The Bismarck-class Dreadnought.
This steel behemoth, symbolizing the greatest glory and military might of the Galactic Empire's Seventh Fleet.
Its interior was now a complete wreck.
The once neat, brightly lit alloy corridors, brimming with a futuristic feel.
Were littered with holes melted through by extreme heat and corpses that had died gruesome deaths.
The shrill alarms still echoed.
But the gunfire, cannon fire, and battle cries that represented organized resistance had gradually fallen silent.
Replacing them were the heavy echoes of military boots striking metal floors.
And the pained groans of the few surviving soldiers.
[Bang!]
The alloy doors to the command hall were violently shoved open.
Led by Admiral Yamakaji, four Marine officers draped in Coats of Justice and radiating astonishing pressure slowly stepped inside.
This twenty-kilometer-long warship was simply too large.
The other officers who had entered had already gone to other areas to continue suppressing the resistance.
The golden light particles around Yamakaji and the other five were slowly dissipating.
This showed that the "Light Elementalization" bestowed by Borsalino had expired.
Admiral Yamakaji swept his gaze across the hall.
The technicians and staff officers were all crouching on the floor with their heads in their hands, trembling uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, at the command seat in the center of the hall.
Admiral Frederick Morrison had returned to his chair.
Only, his uniform was already soaked through with cold sweat.
His once meticulously combed hair had become somewhat disheveled as well.
He slowly raised his head.
Those eyes that had once been full of arrogance and confidence.
Now contained only a hollow, ashen emptiness.
Admiral Yamakaji pulled a cigar from his coat pocket, placed it between his lips, and casually lit it with a lighter.
He exhaled a plume of smoke and walked forward, a gentle smile on his