Monger took a sip of his drink, tacitly confirming the reality of the situation. Fang Senyan pondered for a moment before asking another question:

“Does that mean the Empire could reforge a set of Blood Major General Armor for me?”

Monger stated flatly:

“Absolutely not. While 90% of your battlesuit is manufactured within the Empire, the critical 10% of the technology and core components are provided by the Space itself.”

Fang Senyan’s voice turned sharp:

“That person dared to intercept the battlesuit—aren't they afraid of questioning and reprisal from the Space?”

Monger gave a bitter smile:

“It wasn't exactly an interception; it was more like maximizing the delay in delivery time. That’s almost an open secret. To be specific, they use all sorts of excuses to stall the Space, claiming the department handling the fabrication is currently reorganizing, or perhaps the transport ship assigned to the mission crashed. If all else fails and someone genuinely desires the item, they simply accept the penalty, pay an immense price to acquire it—that’s not without precedent.”

“Precedent? There’s a precedent for that?” Fang Senyan inquired, intrigued.

“Yes,” Monger responded with a wry chuckle. “The Faceless Man from the Big Ben Research Institute back then paid the price of nearly half a galaxy to accumulate the Nightmare Space's fine, grit his teeth, and forcibly keep a commissioned Blood weapon. Subsequently, within the next six months, he became the shadow director of the Big Ben Research Institute.”

“Last question,” Fang Senyan’s eyes reflected the cabin’s navigational lights with an eerie gleam. “The person who took my Major General Blood battlesuit—was it Prince Pambalu, or the Arno Family?”

Monger shuddered, startled:

“How did you know?”

Fang Senyan laughed:

“You are now a renowned figure guarding a vital stronghold within the Empire, maneuvering deftly between the Royal Family and the local separatist factions. Anyone wishing to move against you must first consider the combined reaction from those two sides. Therefore, as the saying goes, one must show respect for a man’s connections. The probability of other forces being behind this is very low—it was Prince Pambalu, wasn’t it?”

“He originates from the Big Ben Research Institute, and his vision is high. To my knowledge, the Institute is also heavily invested in research regarding biological constructs. Theoretically, these entities could manifest the unique power of the Blood Armor!”

“No,” Monger’s answer surprised Fang Senyan. “The one who held back the armor was the Arno Family. Prince Pambalu studies matters related to dark psionics; he has zero interest in your suit, which leans towards the physical spectrum. Your armor was sent to the core region of the Galaxy for quenching, which required it to pass precisely through the Andromeda defense zone.”

“And then they were asked to ferry it over, and the Arno Family took one look and immediately conceived the idea of larceny,” Fang Senyan smiled. “Am I right? I imagine only a few people would dare to plot such a thing. I heard a fellow named Mounson Luci has disappeared—the one who did this was that Monchi Keber?”

“Yes,” Monger confirmed.

Fang Senyan closed his eyes and sat there for a moment. Then he picked up Monger’s drink and took a swig, suddenly opening his eyes to reveal a strange smile:

“It seems you’ve made your decision.”

Monger had, in fact, been caught in the fog of confusion, but Fang Senyan’s words had crystallized his resolve. His choice was not hard to guess: on one side, his former master who viewed him as a servant and with whom he was now on the brink of open hostility due to the disappearance case; on the other, the ambitious prince who dominated the grand tide of power, subtly backed by the shadow of the Big Ben Research Institute. To put it crudely, even if he had to serve as a dog, being associated with royalty would bring far more prestige!

“Since that’s the case,” Fang Senyan drained the bottle of strong liquor, feeling as if flames were spreading from his throat and stomach to every limb and joint. He inverted the bottle, watching the last drops fall onto the glass coffee table, speaking words that felt like knives piercing Monger’s heart:

“If you’re going to do it, do it fiercely, do it absolutely! The greatest fear of a turncoat is suspicion of instability. Lock down your words, make your actions irreversible, completely severing any possibility of reconciliation with your old master. Then, the new master’s suspicions will inherently be reduced by five points.”

“You mean…?” Monger looked bewildered.

Fang Senyan smiled:

“You certainly cannot handle this yourself; even if you tried, under the established authority of the Arno Family, you likely wouldn’t be able to perform effectively. Therefore, I will endure some inconvenience and help you with this. Although you’ve lost administrative control over the base, Alps Base Seven is enormous. Prince Pambalu’s contingent will certainly be insufficient to control the entire city. All you need to do is restrain your subordinates and ensure they practice selective blindness.”

With such simple terms, Monger readily agreed without hesitation! Of course, in exchange, Fang Senyan’s affairs were entirely taken on by him.

