There are two answers to why Orion humans are considered one of the fiercest races in the galaxy.
First, in their collective past, they have fought half of the civilizations currently represented in the Collective Council.
Second, for the sake of their race's future, they are capable of resolutely abandoning their past—even to the point of detonating their own home planet.
They truly are that fierce.
But simple 'fierceness' was useless here. The threat humanity faced was something conceptual... 'Curse' was merely a euphemism; in essence, it was likely a weapon based on some form of wide-area automated target acquisition technology. It was an advanced weapon whose form of attack was difficult for even modern Orion humans to comprehend.
And the target of this weapon was every 'civilization of Earth.' Whether their primary subjects were modern humans, Floresiensis, Neanderthals, or any other branch, they were likely all treated the same.
"Some have speculated that before this, Earth's civilization might have already persisted through several generations. But they were all locked onto and destroyed once they reached a certain level of development.
"From this, we can see that the primary races of Earth's previous civilizations were at least humanoid, and their core cultures shared certain similarities with the 'Earthlings' we know."
Evenheiler spoke, his brow furrowing slightly. "It’s very likely those 'similarities' are what draw the enemy's gaze... but no one knows what the enemy's criteria for judgment are.
"As for so-called 'Retro-ism,' since it has been allowed to develop to this point, it proves that at the very least, the 'Speaker' permits its existence. Even if I cannot understand why..."
"The 'Speaker'..." Raytin chewed on the word.
To be honest, he had never met the 'Speaker.' Ninety-nine percent of the Federation had never seen such a person.
So far, the only official record of the 'Speaker of the Orion Human Federation' was video footage left behind from a meeting over a hundred and twenty years ago. Yet that single piece of data was one of the Federation's highest-security documents.
In that footage, the person in the Speaker's seat wore a clean, beautiful, minimalist futuristic white-gold uniform, covered strictly from head to toe. A large hood adorned with a magnificent golden laurel crown obscured them so thoroughly that even their faceplate was hard to see. One could only barely discern that the person did not seem particularly tall; even their gender was difficult to distinguish.
In the Federation, a golden laurel crown was only awarded to the 'best' of their kind. The criteria for this 'best' encompassed various factors, from loyalty to humanity and personal ability to their degree of contribution to the Federation, and so on.
The primary reason Raytin could wear a golden laurel crown was not actually his personal contributions, but rather his abilities and future potential—as well as his protective instinct toward humanity.
One could only wonder what that 'Speaker' had done to earn that golden crown.
In any case, over the past century, the 'Speaker' had maintained a reclusive mystery. The Federation had long since grown accustomed to the two Vice-Speakers presiding over political affairs; many citizens might not even know that a Speaker existed at the top of their Council.
"However... I feel that whether Retro-ism exists or not might not make a difference." Evenheiler suddenly let out a laugh. It was the same laugh he’d given when mentioning the destruction of ancient Earth; Raytin could hear a heavy sense of sorrow and melancholy within it. "They can't actually 'restore' anything important anyway."
To this, Raytin shook his head. "It is a threat regardless," he said. "When we return, I’ll have a talk with the two Vice-Speakers."
"As you wish," Evenheiler replied.
The conversation concluded. The two exchanged a few more words of less important information, feeling the brief, invisible barrier gradually dissipate.
Without Evenheiler needing to say a word, Raytin knew this barrier came from the psionic entities in the Ethereal Plane that belonged to 'humanity.' Furthermore, if one traced it back to its source, it could likely be linked to those entities belonging to the 'Progenitors'—such as 'The Recorder,' or that suit of armor holding up a planet, known as 'The Upright One.'
Outside the Ethereal Plane, Raytin had also seen His image—at the entrance of the Psionic Mecha Department on *The Sol*, atop the 'Endless Vitality' installation, the figure surrounded by flowing water was this very 'Upright One.'
He wondered if this could be considered an intersection of the powers of two 'guardian psionic entities' in the physical world?
Watching Evenheiler tilt his head back to drink fruit juice from the can, Raytin’s gaze drifted. For a moment, he felt an inexplicable sense of loss.
If Evenheiler hadn't chosen to join the military back then... or if he hadn't encountered all that he had, or if he didn't possess such a pure sense of morality and responsibility, perhaps the relaxed version of 'Enan Vallen' would have been his true future.
Then, this sentiment was jolted awake by a series of violent coughs and a raspy "Crap!"
"What happened?!" Raytin was startled, nearly jumping to his feet.
"...No, it's nothing." Evenheiler lowered his head and waved a hand. "Just choked... why aren't you drinking your juice?"
