The Thirteenth Marshal
Meanwhile, March 21, in the basement of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
The dim alloy walls glimmered with cold light. In this secret space known to almost no one, Darth Sidious stood in black robes. Before him, a blue-skinned Chiss with neatly combed hair, dressed in the white uniform of an Imperial Navy general, knelt on one knee.
Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Thrawn!
"Heh heh heh... Gillard Perine, Oswald Tessik, Dunn Vesex... every last one of them is a worthless fool. They were the ones who buried the Empire's billions of troops! I gave them fleets ten times the enemy's size, yet all they brought me was one defeat after another!" Darth Sidious snarled.
He spread his arms as though he wished to seize the entire Milky Way Galaxy in his grasp. "And you, Thrawn—only you truly understand the art of war, understand how order is forged from chaos. Now everyone is waiting for us to fail. Heh heh heh... everyone. But only I! Only I still believe in victory without the slightest doubt!"
Thrawn remained kneeling on one knee and said nothing, but the faint furrow in his brow had already conveyed his opinion to Darth Sidious.
If he had to make a comparison, the Galactic Empire was now like an enormous RV—gleaming and massive on the outside, but rusted through, fractured, and structurally damaged within.
The Kingdom of Dawn, on the other hand, was a light Chariot fitted with a nitrous booster and spiked armor. Though small, it possessed surging power, precise steering, and a sturdy frame. On the surface, the collision between them appeared to be a case of the large bullying the small, but the actual outcome had long since been decided.
"If this had happened before, perhaps I would not have such confidence. Perhaps I