The speed of the Ghost fighter placed it among the top tiers of all fighter models in the Solar System. Faster, better-performing craft existed, but their production cost invariably exceeded that of the Ghost by tenfold or more. Furthermore, no known arms consortium had achieved mass production of fighters at that technological level; existing mass-produced models in the Solar System simply could not compare to the Ghost.

However, due to the existence of non-mass-produced elite fighters, Yang Ying had begun instituting a "heroic cultivation" program for his subordinates. This method involved selecting those with the most outstanding combat skills from the ranks and equipping them with significantly more powerful weaponry and gear.

Take, for instance, the Ghost fighter currently piloted by Quentin. Although its exterior matched that of a standard Ghost fighter, its internal performance far surpassed it. Many cutting-edge technologies, not yet ready for integration into the standard production line, had been incorporated into Quentin’s aircraft, making it comparable to those elite-class fighters.

In certain localized sectors of space, pirate or mercenary fighter craft held a numerical advantage. A few had managed to avoid being targeted initially while the Ghost fighters were engaging their comrades; these survivors had already gained a significant head start. Yet, they would soon be caught by the Ghost fighters once their primary targets were eliminated.

Escape pods were far slower than the fighters. Consequently, they attracted less immediate attention. The Ghost fighter pilots prioritized eliminating the faster enemy fighters first before dealing with the sluggish escape pods.

Old Barrow, San Yan, and Isaac proved themselves to be the seasoned, battle-hardened old foxes they were, having ejected into their escape pods before the bridge of their cruiser was destroyed, drifting now in the void of space.

Old Barrow, in particular, occupied an escape vessel equipped with an optical camouflage system he had commissioned for over two billion credits. It fled the scene at a speed fractionally faster than a fighter. Against the pitch-black canvas of space, the slight distortion of light was imperceptible. Barrow was confident that if radar couldn't find him, he could escape, regroup, and return. He still possessed considerable hidden assets, stashed in various locations, which he could quickly mobilize to form another substantial force.

Isaac and San Yan held the same convictions. They both had deep roots; a single defeat would not spell their end. As long as they managed to escape, they retained the capital needed to rise again.

Meanwhile, hundreds of carrier-borne aircraft that had managed to flee their cruisers zipped about haphazardly. The pilots simultaneously pushed their engines to maximum capacity, desperate to flee this invisible killing field.

Indeed, this was not a battleground; it was a slaughterhouse!

In their eyes, the once massive fleet had vanished in an instant. The invisible demons had taken merely five minutes from launching their first attack to achieving this outcome. Such combat efficiency was unheard of, even in the most outrageous legends. Not even the two largest Super Pirate syndicates or the three largest Super Mercenary guilds possessed such precise striking power.

As they fled, they continuously executed evasive maneuvers—rolls, sharp turns, and radical vector changes—trying to avoid being locked onto by missiles seemingly coming from nowhere. But even these desperate actions only prolonged their lives by a short while.

The Ghost fighters caught up, decimating them with particle beams. As the number of enemy craft decreased, each Ghost fighter immediately sought out another target.

With every carrier-borne aircraft destroyed, a bright flare erupted. These explosions were now tracing a widening trail outward from the former battle zone, their density thinning, clearly indicating that fewer and fewer hostile craft remained in flight.

Finally, every single carrier-borne aircraft belonging to the mercenary and pirate factions was annihilated. The entire pursuit had taken little more than ten minutes.

Only the hundred-plus slow-moving escape pods remained drifting in the battlefield.

“Sir, the outcome is decided. The escape pods’ communicators cannot project a signal very far. They can no longer leak information about the situation here. Should we cease the jamming and listen to what they might say?” asked Xiang Liya.

“No. The Death Knell. Why listen to them?” Yang Ying shook his head. “You said the outcome is decided. That is far from certain. Calculating the output power of the escape pod communicators, they can still transmit a signal to Gray Port. If they manage to inform those at Gray Port that they are under attack by Ghost fighters, things will become complicated—that is not what I want.”

“They are in dire straits themselves. Other than surrendering and begging for mercy, do they have the mind to contact Gray Port?” Xiang Liya asked, puzzled.

“Whether they have the inclination is not my concern, nor do I care to find out. However, we are only one final step away from victory. Any oversight could cause new trouble. I do not wish to learn a lesson after one minor mishap, only to remember to leave no opportunity for the escape pods in the next engagement,” Yang Ying stated. He preferred to grow without suffering losses rather than growing through them.

At that moment, the observer noticed a single distinct point on the radar screen. After some adjustments, the readings indicated an apparently cloaked vessel. He immediately reported to Yang Ying: “Sir, there is an enemy vessel on the radar that appears different from the others; it seems to be cloaked.”

That was precisely Old Barrow’s escape ship.

