The Strategy of Starvation

The vast void outside the flagship's viewport stretched in an endless, star-dusted tapestry, a stark contrast to the grim tension within Empress Xianxia's private strategic chamber. The hum of the ship's engines was a low thrum beneath their feet, a counterpoint to the quiet, heavy air. The recent victory over the Northern Dominion felt less like triumph and more like a tactical concession to a cunning enemy.

Xianxia stood before a holographic star-map, her presence a silent maelstrom of thought. Long Hu sat opposite her, feeling the last vestiges of battle weariness fading under the refined spiritual energy of the ship. His senses, sharpened to an impossible degree, still carried the chilling echo of the Devourers' feast.

"They feed on despair cultivated by conflict," Xianxia stated, her voice calm, utterly devoid of fear, yet laced with a steely resolve that vibrated with suppressed fury. "Conventional warfare is a banquet for them. We cannot continue to fight on their terms." Her finger traced a line across the star-map, pointing towards the Crimson Peaks Realm, shrouded in a sickly red glow. "Master Tian's latest reports confirm a rapid spread of despair in their outer provinces. Not a conventional plague, but a spiritual draining. A deliberate cultivation of suffering."

Long Hu's intuition thrummed. "A new feeding ground," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the glowing map. "When their existing sources are exposed, they create new ones. They're adapting."

Xianxia's eyes, sharp as winter stars, met his. "Precisely. Our strategy shifts. We will not merely defeat their armies. We will make them starve. We will sever their connection to despair wherever we find it. This will be a war fought not with blades, but with purity."

The words hung in the air, immense in their implication. A war against despair itself. Long Hu felt the sheer audacity of it, the impossible scale of healing a cosmos. He closed his eyes, accessing the fragments of memory from the Crimson Peaks' Lord Valerius – the willing pact, the offering of his people's suffering for power. "They chose it," he said, his voice grim. "Valerius... he bargained his realm's grief for strength. What will happen to them if we cut off their supply?"

Xianxia's gaze held a flicker of something ancient and weary, a fleeting glimpse into the heavy burden of immortal leadership. "Consequences will be profound," she admitted, her voice lower. "Chaos. Collapse. But to allow the Devourers to fester is to condemn all realms to slow, agonizing consumption. Sometimes, the only mercy is a swift, if painful, amputation." Her eyes, once again, hardened with an unwavering resolve that left no room for doubt. The decision was hers, the responsibility hers alone.

Long Hu felt a strange pull. Her willingness to shoulder such a terrifying burden, to make such a morally complex choice, was both formidable and profoundly lonely. He wanted to reach out, to share the weight, but resisted. He was her weapon, not her confidante, not yet.

He focused on the data, his enhanced senses sifting through the layers of spiritual information on the map. "The epicenter of the despair plague in Crimson Peaks," he pointed, his finger landing on a remote, mountainous region. "It feels like a newly opened conduit. A nexus of harvested suffering."

A rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval from Xianxia. "An astute deduction, Apprentice. Your insight is... invaluable." She traced the location. "Master Tian, prepare a small, elite strike force. No fleet engagement. Just a precise, surgical insertion. Apprentice Long Hu and I will lead this mission personally. We will sever that nexus of despair."

Master Tian, who had been listening silently, simply bowed, his expression unchanged. He understood the gravity.

Xianxia turned to Long Hu, her gaze intense, searching his. "This will be dangerous. We are entering their active feeding ground. Their presence will be strongest there. Are you ready to face the hunger of the Void, Apprentice? To make it starve?"

Long Hu met her gaze, a flicker of something defiant and determined in his eyes. The memory of his past power, of his downfall, spurred him on. He was no longer just running from his ruin; he was fighting to reclaim his true self, and perhaps, to alleviate the cosmic despair he could now so intimately perceive. He was ready. This was his path.

"I am ready, Your Majesty," he stated, his voice steady. The war against despair had begun, not with a roar, but with a silent, terrifying resolve, binding him and the Immortal Empress together in a desperate hunt.