When "the Dreadful Dragon Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken" used a terrifying method that seemed like divine punishment to destroy the bridge of the Grandmaster Vitte in a single strike, he apparently decided that was enough. In full view of the Imperial soldiers, who were scared out of their wits, he turned around atop the star dragon phantasm beast raised by the Empire, flapped his utterly indiscriminate wings, and left, satisfied.
After rejoining his companion, who rode another Flamewing Dragon, he returned directly to the Pilgrim.
Then this special warship, which the Empire had built at enormous expense, casually turned about and sailed away.
They left with such nonchalance that they seemed not to have worried at all about the Imperial fleet firing on them from behind, much less pursuing them.
And that was exactly what happened. The Silver Knight-class battlecruiser with a gash in its side, and the Grandmaster Vitte, which had lost its head but could still cruise, fire its guns, and even charge, both remained where they were as if frozen in place.
By the time the survivors aboard the dreadnought finally remembered to issue orders, the Pilgrim had already left the main guns' range.
"Sh-should we begin pursuit?" the chief engineer asked the remaining commanders aboard, trembling with fear.
"Pursue them? With what? We just barely got out alive, so cherish that! You have to learn to cherish your lives!" the first officer wailed.
With the entire command staff and captain's quarters wiped out, command of the Grandmaster naturally fell to the first officer. He was a young officer who had just turned thirty, the son of a great noble who had come to make a name for himself.
To be fair, his technical and theoretical knowledge were both quite good; but he really had