Number Ten’s head dropped to the floor. It rolled, like a loose ball, until it came to rest near... The body followed, tumbling down, and a fountain of blood erupted from the neck, spraying onto Yang Ying’s boots.

The outcome of the fight was partially anticipated. Yang Ying knew the Blade Emperor’s physical data well. These metrics, tested extensively by the research division, had given him the confidence to challenge an enemy two levels above his own.

However, the data also indicated that the lower his own power level, the more pronounced the Blade body’s advantage became. Currently only a Low-Tier Psionicist, the transformation could elevate him two tiers, but once he reached the High-Tier Psionicist level, it would only grant him a single tier jump.

And by the time he cultivated himself to the Quasi-Master level, he might only rank among the middling experts at that tier, with the chances of challenging a Master still slim.

Yang Ying frowned slightly. Since the Blade Emperor’s five senses far surpassed human capabilities, a thick scent of blood assaulted his nostrils. Previously, his entire focus had been on the fight, causing him to ignore the gore, but now that the battle was over, his mind registered it anew.

Furthermore, the Blade Emperor’s senses, sharper than a hunting dog's, magnified the smell of blood countless times, turning Yang Ying’s stomach.

He realized that even after confirming his ability to kill a High-Tier Psionicist, he didn't feel as elated as he had expected.

Killing was not something that brought joy.

Yang Ying reverted to his human form, sheathing his light-saber. His clothes were tattered; the upper garment had been completely ripped apart by the skeletal wings, and the trousers were missing both legs.

He glanced at his ruined state and sighed, walking toward the main door of the room.

The door hissed open.

A Ghost Agent stood outside. He saluted, “Sir, good day,” then presented a set of fresh clothes and a syringe filled with Super Healing Serum.

Yang Ying immediately jammed the syringe into his neck. The recovery rate of the Super Healing Serum was even faster than the Blade Emperor's self-regeneration, capable of mending the latent internal injuries that hadn't finished healing when he forcibly reverted from his transformed state.

“Use low-yield explosives to detonate the room’s interior. Destroy all traces of the battle.” Yang Ying ripped off his remaining rags, quickly changed into the new attire, and then threw a ball of flame, incinerating the old clothes to ash.

“Your motorcycle is in there too, Sir,” the Ghost Agent reminded him.

“It’s already ruined, damaged by the battle’s residual shockwaves. Just proceed with the demolition,” Yang Ying stated flatly.

“As you command, Sir.” The Ghost Agent produced a remote control and pressed a button on the door, which sealed shut with a soft hum. He then pressed a blood-red button.

At that moment, all the ventilation shafts in the ceiling suddenly sprang open, spraying out a pale yellow mist—the most common type of mist explosive used currently.

Immediately afterward, Yang Ying heard a muffled thud from inside the room.

“Please wait a moment, Sir. The blast is complete; we need thirty seconds to ventilate and replace the oxygen,” the Ghost Agent requested respectfully.

Thirty seconds later, he reopened the door.

The room had been transformed. The formerly smooth composite walls looked dull and lifeless, and a faint smell of char hung in the air.

The motorcycle Yang Ying had ridden was now an assortment of irregularly shaped components scattered in the corners, sharing the same fate as the corpse of Number Ten.

“That will suffice. Collect some of the remains; we can hand the evidence to the Thirteenth Fleet when needed, and draft a report detailing the fight—say, that you lured him into an ambush and annihilated him with overwhelming firepower. You may fill in the details yourselves,” Yang Ying instructed the Ghost Agent.

“As you command, Sir.”

“Any news from David’s side?”

“The battle isn't over yet. The fighting has shifted to a small plaza two streets away, and the cordon troops are hesitant, not daring to interfere too much.”

“Prepare a motorcycle for me; I’ll go take a look.”

Yang Ying only intended to observe, not to engage. Un-transformed, he was merely a Low-Tier Psionicist Awakened, incapable of offering much aid in a confrontation against a Quasi-Master.

When he reached the temporary outpost outside the plaza, the battle had just concluded. He caught sight of Ulysses and Number Three flashing away into the distance.

Seeing them retreat, Yang Ying felt a wave of relief. He walked into the battlefield and found David resting and receiving an injection, along with the Kerrigan couple.

The fierce battle had inflicted numerous internal and external injuries upon them, requiring immediate care.

David met him first, quickly swapping his light-saber for Yang Ying’s, and said, “Fighting that bald man utterly exhausted my nerves. I need to rest back at base for a while; I’ll leave this to you.” He knew his identity was sensitive and refused to say more to the Kerrigan couple. With that brief statement, he mounted a motorcycle and departed.

Next, the Kerrigan couple approached.