"...Choked?" Raytin blinked. *An S-rank psionicist choked? How is that possible? This guy is definitely hiding something from me...* Then, he took a sip of his juice.
His expression shifted instantly as he stared at Evenheiler.
Evenheiler had already turned away and was spitting into the trash can.
"..............." Raytin stood up heavily. With an unreadable expression, he forced himself to swallow that mouthful of juice, his soul nearly leaving his body for a moment.
Without even looking at the can in his hand, he crushed it shut and tossed it into the trash.
"Fomalhaut Rainbow Bubble Fruit..." he muttered the name of this old, 'dreamy' acquaintance. "...Who was the genius who first thought to turn this stuff into juice?"
***
"Modern galactic life... drinks this stuff?"
In a fringe sector of the Federation, a slender figure held an equally slender juice can, raising it high and pondering it in the darkness.
The can was open, its rim stained with orange-pink juice; clearly, a sip had just been taken.
If so, the utter bewilderment written across this slender demon's blurred features likely had a source.
"I don't know what this crap is—it tastes like sweet brain matter mixed with blood, but with a weird aftertaste..." A three-headed dog sat blankly on its massive bladed tail, its three heads speaking three separate parts of the sentence. All three heads stared at the tiny juice can held in a giant claw, three canine faces full of confusion. "...I just told those succubi to go buy whatever drinks are currently bestsellers in the Galactic Collective."
"..." The slender demon fell silent.
"My reason tells me this isn't a flavor meant for carbon-based life," it criticized, casually tossing the juice can into the nearby, rising flesh carpet. It watched as the black-red matter writhed, swallowing the can and the juice together, making faint corrosive sounds as it consumed the metal.
Even after an eldritch transformation, its fundamental life form was still derived from carbon-based organisms. While its tastes had become much more 'underworldly' compared to the old days, it still mostly just ate raw food; it wasn't so far gone that it wanted to drink *this*.
Not that far. Really not that far.
A human... an eldritch fiend couldn't, or at least shouldn't.
Beside it, the three-headed dog also tossed the cursed thing into the flesh carpet—honestly, it was probably only fit for feeding the carpet.
After all, the flesh carpet ate everything.
"Let's go..." The slender demon shook its head. "Let us go see the modern galaxy, Red Giant."
"Then go, Your Highness. Why waste words with a dog? Wherever you go, I go—it's been that way since you were five."
The three-headed dog's three heads spoke in succession. It had been a friend to the figure beside it since it was a few months old. Back then, it was just an ordinary guard dog, and the often-sentimental fellow beside it was a Prince of the Galactic Empire... Ah, why bother thinking about that? Regardless, this guy would never throw it away to die; even if they had to die, they would die together.
In deep space, aboard a merchant ship that had met with misfortune, the slender demon looked at his best guardian. The sigh he let out from the bow could likely be heard all the way at the stern.
***
Back on the Ringworld, Raytin and Evenheiler decided to head out to buy some supplies—the items in the room's vending machine were far too expensive. Evenheiler, who had been impoverished to the point of tears at the Frontier Resistance base, firmly forbade Raytin from spending money there.
Thus, Raytin, who had also been poor as a child, quietly pulled back his hand. He asked casually, "I remember your salary used to be quite high. You didn't keep any for yourself when you ran?"
"But that was 'Vallen's' money, and 'he' is already dead." Evenheiler spoke, then suddenly paused. "...Wait, did you not receive my inheritance?"
"That’s a very unlucky way to put it... Also, I had them freeze Vallen's funds. There was an entire technical team ready at all times to trace the cash flow the moment they were moved." Raytin wrapped an arm around Evenheiler's waist, smiling. "I was originally planning to use that to catch you, but you ran right into me on your own."
"Isn't it inappropriate to tell your target about the trap you dug for them?" Evenheiler's eye twitched.
"There's nothing inappropriate about it. I know that if given the chance, you would definitely leave, and I know I can't control you like this forever." Raytin whispered into his ear, "But I hope that if you ever leave again, you'll understand one thing..."
Evenheiler remained silent, slowly turning his head to look up slightly. His azure eyes met those of the tall man beside him.
What was he going to say?
Was he going to tell the man who had once left, "You can run all you want, but I will absolutely find you," or was he going to pour out his heart, or say something else entirely?
Evenheiler's gaze was calm. He was prepared for anything—no matter what kind of fury or tenderness this steel sun showed him, whether it was confident or dramatic, affectionate or cautionary, he would surely be able to handle it.
"...If you are ever troubled by something," he heard Raytin say, "you know where to find me. We'll face it together."
...The eyes that scattered golden light were right before him.
Evenheiler opened his mouth, but found he had lost his voice.
