Robin stood at the main gate of Port Building Number Six, which housed the headquarters of the Port Security detachment.

Though the travelers in the port seemed harmless, in the Asteroid Belt, no traveler could be taken lightly. Most carried personal defense weapons, such as pistols and combat knives; a few hundred united travelers could pose a significant threat to an ordinary mercenary company.

However, Robin dismissed the lethality of pistols. Against powered armor, those pistols were no different from clubs—they simply couldn't inflict damage.

Robin addressed the travelers, "We are not kidnappers. We will let you go, but do it slowly. Do not rush, or you will collide with our troops, and we won't be polite."

With that, Robin signaled a small squad of machine gunners to raise their weapons and point them at the travelers. The squad leader, a Sergeant, stepped forward. "Women and children first. One by one. Don't panic, don't rush. As long as you don't make any aggressive moves, we won't fire."

Under the threat of gunfire, the travelers maintained strict discipline, filing out of the port one by one. Once they reached a safe distance, they took off running.

After giving his orders, Robin instructed the machine gun squad to keep an eye on the captured Security personnel. Then, he led the rest of his forces into the port area. The armored units formed defensive formations in the plaza, anticipating trouble from any local Gray Port factions alerted to their arrival.

Robin knew the layout of Port Number Six's vertical architecture by heart. He personally led two machine gun squads and one flamethrower squad up the stairs, rushing toward the control center on the third floor.

The remaining troops dispersed to secure the building’s critical departments, bringing the entire structure under control.

Port buildings of this type were generally situated on the extreme edges of the city, where the barrier protecting the space city was thinnest. Consequently, parts of the port structure, such as the jetties, often extended beyond the barrier.

From the outward-facing windows inside, one could see the view of the cosmos. In the vacuum of space, there was no air pressure; if a window were accidentally shattered, it would create extreme negative pressure, sucking anything movable out into space. In such an event, an emergency isolation mechanism would activate, deploying alloy panes to replace the broken windows and reseal the building from the void.

Robin walked down the third-floor corridor and encountered a makeshift barricade of tables and chairs ahead. Against Gauss rifles, such a position offered no real defense, merely psychological comfort to those behind it. However, the area was lined with tempered glass windows facing space, making firing here highly dangerous.

"Don't take another step! I know about your Tran Mercenary Group; I saw the big fight you had with Herman's Devil Squad last time. Your Gauss rifles won't work here, but our Uranium-core rifles will. If you move forward, we will open fire!"

The leader shouting was the Captain of the Port Security. Because the glass was transparent, most of the Uranium-core beam’s destructive power would pass straight through, meaning using those rifles here didn't risk being sucked into space.

"Stubborn, but a dedicated man," Robin murmured, recalling the assessment of the Captain in his intelligence files. He turned to the flamethrower troops. "It's up to you; just scare them."

"Leave it to us!" The flamethrower troops stepped forward in unison, shielding Robin behind them. Robin’s optical camouflage suit was not known for its defensive capabilities.

"Attack!" the Security Captain roared. Instantly, five or six Security members behind the barricade raised their Uranium-core rifles and fired at the flamethrower troops.

The flamethrower troops were clad in bulky red powered armor, carrying two massive fuel tanks on their backs, connected by refractory hoses to the 'Annihilator' class flamethrowers mounted on their arms, capable of unleashing fire reaching three thousand degrees Celsius. However, the flame's effective range was only ten meters—a medium range, making it less effective on large-scale battlefields, which is why they also carried Gauss pistols as backup weapons.

The Uranium-core beams struck the powered armor, leaving only a few scorch marks. This armor was specifically designed to resist extreme heat, and the Uranium-core beam killed primarily through intense thermal energy, so the effect on the flamethrower troops was negligible.

"What kind of monsters are these?! I didn't realize the Tran Mercenary Group was hiding armor like this!" the Captain exclaimed. Even though these bulky armored soldiers hadn't attacked yet, their mere ability to withstand Uranium-core fire was enough reason to drag them out from behind their barricade and beat them soundly.

Just then, the flamethrower troops raised their arms and opened the fuel valves more than ten meters away. Immediately, two searing torrents of flame erupted from their hands.

The Captain and his men were hit by a blast of heat that sent them reeling backward onto the floor. When they scrambled back up, they saw that their comrades' faces were blackened, their hair singed, and an expression of irresistible despair etched onto their features.