“Colonel Blade, it’s a pleasure to see you again. What about that Ape Emissary who was hunting you?” Kerrigan asked, visibly pleased that Yang Ying appeared unharmed despite having changed clothes.

“I led him into a trap and killed him,” Yang Ying expressed a carefully modulated hint of satisfaction in his tone.

Quasi-Masters lacked the sharp instinct for detecting falsehoods that Masters possessed, but they could still discern subtle signs of deception—tone, heartbeat, skin temperature—in others. Thus, as he spoke, Yang Ying vigilantly managed his own breath, pulse, and temperature to maintain a natural rhythm.

“Is that true?” Kerrigan’s words caused a momentary tightening in Yang Ying’s chest, but he quickly realized Kerrigan was speaking in admiration rather than suspicion.

“Of course, it’s true. His body was blown into pieces. If necessary, we can collect the fragments and bring them back as proof for you,” Yang Ying said with a smile.

“Why would we want the corpse? Just dispose of it; it’s unpleasant to look at,” Lena, Kerrigan’s wife, suddenly interrupted Yang Ying, speaking with obvious displeasure.

Kerrigan chuckled twice. “This is Lena, my wife.” Then, turning to Lena, “This is the Colonel Blade I told you about.”

It was clear from his words that Kerrigan deeply cherished his wife.

Yang Ying exchanged greetings with Lena, and thus they were introduced.

“How about this: I’ve already sent someone to draft the after-action report. Once it’s done, I’ll give you a copy for your records. Since you are serving with the Thirteenth Fleet, some paperwork is unavoidable.”

Yang Ying knew that after Ulysses and Number Three fled, they would not give up easily. He would likely rely on the Kerrigan couple for protection over the next few days, so he intended to build a good rapport with them.

“You are certainly thorough, Colonel Blade,” Lena offered a wide smile, pointing at Kerrigan. “Unlike him, who always makes me write his reports.”

Kerrigan sighed ruefully at his wife’s teasing. “Those reports look easy, but writing them is a real pain.” He turned to Yang Ying. “Thank you for handling this matter.”

“Not at all. I suspect I’ll be troubling you quite a bit these next few days,” Yang Ying said, smiling, having achieved his immediate goal.

“Oh, by the way, the gentleman who left early—he must have the strength of a High-Tier Psionicist, didn’t he? Where did your mercenary group find such an expert? I’ve never heard of him,” Lena appeared very curious about David.

“Indeed. If he hadn't fought that bald man for over a hundred exchanges and shattered the bald man’s red light-saber with his silver one, those two Ape Emissaries might not have retreated,” Kerrigan seemed quite impressed with David.

“He’s a Free Mercenary, always works alone. After Gato’s death, the commander worried the Ape Cult might retaliate, so we hired him for assistance.”

Yang Ying wasn't concerned about them investigating, as Free Mercenaries were the hardest people in the asteroid belt to trace. The vast majority used only a codename for accepting assignments, and if they caused major trouble or attracted an unbeatable enemy, they would simply change their identity and use a new minor codename to start over.

Thousands of Free Mercenaries were born daily, and a similar number vanished; their histories were untraceable, and even if found, they were unreliable and worthless.

“A Free Mercenary? That complicates things,” Kerrigan said, frowning, clearly understanding the difficulty of tracking one. “A person with the power of a High-Tier Psionicist can cause immense devastation to any city without Awakened protection. According to the Psionic Temple’s regulations, we must create a file on him. How did your mercenary group find him?”

As the supreme body managing all matters concerning the Awakened, the Psionic Temple held absolute authority to inquire about any Awakened individual’s data. Kerrigan’s request for a file on David was perfectly reasonable.

Consequently, Yang Ying had to elaborate on how he met and communicated with David. Fortunately, all this background information had already been prepared by Kalia, saving Yang Ying from having to fabricate details on the spot.

To bring David into the open, the Ghost Agent department had created a meticulous, fabricated identity for him, complete with proof of orphanage records to his Free Mercenary resume.

Of course, all the people who could have testified were either deceased or had perished in various accidents—for instance, the orphanage had ceased to exist twenty years ago due to a fire.

This identity lacked witnesses, but the material evidence was robust enough to withstand scrutiny from any intelligence agency.

“Colonel Blade, thank you for your cooperation. I will handle the rest with that gentleman,” Kerrigan finally gained some understanding of David’s new identity after Yang Ying’s explanation.

Then, Yang Ying solemnly escorted them back into the administrative building and arranged accommodations for them, right downstairs from his own room, ensuring they were close by for protection.

The administrative building resembled a military barracks; small but complete, integrating office, living quarters, and recreation. Colonel Blade’s quarters occupied the highest floor of this building.