Due to Mounson Luci’s disappearance, the entire Arno Family contingent had withdrawn to the warship they arrived on.

However, Alps Base Seven was currently under the control of the Royal Faction, with authorization from Imperial General Staff. Under these circumstances, the Arno Family warships were forcibly powered down—their antimatter energy cores shut off under the pretext of "safety maintenance." They could only draw minimal energy from external interfaces to sustain basic life support; such a weak energy signature made takeoff impossible, let alone arming their weaponry.

The seven massive steel warships were docked in the dry-berth. Only their navigation lights flashed rhythmically, completely devoid of the usual brilliant illumination. They resembled seven vast, cold, dead serpents, their dull lead-gray hulls starkly visible, exuding an oppressive atmosphere. The tension aboard the ships was equally suffocating; no one dared to breathe too deeply.

At that moment, on the steel thoroughfare under the vast, star-studded canvas of the night sky, a lone figure slowly approached. Though the face was obscured, the individual radiated an aura of profound gravity and imposing presence. The very manner in which he stepped, each footfall seeming to take root, was like the initial engagement of a Pacific-class battleship as its colossal steel mass begins to move. Even if he advanced only centimeters at a time across the hundreds of meters separating him from the towering steel dry-dock, it conveyed an inescapable sense of irresistible force.

This was a time of precarious instability, and their capital ships’ power was completely restrained, rendering their high-yield weaponry unusable. Thus, the Arno Family security was exceptionally tight. While not strictly maintaining a guard every three steps, it was absolutely impossible for any strange, mysterious individual to approach their flagship zone in the dead of night.

So, two elite soldiers stepped forward. The inherent arrogance of the Arno Family was evident in their speech:

“Get lost! Or die!”

In the very next second, both men were flung backward. The impact looked as if they had been struck by a heavy-duty truck, belching black smoke, pulling a container, and traveling at one or two hundred kilometers per hour—they flew over twenty meters, their armor plates scattering in fragments as they tumbled across the ground more than a dozen times.

Witnessing this spectacle, the remaining personnel stared, aghast and enraged! Amidst frantic shouts through their communicators, three full squads surged forward like sharks detecting blood. Simultaneously, alarms blared and psychological warfare tactics were initiated:

“In accordance with Article 134 of the Imperial Constitution, you have committed an offense so severe it warrants immediate execution. Assume the position—hands behind your head, kneeling toward the wall—or we will not hesitate to engage with lethal force…”

The figure paid them no heed, continuing his steady stride forward, treating the warnings and the three squads as nonexistent! Instantly, the three squads pulled their triggers, weaving a terrifying, dense web of interlocking fire. The bullets impacted the steel walls, spitting sparks, and the ricocheting trajectories became even more lethal.

Though the age of energy weapons had dawned, gunpowder arms remained active in the military for several reasons. Firstly, they could still kill anyone, and in terms of effective range, they were not at a disadvantage compared to energy weapons, while possessing an advantage in rate of fire. Secondly, the destructive power of energy weapons remained directly proportional to their volume; single-soldier energy weapons did not present a decisive advantage over conventional firearms. Thirdly, and most crucially, was their low cost.

These three squads were comprised of battle-hardened veterans. Under such sustained covering fire, evasion through crawling, rolling, or jumping was virtually impossible against their coordinated assault.

But the figure suddenly bent low. A grating, shrieking sound of metal scraping violently erupted. Without seeming to exert himself, he tore a massive section—five to six square meters—from the steel conveyor belt with one hand! This colossal steel plate effortlessly blocked the incoming barrage of bullets. Then… the man violently spun, throwing the giant steel plate like a discus toward the squad in front of him!

The scene turned brutally bloody. Under the ferocious impact of the plate, at least five men were thrown clear, and two others were sliced clean in half at the waist. The spinning plate finally slammed into an adjacent steel wall with a screeching sound that sent showers of sparks flying, producing a sound that grated the teeth. The intense heat generated by the friction seemed almost enough to instantly vaporize the flesh and viscera clinging to it!

Immediately following this, the figure blurred and charged into another combat squad. Anyone who has witnessed the break in a game of pool has an image—Fang Senyan was the rapidly accelerating cue ball, smashing directly into the formation. He stopped in place, while all the 'object balls' scattered violently apart!

Naturally, the events unfolding here were instantly noted by Prince Pambalu’s faction! As the Royal Family’s dedicated guard, they were acutely aware of any fluctuation. Furthermore, such a savage conflict on the steel thoroughfare could not be ignored. (Your support is my greatest motivation.)RV