"This is just a warning; surrender now," Robin called out. "It will take a while for the flames to melt the glass; there will be plenty of time to turn you few into ash before that happens."

"Impossible!" The Captain had counted on their superior position, but the appearance of flamethrower troops, seemingly brought by the rock-solid advance, defeated them in an instant!

"Captain, let's surrender. It seems that even with all our effort, we can't scratch any of them. They’ve already shown mercy to one of the Security men," one of the Captain's subordinates whispered in his ear.

The Captain’s face shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions—frustration, anger, sorrow—before he finally dropped his Uranium-core rifle, shouting, "Fine, we surrender!"

Seeing their Captain’s action, all the remaining Security members threw down their Uranium-core rifles and shouted their surrender.

Robin collected their weapons and assigned a few flamethrower troops to guard the prisoners before entering the control center himself.

Checking the time, he found he had exactly five minutes until his scheduled meeting with Yang Ying.

"Perfect timing!" Robin sat in the command seat of the control center and used the computer to open several large docking jetties, preparing for the arrival of the main transport ships carrying the bulk of his forces.

Soon, success messages came in from the units attacking the other ports; everything was proceeding according to plan, without any hitches.

Five minutes later, Yang Ying's fleet arrived precisely on schedule. Under Robin's direction, they docked at the large jetties; those that couldn't fit were directed to the adjacent port.

Once the massive transport ships settled, the bay doors opened, and a rolling torrent of steel poured through the jetties into the port.

This was a force capable of upending every faction in Gray Port, equipped with the most advanced gear available, bristling with weaponry. No single force in Gray Port could compare to them.

During the six-hour journey from the base to Gray Port, the General Staff had spent three hours analyzing tactics, two hours assigning missions to every soldier, and the final hour dedicated to pre-battle motivation to ignite their fighting spirit.

The troops' morale was currently at its absolute peak, filled with one hundred percent confidence in mission success.

The main force surged out of the port area and spotted a disorganized rabble of over a thousand mercenaries arrayed at the edge of the plaza. Clearly, these were scavengers drawn by news of the Tran Mercenary Group's actions, hoping for an easy score. However, the imposing armored units on the plaza made them hesitate, unwilling to advance a single step. Once the main force arrived, these looky-loos became irrelevant.

Yang Ying led the main body across the plaza, his mood vastly different from his last visit to Gray Port.

Last time, he was here for a social event, mingling with the various Gray Port powers to make introductions. That was when Herman had shown up as an uninvited guest, attempting to threaten him into handing over the Valkyrie Frigate—a suicidal move!

This time, Yang Ying was not here for banquets and pleasantries; he was here to conquer the city. Herman, as the leader of one of the largest factions, had only two options: submission or death.

Yang Ying did not want Herman's submission, so only one path remained: death!

The motley mercenary army, witnessing such a majestic and expertly equipped force stream out of the port district, was utterly terrified, their souls scattering. They bolted, vanishing without a trace within a minute.

Yang Ying decided to let these irregulars run for now; they could potentially be reorganized later as external elements of the Tran Mercenary Group, using their numbers to increase influence and deterrence. He would have plenty of opportunity to deal with them later.

After clearing the plaza, the column advanced onto the main thoroughfare. At every intersection, the army detached a small contingent. These detachments ranged from a few machine gunners to combined armored units centered around tanks. Each had been assigned a task commensurate with their strength.

The Gray Port Office had long been collecting data on the entire city. While they might not know every corner intimately, securing the most vital locations was entirely feasible, complete with recorded data on the defending forces and their preferred weaponry.

Yang Ying himself led the main force directly toward Herman's headquarters—a ten-story building in the Pirate District, heavily fortified and perpetually guarded by over a thousand seasoned pirates protecting Herman.

Meanwhile, Herman had already received intelligence regarding the activity at the Tran Mercenary Group’s Gray Port Office. His right eyelid twitched violently, giving him a profound premonition of disaster.

"Why the Tran Mercenary Group again? Could their technological capability be sufficient to cause a city-wide communications blackout? If so, they would need military-grade heavy cruisers. Is that possible? Unless they are the private army of some super-family from Earth, Luna, or Mars, like the Caesar Mercenary Group," Herman mused, then relaxed and shook his head. "Impossible. How could a second Caesar quietly emerge?" He paced his office, the unease growing stronger.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Herman snapped back to attention and called out, "Enter!"

A pirate pushed the door open, his expression frantic. "Sir, the Tran Mercenary Group has attacked!"