Jarek scrolled through the rulers' chat, his steel fingers tapping the console. The Steelborn had cracked something big—whispers of the Void, that strange energy space, weren't just rumors. Other rulers confirmed it: ships could leap across light-years through it. If the Star League used it, Jarek wanted in. He ordered the Ribs to dig into it—cautious, but quick. Time wasn't a limit anymore, but speed still mattered.
The chat buzzed with new trouble:
"—anyone know these green raiders? Big, loud, green. Weak spots?"
"Green raiders? Saw 'em in old records. Gimme a sec."
"Too late—I've got 'em all over my planet. They popped up outta nowhere!"
"They tough?"
"Tough? They're a damn plague. Can't kill 'em all. They build junk into guns and keep coming."
"Got it—raiders spread like weeds. Spores in the dirt. They grow anywhere."
"So I'm dead? They're everywhere now, and their weapons are nuts."
"Sorry, man. You're toast."
"Toast +1. Another one bites the dust."
Jarek frowned. Green raiders—spore-spreading war freaks. Sounded like a mess he'd stomp out fast if they showed up. No room for weeds in his empire. He turned from the screen, mind shifting to Redstone. The Steelborn were a machine of their own now, churning out progress like a storm.
The Forge System had lit a fire under them. Production spiked—where Redstone once made a million Ribs a year, now it spat out four million, thanks to the 4x boost. All that growth needed space, and Ironreach was the answer. Ships hauled Steelborn there by the thousands, cutting the trip from 300 days to 30 in a year flat. The Ribs' genius had jumped them from thousand-strong ships to ten-thousand-strong beasts ahead of schedule—eighteen months, not years.
Orbiting Redstone, shipyards floated like steel moons, fed by elevators from the surface. At their peak, twenty ships launched daily to Ironreach, packed with Ribs and gear. Soon, they built factories there too—metal rigs that birthed more Steelborn right on the red rock. The planet transformed fast: a lone outpost became a town, then a city, sprawling across the rust. It was a miracle of muscle and math, all steel and no sweat.
But Jarek wasn't stopping at Ironreach. Three years into the Forge Era, he stood before a holo-map of the Redstone system and made it official. "We're taking it all," he said, voice echoing through the tower. "The Steelborn Expeditionary Force starts now. This whole system's ours—conquer it, build it, claim it."
Ships roared out from Redstone and Ironreach, not just to one world but dozens. The Steelborn, now 20 billion strong, threw themselves into the fight. By Year Five of the Forge Era, the system was theirs—four rocky planets, thirty-seven moons, all mapped and marked. Only the farthest rock, Coldspire, stayed wild. The rest flew Steelborn flags.
The Forge System hummed:
World Strength: 10,000
Forge Boost: 8x
Population hit 40 billion, and that was with Jarek throttling the factories. Fully cranked, they could pump out two billion Ribs a year—over five million a day. Three months of training turned a fresh Steelborn into a scientist, builder, or soldier—whatever the empire needed. High-end gear like Pulse Cannons made them deadly fast. Flesh couldn't match that. No civilization bound by meat could.
Jarek stood at the tower's edge, staring at the stars. The Steelborn weren't just a people—they were a force, unshackled and rising. "The whole galaxy's our home," he muttered. "And we're coming for it."