"The people—united—cannot be defeated!"
Cham Syndulla threw his fist into the air, proud to the bone.
The Zygerrian slavers' move—snatching hostages and trying to hide behind living shields—did force Max to hesitate. If the Mandalorians bombed indiscriminately, it would poison everything that came after.
But the slavers' frenzy also lit the Twi'leks on fire.
"They're cowards!" Cham Syndulla leapt onto a platform and shouted to the people of Ryloth. "The Mandalorians scared them so badly they won't fight back. They only dare to hide behind us—using our bodies to buy themselves a few more minutes of life. Do we need to fear cowards like that?"
"No!" the Free Ryloth fighters roared first.
"NO!!!" the crowd answered, a planet's worth of voices rising together.
"My parents, my brothers and sisters—if you have a blaster, take it! If you have a blade, take it! If you have neither, use kitchen tools, farm tools—use stones from the ground! Shoulder to shoulder—together we resist, together we fight! Bring down the slavers, rescue our family, kill!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
On the afternoon of Galactic Standard Year 5, Month 4, Day 9, with technical support from the Bespin task force, Cham Syndulla's pre-battle speech was broadcast live across Ryloth.
Over the next two days, the Zygerrian slavers scattered across the planet were hit by waves of Twi'lek assaults—outnumbering them by multiples, by tens of times.
Slavers were hated. In the past, the Zygerrians' firepower kept Twi'leks too afraid to rise. But now the Mandalorians had swatted their ships and fighters out of the sky. The "invincible" myth cracked. And once the slavers showed fear, the backlash turned savage.
The Zygerrians still had advantages: better blasters, better mobility, skimmers that carried more and ran faster than blurrg mounts. But those advantages weren't decisive. They weren't the kind of gap that made resistance pointless. The Twi'leks—united, furious, everywhere—drowned them with sheer numbers.
Ryloth won.
Before the Jedi diplomatic envoy could arrive, the people of Ryloth—together—destroyed the Zygerrian slavers who had preyed on them for a thousand years.
"Ah…" Senator Orn Free Taa sighed. "Doesn't this make Cham Syndulla… too big to control?"
"You're the leader. Cham Syndulla is just the field commander," Max said smoothly. "Whatever credit he's earned rests on the foundation of your strategy, doesn't it?"
"That… well…"
"Don't worry. We have a professional editing team." Max raised a thumb. "This 'Operation Spring Thunder' documentary will highlight your brilliance—how you planned it, how you steered it. We'll send you the rough cut first. If you approve, we'll run it across Ryloth. If you don't, no problem—we can even have a studio shoot a dramatized film version of Operation Spring Thunder. Bottom line: you're the great benefactor of the Twi'leks."
"Ohohohoho—" Orn Free Taa laughed so hard his lekku shook. "Oh my… Vizsla, you're making me embarrassed, hah!"
"Senator, I have a few—still rough—ideas about Ryloth's development going forward. I'd like your guidance."
"Ah—" Orn waved it off. "You're too modest. I'm not qualified to 'guide' you. Whatever you want to do—do it. I'll support it!"
Max intended to harden Ryloth's defenses—arm the Twi'leks, protect tomorrow's rebuilding and the day after's gains.
"Senator, I'll fund a planetary shield for Ryloth. A protective umbrella over Ryloth and the Twi'leks."
Planetary shields required dozens—sometimes hundreds—of super-heavy deflector generator installations working as a network. The cost was brutal, measured in the hundreds of millions to billions.
Orn Free Taa had never wanted to pay it, because he lived on Coruscant and rarely came home.
Max Vizsla would pay it—because this planet mattered to him. And because he'd just hit a fresh jackpot.
Frank Lucas was a businessman. He believed there were no permanent friends or enemies—only permanent interests. To leave on good terms with the Mandalorians, he hadn't sabotaged the mines or refineries, and he hadn't burned the refined ryll stockpiles. Now the mines and refineries were under Marine control.
Shenlong Pharmaceuticals' technical staff did a preliminary valuation: the equipment and spice were worth no less than 2.6 billion Republic credits.
"No 'no less than.'" Max waved a hand. "We're all Mandalorians here—no need to nitpick. Two-point-six billion. We'll sell you the whole package: equipment and spice."
And Max didn't pocket everything. All the blasters seized from the Pyke compounds were handed straight to Free Ryloth—Max kept none of them.
"Making you spend like this… I'm honestly ashamed," Orn Free Taa said, genuinely uncomfortable.
"Hey—an 'umbrella' is just a courtesy gift for my first visit to your home." Max shrugged. "But an umbrella isn't enough."
"Oh?" Orn's interest sharpened.
Max set his lightsaber on the table, lifted an eyebrow, and said, "You also need a sword."
"Hahaha—no, no." Orn waved frantically. "With you here, why would I need a sword?"
"It's not the same." Max shook his head. "Boss—would you spend money for me?"
"Of course!"
"Would you give me all your money?"
"…That—"
"Same logic." Max leaned in. "My sword is still my sword. You need your own."
"You mean…?"
"Hiring a handful of mercs as bodyguards like you used to won't survive what's coming. Our cooperation will succeed. Ryloth will get rich. And the richer Ryloth gets, the more predators will circle it." Max's tone hardened. "I recommend you form the Ryloth Defense Forces. Protect your assets."
"That sounds like a headache," Orn groaned. "Wouldn't it be easier to just have you handle Ryloth's security?"
(Max kept his smile steady. It would be easier—too easy, too visible. Not yet.) "Ryloth needs its own armed force. Think about it: if Ryloth became as wealthy as a Core World, and the RDF became as strong as the Corellian Defense Force… would the Senate dare pass Ryloth resolutions while you were absent?"
"That…"
"And listen." Max cut him off before he could wiggle away. "Passing a Ryloth resolution while the Ryloth senator is absent—that's an insult to you. The Core World elites look down on you. They look down on me. They look down on Outer Rim people like us. We only get respect when we have power."
"I'll be blunt: Bespin keeps me busy. I don't have the bandwidth to run two fronts. So building the RDF and securing Ryloth has to be led by you. I'll support you from the side."
"Oh—Vizsla…" Orn waved again, defensive. "I'm not ambitious. I just want a quiet, ordinary life."
"Boss." Max's voice sharpened. "If they can pass Ryloth legislation without you today, they can replace the Ryloth senator tomorrow."
"…"
"Only power matching your position keeps you seated in that chair. You can see it too—rough times are coming. If you want to live quietly, you'll need your own strength to protect that peace."
"Alright, alright…" Orn finally caved. "So you're saying the RDF—there's no avoiding it?"
"Unless you want the Deep Core elites to prop up Cham Syndulla as the next Ryloth senator—then yes."
"…Then I'll try. I'll do it." Orn gripped Max's hands tightly. "Vizsla—brother—you have to help me."
"Of course." Max answered firmly.
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🛡️ STAR WARS: THE RISE OF MANDALORE
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Clans fighting for survival.
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