A formidable hybrid-magnetic shield could repel all manner of derivative heat and devastating rays.

The massive visual viewport, ten meters wide and twenty meters tall for observation, was equipped with a sophisticated filtering system to scrub out harmful light, allowing soldiers to observe directly with the naked eye. It also displayed spectral analyses, energy readings, and fluctuating ray wavelength patterns along the upper and lower edges of the viewport. In the event of free-fire combat, whichever side possessed this capability would hold a significant advantage.

Behind the imposing launchers, protected by thick armor, four thousand antimatter missiles stood ready, supplemented by two hundred and eighty powerful antimatter laser cannons, reputed to increase in power the further they shot, all fully charged.

In reality, this behemoth would have been an overwhelmingly terrifying, heavy-hitting weapon even on the front lines against the Alliance forces, yet it was instantly and completely paralyzed, wrenched from the control of its rightful masters!!!

When all the screens inside the base finally cleared, an enraged face had appeared upon them. The owner of this face possessed a huge, bulbous crimson nose, and his features combined to give an impression of sheer coarseness and ferocity. He sported thick hair across his lips and face. This was Yudanov, Deputy Commander of the A-71 Royal Contingent, nicknamed "The Polar Bear"!

Evidently, the fleet that had traveled so far had detected the anomaly of Alpine Base Seven going to Level One alert, immediately reporting it to Imperial General Staff and transmitting the precise data. Imperial General Staff swiftly made a decision, deeming the sudden situation a threat to the very foundation and security of the Empire (because the safety of the Third Heir to the Throne was severely jeopardized). Consequently, the highest-level access codes were transmitted immediately.

Thus, in a mere ten seconds, Lieutenant General Mengge very unluckily lost control of the base!

It was then that he deeply understood why the separatist strongholds had solidified across the major military sectors, and why the Empire still harbored the Alliance—that deep-seated threat. Those ambitious warlords were still forced to maintain awe and obedience under the authority of the Tricolor.

The majesty of the Royal House remained deeply rooted, permeating every corner of Imperial territory.

As the A-71 Composite Fleet slowly docked, the Royal Guard detachment swiftly poured out like an incoming tide. One hundred and thirty aerial tanks roared out from the belly of the Atlantic-class battleship, cooperating to secure all vital sectors. Only after everything was confirmed secure did Prince Pompalou finally make his appearance.

No matter how disheveled he might have been, he had been meticulously dressed by his staff this time. Purple would always remain the quiet hallmark of royalty; the fitted formal attire sharply accentuated his imposing appearance, with only his eyes betraying a trace of unrestrained defiance. Following this, to demonstrate a connection with the populace, he personally visited a few residents to inquire about the situation before slowly making his way to the core conference room of the entire base.

Prince Pompalou's sequence of actions was thunderous, delivered like a rapid, intense combination punch. Whether it was Lieutenant General Mengge or the Arno family, the inherent, lofty advantage of the Royal Family was brought to bear, leaving everyone utterly stunned! He effortlessly took command of the entire situation.

However, precisely because of this efficiency, both Mengge and the Arno family members simultaneously realized one terrifying thing!

That the disappearance of Arno Fabian Monson-Luci had been entirely orchestrated by Prince Pompalou!

Furthermore, Prince Pompalou shared an inseparable connection with the Big Ben Research Institute. If anyone could successfully mask the tracking chips produced by the Big Ben Research Institute, it could only be the Institute itself. The more they considered it, the more suspicious, and ultimately, the more certain they became.

Prince Pompalou spent less than half an hour in the core conference room before grasping the entire situation clearly. At this moment, Prince Pompalou was extremely pleased, feeling that destiny was on his side, that Heaven itself had gifted him such a fortuitous opportunity. To seize control of the base immediately upon arrival was truly a superb opening success, and his mood was excellent.

Next, Prince Pompalou naturally required an explanation for taking over the base. The explanation offered was a "misunderstanding," based on a simple premise: How could high-ranking officials fail to greet a Prince arriving in person, instead immediately adopting a Level One combat posture against him? As long as they remained subjects of the Empire, this was indefensible, no matter how one looked at it.

Hearing Prince Pompalou’s explanation, what recourse did Lieutenant General Mengge have beyond meek compliance and apologies?

Imperial law stipulated that only the Crown Prince and the Emperor held command authority over massive military fortresses like Alpine Base Seven. But since Pompalou held the moral high ground, he had temporarily assumed control, and there was nothing Mengge could do about it.

