Marshal Uroji didn't think he was just paying lip service. The "old friend" he knew really was that kind of heroic figure. But why were there no heroes like that among the Cherks?
His thick lips moved, and he awkwardly let out a few meaningless sounds. Then he fell silent, as though even the heavy muscles in his cheeks were twitching with struggle and bitterness.
After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice still bitter. "Yes, Mr. Tan, you're right. He's a hero, and so are the soldiers and civilians of the Commonwealth. You and the Empire have been at war for a whole year, and those Dragon Kings still haven't gained an inch. But we—we who proudly called ourselves the nation of fighters on the front line against the Empire—couldn't even hold out for a day..."
In truth, they hadn't lasted even two hours. From the moment the Barbarossa arrived at Katun to the king's surrender, less than a hundred minutes had passed. The Galactic Empire seemed to have a penchant for using such absurdly short time spans to demonstrate its might.
"From the day we enlisted, we were taught, trained, and sent to fight. We were taught to hate the Haiyar people and the Imperials behind them. Then the Cherk fleet didn't fire a single shot, and just let our country change hands. A coward like me, who only dared hide inside his shell—what right do I have to judge true heroes?"
His mouth hung open, and his little round eyes clearly shimmered with misery and humility.
But this time, Tan Jize didn't press his advantage. He even let his smile fade, speaking with heartfelt sincerity. "You didn't surrender, and neither did the Cherk people."
"Mr. Tan, if you're trying to comfort me, I'm grateful, but..."
Tan