{Chapter: 112: Jarnser Home World}
Twenty-five years later.
This span of time, while modest for civilizations steeped in magic or hyper-advanced technology, holds different meanings depending on whom you ask. For the short-lived races of the mundane worlds—ordinary humans, for example—twenty-five years is a lifetime. A man might be born, marry, raise children, and pass on before those years are through. Empires might rise and crumble within that same span. Yet for wizards, and for the ageless elders of the great civilizations, it is but a blink—an interlude barely worth mentioning.
Since the first exchanges of fire, the war between the wizard civilization and the Jarnser civilization had entered a peculiar stalemate. It was a war, yes—but one that moved at an almost deliberate pace. Battles flared, probes were launched, reconnaissance missions were dispatched, and experimental weaponry was deployed, only to be recalled minutes later for adjustments. But there was no true invasion, no total annihilation of worlds. Just an unspoken patience, an awareness that haste would lead to disaster.
It was a cold war masquerading as a hot one. Both sides studied the other constantly, never letting down their guard, like two apex predators locked in a silent standoff beneath the surface of a mirror-like lake. The tension in the air could be sliced with a ritual dagger.
Each day, both civilizations consumed vast quantities of energy, magical essence, psychic data, and raw material. Their daily expenditures could bankrupt lesser species, drain entire solar systems dry. But such was the scale and might of these titanic forces. Their resources were vast, drawn from conquests, alliances, and self-sustaining systems too complex for primitive minds to grasp. What would be unimaginable for others was little more than a minor accounting entry in their ledgers.
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Jarnser Prime — Capital of the Jarnser Civilization
Far removed from the arcane grandeur of the wizarding world, the homeland of the Jarnser civilization gleamed like a polished jewel in the darkness of space. It was a realm of chrome and neon, of noise and precision, a testament to the power of artificial intelligence and psychic enhancement. Towers scraped at the heavens, some hosting synthetic ecosystems within their glassy interiors. Crowds surged like digital code through skywalks, hoverways, and underground transit tunnels, their movements choreographed by algorithms and augmented thought.
Private spacecraft zipped through layered orbital paths like birds migrating across invisible skies. Dozens, hundreds, thousands moved every second. To the average Jarnser citizen, such sights were mundane—a sign of a healthy society. High-speed data streams flowed between stations, planets, and moons. Civilian life, while dazzling in its luxuries, moved at a pace that bordered on overwhelming.
At the summit of the tallest structure on Jarnser Prime—a towering needle of black opal and graviton-forged alloys—the Council Chamber of the Psychic Authority shimmered into existence.
The [Psychic Council], composed of over a hundred members, did not always meet in physical form. Instead, they convened via massive virtual projectors, allowing each member to remain in their sanctum or laboratory while still interacting as if they were present. Each projection was surrounded by glowing neural data—their thoughts tracked, shared, and sometimes even voted on before being spoken.
Today's session carried urgency. For decades, the Psychic Council had watched, probed, and calculated. Now, they needed results.
A serious-looking figure, designated Counselor Irel-Vin, adjusted the transparency of his projection and began his report. "Ever since our infiltration program was compromised twenty-three years ago, all attempts to penetrate the inner sanctum of the wizarding homeland have failed. The structure known as the [Automag Wall] presents unprecedented barriers. It blocks not only physical intrusion, but also space-folding transmissions, soul frequencies, and even identity-level data markers. Any substance or mind not natively born of their realm is instantly rejected."
Whispers passed between the digital nodes of the other counselors.
Another voice spoke up—Counselor Dia-Monn, known for her sharp mind and controversial tactics. "Have we experimented with abducted wizards? Altering their personalities, inserting override code, rebuilding their minds to serve as sleeper agents?"
"We have," Irel-Vin nodded grimly. "But the results are abysmal. Upon returning, those individuals undergo rigorous soul and mind scans—rituals far beyond the capability of our current infiltration models. Even the slightest irregularity triggers capture. In many cases, the wizard's soul is consumed instantly as a security measure. It is likely their world functions under a surveillance net that spans the spiritual, the arcane, and the psychic realms."
A pause followed. Then, Counselor Urel-Donn, the current Chief of Strategic Warfare, leaned forward, his neural halo flickering. "So then... What are our odds? If war escalates, do we hold the advantage?"
This was the question.
Irel-Vin gestured, and a massive data screen appeared, showing numerical charts, animated fleet simulations, and battle scenario projections. "Based on current modeling, the main strategic AI calculates our probability of victory at approximately 71.58%."
A few murmurs of relief rippled through the chamber, but Irel-Vin raised his hand to still them. "However, I caution you. This figure is based solely on known quantities—fleet sizes, magical power estimates, defensive grids. It assumes a linear engagement. But we do not know the full extent of the wizarding arsenal. We have yet to push them to reveal their true hand. Likewise, they know little of our final-tier weapons."
Dia-Monn's eyes narrowed. "So both sides are bluffing?"
"Precisely," Irel-Vin confirmed. "Their weapon, the so-called Star of Alsop, remains an enigma. We have measured its power during surface skirmishes, but we've never seen its maximum discharge. More importantly, production of such devices appears limited. They cannot mass-produce them like we do our ships. That may be a weakness we can exploit."
Councilor Tyrek-Shaal, the youngest of the leadership trio seated at the forefront, finally broke his silence. "In that case, what do you propose?"
A hush fell over the chamber.
Irel-Vin cleared his throat, then said, "We implement the Burned Earth Protocol. We isolate one of their frontier dimensions, trigger a simulated civil war through planted information, and launch a slow-rolling fleet incursion to exhaust their resources. The aim is to force them to either overcommit and reveal their core defense systems... or lose ground and appear weakened. Both outcomes favor us. But sadly this outcome is currently out of reach"
"In this case, I have a proposal that I would like to ask for your opinions."
The large chamber of the [Psychic Council] remained silent for a moment as the words echoed. Then, slowly, the three senior congressmen seated in the elevated front row exchanged glances, a brief telepathic consensus passing between them. Their aged, cybernetically enhanced eyes glowed faintly as they regarded the speaker. One of them leaned forward, voice crisp but measured. "Tell us."
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