What pained Lieutenant General Mengge even more was the speed with which Prince Pompalou acted. He offered a few comforting words, assuring Mengge that his responsibility would not be pursued, yet he entirely neglected to mention when the base command would be returned—this was a death sentence for Mengge!

He knew that given enough time, even if Prince Pompalou didn't actively cause trouble, numerous incriminating details would surface on their own. For instance, illicit arms deals Mengge had conducted required scheduled handover confirmations that would flash on his master control channel, and his private financial investment requests would trigger special menu prompts…

Thinking of these things, Lieutenant General Mengge didn't know how he managed to back out of the control room. His back was soaked with cold sweat, yet he unconsciously reeked of Iron Cross tobacco. He wandered aimlessly, thoroughly dejected, before finally letting out a long sigh, shaking his head, and returning to his quarters.

Lieutenant General Mengge's quarters were naturally situated in the inner core area of the base's forest sector. He had no wife; when needed, he simply summoned his secretary to keep him company. Now that he was powerful, who would dare refuse him? But presently, he had no appetite for that. He immediately dismissed the woman, and in his distress, sought a bottle of strong liquor for solitary drinking.

As the saying goes, liquor only deepens sorrow. Mengge was drinking and sighing deeply when he heard someone ringing the doorbell outside. Just when his vexation was at its peak, he roared, "Get lost!"

But the doorbell continued to ring stubbornly. Mengge gulped down several mouthfuls of liquor, his eyes turning red, his agitation increasing. He yanked the door open and, heedless of the consequences, swung a bottle directly at the person standing before him!

With a crash, the bottle shattered into four or five pieces, exploding against the head of the person at the doorway. Mengge breathed out with grim satisfaction, his voice hoarse:

"Satisfied now? That strike... was that you??"

The person who had just taken a full bottle to the head was Fang Senyan, who casually said to Lieutenant General Mengge:

"Hi, long time no see."

Just around the nearby corner stood Acheer, looking awkward; Fang Senyan would not have reached this place without him.

Lieutenant General Mengge's expression shifted rapidly, finally settling into one of dark uncertainty:

"What are you doing here?"

Fang Senyan smiled slightly:

"I've come to help you."

Mengge muttered gloomily:

"What can you possibly do to help?"

Though he spoke this way, he still ushered Fang Senyan inside. After all, to Mengge, Fang Senyan, who came from the past, was a capable listener, and since they shared mutual secrets, there was little need for concealment.

Although Fang Senyan was fully aware of the entire sequence of events, he patiently listened as Mengge recounted the details he already knew. After Mengge finished, stumbling over his words, he picked up another bottle of vodka and downed a few swigs, stuttering out:

"Y-you, you tell me, what can I possibly do in a situation like this?"

Fang Senyan answered directly:

"Your method of playing both sides yielded a benefit once; now you want a second helping, right? But that's clearly impossible now. With the imminent large-scale mining of Element X, this location has become a crucial variable that could shake the very foundations of evidence. If you try to play both sides now, there are only two words for you: You're seeking death!"

Fang Senyan's words stung, and Mengge's face turned ugly, but cold sweat mixed with the alcohol began to pour out. He couldn't help but fall into deep thought:

"Then you mean...?"

"It means selling out while you can still fetch a good price," Fang Senyan stated flatly. "Otherwise, if both factions feel you are unruly and reach a consensus to replace you, you won't even have a buyer!"

Mengge's expression flickered through several changes, all the alcohol turning into cold sweat. Fang Senyan, an outsider to this situation, delivered harsh truths, words none of his close associates dared to utter, yet every single one hit the mark precisely.

Seizing the momentum, Fang Senyan pressed Mengge with a counter-question:

"I've been answering your questions this whole time. Now you answer me one. I heard some chatter that there was an issue with my customized Major General's 'Bloody' combat armor. What's the story?"

Mentioning this, Mengge could only offer a bitter, wry smile:

"That really isn't my doing. You were just unlucky."

Fang Senyan narrowed his eyes coldly:

"Explain the process, and I can judge whose fault it is."

Mengge gave a bitter smile: "The manufacturing process for the 'Bloody' armor was originally given to us by the Spatial Transfer. For us, many of the underlying principles remain obscure; we know what to do, but not why it has to be done that way. The final stage of the armor’s creation involves placing it on an unmanned drone and subjecting it to a baptism of cosmic rays near extreme celestial bodies like red dwarfs, black holes, and so on. Because of this, once it's finished, even an ordinary human approaching it might feel a resonance with the powerful energy leaking from it, finding it incredibly comfortable."

Fang Senyan narrowed his eyes, his tone turning icy:

"So, someone felt that comfortable resonance with my armor and had it detained?"