“That prohibitively expensive optical camouflage system? What a wealthy man,” Yang Ying approached the radar screen, glanced at it, and chuckled. “Observer, what is the operational range for detecting stealth?” He tapped the screen. “To detect stealth technology? They are centuries too early to play optical camouflage against us.”

“However, the ship is too valuable; destroying it would be a waste. Let the soldiers handle this one.”

Yang Ying closed his eyes, mentally traveling to the Floating Continent to summon a mixed unit: a squad of Machine Gunners, Flamethrowers, Ghost Agents, and Medics. He loaded them onto two transport ships and, opening his eyes, materialized the vessels. He commanded: “Take a squad, Ghost fighters accompanying, and capture that cloaked ship and any high-value individuals aboard.”

Isaac sat inside his escape pod, gazing out at the star-dusted void. “The fireworks are gone; it seems the battle is nearing its end. Is the jamming still active?”

“It is. We can’t even call for surrender now,” said the man dressed like a scholar. Smart men fear death; even when they believe surrender is futile, a sliver of hope persists.

Isaac understood his thought but did not voice it. He nodded calmly. “I know. While you can still think, concentrate on recalling good memories.” With that, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes to rest.

San Yan adjusted his collar and smoothed the lace on his cuffs. He retrieved a spare monocular from his pocket and placed it over his eye. He had fled in such haste that his clothes were disheveled, and his original spectacles were nowhere to be found.

He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at the corner of his eye, murmuring softly, “If only I had a cup of black tea. In this wretched state, how can I resemble a gentleman? Father always said that a true gentleman must remain composed even if the Alps collapsed before him. I am clearly inadequate.”

Just then, the Ghost fighters converged and fired missiles at the escape pods. A single volley annihilated every single one.

Old Barrow sat frozen in the pilot’s seat, staring vacantly into space, muttering to himself, “I have roamed the star seas for over thirty years, rich enough to rival nations, responsible for countless deaths. Who knew the tables would turn so drastically? First, I was betrayed by Somali and Sha Po Lang, and today I fall to this unknown upstart. Is this my inevitable doom? But as long as I escape, there is still a chance. The difference between having deep roots and not having them is that a rooted person can fail countless times and still rise from the ashes, whereas one without roots sinks into eternal ruin after a single failure. Yang Ying, how many failures can you afford?”

Hatred flared in Old Barrow’s eyes.

Suddenly, a series of unfamiliar noises pierced Old Barrow’s ears. Twelve fighters and two transport ships materialized outside his vessel, completely encircling his escape craft.

Old Barrow instantly understood what had happened. He slammed his fist onto the control panel, roaring, “Damn it! They have stealth detection technology!”

The subordinates who had escaped with Barrow also turned fearful. They had believed themselves utterly safe within the escape vessel, only to find themselves exposed.

The ramp doors of the transport ships hissed open, and several figures emerged.

The Ghost Agents’ optical camouflage suits functioned as EVA suits in space, as did the powered armor worn by the Machine Gunners, Flamethrowers, and Medics.

At this moment, only the Medics remained standing by in the transport ships, awaiting orders to treat the wounded. The other soldiers scrambled out of the transports, using micro-thrusters for propulsion, flying toward the escape craft’s entry points to force the hatches open.

Typically, spaceship entryways have two sealed doors; one must be closed before the other can open. Opening both simultaneously would cause the internal atmosphere to be violently sucked out into the vacuum of space, instantly killing any unprotected person through depressurization.

The space between the two hatches on this escape vessel was narrow, capable of holding only two people. The leading Ghost Agent assessed the situation quickly and dispatched two Flamethrowers to enter first.

The ship’s interior was only large enough for a dozen or so people. The front was the cockpit, and the rear was a passenger cabin, lavishly decorated with sofas, a crystal chandelier, a self-service bar, and holographic displays—all testaments to the owner’s immense wealth.

Perhaps, in Old Barrow’s estimation, having already spent two billion on the hull, spending a few tens of millions more on opulent interior finishing was a minor detail.

Those inside, including Barrow, waited at the entryway. The bodyguards raised their uranium rifles but dared not fire, fearing that killing the two Flamethrowers would prompt the Ghost fighters outside to open fire. Since envoys had already been sent aboard, it signaled the enemy’s intent to take prisoners. With a path to survival laid out before them, who would choose death?

The Flamethrowers stood with their arms raised, their nozzles pointed at the assembled group. In such a confined space, their flames could instantly incinerate everyone. However, Yang Ying's order was to capture high-value targets, so they held their fire.

Those who had managed to escape with Old Barrow, besides the bodyguards, were all high-ranking figures within the Blood Skull Pirate syndicate—every one of them very rich. Perhaps in their youth, they were daring and reckless, unafraid of death. But now that they possessed wealth, followers, and had tasted the sweetness of power, they had grown intensely fearful of dying.