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Chapter 53
Damn it.
Kim Dowoon narrowed his eyes, gripping the control stick so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Baek Ihyun was no longer visible. All he could see was the massive black sphere, tightly wrapped in metallic wings.
He couldn’t look inside the sphere, but Kim Dowoon could easily guess what was happening.
He’s using the wings to force the Nightmare out quickly.
Right now, that was the best possible move. If they just held out until the Awakening finished in a few minutes, pushing the Phantom into the track wouldn’t be difficult.
The problem was…
what would happen to Baek Ihyun by then.
Worst case—
as the Nightmare reached its final stage, the wings might get pulled in, dragging Baek Ihyun into another dimension.
If that happened, the battalion would lose a once-in-a-century commander, right before the enemy forces inevitably descended upon them.
Kim Dowoon opened his eyes wide, checking the front. The fighters surrounding Baek Ihyun in a ring held their formation perfectly still.
Did no one notice?
The intercom remained quiet. Neither Lieutenant Im Eunha nor any squad member said a word. There wasn’t even a hint of panic. They were either too stunned by the sight or hadn’t yet grasped the situation.
Kim Dowoon gritted his teeth.
If it were Jang Seokju, he’d notice.
But Jang Seokju was inside the track—everyone left aboard the ship was being held inside the track.
From there, instant communication was impossible. The track was designed as a transport space where one stayed for only about ten minutes at most.
Even if someone aboard the battleship realized Baek Ihyun’s plan and rushed out—or tried to send instructions—it would already be too late.
Once the wings started extracting the Nightmare, the Awakening would finish within minutes. Unless they acted now, Baek Ihyun’s fate was sealed.
This has to be handled on-site.
His heart hammered violently. Sweat collected beneath his grip on the control stick.
What can I even do?
If he only cared for his own safety, he should immediately return to the battleship. Baek Ihyun himself had repeatedly ordered them to fall back—no one would blame him.
But he didn’t want to go back.
It wasn’t childish camaraderie.
Kim Dowoon needed Baek Ihyun alive.
He could not let him die.
Not only because serving under him was safe.
Kim Dowoon was from a Colony. Unless someone powerful acknowledged his achievements, the years he spent bleeding on the battlefield would become meaningless. Colony soldiers often had their accomplishments erased—or outright stolen by superiors.
His family was hostage to the Empire.
When the war ended and he became useless, he had no idea when he’d be eliminated.
He couldn’t go back empty-handed.
He needed at least a medal to survive.
And the only person who could testify for him without fail was Baek Ihyun.
— Detach the wing.
It was Lieutenant Im Eunha’s voice over the intercom. One squad member immediately objected:
— We can’t. We don’t have authorization.
No one but a staff officer could touch an A‑grade weapon without Baek Ihyun’s approval.
It was a restriction personally imposed by the Emperor—so the weapon wouldn’t fall into enemy hands if Baek Ihyun died, or be mishandled by reckless soldiers.
— Call the battleship—damn it, they’re all inside the track, aren’t they?!
— Ma’am, if I head back to the battleship right now—
— Too late. We’re doing it.
— Sorry?
— Just rip it off at the shoulder.
— What?!
— What else can we do? Leave him like that and watch him get sucked in?!
— Rip off the Commander’s shoulder?!
— Then should we let him become a dimensional orphan?!
Chaos exploded over the intercom.
Kim Dowoon rubbed his face harshly. There was no time. He pressed the intercom.
“Ma’am, I’ll—”
— Kim Dowoon, you’ll what?
Sergeant Choi Jaehyung’s mocking voice cut in immediately.
— You’re blinded by ambition now, huh? Trying to clean up your Colony background? What, planning to pretend to detach the Commander’s wings but actually aim for his neck? You’re a spy, aren’t you? The moment I first saw you—
“Shut the fuck up!”
The intercom, which had been on the verge of bursting from everyone shouting at once, fell instantly silent.
Even Choi Jaehyung, who’d been spewing nonsense nonstop, shut his mouth like a switch had flipped.
Kim Dowoon squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, speaking firmly.
“Ma’am, pull the squad back. I’ll handle it.”
— You’re still here?
“I’m a staff officer now. I can do it.”
— What are you talking abou—oh.
“I’ll use a severance round. Please cover the battleship.”
— With that unit?
“I’ll fire manually.”
— You’ll go into shock!
“It’s still better for the Commander to survive! Pull back! Jaehyung, close your damn left flank! It’s wide open, you idiot!”
