even within the central formation, commanders were rallying their subordinates—urging them to stay sharp, maintain their vigilance, and not lose focus.

The fight was far from over.

And once again, like well-tuned machines, everyone within the frontline command pushed away idle thoughts and, with renewed efficiency, began attacking the remaining incoming missiles—along with the chaotic wave of fighter-class vessels following behind…

Meanwhile, back within the flagship, Crown issued another order.

"Deploy Divisions One, Two, and Three of the fighter command immediately! Hold Divisions Four, Five, and Six for now—but have them ready, waiting in their cockpits. They could be deployed at any moment, and I don't want any delay. Got it?" Crown said, looking toward a particular vice admiral.

He gave a formal salute, accepted the command, and quickly walked away.

Satisfied, Crown issued additional orders. "Maintain the pressure on the hegemony fleet! This should have already sent shockwaves through their command—they should be confused right now…"

"Fuel that confusion even more… and victory will be ours before long."