— What did you say, you son of—
— All units, prioritize battleship defense!
Im Eunha’s command overrode Choi’s profanity.
— Ma’am, Dowoon can’t do it alone! It’s suicide!
Someone objected instantly—Lee Gyumin, a squadmate he’d been closest to. He shouted like coughing blood.
— Leaving it as is might be best! Commander kept telling us to just wait—
— Everyone deploy shields and attach to the battleship! Park Junho, pull up the map and calculate angles! Kim Do—no, Supply Officer Kim, adjust for impact vectors! Choi Jaehyung, wake up and hold position!
The fighters that had been circling Baek Ihyun quickly broke formation, aligning in a smooth defensive line in front of the battleship.
Kim Dowoon pulled the targeting module toward himself and locked it into position.
The latch clunked; sweat dripped from his palms.
He bared his teeth, eyes wide, and located the sphere through the scope.
Amid the black-feathered surface, he spotted the faintest outline—the base of the wing. Baek Ihyun’s shoulder would be right underneath.
He locked the target onto that subtle shape.
Without Baek Ihyun, they were all dead anyway. The Phantom wouldn’t just stroll all the way here—it was clearly sent deliberately.
The enemy must have heard the rumor:
This battleship carries a Tuner.
Even if they captured the Phantom, the enemy would surely ambush them on the way to the capital planet. Without Baek Ihyun, they’d be annihilated.
Whether he died now or died later didn’t matter.
This was a once‑in‑a‑lifetime chance to leave a name behind—not rot nameless in some muddy trench.
His family could live.
That was why Kim Dowoon was staking his life.
The HUD flashed: target locked.
A vibration rattled the old machine—an omen. If he missed, it would be because of the aging unit.
As always, Kim Dowoon left his life to luck and placed his finger on the trigger.
He was afraid—not of death, but of failure.
I didn’t leave my homeland for nothing.
I didn’t join this damned imperial army to obey that dogshit emperor just to die a nobody.
His country was gone, but his family remained.
He had to protect them.
He had come too far to hesitate over one life.
But if he failed—
if the manual railgun shot missed Baek Ihyun’s shoulder—
his death would be meaningless.
— Awakening ends in 5 seconds!
Following Im Eunha’s warning, Kim Dowoon maxed out the energy output.
His target: the faintly irregular point on the sphere—
the exact root where Baek Ihyun’s wings emerged.
He recalled watching the tech crew detach Baek Ihyun’s wings in the clean room.
A clean removal would be ideal… but even ripping it apart messily would be fine. As long as Baek Ihyun was freed, it was a success.
I can do it… I can—
— Now!
The moment he pulled the trigger, he knew he’d failed.
The module had trembled—
a vibration that should never have happened.
Damned piece of junk—!
He zoomed in desperately.
Left drift.
Damn it.
The round veered slightly left, grazing the sphere and leaving only a faint crack. Light leaked through the fissure, but nowhere near enough to break the wing completely.
Grinding his teeth, he returned to the scope.
One more time.
Just one more—
As he adjusted the aim to the right, a chilling wave washed over him—like his blood draining all at once.
He dropped the module and collapsed.
His vision went black.
Shock.
He forced his breathing steady, reached for the module with flickering vision—
A clear voice rang through the intercom.
— …Lieutenant Kim Dowoon!
Kim Dowoon scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. His sight flickered between light and darkness.
“…Seol Ayeon?”
— Where do I shove it in?!
“What?”
— The track! Where is it?!
That voice—it felt like he hadn’t heard it in ages. Impossible, yet—
He shook his head violently. His mind was fuzzy.
“Right…”
A metallic taste surged up his throat; he spit blood and wiped his mouth.
“Right next to the right wing. It’s open.”
— Move!
“…Huh?”
— Not you, sir! You there! Move! I’m putting it in!
Kim Dowoon shook his head, forcing clarity back. Leaning on the module, he pulled himself up and looked through the scope.
Through his stuttering vision, he saw the black sphere.
The fissure he had made earlier was rapidly spreading.
Light seeped from the cracks in shimmering colors—
and then a blade shot out.
The sphere exploded into pieces.
Amid the scattering black feathers, Seol Ayeon appeared, flinging her sword aside. With her other arm, she held the limp Baek Ihyun tightly against her.
Despite her small frame, it felt as if she had completely enveloped him.
And behind her—
the Phantom, having completed its Awakening, drifted silently with its eyes fully closed.
The next moment—
Seol Ayeon kicked the Phantom.
Hard.
Straight toward the track.
